Enduringly Yours Page 6

  “I seem to recall an angry young lady who wanted nothing of the sort, who wanted no more than to be put quietly aside with her baby.”

  That had been the plan. They had even found a home for her with a young noblewoman in France who was expecting her first child. Zipporah was to serve as a nursemaid.

  She filled a cup for herself, wondering how long one could live on drink alone. Food wasn’t currently agreeing with her. She glanced around the hall. “Where is my suitor this morning?”

  “Which one?”

  She eyed her mother. “Sir Gilburn.”

  “I am not sure. I haven’t seen him.”

  “Thank heaven for small favors.” Zipporah finished her ale and stood. “I am going to sit with Father.”

  “But your meal?”

  “I cannot eat.”

  Zipporah left the great hall before her mother could stop her. She made her way to her father’s chamber, wishing she didn’t feel so confused. That she was vulnerable in her tainted-unwed-condition was nothing new, but with her father incapacitated everything was coming to a head. How much longer could she hide her secrets? Would it get her killed and her mother exiled from her place among the nobility? Her father had risked his life to give them land and a future, and she had thrown it away on a young knight with soft hands.

  The door to her father’s chamber opened. The tall Sir Gilburn emerged. She took a step back.

  His eyes widened when he saw her. “My lady?”

  “Sir Gilburn.”

  He ducked his head in greeting. He smelled of sage today. “Your father is resting.”

  “Isn’t he always?” Zipporah glanced down the corridor. They were alone. “I just want to see him.”

  “I have given it some thought, and I believe your visits with him are not beneficial.” He was standing between her and the door. “They only seem to distress you.”

  Was he going to forbid her to see her father now? “Would it not be more distressing for me if I were not to see him at all? There is so little I can do for my father. I just want to sit with him.”

  “You are a devoted daughter,” he said. Gilburn looked her over, making her skin prickle. Finally, he stepped aside. “Go ahead.”

  She reached for the door pull.

  “When you are finished here, come to the training field. I have a surprise for you.”

  Now what? She smiled. “Aye, of course.”

  “I will be waiting.” He turned with a squeak of leather and walked away.

  Zipporah slipped into her father’s room. She barred the door and wondered when Peter would arrive for the day. She had to admit, if she had to choose, she would take Peter’s company over Gilburn’s any day.

  She sat in a chair by her father’s bed. The shutters were open and the sun poured over him in dusty rays. There was a half-finished goblet of wine on the side table near his bed. His eyes were closed. She was disappointed that he had woken up for her mother and not for her.

  Zipporah tucked his blankets around him, then sat back and pulled out Peter’s letter. She didn’t open it. She’d already read it a dozen times the night before. Leaning forward, she slipped her free hand into her father’s. His hands were once so strong. At times they were firm, and at others gentle.

  “I should have told you about Katrina,” she said. “Forgive me. I was so ashamed of myself, and so angry at Peter. I did not know what to do.” She rested her cheek against his chest, her fingers still in his. His breath was shallow. “Maybe I should have let you protect me. I would be married to Peter by now. Rumors would have spread, and rightly so. But what is gossip compared to family.”

  She lifted her head. He didn’t move. Tears blurred her vision. “So I’m telling you now.” She looked down at the letter. “I had a child. I brought my mother into my crimes, swearing her to secrecy. She helped me hide. Remember that winter when I was ill? Mother told you I was infectious. I refused to see your physician, saying it was due to my maidenly shyness, and that I would only see a woman for my care. And so Mother called in the midwife.

  “You believed us. I think you never questioned it because Mother had never lied to you before. Do not blame her. She loves us both.” A single tear rolled off her chin, landing on his face. “I love you. Please forgive me.”

  Zipporah rubbed her thumb over the parchment of Peter’s letter. “If you can hear me, please, please help me, Father. I need you now.”

  Zipporah willed him to awaken. Minutes passed and she knew he hadn’t heard her. Standing, she wiped the moisture from her tears off his pale face. She tucked Peter’s letter back into her pouch. Her heart weighed on her as she left the room.

  Taking the narrow spiral staircase to the ground floor, she exited through the door that led into the private castle gardens. She took her time, walking beneath the shady branches of her mother’s apple trees. The garden gate squeaked as she passed beneath the stone archway.

  Numbly, Zipporah followed the gravel path to the lists. It wasn’t until the training field loomed before her that she started to feel something again.

  That idiot. What was he thinking?

  Sir Gilburn had had the field dressed for Mêlée, complete with striped tents for recovering knights who might need medical attention. The stands were sprinkled with the family and friends of the men who planned to participate. Knights in chainmail readied themselves and their horses for competition, metal clanking and sun glinting off helms.

  John trotted up on his charcoal destrier, vaulted from the saddle, and pulled off his helmet, grinning. His hair was the same color as Peter’s. So were his eyes. It was clear they were brothers.

  “Johnny,” she said with a surge of childhood affection. She hadn’t seen him in three years. He was a little shorter than Peter, and had the same build. They were not tall men, but carried themselves in such a way that made it clear they did not require anything they did not already possess. John was known for being able to subdue an opponent with a single look.

  “My lady.” He passed his horse to a lad and turned back to her. He took off his gauntlet and she stretched out her hand to him. “It is good to see you.”

  “It is good to see you as well.”

  He gave her hand a squeeze before letting go.

  “How is it to be home?” she asked.

  “Well enough, I suppose.”

  “You suppose?”

  “Do you have any idea what it took for me to get a day away?” He bowed with a dramatic sweep of his hand. “The lord is in residence.” He straightened, sighing and brushing his hair out of his face. “Half the countryside is seeking an audience with me.”

  “I can imagine.” She nodded toward the field. “Do you know what this is about?”

  “Peter told me of his daring rescue yesterday.”

  “Aye, that. It was not so daring.”

  “I know.” He winked. “At dawn we received an invitation for an impromptu competition.”

  “Sir Gilburn means to assuage his pride, I think.”

  “I should say so. Peter could not be more satisfied with the misery it is causing him.”

  She scanned the field again, spotting Peter on his warhorse. The sight of him in full armor made her skin warm.

  “Any hope for something to drink?” John asked.

  “Of course.” She tore her gaze away. “There should be a cask out.” She found it by the pavilion, then filled a wooden mug and handed it over.

  “Thank you, my lady.”

  “Do me a favor and take Sir Gilburn for ransom. He is being an annoyance and could use the blow to his ego.”

  John lowered his mug. “More than an annoyance, I should think. But I dare not. Your cohort would like the privilege.”

  “My cohort.” She eyed John.

  “My brother, I meant.”

  “I knew what you meant, and I am not his cohort.”

  He smiled. “You always were before.”

  She felt her skin warm all over again, and shook her head, but John’s sm
ile only widened into a crooked grin.

  “Do me a favor and marry him,” he said. “His chamber is next to mine and I do not sleep anymore.”

  Was she surrounded by matchmakers? “Perhaps you should move to another room.”

  His chin lifted. “I have occupied the same chamber since I was a boy.”

  “Then perhaps it is time you moved into the master bedchamber?”

  His face drained of color. Zipporah wanted to take back her words. Peter and John’s mother had passed away while they were at war.

  “I’m sorry, John. Please forgive me.”

  “I know you did not mean it.” His tone of voice told her otherwise. He was hurt. Johnny always had been more sensitive than he let on to. “I am not ready to occupy my parents’ old chamber.”

  “Of course you aren’t.”

  He finished his ale and handed her the mug. “I told Peter he should duel Gilburn for you and be done with it.”

  “It is not that easy.”

  “Why isn’t it?” She knew John had a different way of viewing the obstacles of life—and it usually involved his sword. He rubbed his chin. “You aren’t interested in that fool Gilburn, are you?”

  “Of course not. I have to keep him happy though.”

  “Refuse his control. My brother can defend you from him.”

  “And my mother?”

  “Bring her too.”

  “Bring her?”

  “To Ravenmore.”

  “Oh, John . . .” His linear thinking could break a woman’s heart.

  “Do not cry about it.” He shifted, chainmail grating.

  “Thank you for your offer to shelter the both of us.” She pulled a handkerchief out of her sleeve. The lack of sleep and food was getting to her, and now she was going to embarrass herself. “But my mother and I cannot leave my father.”

  “I understand. My offer stands, though.”

  “Thank you.”

  John glanced over his shoulder. She looked around him as Peter came under the pavilion; his helmet tucked under one arm. His hair was tied back. “Save your tears for him please,” John said.

  “Oh, do not worry. I soaked his tunic sleeve just yesterday.”

  Peter was an impressive sight in his armor. Dressed thusly, he always commanded attention. He smiled, then his expression changed when he got a closer look at her. “What is wrong?

  “Nothing.” Zipporah cleared the emotion from her throat and tucked her handkerchief away. “Happy about this?” She looked at the field

  “It may backfire on me. John is too much competition. He will be champion.”

  John snorted and took his mug back to the cask to refill it.

  “You beat me every time,” Peter called.

  “That is only because he knows you so well,” Zipporah added.

  John glanced from between them. “This is my exit.” He downed his ale and passed her back the mug.

  “Best of luck, Johnny,” she said.

  “I do not need it, but thank you just the same.” He grinned and pulled his helm over his head.

  She turned back to Peter.

  “Fill that with something?” he said, pointing to the cup in her hand.

  “Of course.” She filled it from the spigot and passed it to him.

  “Have you heard the rumor on the field this morning?” He took a drink.

  “I have not.”

  “The prize for the day is a kiss from you.”

  “And who, pray tell, started this rumor?”

  He shrugged. “The men were not sufficiently motivated. It is a private competition, after all.”

  She narrowed her eyes.

  “I know. I never learn.”

  “Peter.”

  “Is it too much of a request?”

  Her gaze honed in on his familiar lips.

  “I am sure John will be victor,” he said, sounding more than a little put out. “You will have nothing to fear from him. You can go ahead and satisfy the men by kissing him for them. I promise not to draw my sword on John. His firsthand account may be as close as I will get to you, anyway.”

  Do not do this to me, Peter. She was ready to end their conversation. “We should be careful not to talk to each other too much.”

  Her gaze found Gilburn on the field. His page was adjusting his armor.

  “What happened?” Peter asked. He must have sensed her unease.

  “I ran into Sir Gilburn in the corridor this morning. I thought he would not allow me to see my father.”

  “What did he say?”

  “That he believes it disturbs me too much.”

  “He knows you not at all.”

  “His admiration seems genuine.”

  “Which only makes him all the more dangerous.”

  “Too bad I do not have a docile sister for him.”

  Peter lifted his brows. “And subject her to him?”

  “He may be kind to a submissive wife.”

  “He is not getting to you, is he?”

  “Nay.” She crossed her arms over her ribcage. “But you are getting on my nerves already.”

  “Do not play matchmaker, please. We have enough trouble as it is.”

  “A more suitable woman would take his focus off me. That is all I am saying.”

  He shook his head.

  Why did it have to be so hard between them? “Fine. Forget it.”

  Peter caught her arm. “Be careful around him. He is not without his skills when it comes to manipulating women.”

  “I am capable of discerning that much.” She pulled away.

  “I did not say that you were not. I said, be careful.” He looked at her as if he had no idea what was wrong.

  But there was plenty wrong.

  Lack of food and sleep for one thing, mostly thanks to him. Confusion, also thanks to him. Guilt. Fear. Insecurity.

  Him. Him. Him.

  Zipporah shifted closer, her chin lifting in pent-up frustration. “I may be your whore, Peter, but I will never be his.”

  He jerked back. Suddenly, he was breathing as if his armor was too tight. His complexion paled. “You are not.”

  “Aren’t I?”

  “The same could be said of me.”

  “What are you talking about? For a man, the rules are completely different.”

  He leaned in. He was nose to nose with her. “You are no more my whore than I am yours. And I have lived with the cost of that ever since.”

  Cost? Who was he to speak of cost? “What cost?”

  It took him a moment. She thought he was about to explain, then he backed off. “Never mind.”

  Peter threw his mug. It hit the ale barrel, wood splinters and ale showering the ground. He pulled on his helmet and walked away.

  Zipporah stood frozen, her heart hammering from anger and surprise. She knew Peter to be an impulsive man, but he was not in the habit of losing his temper in front of her.

  Sir Gilburn appeared beside the pavilion, still mounted. He was the last person she wanted to see.

  He pulled off his helm and shook out his dark hair. “My lady? Is all well? I saw you and Peter arguing.”

  She needed to evade him, and quickly. “Naught but a childish squabble, Sir Gilburn. We have been fighting since we were children. I do believe that it has become habitual for us.”

  Gilburn frowned. She knew he needed more of an explanation.

  “John and Peter are like brothers to me,” she said. “John the brother I look up to and can depend on, and Peter the one who forever torments me.”

  Zipporah realized that she had never made a truer statement in her life . . . except for the part about Peter being a brother of any kind to her.

  Gilburn nodded, his face serious. “If Sir Peter is to be allowed anywhere near you, then his behavior needs to change, and soon. I will have him properly chastised. I can think of only one reason for him to behave thusly. I am certain now that he is attracted to you.”

  She shook her head. “That is ridiculous.”<
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  “I can recall a time when the two of you were far closer than you should have been. I never understood why your father allowed it, but Lord Havendell is my master, and I do not question him.” His looked at her levelly. “I know why Peter vexes you so oft. It is because he is too much of a coward to face his passions like a man.” Gilburn cleared his throat. “Pardon me. I should not be so frank with you. At least not until after we have wed. I will see that Peter is chastised personally.” Gilburn pulled on his helm.

  “But he is John’s knight. Should you not leave it up to him?”

  “Do not fear, my lady. I will take care of everything.” Gilburn trotted away, his heavy black warhorse kicking up turf.

  She wondered if the man made any attempt to listen to her. Zipporah stumbled her way into the stadium and sat. Her mother joined her a moment later, out of breath and rosy-cheeked. “Am I late?”

  “You knew about the Mêlée?”

  “I only just found out.”

  “Well, you have missed out on a lot already. I said something of very poor judgment to Peter and made him angry with me. Gilburn saw us and I had to cover for our actions. Now Gilburn believes that Peter is attracted to me.”

  “He is attracted to you.”

  Zipporah gritted her teeth.

  “Peter is probably more frustrated than angry.”

  “I am not so sure about that.”

  “I have been married for six and twenty years, and I raised a son.”

  The last thing Zipporah wanted was a lecture. “I do not want to talk about this anymore.”

  “Your young knight wants his woman, and he will be frustrated until he gets her.”

  His woman.

  Zipporah’s gaze found Peter on the field, in full armor, and a tremor rolled through her. Her body was so quick to agree with her mother’s statement. But her heart was much more cautious.

  Lady Havendell pulled her needlepoint out of a satchel.

  “The Mêlée has never been your favorite sport,” Zipporah said.

  “Nay, and for good reason.”

  Zipporah’s father had been fond of it in his youth, and once it had almost cost him his life.

  “Let me know when it is time for you to give John his kiss,” her mother said.

  “How did you know about that? By the saints, does everyone know about these things save me?”