Enduringly Yours (14 page)

“I was afraid he would get himself killed, you know. Because being apart from me distracts him.”

“A noble sacrifice, my lady.” He smiled. “Peter has only been in love with you for as long as any of us can remember.”

For as long as any of us can remember?

They had been playmates, and then somehow lovers. No matter how many times she recalled their first night together, Zipporah never understood exactly how it had happened.

“So help me if you try to move out of his chamber,” John warned.

She sighed. Nay, she would not move out of his chamber. But she had to find the courage, and the right moment, to tell Peter about his child before he found out the hard way.

“I . . . I love him too.” It sounded right once she’d said it out loud. Peter was her friend, and maybe there had been a slow progression from playmate to lover. He would always be her playmate. They had different ways of playing with each other now.

Adult ways.

“Oh,” she said. “Oh, my.”

John eyed her.

“I just realized, I do love him.”

John hooked his thumbs in his belt. “It took you this long to come to that conclusion?”

“I am learning,
brother
.”

He ducked his head. “As are we all.”

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For being you. You may never fully understand that, but Peter and I do.”

Chapter Fifteen

Peter made a quick search of Zipporah’s empty chamber at Havendell, as well the corridor in that wing of the castle, and found no trace of the letter. In all the commotion, he and Zipporah had never bothered to check her trunks for it. It was probably tucked safely away in his chamber by now. Peter retrieved Evrin from where he’d hidden him in the woods and made for home.

It was well past dark when he shut the stallion up in the stable and walked into the castle keep at Ravenmore. He was surprised to see Zipporah waiting for him in the great room.

She stood from her chair by the fire. Her braids had been loosened and her hair hung in freshly combed waves. The maids that had come with her from Havendell sat nearby, knitting away in the firelight. The idea of chaperones at this point was ridiculous. Maybe they were just there to keep her company.

Trace scents of dinner lingered in the air. Peter noticed how empty his stomach was. “I missed supper.”

“Venison stew.”

“Is there any left?”

“I will go see.” She moved past him, then stopped. “Did you find the missive?”

“Nay.”

“It hardly matters now, does it?”

“Other than any possible rumors.”

“It would be better if the first years of our life together were not tainted by rumors.” She paused. “Is it still a rumor when it is true?”

“Probably not.”

“You did not have to ride back. I should have said something. I . . . will see about having food brought for you.”

She looked even more fatigued than before. She should have gone to bed without him. After she left, Peter unbuckled his sword belt and let the weapon slide to the floor. He peeled off his surcoat and threw it aside.  

Zipporah returned. “Marianne will bring your food.” She picked up his surcoat and turned it right side out. “You are as bad as Edward.” Her hands stopped for a few seconds, then she hung the coat over a chair. Wordless, she hefted his sword and propped it against the table.

“John complains about my mess,” Peter said. “But I think he is too neat.”

“He likes things that way.” She fingered a loose thread on the sleeve of his coat. “I should fix this.”

“We have seamstresses.”

“I should fix it myself. It is what my mother would do. I think my father would approve of your  having Havendell. You have earned it.”

“I have not decided what I deserve yet. Certainly not what I have gotten.” He pulled out a chair at the table. “Sit with me?”

“I already ate.”

“Then let me be rude and have you watch me eat.”

She came around and sat next to him. Marianne brought his food, smiling pleasantly at Zipporah.

“So nice to see yer face at the table, my lady,” Marianne said. “I’ve not seen ye in some time now. Not since ye were but a sprite of a girl. I found ye under a table in this very room, and when I asked why, ye said ye were hiding from the lads.” She nodded to Peter. “I took this to mean they had been teasing ye, but ye hushed me and begged I not give away yer hiding place, lest ye lose a bet against them.”

“She did lose,” Peter said. “John found her and she had to climb the fence into the pigpen then walk through it barefooted.”

“You laughed like a banshee the whole time.” Zipporah eyed Peter. He shrugged.

Marianne finished laying out the food. “Good eve to ye, my lady. I am glad he can stay home for a change.”

“Good eve, Marianne,” Peter said, with a hint.

Smiling, she left them.

“Are you sure you do not want anything?” Peter asked, breaking his bread.

“I am sure.”

“Are your maids under orders to accompany you everywhere?”

Zipporah cleared her throat. “They know that my things are in your chamber. John had a talk with them. He told them my mother would be here for supper tomorrow, and to keep what they know to themselves.”

“Does she know she will be here tomorrow?”

“I assume he will have word sent to her, aye.”

“Presumably. We could go get her ourselves.”

“Could we?” Her eyes brightened.

           “I will take some of my men with us. Gilburn would not dare, not like that, not when he fears he will lose you for it. He will look for some other way.”

She lifted her brows. “To kill you?”

He smiled. “Gilburn is backed into a corner now. His training tells him not to disappoint your mother. His greed tells him to kill me and take you. His pride warns him that he had better woo you away from me fair and square.”

“Mmm . . .  And how do you know all of that?”

“It isn’t hard,” he said dryly.

She shook her head. “Hard to believe he still thinks he has a chance.”

“Hard to believe he thought he had a chance to begin with.”

“Did you ever think he did? Just for a moment?”

It occurred to Peter there might be a trick somewhere in that question, so he took his time answering. “Did you want me to?”

“For a time, you did seem jealous.”

“Jealous isn’t quite the right word. I just needed to know where you were at all times.”

She lifted her brows as if to prove a point.

“To know that you were safe.”

Zipporah let it go, but she seemed satisfied with whatever conclusion she had drawn.

Peter looked at his bowl. Old habits die hard. He felt like it wasn’t right to eat before his lady. “Do you want some?”

She shook her head.

Peter filled his goblet. “Wine?”

Her jaw worked.

“Am I annoying you?”

“You are lord now, Peter. Or at least you will be.
And
you are my husband. You outrank me.” She stood. “I need to do something.”

“Does that bother you?” he called.

“I knew it would be hard for you to adjust.” Zipporah went to her maids, returning with a needle and thread. She took up his surcoat, fussing over frayed edges. “This is really quite bad.”

“You should see the other one.”

“I will make you a new coat.”

“You do not have . . .”

She glared, and he let it go.

“Thank you,” he said, dipping into his stew.

“Not a lot I can do for this. I shall talk to your head seamstress and have her supply me with the fabric for another one. I can start work on it tomorrow.”

“What are you doing?” Peter reached over and took the coat from her, tossing it aside.

“I am attempting to be your wife. Do you have a problem with that?”

“If it is your wish to make me a surcoat, then I will not argue, but it is not a priority.”

“Maybe you were right before,” she admitted. “Maybe it does bother me. But not like you are thinking.”

“I hadn’t assumed it was vanity at work.”

“We will both have to adjust?”

“Aye, we will. Things have not changed that much. Now I have formal permission to do what I have wanted for years.”

Her brows arched. “What is that?”

“Protect you. Preferably by way of close observation.”

A smile quirked her lips. “Is that so, Sir Knight?”

“I will always be your knight.”

She studied his face, the hardness he so often saw in her blue eyes thawing to liquid. Standing, she motioned to him with one finger. Peter pushed back his chair and she looped her arm around his shoulders, sliding onto his lap. He held her while the fire popped and spit ash onto the floor. Her maids clicked away at their knitting.

“I am glad you’re here,” he said.

Zipporah rested her chin against his temple. He breathed in her scent. It was earthy now, no doubt due to the time they’d spent on the ground earlier. Thinking about
that
while holding her sent a myriad of images through his head. Peter reminded himself that he should keep his mouth shut, lest he spoil the moment.

That did not last long.

“I want you,” he said.

She sighed.

“Now would not be too soon.”

“Can you not just hold me?”

“Aye.” He pulled her closer, his chin on her shoulder. She was soft and warm and he nuzzled her neck. “For how long?”

Zipporah groaned and slid off his lap. “I am going to bed.” She cleared her throat. “I mean . . .”

He finished off his wine. “So am I. I can eat later.”

“Peter.” She shook her head.

“You would rather sleep though?”

She sighed. “It’s . . . well, there are things . . .”

“I understand. I do.” He took two strides toward her, her eyes widening, and scooped her into his arms. “You do look tired. I will put you to bed, but I will leave you alone tonight.”

“And how long will that last for, dear knight?”

“I am a reformed man.” He carried her lush self across the hall and up the stairs, wondering how he was supposed to talk his body into standing down with her next to him.

So much for being reformed.

Peter set her to her feet inside their chamber. A fire was burning in the hearth. The shutters were closed for the night. Her bed was taking up a ridiculously large portion of the floor space.

She must have noticed his preoccupation with it, because she poked him in the ribs until he moved out of her way, then closed the door behind him.

“Before my mother arrives, we need to talk,” she said.

The
talk
she couldn’t have with him earlier. “If anyone has hurt you . . .”

She smiled sadly. “Peter, you have no idea.”

* * *
 

Peter impressed himself—by falling asleep. Maybe just knowing she was there by his side made the difference. He awoke before dawn, finding Zipporah sitting next to him with her knees curled to her face, crying softly.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

She jerked her head up, as if caught in the act. In the firelight he took note of her red, unfocused eyes. A tear clung to her lashes. She blinked twice and came to her knees on the feather mattress. Winding her arms around his shoulders, she pressed her cheek against his neck.

“What is it?”

“Just hold me.”

He did. And he kept his mouth shut, even though his jaw hurt after a few minutes. Slowly, Zipporah loosened her stranglehold on him. She touched his face, then tucked her hand around the back of his neck and pulled his head to hers. She kissed him softly, tasting like salt from her tears. He wasn’t sure why she wanted him now, after only a few hours of sleep, but he wasn’t going to stop her.

She leaned back on the mattress and looked up at him, her bright eyes pleading for something deeper than any physical need.

A need he couldn’t identify, much less meet.

And it was scaring him.

“Whatever you are about to say, do not,” she told him. “Just keep quiet.”

He didn’t like this. Her sadness. Her need. He wanted like mad to question her, but she wanted him to shut up. Peter closed his eyes and weighed his actions. Good Lord. He had no idea what to do with her.

“Peter.”

He opened his eyes.

“This is where you make love to me. I know you are fully capable of
that
.” She gave him a moment, then rolled her eyes. “I can see this is going to be more difficult than I thought. You really don’t have to play so hard to get.”

She peeled the blankets back from him, looking his body over. “Aye, I suppose you will suit me well enough, lad. Until someone prettier comes along.”

Groaning, Peter pulled her close, rolling her beneath him. “This,” he said, “needs to go.” He reached down, grasped her shift in one hand, tugging it upward.

She stopped him at her hips. “Not yet.”

“It is not as if I have never seen you before.”

“Just humor me.” She hooked her bare legs around his, her hands fanning his back.

* * *

Zipporah propped herself up on one elbow, watching Peter sleep through the rising sun. She studied the peaceful lines of his face, his angular jaw, and the golden blond stubble that coated it; the nose that was not quite straight because John had broken it when they were children. She reached out with tentative fingers and brushed Peter’s smooth, heavy hair off his forehead. He shifted, and she drew her hand away.

Sitting up, she tucked her knees to her chest. How long could she hide from him like this? If she knew Peter at all, then he was confused and hurt by her refusal to remove her shift. She loosened her legs and drew back the fabric. The white lines on her abdomen were far too noticeable. She could not risk him seeing them.