Enduringly Yours (19 page)

Chapter Twenty

Zipporah sat on a padded bench by the fire in the great hall, feeling sick to her stomach. Her mother was already making arrangements for her father’s funeral. She almost asked her to wait until tomorrow, but knew her mother needed to keep herself occupied. That was how she dealt with grief.

Alana sat on the bench next to Zipporah. John handed them both mugs of mulled wine. Zipporah blew at hers, watching steam swirl over the lip of the earthen cup.

She wished Peter had let her go with him. Not that the midwife would divulge any information about their baby, but it made Zipporah very uncomfortable nonetheless, as if having Peter and the midwife in the same vicinity made her even more guilty.

She’d been ready to tell him, at that moment in Gilburn’s chamber. Her father was gone, and it was too late to change what she had never said. She needed to make recompense with Peter while she could.

“Should it take this long?” Zipporah asked.

“He’ll return soon,” Alana said.

Zipporah took a sip of wine, not tasting it. “Why would Gilburn run off like that? Unless he really did poison my father.”

“It would seem likely,” John said.

“What if he cannot be found? Am I supposed to spend the rest of my life with guards following me, worrying that he will try and kill Peter?”

“You should have let him kill Gilburn in the garden a se’nnight ago.”

She pursed her lips. “My father believed in Gilburn. I had to give him a chance.”

“Anyone can be deceived,” Alana said softly. “Especially when their emotions are involved.”

“My Lord John?” Sir Thornton called from across the hall. “Sir Peter has just arrived.”

“Finally,” Zipporah said, standing.

“Oh, nay.” John pointed at the both of them. “You two stay here.”

“John, please.”

He cut her off with a look. “Nay.” Turning to Alana he said, “Keep an eye on her.”

Zipporah watched John leave the hall, her heart in her throat, needing a moment alone with Peter, unsure when it would happen. She sank back onto the bench.

Alana took her hand. “He is fine,” she said, misunderstanding the cause of Zipporah’s unease. “He will be here in a moment.”

Aye, and they would be surrounded by people.

When he did arrive, she saw a man with battle-ready eyes. “We need to talk,” Peter said.

What did he know?
The midwife would never have told him. Maybe he figured it out for himself? Why else would she not want to remove her shift? Why would she know exactly where to find the midwife?

She should have been more careful.

“Peter, I am so sorry. I would have told you, if you had only taken me with you, I would have.”

He watched her for a moment, confusion clouding his battle glare, then he looked at John instead. “We need to talk somewhere private.”

“The solar,” John said.

Peter took Zipporah’s hand and she went with him, her stomach as twisted as the narrow stairwell they ascended. He paused at the threshold of her father’s solar before walking in. The desk was littered with papers that Gilburn had left behind. Peter frowned as he looked around the unorganized room. It was his solar now. His desk. His papers.

His mess.

“What did you find out about the herbs?” John asked, pulling up two stools and sitting on one. Zipporah stumbled onto the other.

“They are a special blend,” Peter said. “The midwife told me they were meant to purify the blood, and yet dull the mind at the same time.” He pulled up another stool. “She believed that whoever used it wanted to keep the . . . recipient alive as long as possible, and yet senseless at the same time.”

“But why?” Zipporah said.

“I know why.” He softened his voice. “Your father’s heart was failing him. Still bereaved over the loss of your brother, he gave the land to his faithful knight, who had become a surrogate son to him. He also wished for his family to be cared for, so he planned to have this knight marry his daughter. With a hitch.” Peter reached forward, brushing his knuckles across her cheek. “It had to be your choice. Making your father senseless assured that he wouldn’t change his mind. Gilburn probably wanted to make sure he had plenty of time to win you, stretching this out as long as possible in the hope that you would cave.”

“He didn’t want to kill my father?”

Peter glanced at John. “That’s just it. The midwife told me that when ingested over a long period of time, the herbs build to a toxic level.”

“Then my father
was
murdered.”

“He was dying anyway,” John said. “This all started with his failing heart.”

“There’s more,” Peter continued. “The midwife knows of only one person, besides herself, who could have made this formula.”

“Who?” she asked.

“Your father’s physician.”

“But my father has used the same physician for years.”

“Gilburn probably paid him off,” John said.

She shook her head. “So Gilburn
didn’t
know it would poison him?”

“Maybe not, but the physician should have.”

“But why would he turn on us now?”

“Gilburn probably paid him off,” John repeated.

“Oh . . .” Zipporah stood. Peter and John stood with her. “The physician has an assistant, Fredrick of . . .” Her throat constricted. “Fredrick of Gilburn. He is Gilburn’s cousin.”

“So Gilburn used his cousin, and that’s that.”

“I’ll track down Fredrick,” John said, going to the door.

“You have many things to worry about right now,” Zipporah said to Peter. “I will go check on my mother.” She made to follow John out.

“Why won’t you talk to me?” he asked quietly.

She winced. Then she took a deep breath, wiped her eyes, and turned to face him. It was time to pay the piper. “Not here. Not in my father’s solar. Come with me.” She led him downstairs, and then out to the garden. He kept his mouth shut. He was getting better at that. She had the feeling he wouldn’t speak again until she did.

The sun was setting, birds singing their evening chorus. It smelled like it was going to rain. When they reached the orchard she ducked through tree branches, finding their hiding place by the garden wall.

Zipporah stopped, turning to face him. “That was not how I wanted you to find out.”

“Find out what? What will you not tell me?”

She was confused.
Wait. What?
“Then you do not know?”

“I would if you told me.”

She sighed. Her relief didn’t last long. She still had to tell him.
Had
to tell him.

Unable to look him in the face, Zipporah watched a sparrow hopping about on the branches of an apple tree instead. “I have been dreading this moment. First of all, because I don’t know how to say it. Second, because I’m afraid of what it will do to you. And third, because it is shameful for me to admit to what I did.”

“What you did? What could be that bad?”

“I told you how I lied to my father,” she said, twisting the end of her braid. “But I did not reveal to you the extent of my lies. I brought my mother into it as well. One lie has a way of growing, and then one tries to justify it in various ways.” She turned her back on him. “I’m a coward, forgive me.”

“Zipporah?”

“While you were gone I had a child.”

She didn’t hear anything behind her. Zipporah peeked over her shoulder, realizing that the way she had phrased it left too much room for interpretation. 

“Your daughter, Peter!”

He straightened.

“I lost her. I am sorry.”

“Lost? What do you mean, lost?”

Zipporah’s eyes blurred with tears. “She came too soon and was born blue.”

Peter reached out as if to catch himself on something that wasn’t there. She moved to comfort him but he pulled away, finding a tree to lean on. “How could you not have told me?”

“How
could
I tell you? I knew it would hurt you. I was ashamed of my lies, and I am ashamed that I let her die in the first place.”

“If she was born dead, then how is it your fault?”

She tried to blink away tears but fresh ones came in their place. “I did not want her at first. My ill will may have harmed her somehow.”

She needed Peter to hold her in the security of his arms, but knew by the expression on his face that he couldn’t be reached. She wrapped her arms around herself, feeling a damp chill in the air.

“I need to think,” Peter said. “Go inside, please. Go to the great hall and find your mother and Alana.”

“But-”

“Go!”

Her heart jerked and tears fell from her lashes.

“I am of no use to you right now. Please, Zipporah.”

She closed her eyes. “Once I could no longer hide my condition, we told my father that I was unwell and had to be kept in seclusion. The midwife attended me. The night the baby was born, the pains came so quickly there was no time to fetch her. My mother was with me. I had to bite down on a rag to keep from making too much noise. I called the child Katrina, and my mother buried her in the place I asked her to.”

Silence, then roughly as if through a raw throat, “Where?”

“The meadow where you first kissed me.”    

When she opened her eyes he was gone. Feeling vulnerable, she ran inside and into the great hall, finding John just as he was leaving to look for Fredrick.

She grabbed a hold of his sleeve, refusing to let go. “Go after Peter. That’s more important.”

“Peter? I thought he was with you.”

“He ran off. Please, you need to go after him.”

“Bloody hell, little brother,” John muttered. “You don’t happen to know where he ran off to?”

“I know exactly where, and I think I should go with you.”

“It is not safe.”

She gritted her teeth. “Then make it safe.” Zipporah gathered her skirts in her hands and made for the door. “I am going with you.”

* * *

Peter dismounted his stallion and worked his way through the underbrush, following a one person trail—Zipporah’s no doubt—until he reached a wild clearing. The ground was budding with delicate blue flowers that he did not remember seeing before. There in the center, with an evening sun pushing orange rays through ash and yew, stood a lonely wooden marker, a young briar rose with white buds growing around it.

So this was why Zipporah made him promise on his knighthood never to go there. Peter moved numbly toward the grave. Coming down on his knees, he brushed the roses aside to see the marker. It said
Katrina
, and nothing more.

His child.

His dead bastard child.

Peter felt sick to his stomach.

“I’m so sorry, love.”

He didn’t know what to do. He couldn’t turn back time, make his child come to life again, or erase what Zipporah had gone through without him.

No wonder she’d been so angry.

“Peter?” It was Zipporah.

He dragged himself to his feet, wiping his sleeve across his eyes. “You shouldn’t be here.” He could hardly talk, had to clear his throat to do it.

“I brought John.”

He looked over his shoulder and saw John behind her. Peter noted the way his gaze shifted to the marker, and then back again.

“He might as well know,” Zipporah said softly.

“Your niece,” Peter told him, turning to face them both.

John looked ready to say something, then changed his mind.

“She was born dead,” Zipporah said. “It happened after you and Peter left.”

“I am sorry,” John said.

“I didn’t know how to tell you.” Zipporah took a step closer to Peter. “After keeping her a secret for so long.”

“This was my doing,” Peter said.

She took a deep breath. “It is in the past now.”

“Is that why you were so afraid to tell me? Because it is in the past? You could not even trust me enough to tell me that I had a child.”

“Give her a chance, Peter,” John said.

“It is not her. It is me. I need some time.” He ran his hands through his hair. “There isn’t any at the moment. We have other matters to attend to.”

“Peter,” John said. “You need to take the time. Let me deal with things. Stay with your wife.” John turned to leave them alone, but Peter stopped him.

“Nay, I will not let you deal with it. Can you for one moment not be my older brother?”

John blinked. “But I am your older brother.”

“Just . . .” Peter turned away. He couldn’t face either of them.