Enduringly Yours (8 page)

* * *

Peter dragged himself up the stairwell. He was completely drained. His whole body ached, and he wanted nothing more than to fall into bed.

His brother’s chamber door opened as he passed, and John leaned his shoulder against the casing, arms folded over his chest. “I thought I heard you coming. I wondered if you would be back at all tonight.”

“She forced my hand.”

“So, you saw her then.”

“Briefly.” Peter recalled the perfect softness of her body in the dark, and her little breathless moans as he claimed her mouth. Clearing his throat, he went to his chamber door, opening it.

John followed him, handing over a candle.

“You might as well come give me your brotherly advice,” Peter said, lighting candles on the wall. “You are going to anyway.”

“Like I told your lady, I ask no questions,” John said. Then he smiled. “Usually.”

Peter unbuckled his sword belt and set the weapon aside.

“I have been thinking,” John continued.

Of course he had
, Peter thought.

“And I have one word for you.”

Peter untied the laces that attached his surcoat to his chainmail. He was anxious to be rid of the heavy hauberk he’d worn all day. He didn’t wear it as a general rule, not since he’d returned to England. “Help me off with this. My arm will be grateful.”

John worked the heavy mail armor off, laying it over the top of a trunk. “Will you not ask me what that word is?”

Peter pulled off his boots and tossed them aside. John picked them up and set them next to the trunk.

“What?” Peter asked finally.

John gaped as if Peter should already have known. “Siege.” When he didn’t leap for joy, John continued. “Take Havendell by force.”

Peter sank down on the end of his bed, elbows on knees. “And take them from her father?”

John shook his head. “He cannot hold them like this. He made a poor choice in Gilburn, fueled by grief and fear in the suddenness of his illness. Make it right again. We can rally the men and take the land. Write King Richard now, you served him well. Tell him it has become necessary to save the land and lady daughter from the ill intentions of a man incapable of doing anything save running it aground. He will believe you and give you the land.”

“I am flattered.”

John snorted. “I was there when King Richard dismissed you. He looked you right in the eye and said he owed you one favor, and that you could ask it of him at any time.”

Peter let his brother vent. It wasn’t the first time John had reminded him of the king’s offer.

“You saved his life,” John said. “And then just walked away with nothing more than a pat on the back.”

“I did not save his life for reward.”

“Call it a favor.”

“Besides, I already wrote him.”

“You . . .”

“When we first arrived home and I learned of her father’s illness.”

John sat down on the trunk across from Peter. “I did not know.”

“It will be months before I receive a reply. And even if he should agree, Zipporah will have my head for it.”

“For saving her from Gilburn’s bed?” He pretended to shiver.

“I have hurt her in the past. I need to think about her now.”

“I’d say you’ve thought quite a lot about her.”

“From my own point of view.”

“I am never falling in love.” John stretched his legs out in front of him and crossed his ankles. He scratched at the stubble on his jaw. Peter knew he was gathering his thoughts—he was in his Thinking Pose. “Given the way you just kissed her, in front of an audience no less, I think it might be best the two of you wed as soon as possible.”

John was one to talk, but Peter kept it to himself.

“Keep up at this, and sooner or later you will have to anyway.” He arched his brows knowingly. “I am amazed you did not have to marry her three years ago.”

Peter rubbed his face with his hands. “As am I.”

“So much for a decent night’s sleep for me then. When you hear from King Richard and are ready to act, let me know. Gilburn will be nothing but a bad memory.” John came to his feet. “By the way, I ran into him on my way out.”

“And?”

“I left him with a warning.”

“I’d hoped to leave you out of this for as long as possible.”

“I merely told him that if he had his men kill you, I would not stop until his head hung rotting from my front gate.” John grinned. “With maggots eating his eyeballs.”

“And what did he have to say?”

“Nothing. He blanched, and I walked away.” John cracked his knuckles. “The men are talking. After this afternoon’s events, they’re eager to see who wins the final battle for the lady, if not the land. There seems to be some question as to whether or not Gilburn can inherit without her. He only had a verbal agreement with her father after all.”

“There are witnesses. And he has Prince John’s approval.” Peter rubbed his sore shoulder.

“You should put some liniment on that.”

Peter narrowed his eyes at John. He shrugged.

“When her father finally succumbs to his illness, Gilburn may force her hand in order to secure the land for his own. When the time comes, you had better get her out quickly. If Gilburn can convince the priest,” John made a motion with his forefinger across his jugular, “to marry them without her consent, you will lose her.”

“I would get her back.”

“I was thinking of the meantime.”

“I would kill Gilburn if he so much as touched her.”

“Or before?”

“
Preferably
before.”

“I will help wherever I can.”

“I know you will.”

“Aye, and you can thank me for it later.”

“I will thank you now,
my lord
.” Peter ducked his head. John waved him off.

Chapter Nine

“Hand me the trowel,” her mother said.

Zipporah handed the hand tool to her mother, then sat back on her heels, her dirty hands resting in her lap, her yellow hemp gown protected by an apron.

“Are you gardening, or daydreaming?” Lady Havendell asked.

“Sorry, Mother.” Zipporah reached for a weed and pulled. Looking at it more closely, she realized she’d pulled up a sprig of lavender instead. She stared at it.

Lady Havendell took it from her and replanted it. “Did you ask Peter to stay away?”

“Not precisely, but I did ask him to give Gilburn a wide berth.” Zipporah stopped, glaring at her mother. “How did you know I saw Peter last night?”

“I didn’t.” Her mother pulled up a weed and tossed it into their pile. “But now I do.”

Zipporah groaned.

“When did you see him?”

“After you left for supper. I went to send John home, but Peter had already done so.” She stared past the rose bushes, into the fruit trees beyond. A damp breeze swayed growing apples and plums. “Looks like rain.”

“Peter will not melt in the rain. Did you two work things out?”

“What is there to work out?”

Her mother tugged at a weed. “I assume you are jesting.”

She sighed. “There is nothing that can be worked out. Not without Father.”

“There is plenty that can be done without him, and you know it.”

Zipporah rolled her eyes. She had heard the story of how her mother came to love her father many times, and had the feeling she was about to hear it again.

“I knew I was taking my chances when I left my parents for a young knight with large ambitions.”

“I know, Mother.”

“One day you will look back and wonder why you allowed your fears to guide you.” Lady Havendell smiled and tossed a weed into the pile. “The two of you need not make your own epic tragedy.”

“We do not.”

“Aye, you do.”

A throat cleared behind her. “My Lady Zipporah?” It was Gilburn.

“Speaking of tragedy,” Zipporah said under her breath. She stood and brushed her hands off on her apron, turning to face him.

“My lady,” Gilburn repeated. “Your father is awake. I was just with him. You may want to go now.”

“What?” Those were not the words she had expected to hear.

He softened his voice, touching her arm. “I was just there. I asked a maid to fetch him some bone broth. Go now.”

She untied her apron and tossed it aside. “Thank you.”

Why would Gilburn pay her such a favor after yesterday? It didn’t make sense. She came upon the maid outside her father’s door and took the tray from her.

“I will see to him myself,” Zipporah said. 

She pushed open the door, closing it with the toe of her leather shoe. She smiled when she found her father propped on pillows with his eyes open. Her smile dimmed when she realized they were fogged over. He didn’t acknowledge her.

She swallowed back her disappointment. “Did Sir Gilburn help you to sit up? I have some broth. I know you must be bored with it by now, but it’s good for you.”

She placed the tray on the nightstand then tucked a napkin under his chin. Dipping the wooden spoon, she tested the broth’s temperature with the tip of her tongue.

“It’s good.”

She brought the spoon to his lips. He took the nourishment, but didn’t look at her.

“’Tis me, Papa. Zipporah.”

His gaze was fixed straight ahead, unfocused. She dipped the spoon and continued the process, tears stinging her eyes.

He ate most of the soup and drank a little wine. The physician who came every few days said his heart was failing. Her uncle had suffered a similar condition a few years ago. It had made him weak, and his speech slurred, but at least he’d been able to acknowledge them.

There was a second goblet on the nightstand. Curious, she smelled it, detecting wine mixed with herbs.

She knew the physician was giving him herbs, but as far as she was aware, her mother was not administering any extras to him. She spilled it into the soup bowl. There was a layer of sludge stuck to the inside of the goblet. She dipped in her finger and sniffed. She couldn’t place the exact scent. Then again, she could only identify the common herbs.

Zipporah took the napkin that was under her father’s chin and scooped out the sludge. She folded the cloth and tucked it away in her pouch, planning to show the herbs to her mother later. Gooseflesh pilled her skin. Anxious, she poured the wine back into the goblet. She poured a little more from the fresh goblet, so that it looked precisely as it had when she’d found it, and then she put it back.  

Her father’s eyes were closed. She removed one of the pillows from behind him and arranged the second under his head. She kissed his face. “Rest well.”

Zipporah took the tray with her, leaving it with a maid, then went outside to find her mother. A dark shadow loomed near the garden wall, creeping out of the sweet briar roses growing in the cracks and crevices in the stone. She jumped.

Sir Gilburn appeared. “Did he eat?”

“Aye.” She forced herself to act normally. What had he been doing? Stalking? Like a wild animal?

“I would like to speak with you for a moment.”

There was still the little matter of a public kiss with Peter to resolve. She searched for a way to tip the scales in her favor. “I need to speak with you as well.”

He straightened. “You do?”

“Aye.”

He offered his arm and she took it, her fingers on the inside of his elbow. They walked down the path together.

“My mother is alarmed by the events of yesterday afternoon,” she said, hoping her mother wouldn’t mind if she put words in her mouth.

He let out a long breath. “Aye, I am aware. I spoke with her last night.”

Perfect.
“I spoke with her as well. She feels that I should not spend any time with you without a chaperone present.”

“She is wiser than we are. I agree.”

Well, that part was easy.

They stopped at a stone bench and he gestured for her to sit. Her mother was within sight, still on her knees in the lavender.

“We are no longer children,” he said. “More decorum has become necessary.”                 

It was needed years ago. “My mother thought I should make it abundantly clear to any of the young men in my company.”

“Speaking of . . .” He looked at her from under his brow. “I owe you an apology. I should not have walked off the field like I did. I was angry. I should have predicted Sir Peter’s childish actions and remained behind to protect you. Please forgive me for not being there.”

He was apologizing to her? She had no words. “You are forgiven,” she managed.

“Thank you.” He lifted his head, seeming relieved. “I also need to ask forgiveness for something else.”

She thought about the herbs wrapped up in the cloth inside her pouch. When he didn’t continue, she realized he was waiting for her to respond. “Aye?”

“When I heard that the reward was to be a kiss from you, I knew it to be naught but an industrious falsehood, but I did nothing to stop it. I caused this embarrassment in the first place.”

Actually, Peter had started it. But it was impossible to be mad at Peter after the way he had made her feel last night in the alcove.

“I wanted to win the competition,” Gilburn continued. His hands were between his knees, his shoulders bowed. Dark hair hid his face from view. “I was going to take that kiss for myself.”

“Sir Peter is ruthless,” she said. “I heard he became that way in the Holy Land.” Aye, she heard that much right from his mouth. Right before that mouth came over hers—

“I had expected him to fight much as he had three years ago,” Gilburn said. “He has changed. I allowed myself to make assumptions, but it will not happen again.” He tensed. “Believe me. I will make sure he never has another chance to shame you.”

Gilburn would be studying Peter now, preparing for their next encounter. She tried to hide her true feelings, but failed to react soon enough.

“I have upset you,” Gilburn said. “I swore I would not let you down and already I have.”

Zipporah shook her head, no longer hearing him. She needed to find Peter and warn him. “We all make mistakes,” she said. This was her fault. If she’d only had more control over herself. She never should have kissed Peter like that.

“Then you forgive me?”

“What? Of course.”

“I could ask for no more. I shall see you this evening?”

“Aye.”

He stood and walked away. Her mother was still yanking out weeds. She could do it all day. Dark clouds had gathered in the sky and a breeze rippled her mother’s wimple. Soon it would rain, and they would be forced inside.

Zipporah walked quickly down the path and under the fruit trees, wondering how best to go about her subterfuge without Gilburn finding out. Perhaps she could send Sir Mark to Ravenmore with a letter for John. He would make sure Peter got it, wherever he was.

“What has you so distressed, my lady?”

She looked up, smiling. It was Peter’s voice. She couldn’t see him though. “Where are you?” she whispered.

He slipped out from behind a gnarled apple tree, gesturing for her to follow. She checked both ways and saw no one on the garden path, then went after him. He caught her hand and led her deeper, until they stopped at the garden wall. They were sheltered by mazy branches.

“What did Gilburn say?” he asked.

“You were watching me?”

“Of course.” His smile disarmed her.

It took her a moment to find her voice. “He is studying you.”

“I had expected that. What else?”

He took the news with too much ease for her comfort. “Peter?”

“I can take care of myself. Now what else did he say?”

“He blames himself for yesterday. He believes you took advantage of the situation because he was not there to protect me from you.”

“That’s fine then.”

“He is quite sure now that you have a childish infatuation with me, and that you do not know how to, well, address it.”

“Oh, I know how to
undress
it.”

“That’s not what I . . .” She let it go, her face warming. “Never mind.”

His smile widened further. It reached his eyes. “Does
he
know how?”

She propped her shoulder against the wall, playing Peter’s game. “Not like you, I should think.”

He turned to face her, leaning against the wall in like manner. “And I know exactly how you like it too.”

“Peter.”

“I know. I will stop now.”

“You are the one who left me last night.” She winced. “We really shouldn’t do this.”

“Aye.” He brushed a stray lock of hair from her face. “But I do like to, with you.”

“Me too,” she whispered. Thunder sounded in the distance. “It’s going to rain. What will you do?”

“Don’t worry about me.”

“Sitting out here while I am inside?”

“I will be inside. There are ways. I will be here until I see the light go out from behind your shutters. Or from outside your door, as the case may be.”

She wanted to ask him to watch the light go out from
inside
her door.

Rain pelted leaves above them.

“I should go,” she forced past the lump in her throat. She couldn’t do this with Peter. The white marks on her stomach from Katrina should be enough of a deterrent. It might have worked in the darkness of the alcove, where they could not see each other, but it still would have been a risk. Sooner or later he would
see
her.  Nay, there was no sharing her body with him until she had confessed to him about their baby.

Not that she should be doing
that
with him anyway.

She really couldn’t do that with him.

One night would lead to two, and two would lead to three . . . months . . .

Fat, cold drops fell on her head and shoulders. Zipporah tucked her arms around herself.

“I will be near, if you should need me.” He hesitated, then leaned in and kissed her cheek. “Until tomorrow.” He walked away.

Zipporah stood shivering against the cold wall, warring with her thoughts.

“Peter?” she called, even though she couldn’t see him. She didn’t expect him to respond.

“You will make yourself sick, standing in the rain,” he said from next to her.

She jerked, startled. “How do you do that?”

He smiled and wrapped his arms around her, folding her into the warmth of his chest. The rain made him smell even better. Musky. Zipporah pressed her cheek against his neck, enjoying the way he fit against her.