Enduringly Yours (12 page)

She would have thought it to be fairly obvious. But she wasn’t about to point that out to Gilburn.

“What we do is none of your business,” Peter said. She watched the muscles in Peter’s back bunch against the fabric of his tunic, like a coiled snake ready to strike.

“It never occurred to you to resist your
business
?”

“Why would I do that?” Peter smiled.

By the saints, but that mouth of his was going to get him killed. Zipporah couldn’t take anymore. “It was my fault,” she said.

Gilburn straightened. It took him a moment to recover, and then his face settled into dark acceptance. “That is noble of you, my lady, but these matters are always the responsibility of the knight.”

“It looks like your charms are not working on her,” Peter told Gilburn. “Not this time. Not on this woman.”

Gilburn took a step closer, his hand coming over the hilt of his sword. Peter pushed Zipporah back a step.

“Enough!” Lady Havendell yelled.

Zipporah peeked over Peter’s shoulder and saw John standing next to her mother, his eyes narrowed, his hand over his sword hilt.

“Back down, Sir Gilburn.” Lady Havendell lifted her chin. “Do not forget who my husband is. This is
my
home.”

Gilburn hesitated, then lowered his hands to his sides.

“That is better.” Her mother positioned herself between Gilburn and Peter. John remained behind, scowling at Gilburn as if daring him to try his patience. “I have come to the conclusion that all the chaos here is too much for my daughter. I am sending her to Ravenmore under the care of Lord John.”

What?
Zipporah stepped out from behind Peter. He pulled her back. “Mother, you cannot do this to me. What about Father?”

“You will be able to visit him.” Lady Havendell turned to Gilburn, her neck arched back. “And as for you, young knight, your status as her suitor remains in effect only because it was my husband’s wish, but if you continue to question my daughter’s behavior it will be rescinded, and that is a promise. Now, do you care to challenge me?”

He opened his mouth as if to argue, then snapped it closed again. As long as her father still lived, Gilburn was just a knight. With John glaring down on him, and Peter ready to put an end to the tension at any time, he had no choice.

“Good,” her mother said. “You may leave us. There will be no duel today.”

Gilburn ducked his head in a bow, then turned on his heel and walked away.

“Mother.” Zipporah took a cautious step. When Peter didn’t fling her back, she continued. “Do you know what you have done?”

“Tie your laces, sweetling.”

She looked down, then, humiliated, turned her back on John and tied them off.

“And aye, I do.” Lady Havendell turned to John. “Have Sir Mark brought forth. Tell him to choose two of my most trustworthy knights. The three of them will take turns guarding me at all times from this point forward.”

He nodded and backed away.

“Mother!”

She gave Zipporah’s arm a squeeze. “I will be fine. Sir Gilburn needed to know that I still hold sway here. I have been remiss in that.”

“But . . .”

“Go home with John and Peter. I will send two maids with you. They shall act as chaperones,” she eyed Peter with a wry smile, “and John will be responsible for you as well.”

“Did John have any choice in this?”

“We were discussing such a possibility when Gilburn walked in on the two of you.”

She could hardly believe her ears. John and her mother had been talking about whether or not she and Peter might be caught in a compromising position? “I have never fainted in my life Mother, but I might begin today.”

“Sir Peter,” Lady Havendell faced him. He straightened, hands clasped behind his back. He looked pained. “I am counting on you now. Don’t you dare let me down.”

He nodded stiffly.

“Play along with Gilburn’s idiocy, please,” Lady Havendell continued. “So that Zipporah and I can have this time with my husband. Once he . . . I will abdicate completely to Gilburn, and leave my home for good. Come daughter, and let us pack your things before Gilburn recovers from his humiliation.”

Zipporah   took   one   last  glance at Peter. He wasn’t looking at her. His gaze seemed focused on thin air.

She turned and followed her mother out of the garden.

Chapter Thirteen

John waited with Peter in the bailey while Zipporah’s mother had her things packed into a wagon.

“You agreed to this?” Peter said.

John shrugged. “She will be safer.”

“She will kill the both of us.”

“She will buck for a bit, then realize it is for the best, and settle against the bit.”

Peter eyed him. “She is not a horse.”

“Same concept.”

“You know nothing about women, do you?”

John ignored him. “You could not go on like this any longer. Think of it, now there will be no more riding out at dawn and coming home for no reason other than to check on me.”

“I am not checking on you.”

John lifted his brows. “Aye, you are. I know, because I would do the same.” He continued before Peter could say anything. “No more worrying about her, every moment, of every day.”

“That is because she will slay me herself.” Peter made the motion of a hangman’s noose around his neck.

John waved a hand in dismissal. “She will get over it.”

Zipporah appeared at the top step, along with her mother, two maids, and the towheaded Sir Mark standing watch behind them.

Peter ascended the steps, taking a bag out of her hands.

“I am sorry,” she said.

She was apologizing to him? “You have nothing to be sorry for.” He hooked her leather sack over his shoulder.

“Do I not?” She brushed past him. It took him a baffled moment before he was ready to turn around and follow her.

His previous assumption had been wrong. She didn’t blame him. She blamed herself. That was not any better. She was suffering under enough pressure as it was.

Menservants loaded a large, wrought iron, four-poster bed onto the wagon. “That was my grandmother’s,” she said. “My mother wanted me to have it when I married.”

Ah . . .

John laughed, and Zipporah shot fiery darts at him with her eyes.

Once the wagon was filled with what appeared to be Zipporah’s every worldly possession, Lady Havendell came forward and kissed her cheeks. “I shall see you soon.”

“I am not ready for this,” Peter heard her say. “Do not force me.”

“No one is forcing, sweetling. Now go on.”

Zipporah gathered up her gelding’s reins. Peter gave her stiff body a boost into the saddle. He knew it was going to be a long ride home.

As they neared the gates he wasn’t surprised to see Sir Gilburn and a number of his men before the closed metal portcullis. Some held crossbows. Others stood with hands over sword hilts. All were dressed in black leather like their master. Peter and John were outmanned, twelve against two.

“He will not let me go without a fight,” Zipporah said.

“Stay behind me.” Peter motioned.

“Just leave me here. Do not fight him.”

“Zipporah.” He lowered his voice. “Do not argue with me. Do as I say.”

John reined in next to Peter. The maids in the wagon were whispering. A lad of about five and ten held the reins, blanching, but keeping a steady seat nonetheless.

“Let me talk to him,” John said. “It will be best if I handle it.”

John might be able to reason with Gilburn—assuming that was even possible. Peter nodded, and John met Gilburn at the gate. Peter reached down and pulled his bow free, just in case.

“Disobeying a direct order?” John said. “This is not like you.” He glanced at Zipporah, then back to Gilburn. “Betrothal papers were not drawn up between the two of you. Her mother can change her mind at any time. I think it would be in your best interest to humor your lady.” He spoke more quietly for a moment, and Peter missed most of what he’d said. “. . . stand for being forced, unless that is the way you like your women.”

John turned and winked at Zipporah from over his shoulder. She scowled in return.

Gilburn scowled at all three of them. “This courting is naught but foolishness. Look at the position it has gotten her into already?”

“I will watch over the lady,” John said. “And I will watch my brother as well. She is as a sister to me. I give you my word that I will keep her reputation intact.”

Sir Gilburn eyed Peter. “Too late for that.”

“You really do not have any choice in the matter,” John said over him. “What if her father recovers and finds out that you disobeyed a direct order from his lady wife?”

“And if he finds out about Peter?”

“You are his First Knight. You are expected to honor Lady Havendell.”

Gilburn turned and waved to the men above. “Open the gate.”

The metal portcullis rattled upward. It came to rest with a clang and they passed under the archway. Gilburn stepped in front of Peter. “We will play this their way for now,” he said. “But she is mine, and I swear, you will pay for what you have taken.”

“I will be waiting,” Peter said.

No one pursued them as they passed onto the road.  

“I am sorry about your having to leave your mother like this,” Peter said.

“I cannot believe she had all of my things packed. And the bed!”

John twisted in the saddle, smiling. “Welcome to your new home, my lady.”

Peter gestured for John to leave them be for a moment. Shrugging, he reined his horse alongside the wagon.

“We should have been more careful,” she said.

“What’s done is done.”

“It was my fault.”

“Stop.”

“You would have sensed Gilburn’s presence if you were stronger.”

He eyed her.

“Nay. That is not what I meant. If we were . . .” She winced and lowered her voice, presumably so John wouldn’t overhear. “It happened before you left on Crusade. Remember when you were knocked unconscious training? You were sick for days, concussed. You were injured because you needed to be with me. That was the reason why I let you back into my bed in the first place. And it is exactly what I was talking about earlier.”

“Zipporah stop. I have not died yet. I am not about to start now.”

“This is no jest.”

“I was not jesting.”

“If we were together . . . at night, then you would . . . I have had enough of this.” She reined her horse to a stop and slipped from the saddle, walking into the forest.

Peter followed. “What are you doing?”

“Running away.”

He followed her as she crunched through undergrowth. Her hem snagged and she yanked it free. She brushed a branch out of the way. When she let go, it slapped Peter in the face.

“Will you stop.” Peter caught her sleeve and turned her around to face him.

There was a scratch on her cheek, blood surfacing in a line of droplets. He wiped them clean with his sleeve. “You cannot run away.”

“Aye, I know.” She rolled her eyes. It made him smile.

“And even if you did,” he told her, ducking closer, “I would go with you.”

“I am going to lose my mind once and for all, aren’t I?”

“You are not. I know for a fact, because I have lost mine many times, and it always comes back to me.”

“You’re jests are still not helping.”

“I have to try.”

“You need more from me than I can give, and it weakens you.” Her blue eyes searched, as if trying to read inside his skull.

“I am really not that complicated, love. I already told you how I felt.”

“You want me.”

“Obviously. But that has been going on for years.”

“You would have heard Gilburn approaching if it had not been for me. Or the lack of me.” She frowned as if trying to organize her thoughts. “You are sharpest when you are with me. Aye?”

“I survived Crusade, did I not?”

“But I was not there,” she hesitated, “teasing you with my . . .” Zipporah stopped, then waved her hands. “With whatever teases you.”

Aye, he had tolerated their separation until he returned home. He wasn’t sure he should admit to the extent of his needs out loud or not.

“There is nothing in particular that you do,” he said.

“There must be.”

“All you have to do is breathe.”

“Oh.”

“I want you, aye, but I can wait. It isn’t as if I have not waited before.” Peter brushed a fresh line of blood from her cheek. “We should clean this scratch when we get home.” He leaned in and kissed the mole on her temple. She smelled good, as always, like juniper, and some nameless scent that was all her own. She wrapped her fingers around his tunic front, lifting worried eyes to his.

It would have been wise to back away, or to tuck her head under his chin where he didn’t have free and easy access to her mouth.

But he didn’t.

He kissed her instead. And it rivaled the way he’d kissed her in the alcove after the Mêlée. Gluttonous and possessive. Lacking the restraint he’d built like a fortress around himself. He bit her lips and she gulped air like it had been sucked forcibly from her lungs.

He’d promised himself just that morning in the church that he would never do this to her again. But she smelled and looked and tasted too good.

“You might want to stop me now,” he said, running his hands down the curve between her waist and her rounded hips.

“Nay. You need this.” She kissed his neck.

Peter caught up her kyrtle, working it between his fingers. They were doing it again. History was going to repeat itself.

“I cannot stop now,” she said. He felt her fingers on his belt buckle. “Too late.”

She freed it, then struggled with the weight of his sword. He drew the weapon and stuck it in the ground where he could reach it should he need to, then tossed the belt and scabbard aside.

Zipporah watched him for a moment, her breath short, forcing the laces at the front of her kyrtle into soft flesh. Her face was flushed and her pupils dilated.

“I am going to save your life, Sir Knight,” she said, coming forward. “You would do the same for me.”

Fingers fumbling, she undressed him. Somewhere, in the back of his fogged-over-consciousness, Peter thought he really should stop
her
. She must have been terrified, or she wouldn’t give herself to him like this.

Peter watched his own fingers loosening the laces on her kyrtle. Disjointedly, he lifted it over her head and dropped it aside. He reached for her shift but she stopped him.

Finally.

At that point, he was sure he would go mad. “Zipporah,” he pleaded.

“We’re in the forest.” She pressed one palm over his heart. “And your brother is not far away. I want to keep my shift on.”

It had slipped off one creamy shoulder already. Peter kissed it. “So soft,” he murmured.

“Answer me, please.”

He wasn’t sure why it was so important. His brother would never disturb them like that, despite what he’d told Gilburn about watching out for her reputation.

“Aye. I will leave it on you.” Peter lifted her into his arms, laying her down in the moss and ferns, stretching out naked alongside her. He brushed her braids off her shoulder, then loosened the tie at her breastbone, and dipped the collar of her shift further down.

“Leave the rest of me covered.”

“I promise.” He shifted over her, shielding her upper body with his.

Zipporah traced her fingers over his jaw, his eyelids, his mouth. “Promise me one more thing.”

He kissed her fingers. “Anything.”

“Do not ask me why I cannot remove my shift.”

She had already told him it was because they were outside. Perhaps rational thought had escaped her.

It had certainly escaped him.

So he agreed.

* * *

Peter had hoped to begin their new lives together with vows said before a priest, not a hasty coupling in the woods.

Zipporah pulled her kyrtle over her shoulders, arranging folds of fabric around her hips. She was avoiding eye contact, and that bothered him. Peter moved toward her as if she were a skittish hare. When she didn’t move away, he took up the laces on her kyrtle and tightened them for her.

“You did not have to do this,” he said.

“Aye I did. I will not have you getting yourself killed.”

“Nice to know you do not want me dead.” He knotted the ties on her gown, then lifted her face to his. Her scratch was scabbing over. “You’re beautiful.”

“You seem to think so.”

“Aye.” He kissed her, slow and soft. He wanted her to know how much she meant to him in ways that words could not account for.

She pushed away, regret crossing her face.

This was exactly what he’d been afraid of. A woman who felt the need to petition Mary Magdalene for forgiveness should not be bedding her knight in the forest.