Enduringly Yours (3 page)

Zipporah crossed the room. There was so little she could do for her father. She hated it. Sitting in the chair next to his bed, she smoothed his lank gray hair off his face. He didn’t move. She thought of the times he had lifted her onto his shoulders and galloped her around, pretending to be a horse. Now he couldn’t even lift himself out of bed.

Remembering Peter’s letter, she sat back and took her coin pouch off her belt, then loosened the drawstring and pulled it out. She held the parchment in her hands, still folded, afraid to read it. The last thing she wanted was to be reminded of Peter’s betrayal.

Footsteps sounded outside the door, and she sat up, her fingers crinkling the parchment. A shadow passed in the gap under the door. Whoever it was, continued on their way. She blew out a breath. Then she went to the door and slid the bolt into position, locking it.

Zipporah took her seat again. Her fingers traced Peter’s seal while she gathered her courage. A promise was a promise, whether she trusted him or not. What they’d had together, as imprudent as it might have been, deserved that much. Finally, she slipped her nail under the wax then spread the parchment over her lap, recognizing his handwriting immediately.

The top was dated two years and four months ago. She remembered the day it had arrived. It had taken months to find its way to her door. That part didn’t surprise her. It had come a long way, after all. What caught her off guard was the exact date it had been composed.

Her eyes filled with tears.

She had to stop.

Do not think about it. Do not.

She took a deep breath, turning back to Peter’s elegant script. He sounded homesick. He alluded to their time together, making it sound as if the memory of her was all that stood between him and madness.

She set the letter aside and stood, pacing before the fire and recalling what he had told her about Crusade. She looked at her unconscious father.

Zipporah did not understand why her father would want her to marry Gilburn. Obviously he saw something in the man that she did not. But it didn’t matter. Her father was her childhood hero, and nothing could change that.

“I need you,” she whispered. “You cannot leave me yet. There are so many things I need to talk to you about.”

So many things she had hidden from him. Her dishonesty was eating a hole through her skin. She wanted to come clean, but feared it might be too late.

His pale, lined face revealed no sign that he had heard her. She sat, and with slow fingers picked up Peter’s letter. The rest was cryptic, probably in case anyone got their hands on it. She understood his meaning though. Peter was trying to apologize for having left her so abruptly. She read the last line several times.

Would that we had joined forces, my brother standing guard.

Oh . . .

In the beginning, Peter had made her a promise of fidelity, swearing he would never touch another woman, but he’d never asked her to marry him. Peter’s older brother, being his liege lord, could have said the rights for them. They would have done so without her father’s permission, leaving Peter with an untoward reputation. But with John’s word as witness, it would have been too late to turn back.

What if they had done just that?

Would it have changed anything? Other than giving people something to gossip about?

Edward would still be dead, her father dying, and the land would go to Gilburn anyway. Would it have made any difference for Katrina, her sweet babe born blue and lifeless on the same day Peter had penned the letter she now held?

Zipporah lowered her face into her hands, and wept. Her throat was raw by the time she lifted her head and wiped her eyes. She strained to see Peter’s handwriting through her blurred vision.

Maybe she should have accepted Peter’s letter when it had first arrived, but her grief had overwhelmed her. She had not wanted that child when she’d first realized she was carrying. But over time things changed. She couldn’t describe what had happened, but she felt the baby move, and she started talking to her, and had even come to look forward to her arrival.

And then Katrina died.

Zipporah stared at Peter’s signature at the bottom, just below the words,
Enduringly Yours
.

She stood and crossed to the hearth. Peter was right. It was safest she burn it. Reaching toward the fire, the missive dangling from her hand, she watched the corner catch and smolder. As it flared up, she jerked the sheet back, dropped it on the stone floor, and pressed the sole of her leather shoe over it.

She couldn’t burn the letter.

She had already lost too much. Zipporah bent and picked it up. His signature was gone, along with the words,
Enduringly Yours
. She wiped her eyes, then carefully folded what was left, and tucked it back into her pouch.                                

* * *

Peter unbuckled his sword belt and set it aside. Then he pulled off his surcoat and tossed that aside. With a sigh he collapsed into a high-backed chair before the fire at Ravenmore.

“Messy, messy,” came John’s voice.

Peter watched his brother cross the great hall. John picked up the coat and laid it over an empty chair. Then he sat next to Peter.

“I don’t know if you noticed, but it is late,” John said, running his hands through his blond hair. “You have missed the entire day. You missed a rather important meeting with Lord Burkhar. And you missed your supper.”

Peter patted his stomach. “That would explain the growling sound. Sorry about the meeting. It must have slipped my mind.”

John softened his tone. “Where have you been? Or dare I ask?”

“Zipporah was out alone today. I had to guard her.”

“Until the middle of the night?”

“I stayed until I saw the light go out from behind her shutters.”

Peter recognized the look in John’s eyes. He was ready to give some brotherly advice, whether Peter asked for it or not. “I think it would be best if you called Sir Gilburn out,” he said. “Duel him for her, and be done with it once and for all.”

John only knew two colors—if they could be considered colors at all—black, and white.

“You forget one detail,” Peter said.

“What?”

“The lady.”

John shrugged. “She’s a good lass. She will see the value in a duel.”

“And how is your search for a bride coming, my lord brother?”

“I am not searching.” John stretched his booted feet out before him and crossed his ankles. “I am nowhere near ready.” He laced his fingers over his stomach.

“You’ll need an heir.”

“There is more to life.”

Peter eyed him.

“I know I’ll need one. We have only been home for a fortnight. Do not press me.”

Peter wiped the grin from his face. He loved to annoy his older brother. Nothing cheered him more. Accept, maybe, annoying Zipporah.

“Do you really need me around here?” Peter asked.

John’s green eyes swiveled in his direction. “Aye I need you,” he stated. “How could you even ask?”

“I meant just for now.”

“I . . . suppose I can survive. Why?”

“I plan on riding out to Havendell every morning to keep an eye on things.”

“You do that anyway.”

“I might be gone all day.”

“Might?”

“I will probably, most likely, be gone all day.”

His brother’s stare had its own personality.  “You are shackled,” John said.

“Shackled?”

“With a ball and chain around your ankle.” John sighed. “Fine. Aye, do what you must, but I still say you should duel Gilburn and take the woman.” He scratched at the stubble coating his jaw. “Or just take the woman and be done with it.” He smiled.

“I wish it were that simple.”

“Have you spoken with her father yet?”

Peter leaned forward with his elbows on his knees. “I have not. He is too ill.”

“You must make a special request of Lady Havendell. Surely she would agree to letting you see him. You are a far better match for her daughter than Gilburn.” He said the man’s name as if it left a bad taste in his mouth. It made Peter smile.

“I tried, although I did not tell her of my intent. It is too soon for that.”

“Her husband is dying. Wait too long and Gilburn may, heaven forbid, sway even Zipporah.”

“She would never marry him. She knows better.”

“Not unless she was forced.” John lifted his brows.

“Which is why I am keeping an eye on her.”

“You cannot watch her all the time.”

“I know.” Peter shrugged. “I am just a knight, though. And Zipporah is Lord Havendell’s only living child.”

“Gilburn is only a knight as well.”

“With his lord wrapped around his finger, and Prince John to back him up.”

“I could die so that you can be Lord Ravenmore.”

Peter laughed. “Could you now?”

“I can see it.” John held his hands out before him. “I will go down like the heroes of old. Perhaps you can erect a statue of me in the bailey.”

“Nay, you would like that too much.”

John grinned, then his brow creased and his smile receded. “I hope Zipporah’s worth the energy you are expending. What side of her door do you guard her from these days, brother?”

Peter shook his head. “Now
that
is none of your business.”

Laughing, John stood. “Get something to eat, and promise me you will sleep tonight. You are keeping me awake with your pacing.”

Peter watched his brother ascend the stairs. John must have waited up just for him. He was undeniably Peter’s closest friend, even when they got on each other’s nerves.     

The two of them had left behind their widowed mother when they went on Crusade. After she died, several months back, John was given leave from service and sent home to take care of his estate. Peter was John’s First Knight, and as such, was sent home with him. Peter didn’t like letting his brother down at a time when he could use his help. But he had a responsibility to Zipporah as well.

Torn, and hating the feeling, Peter stood and wandered toward   the kitchens, hoping to at least find something to keep his stomach from growling all night.

Chapter Four

The following morning, Zipporah stared at her reflection in the polished looking glass on her dressing table while her mother ran a whalebone comb through her hair.

“I could feign an illness,” Zipporah said.

“That will only work for today. Sooner or later you will have to spend time with Sir Gilburn, or he will suspect that you are not interested in him.”

“Would that be so bad?”

Her mother gave her a warning glance.

“Aye, I know.”

Living in the same castle with him was not easy as it was, and it would be even worse if he knew the truth about her negative feelings toward him. Zipporah could only hope her father would regain his senses long enough to change his mind about leaving the land to Gilburn.

“We could pretend I have an infectious disease,” Zipporah said.

Her mother lifted graying brows.

“I did not actually give him permission to woo me. He took it.”

“He caught you off your guard.”

“Aye, and I know who addled my wits. He will dive me to madness.”

“Peter?”

“Both of them. Gilburn has always followed Father’s orders, and as far as he is concerned he has orders to make me accept his hand.”

“I am not sure that is quite the truth. It is hard to say what goes through Sir Gilburn’s head.”

“You should have seen him yesterday. He believes I am someone I am not. And if he should find out that I . . . I am not . . .”

“Bide your time. We will think of something.” Lady Havendell ran the comb through once more, then placed her hands on Zipporah’s shoulders. “Do you want to know what I think?” She ducked her head so Zipporah could see her face in the mirror.

“I am not sure. Do I want to?”

“Let Peter help you.”

“Nay.”

“I knew you would not want to hear what I had to say.”

“You have been spending too much time with him.”

“He misses his mother, and I miss my son.”

Zipporah turned to face her. “I understand.” She took her mother’s hand. “But he will work his way under your skin. He has a way of doing that.”

Lady Havendell smiled. “He is a better choice for you than Sir Gilburn. I for one am grateful for his watchful eyes on you.”

Zipporah narrowed her gaze.

Her mother took her by the shoulders, facing her forward again. She sectioned dark hair and started braiding it. When she finished, she closed a brass cylinder around the end.

“We better hurry, or we will be late for Mass.” Lady Havendell said. “When you leave the grounds with Gilburn, stay mounted. If he asks you to dismount, pretend you have lost control of your gelding and come straight home again.” She paused. “I will have one of my personal guards ride out with you.”

“Thank you.”

“I eluded my share of suitors in my day.”

Zipporah looked herself over, frowning at her burgundy kyrtle. It was soft to the touch and hugged her hips nicely. She shook her head. “Help me out of this.”

“But why?”

“I will wear my dull brown hemp kyrtle instead.”

“But there is a tear in the sleeve.”

Zipporah gritted her teeth. “It is a small tear. I do not wish to look attractive.”

“I do not think your choice of attire will make any difference to Gilburn, but if you wish it so, than I will help you.”

Zipporah loosened her laces then lifted her arms so her mother could pull the sleeveless garment over her head. “We should send a message to Ravenmore. I would feel better if Peter knew I was out with Gilburn.” She stopped herself. “Did I just say that out loud?”

“Aye.” Her mother smiled.

“I meant John. I meant to say John, not Peter.”

“Mmm . . .”

“I did.”

“As you say, daughter.”

Lady Havendell helped her into the brown kyrtle. The fabric was threadbare in places, but the flaxen shift she wore beneath was thick enough that it did not matter.

“Be careful what you say to Gilburn today,” Lady Havendell said. “He will take every word seriously. Anything you say could further encourage his attachment.”

“Be aloof then?”

“Very aloof.”

*  *  *

Zipporah leaned forward in the saddle to scratch her gelding’s neck. She was all too aware of Sir Gilburn on his tall stallion beside her.

“Do I make you nervous,” he said with a smile.

“Nay, of course not.” She really wished she’d sent that missive to Peter.

John.

She meant
John.

“You can admit to it, my lady,” Gilburn said. I understand. In time you will be more comfortable with me.”

She glanced over her shoulder at Sir Mark, her mother’s personal knight. He was a tall, lean man of five and twenty years, with a head full of golden hair. He was trustworthy, and directly employed by her mother, thereby free to refuse any order from Gilburn. Mark nodded to her.

“I have allowed many people, most actually, to be intimidated by me,” Gilburn said. “I have had little choice. A lowly son of a knight, with all family connections lost to him at a young age, rarely does. When your father took me in, he changed my life.”

Gilburn’s dark eyes were unexpectedly humble. She couldn’t help but to feel sorry for his circumstances.

“A knight with no family,” he said, “cannot rely on his name alone. To maintain order it is essential that men be intimidated by me.”

Somehow that did not sound right. “But you have my father’s reputation.”

“So far my methods have served me well,” he continued as if he hadn’t heard her. “I admit this is the one time that it does not. I value your opinion. I
want
your opinion.”

She knew he valued her opinion only if it mirrored his opinion of himself. “And in public?” she asked.

He smiled. “No man wants to be contradicted in public, especially by his lady.”

Fair enough, she supposed.

A turtledove cooed from the woods. Zipporah looked up and saw movement along the roadside.

Peter. It had to be.

She scanned the forest and saw him leaning now against an oak tree, arms crossed over his chest as if he had not a care in the world. He was wearing a dark green tunic that blended with the forest. Peter motioned with a nod of his head into the woods. She waved him away and he disappeared.

Zipporah glanced at Gilburn, but he was looking forward, an expression of contentment on his face. Until Peter rode out on his stallion, halting in the middle of the road.

Sir Gilburn’s outtake of breath could have felled a tree. “What does he think he is doing?”

Zipporah shrugged innocently.

“I will take care of this.” Gilburn nudged his stallion forward to face Peter.

“Sir Gilburn.” Peter rested his forearm casually on the saddle pommel. “So good to see you this morning.”

“Do you not have anything better to do than harass my lady?”

“Harass?”

Zipporah walked her horse up to them.

“I am sorry about this, my lady,” Gilburn said. “I will be rid of him posthaste.” He lowered his voice. “I know he reminds you of Edward, and that it upsets you. Just give me the word. I will see that he never steps foot in Havendell again.”

Was that what Gilburn thought? “It is hard,” she said, playing along. Zipporah remembered her mother’s advice and chose her words carefully. “However, he brings my mother comfort in her grief, and I cannot take that from her.”

Peter lifted his brows, looking smug and mischievous at the same time.

“If he distresses you in any way, my lady,” Gilburn said. “Let me know.”

“I will be fine, assuming he keeps his distance.” She cast a volley at Peter with her eyes. He grinned back.

“You may continue on with us, Sir Peter,” Gilburn said, his words clipped. “But if you vex Lady Zipporah, know that I will have you removed from Havendell permanently, despite what her mother might think of you.” Gilburn was sitting stiff and irritated in the saddle. His stallion pinned back his ears in response to his master’s mood.

“I will ride back to Havendell with you,” Peter said. “I have business there.”

“We are not yet going back,” Zipporah countered.

“Then I will see you out.”

“The village idiot has arrived,” Gilburn said, raking his hand over his face. “We might as well go home.”

She turned her gelding after Gilburn, peeking over her shoulder at Peter. Sunlight filtering through branches showered him, like yesterday, but now he was covered completely in gold. Her mind was playing tricks or her, and in that moment, she saw the face of the child she would never know. Heard her laughter. Suckled her at her breast. Peter’s gaze questioned hers and she tore her eyes away.

He closed in on one side of her. Sir Gilburn on the other. Sir Mark was tailing them. At least she would not have to endure Gilburn’s full attention anymore. Once she arrived home, she would go to her bedchamber and bar the door behind her.

“How fares your father this morning?” Peter asked.

“The same as yesterday, and the day before. He wakes long enough to eat a little, and that is all. My mother and I have to feed him by hand.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You do not have to be polite to him,” Gilburn said.

Zipporah had almost forgotten about Gilburn already. She needed to be more careful. “It is for the best,” she said. “Sir Peter is an ally, is he not?”

“Only if one truly wishes to be aligned with the village idiot,” he muttered.

She could not continue to stand witness to this. The two of them would drive her daft before they reached the castle gates. “I should like to canter home,” she said, setting heel to her gelding before either of them could say another word.

Peter came up next to her soon after. He lifted his brows in question.

“What?”

“We could lose him,” he said.

“Whatever you are thinking, stop.”

“Pretend you have lost control of your horse, and then I will come and rescue you.”

Well, part of that plan sounded familiar, anyway. “I cannot.”

Gilburn rode up on her other side. She smiled as if she were having the time of her life. Then her gelding suddenly spooked, almost running into Gilburn’s stallion.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw Peter tuck something back into his saddle. Gilburn’s testy horse snapped at her gelding. Gilburn fought to control him, and Zipporah’s little horse, now terrified of both the stallions, bucked once, took the bit between his teeth, and galloped away.

She’d had her gelding for several years, and knew all he wanted was to feel safe. Zipporah was sure he would take her back home. Her task, besides staying on, was to do her best to guide him over any dangerous ruts in the road. Since the reins were virtually useless, and she was in a sidesaddle today, all she had left was her voice and the way she placed her weight over his back.

Gilburn called to her. Peter raced ahead, driving her gelding off the road and into the forest before Gilburn had the chance to attempt any kind of rescue.

Zipporah wasn’t sure what Peter was trying to prove with all of this. She glanced over her shoulder. Gilburn was still following. Peter was alongside her, his stallion calmly obeying his orders, while her gelding was wide-eyed and frightened.

“Jump over it,” Peter said. He motioned to a fallen tree crossing their path.

“It is not as if you have left me with any choice,” she said from between her teeth.

“Jump, then be ready.”

“Ready for what?” She leaned over her gelding’s neck as they leapt the fallen log, then skidded down into a ravine.

For a few seconds, Gilburn couldn’t see them.

Peter loomed closer, his leg brushing hers. She felt herself being pulled from the saddle. Her gelding sped off in the direction of home, and Peter reined them deeper into the forest.

“Let go of me.” She squirmed against his chest.

“Stop. Do you want me to drop you?”

“I could have been hurt a dozen times by now. You are just as irresponsible as ever.”

“I would not have let that happen. And you know very well how to ride a frightened horse.”

“Sir Gilburn does not seem to think so.”

“He doesn’t know you like I do.”

Her face warmed at the reality of that statement. Peter smelled natural, like the forest. It awakened memories in her.

“While the rest of us were busy being children, he was already too far gone to play,” Peter said.

“Perhaps he was too smart to get into so much mischief. Perhaps we played too much.”