Enduringly Yours (4 page)

“Those are my happiest memories.”

She was sure they were . . .

“Stop wiggling.” He caught her around the waist, corded tendons in his arm shifting.

She cleared her throat. “You make me uncomfortable.”

“Well, if you would rather be with Gilburn.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

His arm was still wrapped around her waist, his hand cupping her opposite hip. She blew out a breath. “Stop that.”

“Relax.”

“Move your hand, Peter.” She pushed on his arm, twisting to glare at him. Her cheek grazed his chin. It was rough from the lack of a recent shave. “I think we’ve gone far enough,” she said, surprised by the breathless quality in her voice. Heat simmered in her stomach.

His eyes honed in on her mouth. She recognized the way his pupils dilated. His gaze slid from her mouth downward, over her throat, and lower still. She didn’t ask him to stop. She should have. She meant to.

But she didn’t.

She even wished she had worn her soft burgundy kyrtle, just for him. Maybe he would like to touch the fabric where it hugged her hips.

Peter cleared his throat. “A little further and you can get down.” His arm tightened around her.

Zipporah stared straight ahead and hoped he hadn’t noticed how ragged her breath had become. How did he do that to her? It really should be a crime.

“Gilburn will kill you when he sees you next,” she managed.

“I will take you home soon enough, and he shall thank me, begrudgingly, for rescuing you. And you, my love, will not say a word about this.”

“Do not call me that. And perhaps I
shall
tell him.”

“I am willing to take a chance on you.” His voice deepened, rumbling in his chest. “Are you that angry with me?” He propped his chin on her shoulder, the golden shadow on his jaw chafing her cheek again.

“I am always angry with you.” She shrugged her shoulder and he lifted his head. “You leave me no other alternative.”

“There are other alternatives.”

Aye, there were, but she could not pursue them.

“Why won’t you look at me?”

She closed her eyes. It would be so natural to lean back against his chest, to bask in the feel of him so close to her. So warm, so solid—clouding her judgment.

Oh, Lord, what was she doing?

She opened her eyes. “I have to get down now.”

He slowed his horse to a walk. “Is it that bad?”

“Please let me down.”

Peter halted his stallion and helped her off, her hip sliding along his leg.

A lady’s value was in her virtue. Kingdoms throughout history were won or lost upon it. Men died defending it. Men died for taking it. Zipporah wished someone had warned her. She’d had no idea what it would cost, to give herself to Sir Peter of Ravenmore.

Her heart felt like mush. Her sleep was filled with visions of a baby she would never know, and like it or not, her need for him appeared to be a fire that refused to be snuffed out.

He dismounted and led his horse on foot. His wide shoulders were bent and his head bowed. Like it or not, there was still a part of him inside of her, and she hated seeing him like that.

“I am sorry,” Zipporah said.

“Sorry I disgust you?”

“It could be worse.”

“Worse?” He halted, his gaze searching hers.

She opened her mouth, then closed it and shook her head. Her words had not come out right, and she wanted to kick herself. “We shouldn’t keep doing this. Being alone together.”

“I do possess some restraint.”

“That is not what I meant. Nothing I say is right. I might as well hang a sign around my neck saying,
Sorry, Peter
.”

He sighed. Then he turned and touched her face. Somehow he managed to smile, and Zipporah fell into it. She didn’t want to come back again.

Ever.

But she had to, or he would lead her astray, and she was very afraid that she would go right ahead and let him.

“I miss you,” he said, his fingers sliding away.

“I read your missive.”

“You did?”

“I said I would.”

He was quiet for a moment. “And?”

“You sounded homesick.”

“I still am.”

“But you are home.”

“Nay, I am not.”

Zipporah wasn’t ready to acknowledge that. She wasn’t even sure whether or not to believe him. She pushed a branch out of the way as they walked. They were near the lake now. The ground was soft.

“Gilburn is not beyond killing you,” she said.

“It is too late for that now.” He seemed to be gathering his thoughts. “If you had read my missive when I first sent it to you, would it have changed anything?”

“I do not know.” She’d been heartbroken about the baby, and angry he had not been there for her when she’d needed him so badly. Her mother had taken care of everything, swearing the midwife to secrecy, telling her father she had a contagion and needed to remain locked in her chamber for months. The only two people she saw during her entire convalescence were her mother and the midwife. Her baby had been her constant companion.

Zipporah pulled away from the painful memory.

“I do not think it would have,” she said.

“I see.”

They walked in silence for a time before he stopped her. She drew her arm free from his hand. He looked hurt by that, but what was she supposed to do? She couldn’t keep letting him touch her.

“Zipporah . . .” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I do not know how to explain this. But I am no saint.”

“That is true.”

He eyed her. “Do not expect me to allow another man near you and not . . .” 

“And not what?”

“And not get in the way.” Peter flexed the fingers on his left hand. The ones he’d once broken. “You were with me first. Do not expect me to share you with another man.”

“That was three years ago.”

“Three and a half.” He lowered his voice. “We shared a bed for half a year.”

She winced. Had it gone on for that long? What had she been thinking? She couldn’t take any more, held up her hand to stop him. “What if I married another man?”

Little chance of that happening, unless said man was indeed a saint, and willing to see past her indiscretions, but she had to ask.

“I would protest the marriage before it could occur.”

“You swore you would tell no one about us.”

“Then I would have to find some other way.”

She listened to Evrin, Peter’s stallion, chew on his bit. Leather creaked. From somewhere, a crow squawked.

The fierce, protective look on Peter’s face threatened to melt her resolve. She wanted to take the front of his tunic in her hands, pull him to her, and kiss him like there was no Gilburn, no sick father, no painful past drowning all the good things they’d once shared.

“Peter?” she said. “We were good together, weren’t we?” It seemed good. Very good.

“Aye, love, that we were.”

She forced herself to move away. “I need space.” Her kyrtle caught on briars as she shrugged through a thicket. It tore, but she didn’t care. At last, she stumbled onto a narrow, pebble-strewn beach.

She assumed Peter was behind her. He was quiet. It took her a long time to gather the bits and pieces of her awareness. Turning at last, she saw him there, waiting.

“I should take you home,” he said.

She had to clear her throat before she could speak. “Aye. Gilburn will be furious as it is.”

“I am going to enjoy the look on his face when I present you to your mother safe and sound.”

“Aye, you would like that.”

He laughed, but it was uneasily done. Zipporah knew it was too late to take back what she had said about them. They would both be acutely aware of their past now, both good and bad.

“He makes it so easy, can you blame me?” he said.

“Just be careful. Gilburn has friends in high places.”

“Aye. Prince John. Well, I have friends in high places too.”

“You had better, if you want to cross him.”

Chapter Five

Peter reached down, looping his arm around Zipporah and helping her onto his horse with him. She adjusted her weight over his lap, both feet dangling over one side. His skin warmed from the contact with her body. Zipporah cautiously leaned against his chest. His muscles bunched, feeling every warm, soft inch of her, and joyfully responding. 

“Do not get any ideas,” she said.

Too late.

He had forgotten nothing. He knew the way his hands fit over the curve of her hips, the texture of her skin, and the soft sounds of contentment she made when he touched her.

It was one thing in the desert, surrounded by hot sand and blood. He’d avoided the women who came regularly through camp, knowing he still belonged to her. Now that he had Zipporah so close, he wasn’t sure how he would survive without her. 

She was quiet, save the labored sound of her breathing. If he had his wish, he would turn his horse around and take her far away.

Zipporah cleared her throat. “Since Sir Gilburn believes we are at odds with each other, it would be best if we leave it that way.”  

“That should not be too hard.”

“Peter . . .” Her jaw worked.

“How do you feel about the power Gilburn now holds?” he asked to distract her.

“He would not have been my first choice, but my father believes him to be qualified.”

“And your father really wants to leave Havendell to his page?”

“Gilburn has not been a page for some time now,” she reminded him. “And he does. He latched onto Gilburn in Edward’s absence. Gilburn being, well, Gilburn, was more than eager to receive my father’s affection.”

“But how do
you
feel about him?” he repeated.

“He is endeavoring to woo a woman that does not exist. I want to believe my father’s trust in him was not misguided, but Gilburn says things that do not make sense.”

“Like what?”

“Well, for one, he feels that it is only a matter of time before I accept his offer of marriage.”

“Arrogant.”

“He values my innocence.” She lifted her brows. “If he only knew.”

“Aye, if he only knew that I ruined you.”

She blew out a huff of air. “Perhaps we should not talk to each other. We will only cause pain.”

“Nay. Talk. Please.” Talking was the only thing keeping his needs in check.

She continued, brows narrowed. “He tries to control me, and then tells me that it is for my own good.”

“He put you on a pedestal long ago. Why do you think he hates me?”

She readjusted herself on his lap. “You are so stiff. What is wrong with you?”

“You do not want to know.”

She wiggled again, then stopped abruptly. “Oh.” He could sense her revelation. “Would it do any good to ask you to control your thoughts?” she said.

“Nay. I think not. ’Tis more than my thoughts at work at this point. Keep talking.”

She nodded. He was surprised she hadn’t chastised him. Was it too much to hope that she understood? Peter wiped that thought from his head. To acknowledge any feelings she might have for him—aside from resentment—would only make things worse.

“Gilburn believes you pain me because you were close friends with Edward.”

“Good,” he said. Then he shook his head. “How am I supposed to keep an eye on you like that?”

“What?”

He lifted his brows. “I might have to keep a
close
eye on you.”

“Oh, nay. It would be much better if you did not.” 

“Might be difficult.” He resisted the urge to rest his chin on her shoulder. “Might be impossible.”

“Please. It will be so hard for me. Gilburn is difficult enough to avoid as it is. If he thinks he is competing with you he will be impossible.”

“I know.” He let her off the hook. “I still need to convince your father to change his mind about your marrying Gilburn.”

“Best of luck with that. I have tried and failed.”

“What has the physician said?”

“That it is his heart. He would not have wanted it this way. To die in a bed shames him.”

Peter smelled her juniper scented hair. “There must be a way.” 

“He is so far gone he does not know me and my mother anymore.”

“Does not know you, or is unable to respond to you?”

“You cannot carry on a conversation with him,” she clarified.  

Peter would have to find another way then. “I will not allow you to be subject to Gilburn for much longer.” He kissed her neck, then kissed it again. She tasted good.
What were they talking about? Oh, aye, Gilburn.
“I would prefer he not have your father’s land either.”

“Is there any choice in that?”

“There are always choices.”

“Aye. Life, or death.”

He rested his chin on her shoulder, smiling. “So glad to know you want me alive.”

“Keep hoping, Peter.”

“I will. And I will straighten out this mess with Gilburn. I will make sure you’re safe.”

“Safe, as in?”

“With me, Zipporah. Safe with me.”

“Safe,
and
with you? That would be a change.”

He raked his hand over his face. Somehow it found itself on her hip. He felt her tremble against him, heard her breath quicken. Her cheeks flushed with color. And unless he was very much mistaken, she wanted him just as badly as he wanted her.

Peter tugged on the reins, halting his stallion. He’d had about enough of this charade.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

He urged her face close. Her nose brushed his jaw. “This.”

Zipporah’s fingers tightened in his tunic and her outtake of breath bathed him, warm and moist. He ran his hand down the inside of her arm and laced his fingers through hers.

She collapsed against him, sobbing.

A lump formed in the back of his throat. “I shouldn’t have done that,” he said, clearing it. “I better get you home. I really better get you home.” He needed to slow down. Needed to get control over himself before he hurt her again.

Zipporah’s sobs quieted as they neared the castle. She tucked loose strands of hair behind her ears. “Do I look like I have been crying?”

He wiped her face with the hem of his sleeve. “Do you want to know the truth?”

“Probably not.”

“Gilburn will assume you are upset over your ordeal. He will not know that I am your ordeal.”

“You are not my ordeal.”

“Aye, I am.” He lifted her chin, then brushed his thumb across her wet lashes. “And just so you know, you
are
innocent.”

“In your eyes perhaps.” She pursed her lips.

It made him smile. “All that matters is what we think.”

“I wish that were true, but it is not.” She spoke again before he could respond. “We will be found out by him if we are not very careful.”

“I’m careful.” He reined his stallion through the open portcullis, aware of the villagers watching. A woman carrying a basket of yarn across the street paused to gape, her children stopping with her. A little lass, no more than seven, with long wind-tangled brown hair waved to Zipporah. She waved back, smiling as if riding double with him was nothing out of the ordinary.

By the time they reached the bailey, Lady Havendell was already there waiting for them, proving that gossip spread faster than a horse could walk.

Peter eased Zipporah down, her hip brushing his leg. She looked up at him with wide eyes as her feet touched stone. He wanted to tell her that he understood her misery, but all he could give her in the presence of her mother was a sympathetic look. 

“Are you all right?” her mother asked. “What happened?”

Zipporah’s gaze left Peter’s as she turned slowly away.

Lady Havendell took her daughter’s hands, looking her over. “Your gelding came home without you. Gilburn was back to see if you were here, then left again when he realized you were not.”

Peter slid off his horse, feeling weary all of a sudden, and much older than his four and twenty years. He handed his stallion off to a stable boy.

“My gelding spooked,” Zipporah told her mother. “It is a good thing Peter happened to be there.”

Lady Havendell glanced between Peter and Zipporah. He half expected her to question them. She smiled and turned away instead.

“You two have had quite an adventure,” she said over her shoulder. “Come inside. Peter, you too.”

He followed them up the steps and into the dim interior of the stone keep. Fires burned low in the hearths.

Lady Havendell gestured them to a table. “I will have food brought forth.”

“I am not hungry,” Zipporah said.

“Peter might be. I will bring you something, anyway.” Lady Havendell turned and left them.

Zipporah took her seat at the table, Peter sitting across from her. She scratched her nail over a divot in the wood.

“You covered for me with your mother,” he said.

“I always do. You do not have to stay, you know.”

“I think I should be here when Gilburn returns.”

“I do not need your protection.” There was a stubborn set to her brow.

From the opposite end of the great hall, an earthen mug dropped and shattered. She jerked.

“Aye, you do.”

She cleared her throat. “I have not eaten much since yesterday. It is taking its toll on my nerves.”

“Probably Gilburn souring your stomach.”

Zipporah fussed with a tear on her sleeve. She tried to break off the bit of thread dangling and unraveled the seam clear to her elbow.

“Oh,” she said, then dropped her hands to her lap.

Lady Havendell returned with a pair of maidservants and more food than either of them could eat.

“I should go check on your father,” she said, turning to leave again.

Peter stood. “I would like to see your husband, my lady. I know, I have asked before.”

The age lines around Lady Havendell’s eyes deepened. “I would let you, Peter. I really would, but he is not as he wants to be remembered.”

He lowered his voice. “I understand that, my lady, and mean him no disrespect, but I should like to see him anyway.”

“Perhaps. I do not know.” She shook her head at Zipporah, then turned and walked away.

“I told you,” Zipporah said. She stared at a meat pasty, but made no move to eat it. “You’re wasting your time. He wanted to be remembered as a whole man. And as fond as my mother is of you, she will not disrespect my father like that.”

Peter picked up his goblet. “I hadn’t set my hopes very high anyway.”

She frowned in silent commiseration.

“At least drink something,” he said. “You may have to force yourself.”

“We are pathetic.”

“No more than we usually are.” He took a sip, watching her over the rim.

“You are staring,” she whispered. “A brother does not stare.”

He kept right on staring, smiling at the mole above her eyebrow. “I warned you. This will be hard on me.”

“Maybe it will be good for you.”

“If it does not kill me first. At least I know I don’t disgust you.”

She blushed tellingly. “Who says you don’t.”

“You. Right now. I can see it in your complexion.”

She picked up her cup and drank her wine faster than she probably should have. She set it back on the table with a clatter.

“You do not look disgusted,” he said. “You look flushed, actually.”

She bit into her food, chewing mechanically.

“My lady!” boomed a voice.

Zipporah dropped her pasty, knocking her mostly empty goblet over in the process. Gilburn crossed the great hall with his usual black flurry.

“I was worried. I thought something had happened to you,” Gilburn said, reaching out. Zipporah stiffened, and he lowered his hand to his side with a thump.

Gilburn knew exactly how to play these sorts of games with women. He had plenty of practice at it too. Peter resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

“Sir Peter found me,” she said. “He brought me home.”

Gilburn ducked his head to Peter. “Thank you,” he forced through clenched teeth. “I am in your debt.”

Oh, the misery, to have to say such words to a man one loathed.
Peter stood, smiling. “Anything, for Edward’s sister.”

“You must join us this evening for supper, as a thank you.” A nerve on Gilburn’s jaw ticked.

“I am a very busy man, Gilburn.”

He straightened, looking relieved. His jaw unclenched. “Of course you are. I would be by no means offended if you did not.”