Enduringly Yours (7 page)

He took her by one draping sleeve. “You do not have to.”

Her eyes were very blue in the open sunlight. “You have your pride, and I have mine.” She sounded out of breath. “You did well. Your skill has improved.”

“Kiss her already!” Sir Mark yelled.

Peter ducked his head. “I really thought it would be John here right now, not me.” He shifted closer, her scent of juniper and warmth and woman surrounding him. The heat radiating off her skin clouded his judgment. He couldn’t take his eyes off her mouth as her lips parted. The other knights, the people in the stands, faded from his senses. Peter tipped her face into his. She was trembling, and her pulse was beating against the soft skin of her neck.

Zipporah kissed him first.

Peter meant to back away but he couldn’t. Her hands came to his face, holding him to her. He pulled her flush into him, his hunger defying self-control.

Someone stop me . . .

There are people watching, you idiot! Let go of her.

Zipporah came to her senses before he did. She pulled back. Men were shouting and whistling at them.

“I am so sorry,” she said. Her eyes searched his for . . . something.

“Don’t apologize. Not for this.”

“I have to go.” She took her skirts in hand and ran off. He didn’t know where Gilburn was and feared for her safety. Peter didn’t dare follow her himself. They had already revealed too much with their kiss, to follow her would put the final nail in their communal coffin. He looked for John. His brother nodded and jogged off after her.

Chapter Eight

Zipporah sank to her knees in the garden, the scent of freshly broken mint and parsley surrounding her. She covered her face with her hands like a child who hoped no one could see her.

“I won’t ask any questions,” she heard John say from behind her. “But if you need a shoulder, or a guard to protect you from Gilburn, then I am here.”

She lowered her hands and struggled to her feet. Her hem caught under her shoe and she had to shake herself free. Zipporah blinked away tears until John came into focus.

He set his jaw seriously and opened his arms to her.

Zipporah stepped into his chest. “But you do not like tears.” She tucked her fists under her chin and sniffed into his shoulder.

“For a sister, I shall endure.” Hard chainmail bit into her as he patted her back until she thought she might bruise from it. She waved him off and stepped away.

“Tell Peter I am sorry.” The edge of her embroidered handkerchief was sticking out of her sleeve and she tugged it free.

“For running off?”

“Nay, for . . . for . . .” Zipporah wiped her eyes. “Sir Gilburn will kill him.”

He snorted. “Not likely.”

“Then he will kill me.”

“Peter will not let him. And neither will I.” He gave her shoulder an affectionate smack. Wincing, she waved him off.

Her mother came down the path. “Thank you, Lord John, but I shall take care of her now.”

“I cannot leave,” he said, resting his hand on the hilt of his sword, slung low on his hips. “I have to guard her.”

“I shall lock myself in my chamber,” Zipporah said. “And I will never come out again.”

“I do not know about the second part, but the first sounds just fine, for now.” Her mother turned to John. “You may see us within, if you believe you must.”

“He must, Mother. Look at the set of his jaw.”

John’s eyes narrowed.

She let her mother lead her inside, John tailing them. There was no sign of Gilburn. Perhaps he hadn’t seen her kiss Peter like a woman who was ripe for the taking. He would hear about it though, secondhand, and the rumors would no doubt outgrow the truth. They usually did.

“I will be out here,” John said when they reached her door.

Her mother smiled. Zipporah recognized her
diplomatic
face. “Do you really believe this is necessary?”

John crossed his arms over his chest.

“Very well then.” Lady Havendell ushered Zipporah inside and closed the door. “I should bring you some food.”

“I do not want to eat.” Zipporah sat down on the edge of her bed. She fingered her wolf-pelt covering. “Bring John some food. He must be starving by now.”

Lady Havendell looked suddenly careworn.

“I will be fine, Mother. Go on.”  

“I will not be long.”

Her mother left, and Zipporah cradled her face in her hands. Her righteous thoughts of self-control were proving useless. That did not change the circumstances. She could not run off and marry Peter just because she lacked restraint. That may be one reason to wed, but it wasn’t the best one. She hadn’t even told him about Katrina yet, and she had no idea how to approach him. If only she’d set her pride aside three years ago.

She dropped her hands to her lap, her face tingling from the mint juices she’d gotten on her fingers kneeling in the garden.

Zipporah stared blankly at the stone wall of her chamber, while the mint began to fade. Eventually, the door opened and John came in carrying a tray. Her mother was behind him with a flagon. Lady Havendell fixed John a trencher and he excused himself with it, going into the corridor.

“I advised him to go home when he is finished with his meal, but he refused,” her mother said. “You may have to persuade him yourself.”

“I will try.” Zipporah moved to the small round table in her chamber, eyeing her food as if she’d been served roasted snake. Peter and John had once eaten roasted snake. She wondered if Edward had too. Zipporah picked up her knife and forced herself to cut into her mutton. “I may lose this later.” 

“Just humor me and try to eat it anyway.”

“What of you?” Zipporah set her knife aside and picked up her goblet.

“I will make my presence known at the evening meal.” She smoothed out her wimple.

“Is that wise?”

“It is necessary. Sir Gilburn will be there.”

“Exactly.”

“I should speak with him about what happened today. He will hear about it secondhand from the men, and you know how that will proceed.”

Zipporah poked at her boiled cabbage with a finger. “Aye, I do.”

“If I can speak with Gilburn before they do, he might even believe me.”

“But what will you say?”

“He knows I would not allow you to be misused, so I will simply remind him that the men are prone to tall tales.”

Misused.
 

“I am sorry. That is a terrible word, and by no means reflects what was undeniably a beautiful display of affection between you and your knight.”

Zipporah waved her off. “Tell him what you feel is best. Just be careful.”

“I will. I will be fine.”

“Take Sir Mark with you.”

“Aye, and I will ask Mark to do his best to dispel the rumors as well.”

After her mother left, Zipporah ate as much as she could, then pushed her tray aside. She crossed her chamber and opened the door expecting to see John, but found only an empty mug and a few crumbs from the bread trencher. That was unexpected, for him to leave without saying a word.

A turtledove cooed from down the corridor.

A turtledove? In the corridor?

Excitement prickled Zipporah’s skin. She pressed her fingers to her lips and felt Peter’s kiss lingering there. If she was the mature woman she wanted to be, she would talk this over with him. Make it clear that there would be no more kissing.

But she wasn’t.

Zipporah checked the corridor and found it empty. With a clarifying breath, she shut the door behind her and moved in the direction she’d heard him.

“I am here,” Peter whispered from within an alcove.

A wool tapestry covered the stone opening built into the castle wall. He reached out, took her by the sleeve, and pulled her in with him.

“I sent John home,” he said.

Zipporah nodded. Not that he could see it in the dark. But her voice had disappeared and there wasn’t anything else she could do.

“Are you all right?” His words rumbled, making her want to reach out and press her hand against his chest to feel them.

“I am,” she breathed. “I think I am. I am sorry. Gilburn will hear about it and make things difficult for us all.”

“Let me worry about him.”

“Which I gather is what you’re doing right now in an alcove.”

“Of course not.” She heard Peter shift his weight. He was still wearing his chainmail. Metal scraped against the stone wall. She smelled steel mixed with the musty air of the alcove. “It wouldn’t do me any good to ask you to leave with me tonight.”

He was hard to resist. Part of her screamed,
yes, please, yes
!

“I cannot.” She nodded into the darkness, glad to see she was capable of being strong and mature.

“I thought as much. And do not be sorry. If you’re sorry for what I think you are.”

“I did not mean to kiss you thusly,” Zipporah said. “I had meant for it to be quite chaste.”

“Then we are even.”

“Then we are both still fools.”

“Maybe some things cannot be helped.”

Nay, maybe they could not. She twisted the end of her braid. “So, now what?”

“I think you need to leave with me. I don’t trust myself with you. John will marry us.”

She leaned back against cool stone, hoping to bring some relief to her flaming skin. It didn’t help.

“Forget what I said about my self-control. Zipporah . . . truth is, I would have you, should the opportunity present itself.”

Like right then and there in the alcove.

“There is more to marriage then what we began three years ago,” she said.

“Three and one half.”

She sighed. “I want more.” He didn’t answer. “It sounds like feminine weakness.”

“Nay. Do you believe that is all we are?”

“I’m not sure.” Her fingers closed around a gap between rough stones. “When you first returned to England, I swore I would have nothing to do with you ever again. My vow lasted all of a fortnight.”

“You are still angry with me for leaving you. I understand. I want to make it up to you.”

Her temples ached from the strain she was under. She was trapped between common sense, and an overwhelming need to let go of everything and simply be with Peter. She couldn’t take it anymore.

“Go home.” She swallowed convulsively. “Promise me you will go straight home. I have my mother’s knights to look out for me. You do not have to stay here.”

It took him a moment. “I will be back in the morning.” He sounded disappointed.

“You had better give Gilburn a wide berth.”

“I cannot promise you that.”

It was only a matter of time before Peter and Gilburn engaged in actual combat over her. She knew who would walk away victor. Peter. She considered letting him, because it would take care of her problems with Gilburn. Peter had served on the king’s personal guard and would surely deserve recompense. The king might see fit to give Havendell to Peter.

Wait, what was she thinking?

She couldn’t put Peter at risk like that. There was so much more to consider.

“Gilburn has many men loyal to him,” she said, in case he was thinking the same thing. “And you come here alone. If you push him, he could order his men to take you down. How many can you fight at once?”

“Do you really want to know?” He sounded serious.

“Keeping score?”

“You would have to ask John if you want an actual number.” His words were as dark as the alcove.

“Oh.”

“Aye.”

Her heart raced as she recalled the way he moved during the duel. It heightened all of her senses. She smelled the metal of his chainmail and the tinge of male skin. 

“I kill out of necessity,” he said.

“I know. I am impressed.”

She heard him move closer. She felt his heat.

“Nothing to be impressed about.” He was standing over her. “I have a few other qualities as well.”

“I do know.” She was practically shaking. She wanted to reach out for him.

Peter caught her hand in the dark. His fingers worked upward, over her shoulder and her neck, until he found her face, then he tilted her head back. She knew she should leave. Peter moved closer. His breath was on her skin, smelling faintly of wine. He moved his hand away and she realized he had both hands on the wall, one to either side of her shoulders, as if he didn’t trust himself enough to touch her.

He leaned in, his nose brushing her face. He followed the line of her cheek, then caught her mouth beneath his. Zipporah clenched her fingers into fists. He kissed her more deeply and she yielded. Chainmail grated when he pulled back suddenly. One, two, three heartbeats passed.

“Peter,” she rasped.

He kissed her again, harder, making her lips feel swollen and raw. She relished every sensation. He groaned, exploring her mouth with his. How had she lived without this?

“Stop me,” he said.

She dug her fingers into his hair.

“Zipporah, you need to leave me. Now.”

Pulling his face to hers, she kissed his hot, salty skin, dragged her teeth over his rough jaw.

“Please,” he begged, and she wasn’t sure if he was asking her to stop, or to continue.

Peter caught her around the waist, lifting her feet off the ground. She was pressed between the wall and his chainmail, uncomfortable, but too dazed to care.

“You need,” he said, his hands cupping her hips. “I need . . .”

“Aye, I know.”

His arms tightened around her momentarily, then he set her down and slipped out of the alcove.

Zipporah stood there, alone, wondering if he was coming back.

Hoping he would.

Hoping he wouldn’t.

Peter was nowhere to be found when she finally emerged. She felt her way to her chamber, then closed the door and barred it. How did he do that? Her every nerve was buzzing. She ran her fingertips over her face, her eyes drifting closed. Her heart danced against her ribcage and her head whirled.

She felt alive.

And heaven help her, but she loved it.