Enduringly Yours (13 page)

“What’s wrong?” he pushed through a tight throat.

“Nothing is wrong.”

“Zipporah?”

“Stop. I am fine. Just fine.” She flattened her hand over her stomach, her expression changing, almost like a woman who thought she could be . . . with child? Did she want that? She had never mentioned it before.

She turned her back to him, scanning the ground. “Have you seen my coin pouch?”

“I was not exactly paying attention. Was there much coin in it?”

“Nay. Your missive is in it.”

“Did you not burn it?”

“Nay, I started to, but I could not do it. It is in my pouch.”

Peter caught her sleeve, turning her to face him.

“I know, I wasn’t supposed to,” she said.

“It makes no difference now.”

“I must have left it in my chamber.” She pulled her sleeve free.

“Gilburn has no reason to go into your chamber. If anything, a maid will find it and give it to your mother.”

“Or find it and give it to him. What if he figures it out? What if he discovers that I am not pure?”

Was she jesting? There was no way he was doing this with her again.

“It’s too late for that,” Peter said, forcing himself to remain calm. “It does not matter what he knows. Not now.”

“Do not tell anyone about this. I only . . . we only . . . because I did not want you to be distracted. I thought that if you had access to my, well my body, then you would be able to think more clearly.”

Oh, he was thinking clearly all right. Whether Zipporah liked it or not.

“It is done. I am having John marry us. This may not be the way we wanted it, but there is no turning back.”

“It is not as if we can show proof, since you broke my maidenhead long ago.” She crossed her arms over her chest.

Peter felt like hauling her over his shoulder and dragging her home.

She pressed her hand over her stomach again. “Go find my pouch, please?”

“Now?”

“Nay. Next year. Aye, now, Peter!”

It was impossible to say what was going through her head, but he was sure she was acting out of fear. And fearful people act purely on instinct.

Peter took a breath, letting it out before continuing. “I am taking you home. To
my
home. I can look for it later.”

“I do not deal well with change. This is a lot of change.”

“I know. Just let me take you home. I have to.” The sooner he had her moved into his chamber, with John as witness, the better. They didn’t have tell anyone else yet, but he needed to do this.

“Do I look,” she whispered the last part, running her hands over her braids, “tumbled?”

Peter took his time perusing her. “Aye, you do.”

“I was afraid of that.”

“I like the way you look.”

She eyed him.

“John will keep quiet about it.”

“Maybe I do not want
him
to know.”

“He will anyway. Trust me.”

She groaned.

Peter reached for her, but she waved him off and walked away. His hand hung in mid-air for a moment before he lowered it to his side. As he followed her out of the forest and onto the road, everything about her body screamed at him. The curve of her hips, the way she brushed aside branches with slender arms. Even though he’d just had her, he wanted her more than ever.

Without a word, Zipporah took up her horse’s reins and mounted. The wagon was gone.

“I sent them on ahead,” John said. “Your mother’s maids were not happy, but I reminded them of who was in charge.” He glanced from between Peter and Zipporah. “By the way, I now pronounce you man and wife. I would ask you to kiss the bride, but I think it is a little too late for that.” He sighed and patted his stomach. “I am hungry. I’d like to go home now.” John nudged his stallion with his heels and cantered away.

“Wait,” Zipporah called, uselessly, since John was already gone. “He cannot do that.”

“Aye he can, and he did.”

“Not without my consent.”

Peter lowered his voice. “I do believe you already gave it, my lady.”

Chapter Fourteen

By the time they reached Ravenmore, menservants were already unloading Zipporah’s things from the wagon. Peter watched her walk past her mother’s maids and into the castle keep with her head held high, even though he knew she was breaking down inside.

“Take her things to Sir Peter’s chamber,” John was telling a servant as Peter entered the great hall behind Zipporah.

“You will do no such thing,” she said.

John lifted his brows in challenge. “I will not?”

Her gaze narrowed. She looked ready to give John a piece of her mind. Peter took her hand, pulling her aside. “Let me do this for you,” he whispered.

“No one knows save John, and you said that he would tell no one.”

“Some of the servants will know. That cannot be helped. John and I will swear them to secrecy. You do not need to worry about your mother, or Gilburn. Let me handle everything.”

“And what am
I
supposed to do?”

“Clean that cut on your cheek before it becomes infected.” Peter smiled. “And be with me. You wear down my defenses, remember? Do not part from me now.”

Peter wasn’t sure if reminding her why she had done this in first place would make things better, or worse, but he had to try something, and it was all he could think of.

“Take away access to my body,” she whispered.

“It is more than that, and you know it. Earlier, in the forest, you said you were saving me.”

She nodded.

“Then save me.”

She twisted one of her three braids, then pulled a leaf out of it. “I cannot marry you. Not yet.”

Why could she not just say it? Admit to him that neither of them could function without the other. She was pushing him over the edge. He could feel it, building inside. He wanted to lock her up in a tower and keep her there until she opened her stubborn heart to him.

Peter knew she was still angry about the way he had left her three years ago, and understood completely, but it was clear they belonged together, and he had the rest of their lives to make up for past mistakes. 

“You have to be patient,” she said. “You waited three years for me. Now you can wait a fortnight.” Her voice cracked. “Or however long it takes for my father to die.”

He scrubbed his face with his hands. There was two of her for a moment as his eyes adjusted. “You can still go back to see your father. This changes nothing in that regard.”

“Sir Peter?” A lad appeared at the doorway to the great hall, a rolled missive in his hand. “This came for you today. It looks important.”

Peter dragged his attention away from Zipporah and took the parchment. He noted the king’s wax seal. His pulse quickened.

“Peter?” John asked. “What is it?”

He forced himself into motion. “I will be back.” He brushed past John and Zipporah, then crossed the great hall to the stairs.

“Where should we put her things?” John called. Peter took the steps two at a time. “Need you ask?”

“I told you,” he heard John say to Zipporah. He ignored her subsequent protest, leaving her arguing with John.

Reaching his brother’s impeccably neat solar, Peter closed the door and sat behind the desk. He placed the scroll before him, wondering how he could have received a reply so soon.

With hands that felt numb with shock, Peter broke the seal and unrolled the parchment. The first sheet was a brief letter to him, signed by one of the king’s advisors acting in the king’s stead. That explained the speed of the response. He turned to the next sheet. And stopped short.

It was a betrothal agreement.

Lady Zipporah of Havendell was to marry Sir Peter of Ravenmore, by order of King Richard. No matter that the king didn’t know of it yet. His advisors had permission to make such decisions based on what they believed the king would do.

Peter’s head pounded as he flipped to the third sheet. It stated that the succession of Havendell was to pass through Zipporah. Upon the death of her father, Peter was to become lord.

There was a knock at the door and John stuck his head in. “I was worried about you.”

Under milder circumstances, Peter would have accused him of checking to make sure his little brother hadn’t ruffled any of the leather-bound manuscripts on the perfectly straight shelves, or tilted any goose feather quills in a northward direction when they should all be facing east.

Or something like that. Peter knew he was exaggerating. But John’s straight lines had been fodder for sibling rivalry for years.

“Come in.” Peter slid the sleeves of parchment toward John so he could look them over.

He read them in silence. Then he rolled the papers up. Pulling out the key to the coffer chest he kept behind his desk, John placed them inside, locking them safely away.

“Peter,” he said, straightening.

“Aye?”

“Go and claim you bride.” John smiled.

Peter came to his feet. “Should I tell her?”

“Why would you not?”

“She is not ready.”

“Little late for that.”

“She does not like change. This has been a big day for her.”

John clamped a hand on his shoulder. “This was meant to be. The land is yours. Congratulations.”

Peter wished he could share in the expression of pride in his brother’s eyes, but all he felt was numb shock. Like jumping into cold water. He was to be Lord Havendell, taking her father’s place after his demise. Was he prepared for that?

Peter’s mind was a whir of conflicting thoughts. “You are right. I should tell her. Give me the key to your coffer.”

John nodded, handing the large iron key over.

“This way she has some time to think about it before we take action.”

“It will come together. The king trusts you. Should you not trust yourself?”

Everyone seemed to have more faith in him than he did.

They made their way downstairs. Zipporah approached, looking wane. She blew loose strands of hair out of her face. “What is it? Why did you walk off?”

“I need you to come with me,” Peter said. “We have to talk.” He led her up the stairs and into the solar, closing the door behind them.

“What was in that missive?”

“You might want to sit for this.”

She did, on a chair in front of John’s desk. “Peter, you are scaring me.”

Peter knelt down and unlocked the chest. “It is nothing like that. But it is important.”

He pulled out the papers and handed them to her. She looked them over, taking so long that he thought he might explode if she did not respond. 

“Zipporah,” he said.

She looked up, her eyes very blue. “How . . . how . . .”

He caught the leaves of parchment as they slid off her lap, deciding he’d better start at the beginning. “On Crusade, King Richard watched John closely. Having left England as the standing champion at Mêlée, John was expected to perform well. He was asked to move to the king’s personal guard. As his First Knight, I go wherever John goes. We traveled and fought with the king, and I was a part of the night watch outside his tent.”

She nodded.

“I found myself in a position to save the king’s life.” He ran his hands through his hair. “There isn’t much to say. It was dark. We were invaded, and I did my job.”

“Obviously, you did your job well.”

He shrugged. “Right time, right place.”

She looked at him like she doubted that. “You are good Peter. You just don’t like to admit it.” She gestured to the papers. “How did this come about?”

“When King Richard gave us leave to return home, he told me that I had earned one favor from him. When I first arrived and found out about your father and the situation with Gilburn, I wrote to him, telling him that I could not vouch for Gilburn’s character.” Peter looked at the papers still in his hand. “I asked for you, and for the land.”

He rolled them up and put them back into the trunk. “It is a betrothal, not a death sentence,” he said. “This will spare your mother. She can remain in her own home now.”

“That’s not . . . I had no idea you were the sort of man who could freely ask a favor from the king.”

“Just one. And technically, it was granted by one of his advisors.”

“Which is just as good as his own word. I underestimated you.”

“That is not why I did it.”

She stood, her brow creased. She looked out of place, as if unsure how to process the sudden shift in their respective positions. All their lives she had been a lady, and he only the second son of a lord; the spare heir who was never needed because John had grown to manhood.

It had never bothered him before. He had accepted his lot in life. But now he was her superior.

“And now you are a lord,” she said, reading his thoughts.

“I am more interested in you.” Peter ducked his face close to hers. “Did I hurt you, earlier in the forest?”

“I do not want to talk about it.”

“Just say aye or nay.”

“You did not hurt me, Peter. You never have, not even our first time.” She wiped her eyes again. “There are things you do not know. Things you could never fully understand about me.”

Well, she was a woman.

“I suppose it is right that you should take Edward’s place.”

She was changing the subject. “I do not want to replace anyone.” Peter leaned back against the desk. “You are not with me because of this. And you are not with me because you let me into your bed three and a half years ago.”

“I know.” Her voice wavered, and he was beginning to doubt she would ever forgive him. “I do know,” she repeated. “But there is something I need to tell you, and I have no idea what you will think of me when I do.”

What could she ever tell him that would change his mind about her?

She was shaking.

“Zipporah?” He reached out, but she flattened her palm against his chest, halting him.

“I . . . We  . . .” She turned and ran from the room.

Peter followed her down the corridor. “Wait? Tell me what?” Fear edged up his spine. What had happened to her? “So help me if it has anything to do with Gilburn.”

She stopped, her back to him. “Nay. It has nothing to do with him.” She took a breath. “Where is your chamber?”

“I will show you.”

He led her to the room they would be temporarily sharing. Servants were removing his smaller bed and replacing it with her grandmother’s four-poster. Her complexion paled when she saw it.

“I better direct them as to where to put my things,” she said. “You can go now.”

Peter eyed the small chamber. “I think there will be little direction involved. There are only so many ways to pack too many things into too small a space.”

“It will give me something to do,” she said. “I need a little time. I need to think.”

He didn’t like it. But she did look exhausted, and he knew she was overwhelmed, so he gave in. “Just do something for me and lie down as soon as you can. And stop worrying. I will take care of everything.”

* * *

After trying and failing to get the sleep she promised Peter she would, Zipporah went down to the great hall. She found John there, but no sign of Peter.

“Where is he?”

“Something about a letter,” John said, frowning. “He went to Havendell to look for it.”

“I hadn’t realized.” Zipporah should not have asked him to go in the first place. She didn’t want Gilburn knowing about their past, but what difference did it make now? If Gilburn did not stand down and give the land to Peter, then he wouldn’t be alive much longer. Her stomach felt hollow. While she had no love for the man, he had been raised by her father, and it was easy to pity him.

“If
someone
would only let Peter tell Gilburn about a certain document,” John said.

Zipporah knew John well enough to recognize his bruised ego. “I never said he could not tell Gilburn about the betrothal. And I am sorry I yelled at you earlier. It has been a difficult day.”

He grunted in acknowledgment.

“What will the two of you do about Gilburn?”

“I have yet to fully discuss it with Peter,” John said.

“I would hate to see him killed over this.”

“In the end, it will be up to Gilburn.”

“I suppose.” She couldn’t remember ever feeling so tense around John. That he knew Peter was bedding her made her oddly uncomfortable. Then it occurred to her, that considering how close John and Peter were, he probably knew about them all along.

Oh . . .

“You think I am errant,” she said. “Improper.”

John shook his head. “I only want what is best for you and my brother.”