Enduringly Yours (16 page)

He bent to face Andrew. “And how goes that?”

The lad glanced at Zipporah and she shook her head. This would not be a good time for him to mention that Peter had kissed her on the way there. 

“Most enlightening,” he said.

“A man never truly understands the fairer sex.” 

“I do not suppose I ever will, sir.” 

Zipporah glanced back at Peter. She hated this charade, knew it had to be killing him to play it. 

“Gilburn,” she said.

He turned away from Andrew to face her.

“I am going to be married to Peter.”

Gilburn looked like he’d just been hit over the head. He made unintelligible noises, then glared at Peter, and closed the distance between them. “What have you done to her, knave? So help me if you have tainted her.”

Peter didn’t defend himself. Zipporah stood wide eyed as Gilburn took him by the front of his surcoat and shook him.

What was her fool husband doing?

“Gilburn, stop,” she said.

Zipporah reached out. Gilburn turned on her, the back of his hand grazing her mouth. She never saw it coming. It had not been a full-on blow, but stars blurred her vision nonetheless. She stumbled into Andrew and the boy caught her. She had to weigh more than he did, but somehow he held her upright. She had cut her lip on her teeth. She licked the corner of her mouth, tasting blood.

Steel rang against steel as Peter engaged Gilburn over swords. Metal, clanked, slid, scraped. Sir Thornton took her by the arm and led her away.

“Wait.” She dragged her heels.

“You do not want to see this, my lady.”

When she continued to protest, he picked her up and carried her away.

“You better be prepared to tie me up. Because as soon as you let me down, I am going back there.”

He set her on a stone bench. “Stay.”

She tried to dodge around him, but he blocked her path.

“Have you a handkerchief, my lady?” he asked. “If you do, then I suggest you focus on that cut on your lip.”

She pulled one out and held it to the corner of her mouth.

The minutes eked by, the sound of clashing metal echoing in the garden. Finally, Peter returned. Sir Thornton stepped out of the way as he tossed Gilburn at her feet. There was blood everywhere. She screamed and jumped back.

Peter looked affronted. “I broke his nose.”

Groaning, Gilburn rolled onto his back. She looked him over and could not see any sword wounds. Peter tilted his blade so the point was against Gilburn’s throat.

“Live or die, my lady?” he asked.

Zipporah glanced from between them.

“Live or die,” Peter repeated, his chest heaving. New blood dripped from where the tip of Peter’s sword pressed against Gilburn’s throat. Just a hair more pressure and Peter would puncture his windpipe.

“You are asking me?”

“Aye.” Peter’s jaw flexed and he ground out the words. “I am asking you.”

“Live. Just let him live, Peter.”

He backed away and sheathed his sword, then stood at attention with his hands behind his back. He was once again a soldier in the King’s Guard.

“Thornton,” he said a moment later. “Go and retrieve my lady’s mother. Tell her we are leaving with her.”

“Aye, sir.”

Gilburn planted his palms to the ground, lifting himself to his feet with a groan. Blood was running from his nose, soaking into his charcoal tunic. He swayed, took one step, and then collapsed again, the ground trembling.

“Andrew,” Peter said. “Have Lady Havendell’s mare saddled for her.”

  The boy nodded and ran off, leaving her and Peter alone, save Gilburn, who was unconscious, the blood from his nose now pooling in the grooves between stones.

Peter reached for her, then stopped, taking note of the blood on his hands. He lowered his arms to his sides.

“I will never get the blood out of your coat,” she said, then burst into tears.

“I need to get you out of here.” Peter took another look at his stained hands, made a face, and then pulled her into his arms. He was too hard in his chainmail hauberk for anything close to comfort, but she appreciated the solid warmth of him nonetheless. He looked her over, tilting her face to one side.

“Still have all your teeth?” His smile was fuzzy through her tears.

She nodded. “I do.”

“Just the corner of your lip is cut. Likely it will bruise by morning. How much pain are you in?”

She worked her jaw. “Not too much, really. More shock than pain.”

“That will change soon.” He led her out of the garden, his hand prodding her back.

“I am not even sure what just happened. And I thought yesterday was a bad day.”

“Yesterday was a good day. This was a bad day. You should have let me kill him.”

The tension in his voice frayed the last of her nerves. She shifted away in response. Zipporah rubbed her arms. What had he expected her to do? He had asked her, and she answered.

“I knew this was a bad idea,” she said. “We should have stayed home.”

“You are the one who has to be with your father.”

“You told me we could go. And you were the one who sent my horse home, which in turn made Gilburn angry.” She shook her head, knowing things between them would only go downhill from here. “Just take me back to Ravenmore.”

* * *

“Stop.” Peter took the damp cloth from her hands. “I can take care of myself.”

“I am only trying to help.”

He pulled off his tunic. One sleeve was speckled with blood. His surcoat had soaked up most of it. “Help me by sitting still while I clean your face.” He gestured.

Zipporah sat on the edge of their bed in her shift while he came down on his knees to wipe the blood away.

“Why did you interfere in the first place?” he asked. “You should have stayed out of it.”

“You were doing nothing to defend yourself. Why did you let him shake you like that?”

He didn’t want to tell her. But his conscience nagged him. As did her blue eyes. He sighed and lowered the cloth. “Because he was right. I did taint you.”

“With my permission.”

“I should have killed Gilburn. Why did you not let me?”

“It is not because I am particularly fond of him.”

“Then why?”

“Would it have brought you satisfaction to kill him like that, right in front of me?”

Peter stood, tossing the cloth at the bed. “He hit you, Zipporah! Men die every day. Good men, like your brother. Do not tell me Gilburn deserves to live.”

She gingerly fingered the side of her face. “It could have been worse, I suppose.”

“You were lucky.”

She lowered her hand to her lap. “Could we manage to clean the blood off each other without fighting?”

Peter sucked air through his teeth. “We are not fighting.”

“Hmmm.”

He picked up the cloth and wiped blood off his arm, then rinsed it in the basin and squeezed it out.

“I do not remember your being so testy before war,” she said.

“Maybe I just disguised it better.”

“Or maybe . . .”

He turned to look at her from over his shoulder.

“Never mind.”

She was a pathetic sight in her shift and bruising face. Her hands were in her lap, fingers twined.

Peter closed his eyes against her. He was mad at himself for having taken her back to Havendell in the first place, frustrated with her compassion toward a man who did not deserve to exist.
And
there was still something missing between them.

He wanted badly to make everything right.

“You thought I was all you needed,” she said. “Marriage not what you expected it would be?”

“We have been married for three and a half years.”

Her brow furrowed.

“Maybe longer. I cannot give you an exact time or place. I just knew it to be so.”

Zipporah stood, taking the cloth from his hand. She tossed it at the basin. Missing, it hit the wooden floor with a splat. “Can you come to bed with me without hurting my face? Because I really hate arguing with you.”

He felt the tension ebbing away from his muscles already. “I can try.”

“I am beginning to think it’s the only way we can communicate.” She smoothed her hands over his chest, then worked free the buckle on his belt.

“Some things cannot be said with words.” He drew her close, bunching the fabric of her shift in his hands, wanting to rip the blasted thing off of her.

“Not yet,” she whispered.

Zipporah relocated his hands, settling them over rather distracting portions of her anatomy. It was working. He was feeling pretty distracted. Peter pulled out of the rest of his clothes.

* * *

After Peter fell asleep, Zipporah lay there in his arms, considering the depth of his hatred for Gilburn. Was it personal, or duty? Did her white knight have it in him to kill a man her father had raised, right in front of her like that? Was she the weak one? Had her pampered castle life clouded her judgment?

When he awoke, it was almost time for supper. She shooed him off without her, telling him that her face hurt too much. It wasn’t true. She was sore, but she could have managed. What she wanted was some time to herself. They still needed to tell her mother about the betrothal, and that Peter would be lord. It could be done later. It looked like her mother would be staying on with them, Gilburn having officially overstepped his boundaries.

Annoyingly—and yet true to character—Peter had offered to sup with her in their chamber. She refused, and he left defeated.

There was a knock at the door.

“Aye?” Zipporah asked, still abed.

Her mother opened it a crack. “May I come in?”

“Of course.”

Lady Havendell sat beside her. Zipporah was aware that the state of her hair and the bed sheets told a tale of their own. 

“It seems you were right, Mother.”

“About what?” Lady Havendell asked a little too innocently.

“You know exactly what I mean. This is Peter’s chamber.”

“’Tis for the best.”

“Is that why you sent me away with him?”

“I knew he would not let me down.”

“It did not take long for me to give in, did it?”

He mother smiled, but otherwise kept her thoughts to herself.

“I was afraid I would distract him too much and that it would cost him his life. John has sanctioned it. Just so you are aware that we are not doing this in sin.” She paused, sighing. “Like the last time.”

“You are better off together than apart.”

“I wanted to have Father’s permission.” She tucked her knees against her chest. “I had hoped he would accept Peter as a son. I did not want to leave unfinished business behind.”

“You have my blessing. And that will have to be enough. Sometimes a lady has to believe in her knight. I did.” Lady Havendell paused, her eyes tightening. “I still do.”

“I could never be as brave as you,” Zipporah said.

“I am not brave.”

She smoothed her hands over her snarled hair. “Peter is angry because I asked him to spare Gilburn’s life in the garden. I really think he would have killed him right then and there.”

“Of course he would have. He is a man, a knight, and a husband. He sees Gilburn as the greatest threat to what he holds most dear. Besides, he hit you, Zipporah.”

“By accident. Was I wrong to stop Peter?”

“Your father raised Gilburn. I do not want to see him come to such an end. To be honest, I still hold out hope for his character. One day, maybe he will become all that your father hoped he would.”

“If he lives that long. Or maybe he comes from bad seed, and Father could not correct it.”

“Lord knows he tried.”

Zipporah began working a snarl out of her hair. “I still have not told Peter about his daughter.”

“And just how have you managed that?”

She shrugged. “I refuse to remove my shift before him.”

“By the saints, daughter.”

Zipporah dropped her knotty lock of hair.

“Are you well enough for supper?”

“I would rather remain here.” She crossed her arms over her chest.

“That is what I thought. I will hear no more of this. Stand please, and I will fix your hair for you. And then we will dress you and take you downstairs.”

Gritting her teeth, she crawled out of bed. “I wanted some time to myself.”

“You wanted to wallow in self-pity.”

Her mother was right. Zipporah gave in to Lady Havendell’s ministrations, wincing as she parted messy hair into sections.

“No more hiding secrets from your husband. You need to tell him.”