Enduringly Yours (17 page)

“I know. I keep trying.”

“What is it you fear? It was his child, after all.”

“It is the look on his face. And the pain it will cause him, to know that I was with child at all, and he was not here to take care of me. He regrets not having married me three years ago. And he regrets the way he left me behind.”

“I knew he did.” Her gray-tinged brows lifted. “Otherwise he would not have been at Havendell every day to see you.”

“I will tell him. I just need some more time.”

Her mother started braiding her hair. “Then I will have to wait, and trust that my daughter will make the right decision.”

Chapter Seventeen

“I want to be the first one to show her,” Zipporah said, just as they were finishing supper.

Peter already hated the purple welt developing on the right corner of his wife’s mouth. He also hated the way he’d treated her earlier. He really should not have been so accusatory with her about Gilburn.

“I will get the scroll,” he said.

“I am fine. It looks worse than it is, really.”

If that were true, then why had she originally wanted to take her meal in their chamber? Unless, of course, she’d wanted to get away from him. He wasn’t sure what had changed her mind about joining them in the great hall in the first place. It must have been her mother’s influence.

Peter acquiesced. “Just take it easy, all right.”

She nodded and took the key from him.

Peter watched her cross the great hall, then climb the wooden stairs toward John’s solar, her dark braid swaying in tandem with her hips.

“Must be something of great significance you have to show me,” Lady Havendell said. She took a sip of wine.

“I should say so.” John grinned. He was probably planning Gilburn’s demise, and in great detail.

“It makes John exceedingly happy,” Peter said.

“My anticipation is great, brother.” 

“I am sure it is.”

Lady Havendell smiled like matrons do when humoring young men, then turned back to her wine. Zipporah appeared at the top of the stairs, this time with the parchment, she came down them at a rate that made Peter uncomfortable. He stood and crossed the room to her.

Her brow furrowed as he neared. “What is wrong now?”

Peter scooped her up. “You were backhanded.” He carried her.

“I could have walked.” Her arms came around his shoulders anyway.

John pulled out Zipporah’s chair and Peter placed her into it. She slid the rolled parchment toward her mother. Lady Havendell took the papers, noting the king’s seal. She looked at Peter, her eyes widening.

“Open it,” Zipporah said.

Lady Havendell smoothed her hands over the parchment. The betrothal was on top. Her eyes flicked around the page as if she couldn’t believe what she was seeing.

“How?” she rasped.

“Peter took favor with the king,” Zipporah said.

“I only did what I was trained to do,” he countered.

“You have seen him fight, Mother. He is being humble. Did you read the rest? The land is to go only through me, so Peter will be lord.”

Lady Havendell stood, wiping her eyes. She took a deep breath, and then came around the table to Peter. Both men stood at her approach.

“I am not sure how you did this, or how you did it so quickly, but thank you.” She took his hand, kissing it. Peter pulled back, uncomfortable with the display.

“I cannot possibly . . .” Lady Havendell said. “There is no one I would rather . . .” She sniffed and turned away. “Thank you.”

Peter looked to Zipporah, asking silently for aid. “Just say, you are welcome,” she mouthed.

“You are welcome, my lady.”

* * *

“I had Sir Thornton go back to Havendell to deliver our message to Sir Mark, since you were not able to,” John told Peter as they sat before the hearth in the great hall after Zipporah and her mother had both gone to bed. “We will meet together in the forest tomorrow morning.”

He nodded to John from over the table. “I will be there. I think we should use the archery competition to our advantage.”

John eyed him. “What? Announce it nicely before the noble guests?”

“Something like that.”

“Seems too polite to me.” 

“She does not want me to kill him. I am still trying to decide what to do.”

“I doubt you will have any choice. What is to stop him from coming back and killing you if you do not?”

“Me. And you.”

“It would show weakness on your part if you let him go.”

“I doubt I have it in me to let him
go
. But I do not think it wise to kill him myself.”

“I will kill him.”

Peter studied his brother. The firelight flickered over his stoic face. John’s outer shell was just that, a shell. It was a thick one though, and there were times when he did not show what was beneath, even to his little brother. People had begun calling him John the Merciless when he was a boy, because of his reputation on the training field. He’d once been banished from the lists for an entire summer, for breaking Peter’s nose. Smashing would be a better description. It had not been personal. There’d been no argument between them. John had gotten carried away, and literally did not recognize Peter until it was too late. Since then, John had drawn lines around everything in his life, especially his family. 

Peter lifted his cup to him. “I know you would do that for me, and Zipporah.”

“Then . . . you want me to?”

“I will take care of Gilburn. One way or another, I will make sure he never shows himself around here again.”

John eyed him.

“I will. I just have not decided how.”

“Very well then. We will see what the knights think of your
plan
.” John finished off his wine. “Why are we still sitting here when I could be sleeping soundly and you could be . . .”

Peter cleared his throat before John could finish.

“Otherwise engaged.” John sighed. “You know, I never thought I would see the day when I put sleep before other
necessities
.” He paused. “Am I losing my charm?”

“You never had any to begin with.”

“Premature aging?” John ducked his head and parted his blond hair. “Am I balding?”

“Maybe you are just tired. And I never told you to stay up with me.”

“I had to talk to you anyway.” John yawned. “Why are you staying up?”

“I wanted to give her a break from me.”

“I do not know what is wrong with the two of you this time.” John looked at his empty cup. “But could you go upstairs and make up with her so that I can sleep?”

“’Tis not a matter of making up. There is something wrong with her. I do not know what, but she had a nightmare that reminded me of the kind you used to have.”

John shifted suspiciously in his seat. He looked a lot like their father, with a square jaw, a nose that was sculpture-straight—or had been until it was broken by a Saracen warrior a year ago—and the ability to look completely serious at a moment’s notice; which he was trying to do, to cover his lapse in control.

“You said that I was the one keeping you awake.” Peter kept his voice down, knowing it was a sore spot for John.

His brother shrugged a shoulder. “Something must be eating away at her,” he said, directing the focus off of himself.

“Something she won’t talk about. And that bothers me. I wish she could trust me, but it seems I made sure she couldn’t three years ago.”

“She is with you, is she not? That requires trust.” John stood. “Go to bed. Enjoy your wife. I will see you first thing tomorrow.”  

                                
Chapter Eighteen

Despite his brother’s reservations, Peter got his way. When they met with Sir Mark and the other trustworthy knights of Havendell, it was decided that Peter would announce his marriage to Zipporah at the archery competition. They planned to give Gilburn and his men the choice to stand down, but at the first sign of hesitation have them locked in the prison tower and slated for execution.

Peter leaned casually over his bow as he waited his turn in the first round of the archery competition, pretending he was not hours away from evicting Gilburn and making it known to society that Zipporah and the land were his.

He was having an easier time of it than John, who had been staring Gilburn down like a hawk after a mouse ever since they’d first arrived—earlier than necessary—thanks to John having rushed them all out that morning.

Zipporah was standing next to Peter. Not that she needed to. She was safe enough, and could have sat with her mother, or one of the other noblewomen attending. She’d chosen to shadow him instead, eliciting dark looks from Gilburn and even darker looks from John—directed toward Gilburn. She was nervous. Peter could understand, but he wished she would relax before she tipped Gilburn off.

“It will not be long for my father now, will it?” she said. They’d visited him that morning, and for the first time, Peter was allowed in the room with Zipporah and her mother. Lord Havendell was a sunken shadow of a man. Not the lean, powerful warrior Peter remembered.

Zipporah’s dark lashes flicked upwards as she looked at Peter. The wind rustled the voluminous sleeves on her pink gown. “I will never have the chance to tell him how much I love him,” she said.

“He knows,” Peter told her. “How could he not?”

Her frown told him how she felt about
that
.

Zipporah looked at the people in the stands. He followed her gaze to a young woman in a yellow kyrtle embroidered with white lilies. “Alana is here,” she said, as if needing to change the subject. “Lord Matthew’s sister. Do you remember her?”

It took him a moment. “Vaguely. She’s younger than you. Matthew and John have always gotten along well.” He ducked closer to Zipporah. “Would you like to sit with her?”

“I am fine.”

“I will be right here.”

She glanced at Alana again.

“As much as I appreciate your guarding me, my lady, you need not follow me everywhere.”

She pursed her lips. “You are right. I should have assigned Andrew to you.”

He smiled. “Andrew is off with the other lads, enjoying the fact that there is no armor for him to attend to today.”

“Perhaps I really should be guarding you though. Just in case.”

“Go sit with Alana.”

“Aye. I will be right there.” She pointed.

“Go, Zipporah.” He shooed her away.

“Be careful.”

“Go.”

Nodding, she made her way to the stands.

John came up to him. “Gilburn is next. And then it is my turn.”

“Should I drop out?” Peter splayed a hand over his chest. “Far be it of me to come between the two of you.”

John snorted.

Gilburn came up to shoot. He was wearing his usual accoutrement of black leather. His hair was tied back, out of the wind. The bruising from his broken nose had faded to a faint yellow-green. Several young ladies murmured to themselves.

“He gets his way with enough of the women,” John said. “Is he handsome?”

Peter eyed his brother. “Compared to whom?”

“Women will not make sounds like that when I go up to shoot.”

“That’s because you never dally with the noble ladies, and they know it.” Nay, John liked wenches. Easy. No commitment required. “Besides, how do you know,” Peter continued. “They might sigh in
silent
appreciation when it’s your turn.”

“Is that what it is called?”

“Would you like
me
to sigh?”

“Nay.” John straightened. “But I do thank you just the same.”

The wind was blowing against Gilburn. He gave it a moment to settle, then took his first shot. It was a bull’s-eye. Gilburn’s second and third arrows zipped neatly next to the first.

“This might be close,” Peter said.

“Nay, it will not. I’ll strip a feather off my first arrow with my second.”

He’d seen John do it before, landing his second arrow so close to the first that he tore a feather right off the shaft.

“That will encourage the ladies to ogle you,” Peter said. “Not that you care.”

John eyed him as they both moved up in line, then his gaze shifted and something caught his attention. “Who is Zipporah sitting with?”

“Matthew’s sister.”

“That is Matthew’s sister? It does not look like her.”

“She grew up, I presume. Why?”

“No reason. I was just curious.”

Gilburn walked back around, stopping before Peter and John. “Best that spread,” he said.

“I’ll let John.” Peter smiled through his teeth.

“Do you always let your brother fight your battles?”

“Only when I know he will enjoy it more than I.”

“He is generous like that,” John said. “Besides, Peter prefers actual combat. This is not enough to excite him.”

Gilburn leaned in. “I will not let her go without a fight. Her father . . .” His voice wavered with emotion. Whether it was real or not was hard to tell. “He is near death. This is her home. I can give her so much more than you. She’s sensible.” He shrugged. “She will come around.”

“You hit her,” Peter gritted, wanting to smash his nose all over again.

Gilburn jerked, then recovered himself. “It was an accident. I only need a moment alone with her to-”

Peter pictured his hands around Gilburn’s throat. Then he heard a gurgling noise and realized they already were.

“As much as I am enjoying this,” John said, prying Peter off Gilburn, “perhaps it should wait.”

Gilburn stepped back, coughing and clutching his throat. Two of his guardsmen appeared, bearing down on Peter in black leather.

“It was a simple mistake.” John stopped them. He smiled good-naturedly. “It will not happen again.”

Gilburn waved the guards off. “Leave him be.”

John looped his arm around Peter’s shoulders. “These things happen. You hit the woman he loves. He tried to choke you to death . . .”

Gilburn looked them over. “The two of you have gone mad.” 

“And I am shooting next,” John said, taking Peter with him. He leaned close. “I want to win this competition. I cannot do that fair and square if you kill him first. You can always kill him later. I will help.”

“I hadn’t meant to throttle him. I thought about it, and the next thing I knew, he was turning red.”

“Understandable. Maybe you shouldn’t talk to him until I can win.”

John released Peter and moved forward to shoot. The wind was against him, but Peter knew he would adjust for that. John hit bull’s-eye center. He brushed aside a lock of hair and took a moment to prepare for his next shot. His brow furrowed in concentration. Then he let go, landing the second arrow so closely to the first that a feather flipped off the shaft. John looked over his shoulder at Peter, smiling.

“I sigh in silent appreciation,” Peter mouthed.

John shook his head. Turning back to his target, he shot a third time, landing it directly alongside the first two.

“Did she notice?” John asked when he returned to the lineup.

“Who?”

John looked at Peter like he should already have known. “The lass sitting with Zipporah.”

“Ah. I wasn’t paying attention.”

“Lot of good you are.” He leaned over his bow. “Your turn, by the way.”

Peter looked at the stands, checking on Zipporah. She shook her head at him. Her expression was tight, worried. Peter nodded. It wasn’t much, but he hoped she understood that he wasn’t going to throttle Gilburn again. Peter made his way into position. He couldn’t have cared less if he bested Gilburn at archery. He didn’t care if he bested John either. John was his older brother, who’d been out riding, out shooting, and outing him out of everything else all their lives. Peter never got as excited about these events as John anyway.

Maybe because his brother always was.  

Peter aimed and took his three shots, producing a neat spread that looked a lot like Gilburn’s. Then he turned and made his way back down the line, giving said dark knight a wide berth. It was better that way, seeing as he had lost control of his hands.

“You could have done better than that,” John said.

“I’m taking it easy so that I will not come between you and Gilburn.”

“You are so caring.”

“It is the least I can do.”

* * *

“I heard some interesting gossip this morning,” Lady Alana said.

Zipporah watched as Peter moved back down the line, glad he gave Gilburn some space as he did so. “Oh, really?” she said, only half listening.

“It seems that you have two very handsome, eligible, knights completely at your disposal.”

“Well . . .”

“And I heard this contest is really about them, as a means to prove themselves to you?”

Zipporah almost told her nay, then decided there was no point in denying it. “Aye, it is.”

Alana’s gaze focused for a moment on the fading bruise on Zipporah’s face, but she didn’t say anything.

“I heard you were recently betrothed to the Duke of Besville,” Zipporah said, hoping to change the subject.

Alana tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “It is an arrangement of convenience, of course.”

The last time Zipporah had seen Alana, she was but a lanky girl-child. Now she was a grown woman. Youthful awkwardness had yielded remarkable results. She was striking, with her long ginger-brown curls, deep, somewhat slanted hazel eyes, and tall, lithe figure. She was still young. Zipporah did the math, and wagered she was no more than nine and ten.

“Isn’t the duke . . .”

“More than twice my age,” Alana said, as if reading the look on Zipporah’s face.

“And how do you feel about that?”

“I will be his third wife, the other two unable to bear him sons. They both died, and now he is in need of a
healthy
young woman.”

“Died?”

Alana cleared her throat. “I am trying not to dwell on it overmuch.”

“And your brother is fine with this.”

“Not exactly, nay.”

“Then why?”

Alana fingered the metal capped end of her leather belt. “We are in debt to Besville.” She looked up. “He came to collect. There isn’t much we can do.”

Zipporah cringed inwardly. “Has Matthew talked to John about it yet?”

“I’m not sure. Why? What good would it do? We owe him too much. Even if we collected alms from every ally we have, we wouldn’t get enough. Besville agreed to let all our debts go, in exchange for me and my dowry.”

“I am sorry.”

“We are to be wed this fall.” She smiled. It was clearly forced. “And how about you? Have you chosen your knight, or are you enjoying this too much to put an end to it just yet?”

“I’m not enjoying it at all, and I have chosen, but unfortunately the other knight isn’t willing to take nay for an answer.”

Alana’s naturally arched brows lifted. “Please tell me the unhappy knight is Gilburn.”

“Of course it is.”

“I’m glad you turned him down. I have heard things about him. Most of it quite fanciful, of course. Like he drinks the blood of unicorns to make him more powerful. But people are afraid of what sort of leader he will be once your father is gone.”

“I know.”

“Are we making it official then?”

She shook herself. “What?”

“You and Sir Peter?”

Zipporah wondered if she should tell her. It was not as if she would not find out soon enough anyway. “Can you keep a secret?”

She pressed her lips together, indicating silence.

“It is already official.”

Alana let out her breath.

“It was settled for us, from a higher power, you could say. Peter served on the King’s Guard in the Holy Land.”

“Oh . . . And Gilburn does not know yet.”

“He’ll find out soon enough.”

“That will be interesting.”

“It certainly will.”

“At least one of us can be happy on her wedding day.” Alana shrugged, looking back onto the field. “I know I am not the first lady to be less than satisfied with her match. Besville has a fine keep of stone in a beautiful part of the country, and all he wants is an heir. Chances are, he’ll forget about me soon enough.”