Enduringly Yours (20 page)

He’d let Zipporah down in ways he could not fathom, and what was the first thing he did when he found out what had happened to her?

He closed her out.

And then he hurt his brother.

Peter wanted to go to her, to fold her into his arms, and to promise that he would make up for everything. He wanted to apologize to John. He couldn’t do either, because at the moment, he had no promises to give.

Least of all to himself.

Chapter Twenty-One

Peter left early the next morning looking for Gilburn. He had no idea where Zipporah had slept the night before. He never asked for her whereabouts, because he wasn’t ready to face her. He knew he couldn’t avoid her for long, but hunting down Gilburn was a good excuse to set his heart on hold.

Peter arrived at Havendell just after dark, empty-handed and frustrated. John met up with him in the bailey.

“I have Fredrick,” John said. “Found him hiding in the forest.” His brother seemed completely unruffled by yesterday. Peter was glad for his consistency.

“Thank you.”

“My pleasure. Really. Any sign of Gilburn?”

“Found the remains of a campfire, but that is all.”

“He is a skilled tracker.”

“So am I.”

John took him by the back of the neck and shook him. “And you have been using your gift in the desert.”

Peter had spent three years honing a different set of skills. He nodded. “We should question Fredrick now. He might be able to tell us where Gilburn is.”

“It can wait for morning.” John looked over his shoulder at the castle. “You need to secure your land.”

“It is secure.” Peter walked past him, toward the great hall.

“Best you not take any chances. All you really have is a roll of parchment signed by the representative of a king currently residing in another country.”

Peter ignored him. He knew where John was going with this, and he understood why. But having his big brother push him and Zipporah back together was the last thing he needed.

“I have already notified the priest,” John called. “He will be waiting.”

Peter turned. “You should not have interfered.”

John caught up with him. “There are several noblemen still here. Take public vows with Zipporah before a priest, and have the betrothal read out loud to them.”

“Not yet.” Peter took the stairs into the front of the castle keep. He guarded his heart against Zipporah, even as he hoped she wasn’t in the great hall to begin with.

“Now is the time, brother,” John said.

Zipporah was there.

She was sitting with Alana, little Andrew stationed nearby with one hand on his sword hilt, as if expecting Gilburn to drop out of nowhere at any moment.

John whispered, “Give her another child.”

“John,” Peter said, angling his head toward Alana. “Is in not about time
you
had an heir.”

He straightened.

“Just a suggestion.” Peter walked away, leaving his bother to ponder whatever deep thoughts he deemed necessary.

Peter hoped to make it past Zipporah unnoticed. He almost made it to the stairs when she stood, took one step, hesitated, and then ran across the hall, slamming into his chest. He caught her out of reflex.

“You were gone all day,” she said, her face tilted back, a lock of hair wisped across her forehead. “I was worried.”

“I’m here now.” She felt good in his arms. Too good. He breathed in her familiar scent, wishing he could trust himself not to let her down again. He peeled the hair off her face.

“We are to have a wedding tonight.”

“So I heard. John really should have waited.”

She blanched. “I know that I have guards. But I would feel much better if I were sharing a chamber with you. Where were you last night?”

Avoiding my feelings.

“I had things to attend to,” he said.

“Things that did not involve me?” She pulled out of his arms, eyes hardening.

“I . . .” He cut it short with a wince, unsure how to respond. Peter brushed past her and headed up the stairs.

She didn’t follow, but John did, catching up with him halfway to the next floor.

“You bloody idiot!”

“Leave me alone, John.”

He took Peter by the tunic front and pushed him against the stone wall. Peter’s lungs deflated with a
whoosh
. The uneven blocks of chiseled stone bit into his back. “You are marrying her in front of the nobles. Tonight.”

“You are no longer my liege lord.”

“Maybe not, but I am your older brother, like it or not, and I will give no one the chance to question your standing as Lord Havendell. Nor will I give any man reason to believe Zipporah might still be
for the taking
.”

“She’s not for any man’s taking,” Peter gritted. “She never has been.”

“Save yours.” John loosened his hold on him.

“Not even mine.”

John assessed him. “Then you are a fool.”

“I have been all along. I never should have . . .”

“What?”

Despite Peter’s noble thoughts about having accepted the place in society that he had been born into, truth was, he still felt the gap between himself and Zipporah. “Aimed high,” he finished.

“You can aim high. You
should
aim high.”

Peter wasn’t sure what to say. “Thank you,” was all that came to mind.

John hooked his arm around Peter’s shoulders, ruffling his hair with his other hand. “Will you attend your own wedding? Or will I have to force you?”

“I will be there. Let me know when she is ready.”

* * *

Zipporah looked around the guest chamber she was sharing with Alana. Her own chamber was barren, of course, her things still at Ravenmore. She had no idea where she and Peter would be sleeping tonight.

Neither did she care.

This time around, he was being forced to marry her. Wasn’t that the very thing she’d wanted to avoid three years ago? It was sickening how their lives had come full circle.

She frowned at her choices for a wedding gown. There were several laid over a bed for her to examine. They were donated from her guests, since there wasn’t enough time to have one made.

Zipporah looked at the raven-haired seamstress who was awaiting a decision.

“How long will it take to alter it?” Zipporah asked.

“Once you pick one, my lady, it will depend on how many alterations are required.” By her tone of voice, Zipporah could tell the woman was ready to get on with it. She was no doubt feeling the pressure of having to finish in time. Zipporah understood completely. She was feeling pressured too.

Just pick one, you silly twit!

Her eyes fell upon a forest green gown made of high quality wool. It was embroidered with silk thread. Someone had spent hours illustrating tiny bearded unicorns dancing around fruit trees. Zipporah had already tried the gown on and found it almost fit, save needing to be taken in around the bust line. Green symbolized fertility. A bride who wore green was making a statement. She frowned. Statement or not, the green one was the most obvious choice since it
almost
fit. Zipporah handed it over.

“This one,” she said.

The seamstress’s knowing smile almost made her change her mind. She didn’t, because this one was the most obvious choice. The most practical choice. 

And as beautiful as the gown was, she hated it already. She hated this day, and she hated Peter.

Nay, she didn’t hate Peter. But she wanted to.

Zipporah cleared her throat. “How long?”

The seamstress looked it over. “I will have it done in time, I assure you, my lady.” Her left eye ticked as she hurried from the chamber.

Alana came around, scooping up the other gowns. She looked at Zipporah from over them. “Do you know what chamber you will be using tonight?”

“I have no idea.”

“I will return these to their owners, and then I will find out. I’d like to make up the chamber myself.”

“You do not have to do that.”

“I want to. One of us might as well be happy on their wedding night.”

Zipporah faked a smile. There was no point in trying to explain the situation. Alana was being kind, and Zipporah decided to let her. “Of course. Thank you.”

Alana left with the clothing. Zipporah’s mother arrived on her heels with freshly cut roses. Lady Havendell pulled her garden shears out of her belt and began snipping away.

“Have a seat and I will dress your hair,” she said. “Which gown did you decide on?”

Zipporah sat in the chair before the dressing table. “The green one. It almost fits.”

“A fitting choice, then?”

She made a face. “Do not remind me.”

“John does have his reasons for all of this. Once the betrothal agreement has been read before witnesses, we will all be better off.” She paused. “And I like the green one.”

“
Now
you want me to have a real wedding?”

“Now there is Gilburn on the loose.”

“I told Peter about Katrina. Actually, I thought he already knew and I . . . let’s just say my timing was off.”

“Oh, Zipporah.”

“He is not happy with me. I told you he wouldn’t be when he found out.”

“Did it ever occur to you that it might be the
way
he found out?”

“He shouldn’t be forced to marry me like this.”

“Too late for that.” Her mother took a clarifying breath, her chin creasing against her wimple. “If ever too people belonged together, it is you and Peter. I see it, John sees it, and I imagine half the countryside can see it.”

“I am going to be sick.”

Alana returned unexpectedly, her arms still filled with gowns. “I almost forgot.” She unloaded the clothing onto the bed, then removed the silver circlet from her head. A brown curl fell into her face. She brushed it back. “I want you to use this. It was my grandmother’s.”

“I couldn’t.”

“Please do. She loved my grandfather, whereas, I will never love my husband.”

Zipporah reached for the silver band. “You do not know that.”

Alana leveled a look at her.

“Well, maybe you will not have to marry the duke.”

“What duke?” Lady Havendell asked.

“Besville.”

“Ah,” she sounded. Her brows furrowed, and then a small smile lit her face. “Have you a knight who loves you?”

“Mother,” Zipporah warned.

Lady Havendell shrugged.

“Nay.” Alana glanced out the narrow arched window, eyes distant. “I do not have a knight who cares for me.”

“There is time yet to find one.”

Zipporah handed her mother the circlet. Lady Havendell must have been lost in good memories, because she was still smiling. She positioned the silver band over Zipporah’s head.

“My mother ran away with my father,” Zipporah said.

“I choice I do not regret.”

“There is no one for me to run away with,” Alana said. “Besides, the fate of my brother’s estate hangs in the balance. I have no choice.”

“When I married Lord Havendell, he had a sword and his horse to his name.” She paused. “And his Knight’s Spurs.” She tucked a rosebud into Zipporah’s hair. “Oh, he was lovely too. So tall and handsome. I first met him at Mêlée. He said he saw me in the stands and he just knew. It took me longer. Aye, I thought he was beautiful, all muscle and brilliant smiles. But I needed more.”

She continued with Zipporah’s hair, silent now. Zipporah didn’t dare say anything as she remembered her father strong and fully alive. Alana sighed longingly, then took up the gowns and backed out of the chamber.

Zipporah looked at her reflection in the mirror. Her long waves were loose; as was generally the custom for virgin brides . . . Rosebuds were tucked into the circlet, and ribbons woven into small sections of hair.

“Perhaps I should be wearing a wimple,” Zipporah said.

Her mother shook her head. “Stop.”

Zipporah remained in the chamber until her gown arrived. There was little time to spare. The seamstress was blowing straggled locks out of her face. Zipporah stopped her before she could leave the room.

“Thank you.”

She nodded, curtsying. “I hope it is to your satisfaction, my lady.”

“I’m sure it is perfect.” Unlike the rest of her life.

“We had better hurry,” her mother said, “or you will be late.”

“Good. There is no sense in being there earlier than absolutely necessary.”

“Everything is going to be fine. You will see.” Her mother helped her into the gown, then took her by the hand. “It is time.”

“What if he does not come?”

“Peter will come. That man would move mountains for you.”

“Do not count on it.”

They met Alana in the great hall. She had changed into an ivory kyrtle with long bell sleeves. Together they made their way to the chapel, servants and villagers trailing behind. The moment she stepped inside the church, Zipporah found it hard to breathe. Her laces felt too tight. The circlet made her head ache.