Enduringly Yours (6 page)

She felt her skin warm all over again, and shook her head, but John’s smile only widened into a crooked grin.

“Do me a favor and marry him,” he said. “His chamber is next to mine and I do not sleep anymore.”

Was she surrounded by matchmakers? “Perhaps you should move to another room.”

His chin lifted. “I have occupied the same chamber since I was a boy.”

“Then perhaps it is time you moved into the master bedchamber?”

His face drained of color. Zipporah wanted to take back her words. Peter and John’s mother had passed away while they were at war. 

“I’m sorry, John. Please forgive me.”

“I know you did not mean it.” His tone of voice told her otherwise. He was hurt. Johnny always had been more sensitive than he let on to. “I am not ready to occupy my parents’ old chamber.”

“Of course you aren’t.”

He finished his ale and handed her the mug. “I told Peter he should duel Gilburn for you and be done with it.”

“It is not that easy.”

“Why isn’t it?” She knew John had a different way of viewing the obstacles of life—and it usually involved his sword. He rubbed his chin. “You aren’t interested in that fool Gilburn, are you?”

“Of course not. I have to keep him happy though.”

“Refuse his control. My brother can defend you from him.”

“And my mother?”

“Bring her too.”

“Bring her?”

“To Ravenmore.”

“Oh, John . . .” His linear thinking could break a woman’s heart.

“Do not cry about it.” He shifted, chainmail grating.

“Thank you for your offer to shelter the both of us.” She pulled a handkerchief out of her sleeve. The lack of sleep and food was getting to her, and now she was going to embarrass herself. “But my mother and I cannot leave my father.”

“I understand. My offer stands, though.”

“Thank you.”

John glanced over his shoulder. She looked around him as Peter came under the pavilion; his helmet tucked under one arm. His hair was tied back. “Save your tears for him please,” John said.

“Oh, do not worry. I soaked his tunic sleeve just yesterday.”

Peter was an impressive sight in his armor. Dressed thusly, he always commanded attention. He smiled, then his expression changed when he got a closer look at her. “What is wrong?

“Nothing.” Zipporah cleared the emotion from her throat and tucked her handkerchief away. “Happy about this?” She looked at the field

“It may backfire on me. John is too much competition. He will be champion.”

John snorted and took his mug back to the cask to refill it.

“You beat me every time,” Peter called.

“That is only because he knows you so well,” Zipporah added.

John glanced from between them. “This is my exit.” He downed his ale and passed her back the mug.

“Best of luck, Johnny,” she said.

“I do not need it, but thank you just the same.” He grinned and pulled his helm over his head.

She turned back to Peter.

“Fill that with something?” he said, pointing to the cup in her hand.

“Of course.” She filled it from the spigot and passed it to him.

“Have you heard the rumor on the field this morning?” He took a drink.

“I have not.”

“The prize for the day is a kiss from you.”

“And who, pray tell, started this rumor?”

He shrugged. “The men were not sufficiently motivated. It is a private competition, after all.”

She narrowed her eyes.

“I know. I never learn.”

“Peter.”

“Is it too much of a request?”

Her gaze honed in on his familiar lips.

“I am sure John will be victor,” he said, sounding more than a little put out. “You will have nothing to fear from him. You can go ahead and satisfy the men by kissing him for them. I promise not to draw my sword on John. His firsthand account may be as close as I will get to you, anyway.”

Do not do this to me, Peter.
She was ready to end their conversation. “We should be careful not to talk to each other too much.”

Her gaze found Gilburn on the field. His page was adjusting his armor.

“What happened?” Peter asked. He must have sensed her unease. 

“I ran into Sir Gilburn in the corridor this morning. I thought he would not allow me to see my father.”

“What did he say?”

“That he believes it disturbs me too much.”

“He knows you not at all.”

“His admiration seems genuine.”

“Which only makes him all the more dangerous.”

“Too bad I do not have a docile sister for him.”

Peter lifted his brows. “And subject her to him?”

“He may be kind to a submissive wife.”

“He is not getting to you, is he?”

“Nay.” She crossed her arms over her ribcage. “But you are getting on my nerves already.”

“Do not play matchmaker, please. We have enough trouble as it is.”

“A more suitable woman would take his focus off me. That is all I am saying.”

He shook his head.

Why did it have to be so hard between them? “Fine. Forget it.”

Peter caught her arm. “Be careful around him. He is not without his skills when it comes to manipulating women.”

“I am capable of discerning that much.” She pulled away.

“I did not say that you were not. I said,
be careful
.” He looked at her as if he had no idea what was wrong.

But there was plenty wrong.

Lack of food and sleep for one thing, mostly thanks to him. Confusion, also thanks to him. Guilt. Fear. Insecurity.

Him. Him. Him.

Zipporah shifted closer, her chin lifting in pent-up frustration. “I may be your whore, Peter, but I will never be his.”

He jerked back. Suddenly, he was breathing as if his armor was too tight. His complexion paled. “You are not.”

“Aren’t I?”

“The same could be said of me.”

“What are you talking about? For a man, the rules are completely different.”

He leaned in. He was nose to nose with her. “You are no more my whore than I am yours. And I have lived with the cost of
that
ever since.”

Cost? Who was he to speak of cost? “What cost?”

It took him a moment. She thought he was about to explain, then he backed off. “Never mind.”

Peter threw his mug. It hit the ale barrel, wood splinters and ale showering the ground. He pulled on his helmet and walked away.

Zipporah stood frozen, her heart hammering from anger and surprise. She knew Peter to be an impulsive man, but he was not in the habit of losing his temper in front of her.

Sir Gilburn appeared beside the pavilion, still mounted. He was the last person she wanted to see.

He pulled off his helm and shook out his dark hair. “My lady? Is all well? I saw you and Peter arguing.”

She needed to evade him, and quickly. “Naught but a childish squabble, Sir Gilburn. We have been fighting since we were children. I do believe that it has become habitual for us.”

Gilburn frowned. She knew he needed more of an explanation.

“John and Peter are like brothers to me,” she said. “John the brother I look up to and can depend on, and Peter the one who forever torments me.”

Zipporah realized that she had never made a truer statement in her life . . . except for the part about Peter being a brother of any kind to her.

Gilburn nodded, his face serious. “If Sir Peter is to be allowed anywhere near you, then his behavior needs to change, and soon. I will have him properly chastised. I can think of only one reason for him to behave thusly. I am certain now that he is attracted to you.”

She shook her head. “That is ridiculous.”

“I can recall a time when the two of you were far closer than you should have been. I never understood why your father allowed it, but Lord Havendell is my master, and I do not question him.” His looked at her levelly. “I know why Peter vexes you so oft. It is because he is too much of a coward to face his passions like a man.” Gilburn cleared his throat. “Pardon me. I should not be so frank with you. At least not until after we have wed. I will see that Peter is chastised personally.” Gilburn pulled on his helm.

“But he is John’s knight. Should you not leave it up to him?”

“Do not fear, my lady. I will take care of everything.” Gilburn trotted away, his heavy black warhorse kicking up turf.

She wondered if the man made any attempt to listen to her. Zipporah stumbled her way into the stadium and sat. Her mother joined her a moment later, out of breath and rosy-cheeked. “Am I late?”

“You knew about the Mêlée?”

“I only just found out.”

“Well, you have missed out on a lot already. I said something of very poor judgment to Peter and made him angry with me. Gilburn saw us and I had to cover for our actions. Now Gilburn believes that Peter is attracted to me.”

“He is attracted to you.” 

Zipporah gritted her teeth.

“Peter is probably more frustrated than angry.”

“I am not so sure about that.”

“I have been married for six and twenty years, and I raised a son.”

The last thing Zipporah wanted was a lecture. “I do not want to talk about this anymore.”

“Your young knight wants his woman, and he will be frustrated until he gets her.”

His woman.

Zipporah’s gaze found Peter on the field, in full armor, and a tremor rolled through her. Her body was so quick to agree with her mother’s statement. But her heart was much more cautious.

Lady Havendell pulled her needlepoint out of a satchel.

“The Mêlée has never been your favorite sport,” Zipporah said.

“Nay, and for good reason.”

Zipporah’s father had been fond of it in his youth, and once it had almost cost him his life.

“Let me know when it is time for you to give John his kiss,” her mother said.

“How did you know about that? By the saints, does everyone know about these things save me?”

“One of my knights told me.” She smiled. “Sir Mark asked if it would offend me if he kissed you.”

“And you said?”

She shrugged. “Let the best man win.”

“Why does that not surprise me?”

“Relax, daughter. We both know it will be John.”

Another woman might have enjoyed all of this attention. A woman with secrets did not.

“It
will
be John,” she said, more for herself than her mother. “He always wins at these events.”

“Or it could be Peter, and then you will have to kiss him. In front of everyone.” Her mother pressed her needle into fabric.

Zipporah groaned. “I   would   rather   kiss   Sir Mark. That would be much safer.”

Chapter Seven

Pain radiated down Peter’s arm and he blinked stars out of his vision. He tightened his jaw as John urged his shoulder joint back into place with a sickening slide-pop. As the pain began to ease, he unclamped his jaw.

“Sorry about that,” John said from where he was sitting, on a stool next to Peter in one of the tents. He ran a hand through his sweat-dampened hair. “I get carried away sometimes.”

“As I am well aware.”

“I had meant to let you win,” John said.

“Not winning I can tolerate. But I would have preferred it if you’d not dislocated my shoulder.”

“It is not my fault your shoulder dislocates with such ease.”

Peter narrowed his gaze.

John lifted his hands in surrender. “It will not happen again.”

“Can I come in?” Zipporah called from outside. That tent was for the use of Ravenmore knights, and at the moment, Peter was the only one injured, so he and John were alone.

John looked at Peter anyway. “Can she?”

“Aye.” Peter tested his arm, lifting it over his head. It was sore, but he would live. 

“You may enter, my lady,” John said. “There is only a little blood.” He smirked at Peter.

Zipporah pushed the flap aside and stepped through, her eyes wide.

“He is jesting,” Peter said.

She shot a glare in John’s direction.

“I should leave the two of you alone.” John stood.

“Nay, don’t!” Zipporah tucked hair behind her ears. “I mean, you do not have to leave.”

Peter nodded to his brother and he sat. Then frowning he stood again. “My lady,” he said, gesturing to the stool next to Peter.

She tucked her burgundy kyrtle around her legs and sat. “Are you all right?”

“Aye, my brother forgets how easily my shoulder dislocates.”

“Again?” She looked at John. “Is this the second time you have done that to him?”

“Third,” Peter corrected.

“Fourth, actually.” John rubbed the back of his neck.

Zipporah turned to Peter, her braid sliding along her shoulder. Despite their argument earlier, he still wanted to take hold of that braid and tug her face in close to his.

“I swear he only has to charge at you and it pops out for him,” she said.

John laughed, and then tried to hide it with a cough.

“This is why my mother does not like these events,” she said.

“We have already endured far worse than we ever could at the hands of the Mêlée.” Peter gingerly worked his shoulder.

“Aye . . . I suppose you have.”

“But it is in your honor, my lady.” John smiled.

“Was I asked if I wanted it?”

“I think that was beside the point.”

“I thought as much. Well, I am not kissing Gilburn. I would sooner kiss Sir Mark.”

John glanced at Peter. “Aye,” Peter said. “I would rather it were you anyway.”

“I will not let you down, my lady.” John ducked his head.

“He smells like a pigsty.” Peter waved his hand.

“All men do after sweating in their armor. A lady learns to hold her breath.”

Peter stood, his chainmail clinking. “Don’t count me out yet though.” He wasn’t positive his sword arm was up to the task, but he felt guilty about having told the men she planned to kiss the winner in the first place. “I outrank Gilburn. If I win the duel, I will still be ahead. Assuming I can trounce my brother.”

John nodded. “That will be hard indeed.” 

“I rather not kiss you either.” Zipporah came to her feet, facing Peter.

“But John here is safe?”

“Much safer than you.”

The things he could tell her about John would change her mind about his level of
safeness
. But for her, he truly was safe. John wouldn’t dare enjoy her kiss
too much
, because he would never plow Peter’s soil. 

“Safe?” John echoed from behind them, sounding hurt.

“This isn’t about you, John,” Zipporah said over her shoulder. She looked at Peter and sighed, her eyes apologetic. “About what I said earlier, under the pavilion, I don’t know what got into me.”

“You are most forgiven. I was no better though.”

“I am safe,” John said again, this time with reflection.

Peter shook his head. If John wanted to give his moral fiber more thought, that was fine, but he really needed to do it somewhere else.

Peter shifted closer. Her breath hitched in response. “I should not have lost my temper in front of you.”

“I drove you to it,” she whispered, lifting her face.

“Do you really think you’re my whore?”

“The punishment usually fits the crime.” She glanced at John. He was standing as far away from them as he could, polishing a spot off his sword with the hem of his surcoat.

“Crime?” Peter asked. “What crime?”

She didn’t say anything.

“I will fix this, with or without your father.”

“Who says it can be fixed? I cannot marry Gilburn, but the thought of my father’s lands falling out of his line grieves me. He worked so hard for this. And it is my fault.”

“How is it your fault?”

“Well I . . . let you . . .” She fell silent.

“I will find a way.”

“It would take a miracle.”

“Then maybe we will have to arrange for one.”

“My mother is hounding me. She says I should put you out of your misery.” Zipporah blanched as if she hadn’t meant to voice her thoughts out loud.

“Just how much does she know? She does not . . .” Peter had to stop and start again. “Tell me she does not know about us.”

Zipporah remained suspiciously silent.

“What about your father?”

Her eyes widened. “If he did, we would be married by now.”

Peter let that digest. He backed away from her.

Her mother knew?

Her mother knew.

“Your mother knows,” he rasped.

“I should not have told you.”

“I think I might be sick.” Peter sat, his chainmail feeling too heavy. “And she keeps inviting me over. Why does she keep inviting me?”

“Sir Gilburn is coming,” John warned them.

Zipporah stiffened. He hated seeing her like that.

“Gilburn has impeccable timing,” Peter said, lifting his sword with a wince and buckling his scabbard into place.

Gilburn entered the tent, bowing to her in greeting. “My page told me I might find you here.”

“Aye, I thought I saw John get hurt. But as it turns out, it was actually Peter. In their armor and crests they look the same. I came to check on him.”

Gilburn turned to John, who nodded, his expression grave.

“Surely you can tell their horses apart, my lady.”

“Ah, well the sun was in my eyes, and I was awake late last night worrying about my father.”

“I knew it was distressing you.” He perused her like a man who wanted to possess what he seeing, and as soon as possible.

Zipporah turned away.

“Come, my lady.” He offered his arm. “While I respect your concern for your friend, I would prefer you stay away from his brother.”

She took his arm, glancing over her shoulder at Peter as they exited. He nodded, hoping it reassured her. She had handled herself as well.

As soon as they left, Peter flexed his sword hand. “I am going to kill him.”

“I am forfeiting,” John said.

“What?”

“I am the only one standing between you and Gilburn, and you need this more than I do.” He clamped a hand on Peter’s good shoulder. “I will go sit with her. I think she needs that far more than she does my kiss. You focus on Gilburn.” John retrieved his helmet, tucking it under his arm.

“John?”

He turned.

“You didn’t . . . you weren’t . . .” Peter pointed to his ears.

John plugged them with his fingers. “I heard nothing.”

“Thank you.” Peter picked up his helm, blinking into the sun as they exited the tent. John went one way, and Peter the other.        

* * *

“Is this seat taken, my lady?” John asked.

“Of course not,” Lady Havendell said. “Here, sit here.” She moved aside so that John could sit by Zipporah.

“Peter?” she asked.

“He is fine. I forfeited is all.”

“Whatever for? You are my only chance at not having to kiss Sir Gilburn.” She leaned around John to look at her mother. “Go order Sir Mark to win.”

“This is between Peter and Gilburn,” John said.

“But he is injured.”

“He will be fine. Trust me.”

She pressed her hand to her stomach. “I think I might be sick. How badly is Peter hurt, really?”

“Do not fear, my lady. He is angry enough to make up for his injury.” John rubbed his hands together, smiling. “This will be good.”

“I do not want to kiss Peter either.”

“Just kiss him. Lord knows he needs it.”

“Aye,” her mother seconded.

Zipporah glared at the both of them.

John leaned back in his chair, metal scraping against wood. “You want to see Peter best Gilburn just as badly as the rest of us, admit it.”

Her mother looked up from her needlework. “How much more is left?”

“Gilburn is just finishing his duel with Sir Mark. Next it will be Peter against Sir Gilburn.”  

She set aside her frame and needle. “I should like to see Gilburn trounced.”

“Peter is injured,” Zipporah reminded her.

“He has been smote,” John said. “But he is also smitten.” He winked at Zipporah.

“So is Gilburn.”

“This will be interesting,” her mother said.

“I hope Peter’s arm holds out.” Zipporah held her breath as Peter entered the field. “He is so much bigger than Peter.”

“But dumber.”

She rolled her eyes at John and he shrugged.

Sir Gilburn looked up at her before donning his helmet. She smiled so it would look good. His chest puffed, reminding her of the way her father looked at her mother. With pride.

The poor man was obviously delusional. 

They began, and Zipporah watched the way Peter fought. Aye, he was smaller, but he was also as hard as stone beneath his armor, with no excess on his frame. Peter moved like a man who understood his body, and precisely what it was capable of.

Her face warmed. “He is even better than I remembered,” she said.

“His time in the Holy Land transformed him.” John nodded. “What was once a trained swordsman is now an experienced one.”

“I can see that.”

“Too bad your father was not able to join us,” Lady Havendell said. “I do believe he would be impressed.”

“So do I.” Zipporah wondered how much pain Peter might be in. He didn’t show it at all.   

Gilburn turned quickly to avoid Peter’s blade, lost his footing, and stumbled backward.

“He is off balance,” John said. “His greater size does nothing to aid him.”

Peter drove Gilburn to his knees with two solid blows, knocking his sword out of his hand.

It was over already.

John bellowed congratulations that made her ears ring. Zipporah kept her emotions in-check, despite the way her face stung from heat and excitement. She could almost taste Peter.

Gilburn came heavily to his feet, his shoulders bowed. He walked forward to acknowledge her and her mother. Zipporah smoothed her hands over her skirt, wondering what she should say.

“Well done, Sir Gilburn.” Her mother saved her the discomfort. “I daresay the ground is not level on that part of the field.”

He grunted, his gaze shifting through them. His pride was wounded. Gilburn bowed, then turned on his heel and walked away.

The other knights shouted for her to kiss Peter. This too, was a matter of pride. A lady’s pride. She had little choice but to offer Peter his reward, lest she appear arrogant before the men. Chivalry was not only about the lady. It was also about the knight.  

She looked at her mother.

“Go on, sweetling,” she said.

Zipporah rose from her seat and stepped down off the stadium. The knights lined up to present themselves to her. She smiled at them the way she’d been trained to, giving each damp, overheated man an expression of approval.

They shoved Peter out of line and prodded him toward her.

* * *

A hard shove made Peter’s shoulder scream in protest. The men laughed as they herded him toward Zipporah. She stood very still, her skin flushed, probably with embarrassment. Peter felt like such a fool. He never should have done this to her.