Enduringly Yours

by Stocum, Olivia

“He would not have been my first choice, but my father believes him to be qualified.”

  “And your father really wants to leave Havendell to his page?”

  “Gilburn has not been a page for some time now,” she reminded him. “And he does. He latched onto Gilburn in Edward’s absence. Gilburn being, well, Gilburn, was more than eager to receive my father’s affection.”

  “But how do you feel about him?” he repeated.

  “He is endeavoring to woo a woman that does not exist. I want to believe my father’s trust in him was not misguided, but Gilburn says things that do not make sense.”

  “Like what?”

  “Well, for one, he feels that it is only a matter of time before I accept his offer of marriage.”

  “Arrogant.”

  “He values my innocence.” She lifted her brows. “If he only knew.”

  “Aye, if he only knew that I ruined you.”

  She blew out a huff of air. “Perhaps we should not talk to each other. We will only cause pain.”

  “Nay. Talk. Please.” Talking was the only thing keeping his needs in check.

  She continued, brows narrowed. “He tries to control me, and then tells me that it is for my own good.”

  “He put you on a pedestal long ago. Why do you think he hates me?”

  She readjusted herself on his lap. “You are so stiff. What is wrong with you?”

  “You do not want to know.”

  She wiggled again, then stopped abruptly. “Oh.” He could sense her revelation. “Would it do any good to ask you to control your thoughts?” she said.

  “Nay. I think not. ’Tis more than my thoughts at work at this point. Keep talking.”

  She nodded. He was surprised she hadn’t chastised him. Was it too much to hope that she understood? Peter wiped that thought from his head. To acknowledge any feelings she might have for him—aside from resentment—would only make things worse.

  “Gilburn believes you pain me because you were close friends with Edward.”

  “Good,” he said. Then he shook his head. “How am I supposed to keep an eye on you like that?”

  “What?”

  He lifted his brows. “I might have to keep a close eye on you.”

  “Oh, nay. It would be much better if you did not.”

  “Might be difficult.” He resisted the urge to rest his chin on her shoulder. “Might be impossible.”

  “Please. It will be so hard for me. Gilburn is difficult enough to avoid as it is. If he thinks he is competing with you he will be impossible.”

  “I know.” He let her off the hook. “I still need to convince your father to change his mind about your marrying Gilburn.”

  “Best of luck with that. I have tried and failed.”

  “What has the physician said?”

  “That it is his heart. He would not have wanted it this way. To die in a bed shames him.”

  Peter smelled her juniper scented hair. “There must be a way.”

  “He is so far gone he does not know me and my mother anymore.”

  “Does not know you, or is unable to respond to you?”

  “You cannot carry on a conversation with him,” she clarified.

  Peter would have to find another way then. “I will not allow you to be subject to Gilburn for much longer.” He kissed her neck, then kissed it again. She tasted good. What were they talking about? Oh, aye, Gilburn. “I would prefer he not have your father’s land either.”

  “Is there any choice in that?”

  “There are always choices.”

  “Aye. Life, or death.”

  He rested his chin on her shoulder, smiling. “So glad to know you want me alive.”

  “Keep hoping, Peter.”

  “I will. And I will straighten out this mess with Gilburn. I will make sure you’re safe.”

  “Safe, as in?”

  “With me, Zipporah. Safe with me.”

  “Safe, and with you? That would be a change.”

  He raked his hand over his face. Somehow it found itself on her hip. He felt her tremble against him, heard her breath quicken. Her cheeks flushed with color. And unless he was very much mistaken, she wanted him just as badly as he wanted her.

  Peter tugged on the reins, halting his stallion. He’d had about enough of this charade.

  “What are you doing?” she asked.

  He urged her face close. Her nose brushed his jaw. “This.”

  Zipporah’s fingers tightened in his tunic and her outtake of breath bathed him, warm and moist. He ran his hand down the inside of her arm and laced his fingers through hers.

  She collapsed against him, sobbing.

  A lump formed in the back of his throat. “I shouldn’t have done that,” he said, clearing it. “I better get you home. I really better get you home.” He needed to slow down. Needed to get control over himself before he hurt her again.

  Zipporah’s sobs quieted as they neared the castle. She tucked loose strands of hair behind her ears. “Do I look like I have been crying?”

  He wiped her face with the hem of his sleeve. “Do you want to know the truth?”

  “Probably not.”

  “Gilburn will assume you are upset over your ordeal. He will not know that I am your ordeal.”

  “You are not my ordeal.”

  “Aye, I am.” He lifted her chin, then brushed his thumb across her wet lashes. “And just so you know, you are innocent.”

  “In your eyes perhaps.” She pursed her lips.

  It made him smile. “All that matters is what we think.”

  “I wish that were true, but it is not.” She spoke again before he could respond. “We will be found out by him if we are not very careful.”

  “I’m careful.” He reined his stallion through the open portcullis, aware of the villagers watching. A woman carrying a basket of yarn across the street paused to gape, her children stopping with her. A little lass, no more than seven, with long wind-tangled brown hair waved to Zipporah. She waved back, smiling as if riding double with him was nothing out of the ordinary.

  By the time they reached the bailey, Lady Havendell was already there waiting for them, proving that gossip spread faster than a horse could walk.

  Peter eased Zipporah down, her hip brushing his leg. She looked up at him with wide eyes as her feet touched stone. He wanted to tell her that he understood her misery, but all he could give her in the presence of her mother was a sympathetic look.

  “Are you all right?” her mother asked. “What happened?”

  Zipporah’s gaze left Peter’s as she turned slowly away.

  Lady Havendell took her daughter’s hands, looking her over. “Your gelding came home without you. Gilburn was back to see if you were here, then left again when he realized you were not.”

  Peter slid off his horse, feeling weary all of a sudden, and much older than his four and twenty years. He handed his stallion off to a stable boy.

  “My gelding spooked,” Zipporah told her mother. “It is a good thing Peter happened to be there.”

  Lady Havendell glanced between Peter and Zipporah. He half expected her to question them. She smiled and turned away instead.

  “You two have had quite an adventure,” she said over her shoulder. “Come inside. Peter, you too.”

  He followed them up the steps and into the dim interior of the stone keep. Fires burned low in the hearths.

  Lady Havendell gestured them to a table. “I will have food brought forth.”

  “I am not hungry,” Zipporah said.

  “Peter might be. I will bring you something, anyway.” Lady Havendell turned and left them.

  Zipporah took her seat at the table, Peter sitting across from her. She scratched her nail over a divot in the wood.

  “You covered for me with your mother,” he said.

  “I always do. You do not have to stay, you know.”

  “I think I should be here when Gilburn returns.”

  “I do not need your protection.
” There was a stubborn set to her brow.

  From the opposite end of the great hall, an earthen mug dropped and shattered. She jerked.

  “Aye, you do.”

  She cleared her throat. “I have not eaten much since yesterday. It is taking its toll on my nerves.”

  “Probably Gilburn souring your stomach.”

  Zipporah fussed with a tear on her sleeve. She tried to break off the bit of thread dangling and unraveled the seam clear to her elbow.

  “Oh,” she said, then dropped her hands to her lap.

  Lady Havendell returned with a pair of maidservants and more food than either of them could eat.

  “I should go check on your father,” she said, turning to leave again.

  Peter stood. “I would like to see your husband, my lady. I know, I have asked before.”

  The age lines around Lady Havendell’s eyes deepened. “I would let you, Peter. I really would, but he is not as he wants to be remembered.”

  He lowered his voice. “I understand that, my lady, and mean him no disrespect, but I should like to see him anyway.”

  “Perhaps. I do not know.” She shook her head at Zipporah, then turned and walked away.

  “I told you,” Zipporah said. She stared at a meat pasty, but made no move to eat it. “You’re wasting your time. He wanted to be remembered as a whole man. And as fond as my mother is of you, she will not disrespect my father like that.”

  Peter picked up his goblet. “I hadn’t set my hopes very high anyway.”

  She frowned in silent commiseration.

  “At least drink something,” he said. “You may have to force yourself.”

  “We are pathetic.”

  “No more than we usually are.” He took a sip, watching her over the rim.

  “You are staring,” she whispered. “A brother does not stare.”

  He kept right on staring, smiling at the mole above her eyebrow. “I warned you. This will be hard on me.”

  “Maybe it will be good for you.”

  “If it does not kill me first. At least I know I don’t disgust you.”

  She blushed tellingly. “Who says you don’t.”

  “You. Right now. I can see it in your complexion.”

  She picked up her cup and drank her wine faster than she probably should have. She set it back on the table with a clatter.

  “You do not look disgusted,” he said. “You look flushed, actually.”

  She bit into her food, chewing mechanically.

  “My lady!” boomed a voice.

  Zipporah dropped her pasty, knocking her mostly empty goblet over in the process. Gilburn crossed the great hall with his usual black flurry.

  “I was worried. I thought something had happened to you,” Gilburn said, reaching out. Zipporah stiffened, and he lowered his hand to his side with a thump.

  Gilburn knew exactly how to play these sorts of games with women. He had plenty of practice at it too. Peter resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

  “Sir Peter found me,” she said. “He brought me home.”

  Gilburn ducked his head to Peter. “Thank you,” he forced through clenched teeth. “I am in your debt.”

  Oh, the misery, to have to say such words to a man one loathed. Peter stood, smiling. “Anything, for Edward’s sister.”

  “You must join us this evening for supper, as a thank you.” A nerve on Gilburn’s jaw ticked.

  “I am a very busy man, Gilburn.”

  He straightened, looking relieved. His jaw unclenched. “Of course you are. I would be by no means offended if you did not.”

  “But if you insist, then how can I refuse?”

  Gilburn nodded curtly, then took Zipporah by the elbow and led her a short distance away. Peter’s fingers began twitching the moment Gilburn touched her. He pictured them around the man’s throat, squeezing. Really hard.

  Gilburn said something to Zipporah and she nodded. He backed away with a bow and walked out of the room.

  She caught Peter’s gaze as she crossed back to him and took her seat.

  “What did he say?”

  “He said he was glad I was well, something about the dangers of ladies on horseback, and he told me to be careful of you.”

  “He said all that?”

  She lifted her brows. “I understood the full intent of his words.”

  “Very well.”

  “Very well? He will be watching.”

  “At the first sign of danger, I will have you so far from here that only God will be able to find you.”

  He watched her breath recede from her lungs in a long, slow drag. “Is that so?”

  “Without a doubt.”

  She picked up her knife and poked at her pasty. “Who says I would agree to go with you in the first place.”

  “Maybe I wouldn’t give you a choice. Maybe I would just take you.”

  Her throat rose and fell in a convulsive swallow. “I need a drink,” she said, righting her cup.

  Peter filled it for her. “Can you manage not to spill it again?”

  “It could end up in your lap if you keep this up.”

  It might, if he discomposed her enough. It would be completely worth it though, because she wasn’t angry with him, not really. “Tomorrow I will remember to bring a change of clothes,” he said, smiling.

  Chapter Six

  Zipporah opened the bedchamber door for her mother. “Come in. I am not at all surprised to see you.”

  “I had hoped to speak with you right after supper,” Lady Havendell said. “But you left before I had the chance.”

  “It is safer in my chamber. Did Peter leave?”

  “Aye, right after you did.”

  Zipporah sat on the edge of her bed. She smoothed her shift over her thighs. “At least he behaved himself around Gilburn. I was worried we would have bloodshed-over-pheasant served for our meal.” She also wondered if Peter might show up at her window. Fortunately, he hadn’t.

  If he had, she might not have been able to turn him away.

  Her mother sat next to her. “Would I be prying if I asked what really happened this morning?”

  Zipporah shrugged. “Just Peter’s usual foolery. He met us out on the road. I’m not even sure how he knew I was with Gilburn.”

  “I suspect he watches you a lot.” She smiled. “Tell me what happened next. Or is it a secret?”

  “Nay.” Zipporah’s neck warmed despite herself. “It is most definitely not a secret. Nothing happens between us that could be in any way considered secret.”

  “I was only asking.”

  Zipporah sighed. “Peter spooked my gelding to get me away from Gilburn. While we were alone, I told him Gilburn is courting me. It distresses him.”

  “And no wonder. Is that why he asked to see your father again?”

  “Maybe.”

  “And have you agreed.”

  “Agreed?”

  “To marry him.”

  Zipporah pursed her lips. “I most certainly have not.”

  “So you did not tell him about Katrina?”

  “Heaven’s, nay.” Zipporah’s hands felt clammy all of a sudden. “I cannot tell him about his child.”

  “Why not?”

  “I do not even know where to begin.”

  “The garden is quiet. You can tell him there.”

  “’Tis not so easily done.”

  “Just open your mouth and tell him, daughter.”

  How could she, after all this time? She should have told her father. He would have tracked Peter down and taken care of everything. But she hadn’t. She had kept the babe secret.

  “I . . . I cannot look him in the eye and tell him he has a dead child.” Zipporah’s throat constricted. She took a breath to calm herself.

  “When news of Edward’s death reached us, your father was my comfort. Peter needs to know, so that he can comfort you.”

  “You think you know Peter so well, but you do not.”

  “I am not so old that I do not remembe
r what it is like to be in love.”

  “I am not in love with Peter.” She did not need him, and she most certainly was not in love with him.

  “Very well.” Her mother smiled. “You would be wise not to find yourself alone with him too often. After all, he has been away from you for a long time.”

  She understood where her mother was going with this. “And how do you know he has not had others over the last three years?”

  Her mother’s smile widened. “Call it woman’s intuition. There is something about the way he looks at you. Your father was the same way. When he first set eyes on me, he knew I was the one.”

  Zipporah gave that a moment to settle. It landed in the achy hole deep inside her gut. The one Peter had gouged out when he left.

  “If the temptation should become too great,” Lady Havendell said, “know that I will not blame you. Just make sure he takes you home first, and that John sanctions your union. No more sneaking about with him, please.”

  Zipporah felt heat flush up her face and seep deeply into her hairline. “I could not leave you here alone, Mother.”

  “I would rather see you with Peter than Gilburn.” Lady Havendell stood. She kissed Zipporah’s cheek.

  “What would you do if I left?”

  “Do not worry about me.”

  “How could I not?”

  “Try and get some rest,” Lady Havendell said. “Things always look better in the morning.”

  * * *

  After sleeping very little, things did not look better in the morning. Zipporah dressed, braided her hair, then made her way downstairs, taking her seat next to her mother in the great hall.

  “Have you been in to see Father yet?” she asked.

  “Aye, first thing,” her mother said. “He was awake long enough to drink some wine.”

  “Does he ever talk to you?”

  “Nay.” Lady Havendell took her hand, squeezing it. “Peter will take care of everything. Give him a chance.”

  “I was up last night thinking,” she said over her mother. “We hid my condition in order to save my pride.” She paused as a maid set a flagon in front of them. Filling a mug with ale, she shifted closer and passed it to her mother. “If we had told Father about Katrina, he would’ve been angry at first, aye, but he also would have taken care of everything. And I . . . well I . . .” Would be married to Peter.