Enduringly Yours

by Stocum, Olivia

  She dropped her hands to her lap, her face tingling from the mint juices she’d gotten on her fingers kneeling in the garden.

  Zipporah stared blankly at the stone wall of her chamber, while the mint began to fade. Eventually, the door opened and John came in carrying a tray. Her mother was behind him with a flagon. Lady Havendell fixed John a trencher and he excused himself with it, going into the corridor.

  “I advised him to go home when he is finished with his meal, but he refused,” her mother said. “You may have to persuade him yourself.”

  “I will try.” Zipporah moved to the small round table in her chamber, eyeing her food as if she’d been served roasted snake. Peter and John had once eaten roasted snake. She wondered if Edward had too. Zipporah picked up her knife and forced herself to cut into her mutton. “I may lose this later.”

  “Just humor me and try to eat it anyway.”

  “What of you?” Zipporah set her knife aside and picked up her goblet.

  “I will make my presence known at the evening meal.” She smoothed out her wimple.

  “Is that wise?”

  “It is necessary. Sir Gilburn will be there.”

  “Exactly.”

  “I should speak with him about what happened today. He will hear about it secondhand from the men, and you know how that will proceed.”

  Zipporah poked at her boiled cabbage with a finger. “Aye, I do.”

  “If I can speak with Gilburn before they do, he might even believe me.”

  “But what will you say?”

  “He knows I would not allow you to be misused, so I will simply remind him that the men are prone to tall tales.”

  Misused.

  “I am sorry. That is a terrible word, and by no means reflects what was undeniably a beautiful display of affection between you and your knight.”

  Zipporah waved her off. “Tell him what you feel is best. Just be careful.”

  “I will. I will be fine.”

  “Take Sir Mark with you.”

  “Aye, and I will ask Mark to do his best to dispel the rumors as well.”

  After her mother left, Zipporah ate as much as she could, then pushed her tray aside. She crossed her chamber and opened the door expecting to see John, but found only an empty mug and a few crumbs from the bread trencher. That was unexpected, for him to leave without saying a word.

  A turtledove cooed from down the corridor.

  A turtledove? In the corridor?

  Excitement prickled Zipporah’s skin. She pressed her fingers to her lips and felt Peter’s kiss lingering there. If she was the mature woman she wanted to be, she would talk this over with him. Make it clear that there would be no more kissing.

  But she wasn’t.

  Zipporah checked the corridor and found it empty. With a clarifying breath, she shut the door behind her and moved in the direction she’d heard him.

  “I am here,” Peter whispered from within an alcove.

  A wool tapestry covered the stone opening built into the castle wall. He reached out, took her by the sleeve, and pulled her in with him.

  “I sent John home,” he said.

  Zipporah nodded. Not that he could see it in the dark. But her voice had disappeared and there wasn’t anything else she could do.

  “Are you all right?” His words rumbled, making her want to reach out and press her hand against his chest to feel them.

  “I am,” she breathed. “I think I am. I am sorry. Gilburn will hear about it and make things difficult for us all.”

  “Let me worry about him.”

  “Which I gather is what you’re doing right now in an alcove.”

  “Of course not.” She heard Peter shift his weight. He was still wearing his chainmail. Metal scraped against the stone wall. She smelled steel mixed with the musty air of the alcove. “It wouldn’t do me any good to ask you to leave with me tonight.”

  He was hard to resist. Part of her screamed, yes, please, yes!

  “I cannot.” She nodded into the darkness, glad to see she was capable of being strong and mature.

  “I thought as much. And do not be sorry. If you’re sorry for what I think you are.”

  “I did not mean to kiss you thusly,” Zipporah said. “I had meant for it to be quite chaste.”

  “Then we are even.”

  “Then we are both still fools.”

  “Maybe some things cannot be helped.”

  Nay, maybe they could not. She twisted the end of her braid. “So, now what?”

  “I think you need to leave with me. I don’t trust myself with you. John will marry us.”

  She leaned back against cool stone, hoping to bring some relief to her flaming skin. It didn’t help.

  “Forget what I said about my self-control. Zipporah . . . truth is, I would have you, should the opportunity present itself.”

  Like right then and there in the alcove.

  “There is more to marriage then what we began three years ago,” she said.

  “Three and one half.”

  She sighed. “I want more.” He didn’t answer. “It sounds like feminine weakness.”

  “Nay. Do you believe that is all we are?”

  “I’m not sure.” Her fingers closed around a gap between rough stones. “When you first returned to England, I swore I would have nothing to do with you ever again. My vow lasted all of a fortnight.”

  “You are still angry with me for leaving you. I understand. I want to make it up to you.”

  Her temples ached from the strain she was under. She was trapped between common sense, and an overwhelming need to let go of everything and simply be with Peter. She couldn’t take it anymore.

  “Go home.” She swallowed convulsively. “Promise me you will go straight home. I have my mother’s knights to look out for me. You do not have to stay here.”

  It took him a moment. “I will be back in the morning.” He sounded disappointed.

  “You had better give Gilburn a wide berth.”

  “I cannot promise you that.”

  It was only a matter of time before Peter and Gilburn engaged in actual combat over her. She knew who would walk away victor. Peter. She considered letting him, because it would take care of her problems with Gilburn. Peter had served on the king’s personal guard and would surely deserve recompense. The king might see fit to give Havendell to Peter.

  Wait, what was she thinking?

  She couldn’t put Peter at risk like that. There was so much more to consider.

  “Gilburn has many men loyal to him,” she said, in case he was thinking the same thing. “And you come here alone. If you push him, he could order his men to take you down. How many can you fight at once?”

  “Do you really want to know?” He sounded serious.

  “Keeping score?”

  “You would have to ask John if you want an actual number.” His words were as dark as the alcove.

  “Oh.”

  “Aye.”

  Her heart raced as she recalled the way he moved during the duel. It heightened all of her senses. She smelled the metal of his chainmail and the tinge of male skin.

  “I kill out of necessity,” he said.

  “I know. I am impressed.”

  She heard him move closer. She felt his heat.

  “Nothing to be impressed about.” He was standing over her. “I have a few other qualities as well.”

  “I do know.” She was practically shaking. She wanted to reach out for him.

  Peter caught her hand in the dark. His fingers worked upward, over her shoulder and her neck, until he found her face, then he tilted her head back. She knew she should leave. Peter moved closer. His breath was on her skin, smelling faintly of wine. He moved his hand away and she realized he had both hands on the wall, one to either side of her shoulders, as if he didn’t trust himself enough to touch her.

  He leaned in, his nose brushing her face. He followed the line of her cheek, then caught her mouth beneath his. Zipporah clenched
her fingers into fists. He kissed her more deeply and she yielded. Chainmail grated when he pulled back suddenly. One, two, three heartbeats passed.

  “Peter,” she rasped.

  He kissed her again, harder, making her lips feel swollen and raw. She relished every sensation. He groaned, exploring her mouth with his. How had she lived without this?

  “Stop me,” he said.

  She dug her fingers into his hair.

  “Zipporah, you need to leave me. Now.”

  Pulling his face to hers, she kissed his hot, salty skin, dragged her teeth over his rough jaw.

  “Please,” he begged, and she wasn’t sure if he was asking her to stop, or to continue.

  Peter caught her around the waist, lifting her feet off the ground. She was pressed between the wall and his chainmail, uncomfortable, but too dazed to care.

  “You need,” he said, his hands cupping her hips. “I need . . .”

  “Aye, I know.”

  His arms tightened around her momentarily, then he set her down and slipped out of the alcove.

  Zipporah stood there, alone, wondering if he was coming back.

  Hoping he would.

  Hoping he wouldn’t.

  Peter was nowhere to be found when she finally emerged. She felt her way to her chamber, then closed the door and barred it. How did he do that? Her every nerve was buzzing. She ran her fingertips over her face, her eyes drifting closed. Her heart danced against her ribcage and her head whirled.

  She felt alive.

  And heaven help her, but she loved it.

  * * *

  Peter dragged himself up the stairwell. He was completely drained. His whole body ached, and he wanted nothing more than to fall into bed.

  His brother’s chamber door opened as he passed, and John leaned his shoulder against the casing, arms folded over his chest. “I thought I heard you coming. I wondered if you would be back at all tonight.”

  “She forced my hand.”

  “So, you saw her then.”

  “Briefly.” Peter recalled the perfect softness of her body in the dark, and her little breathless moans as he claimed her mouth. Clearing his throat, he went to his chamber door, opening it.

  John followed him, handing over a candle.

  “You might as well come give me your brotherly advice,” Peter said, lighting candles on the wall. “You are going to anyway.”

  “Like I told your lady, I ask no questions,” John said. Then he smiled. “Usually.”

  Peter unbuckled his sword belt and set the weapon aside.

  “I have been thinking,” John continued.

  Of course he had, Peter thought.

  “And I have one word for you.”

  Peter untied the laces that attached his surcoat to his chainmail. He was anxious to be rid of the heavy hauberk he’d worn all day. He didn’t wear it as a general rule, not since he’d returned to England. “Help me off with this. My arm will be grateful.”

  John worked the heavy mail armor off, laying it over the top of a trunk. “Will you not ask me what that word is?”

  Peter pulled off his boots and tossed them aside. John picked them up and set them next to the trunk.

  “What?” Peter asked finally.

  John gaped as if Peter should already have known. “Siege.” When he didn’t leap for joy, John continued. “Take Havendell by force.”

  Peter sank down on the end of his bed, elbows on knees. “And take them from her father?”

  John shook his head. “He cannot hold them like this. He made a poor choice in Gilburn, fueled by grief and fear in the suddenness of his illness. Make it right again. We can rally the men and take the land. Write King Richard now, you served him well. Tell him it has become necessary to save the land and lady daughter from the ill intentions of a man incapable of doing anything save running it aground. He will believe you and give you the land.”

  “I am flattered.”

  John snorted. “I was there when King Richard dismissed you. He looked you right in the eye and said he owed you one favor, and that you could ask it of him at any time.”

  Peter let his brother vent. It wasn’t the first time John had reminded him of the king’s offer.

  “You saved his life,” John said. “And then just walked away with nothing more than a pat on the back.”

  “I did not save his life for reward.”

  “Call it a favor.”

  “Besides, I already wrote him.”

  “You . . .”

  “When we first arrived home and I learned of her father’s illness.”

  John sat down on the trunk across from Peter. “I did not know.”

  “It will be months before I receive a reply. And even if he should agree, Zipporah will have my head for it.”

  “For saving her from Gilburn’s bed?” He pretended to shiver.

  “I have hurt her in the past. I need to think about her now.”

  “I’d say you’ve thought quite a lot about her.”

  “From my own point of view.”

  “I am never falling in love.” John stretched his legs out in front of him and crossed his ankles. He scratched at the stubble on his jaw. Peter knew he was gathering his thoughts—he was in his Thinking Pose. “Given the way you just kissed her, in front of an audience no less, I think it might be best the two of you wed as soon as possible.”

  John was one to talk, but Peter kept it to himself.

  “Keep up at this, and sooner or later you will have to anyway.” He arched his brows knowingly. “I am amazed you did not have to marry her three years ago.”

  Peter rubbed his face with his hands. “As am I.”

  “So much for a decent night’s sleep for me then. When you hear from King Richard and are ready to act, let me know. Gilburn will be nothing but a bad memory.” John came to his feet. “By the way, I ran into him on my way out.”

  “And?”

  “I left him with a warning.”

  “I’d hoped to leave you out of this for as long as possible.”

  “I merely told him that if he had his men kill you, I would not stop until his head hung rotting from my front gate.” John grinned. “With maggots eating his eyeballs.”

  “And what did he have to say?”

  “Nothing. He blanched, and I walked away.” John cracked his knuckles. “The men are talking. After this afternoon’s events, they’re eager to see who wins the final battle for the lady, if not the land. There seems to be some question as to whether or not Gilburn can inherit without her. He only had a verbal agreement with her father after all.”

  “There are witnesses. And he has Prince John’s approval.” Peter rubbed his sore shoulder.

  “You should put some liniment on that.”

  Peter narrowed his eyes at John. He shrugged.

  “When her father finally succumbs to his illness, Gilburn may force her hand in order to secure the land for his own. When the time comes, you had better get her out quickly. If Gilburn can convince the priest,” John made a motion with his forefinger across his jugular, “to marry them without her consent, you will lose her.”

  “I would get her back.”

  “I was thinking of the meantime.”

  “I would kill Gilburn if he so much as touched her.”

  “Or before?”

  “Preferably before.”

  “I will help wherever I can.”

  “I know you will.”

  “Aye, and you can thank me for it later.”

  “I will thank you now, my lord.” Peter ducked his head. John waved him off.

  Chapter Nine

  “Hand me the trowel,” her mother said.

  Zipporah handed the hand tool to her mother, then sat back on her heels, her dirty hands resting in her lap, her yellow hemp gown protected by an apron.

  “Are you gardening, or daydreaming?” Lady Havendell asked.

  “Sorry, Mother.” Zipporah reached for a weed and pulled. Looking at it more closely, she realiz
ed she’d pulled up a sprig of lavender instead. She stared at it.

  Lady Havendell took it from her and replanted it. “Did you ask Peter to stay away?”

  “Not precisely, but I did ask him to give Gilburn a wide berth.” Zipporah stopped, glaring at her mother. “How did you know I saw Peter last night?”

  “I didn’t.” Her mother pulled up a weed and tossed it into their pile. “But now I do.”

  Zipporah groaned.

  “When did you see him?”

  “After you left for supper. I went to send John home, but Peter had already done so.” She stared past the rose bushes, into the fruit trees beyond. A damp breeze swayed growing apples and plums. “Looks like rain.”

  “Peter will not melt in the rain. Did you two work things out?”

  “What is there to work out?”

  Her mother tugged at a weed. “I assume you are jesting.”

  She sighed. “There is nothing that can be worked out. Not without Father.”

  “There is plenty that can be done without him, and you know it.”

  Zipporah rolled her eyes. She had heard the story of how her mother came to love her father many times, and had the feeling she was about to hear it again.

  “I knew I was taking my chances when I left my parents for a young knight with large ambitions.”

  “I know, Mother.”

  “One day you will look back and wonder why you allowed your fears to guide you.” Lady Havendell smiled and tossed a weed into the pile. “The two of you need not make your own epic tragedy.”

  “We do not.”

  “Aye, you do.”

  A throat cleared behind her. “My Lady Zipporah?” It was Gilburn.

  “Speaking of tragedy,” Zipporah said under her breath. She stood and brushed her hands off on her apron, turning to face him.

  “My lady,” Gilburn repeated. “Your father is awake. I was just with him. You may want to go now.”

  “What?” Those were not the words she had expected to hear.

  He softened his voice, touching her arm. “I was just there. I asked a maid to fetch him some bone broth. Go now.”