Enduringly Yours

by Stocum, Olivia

“Then forget I brought it up.” Smiling, he placed her hand in the crook of his arm. “The kitchens?”

  They made their way to the building housing the cooking hearths. Zipporah gave the serving maids their orders then she and Peter waited for them in the garden. Her mother came just as a table was being brought out.

  Zipporah watched the way her mother treated Peter while they ate. Lady Havendell made sure he was satisfied with the layout of the table, and with the food. She thanked him for watching out for Zipporah and told him she was sorry Gilburn was making things so difficult.

  Was this her mother’s way of dealing with her grief? Trying to push her and Peter together? It was all beginning to make sense now. Zipporah’s heart felt hollowed out.

  “I am finished,” her mother said, setting aside her napkin and standing. “Thank you for allowing me to join you.”

  Peter stood with her. “Thank you for joining us, my lady.”

  She bowed her head. “Where will you two conduct your lesson?”

  “In the orchard.”

  “I shall be near.” She looked at Zipporah. “But not too near.”

  Heat crept up Zipporah’s face at the innuendo. “Thank you,” she gritted, then she looked at Peter, and found him watching her closely. “What?”

  “Warm today,” he said, lifting his goblet.

  She pressed the back of her hand to her cheek. He just had to point that out to her. “It must be.”

  “Don’t you think you should finish that before we start?” He gestured to her food.

  She took a bite. “Better?”

  “Somewhat.” He waited while she finished, then stood. He held out his hand and she let him pull her to her feet. Lacing warm fingers through hers, he walked her down the path toward the orchard.

  “Don’t you have to get your gear from the stable?” she asked.

  “It is here already.”

  “You were very early this morn, weren’t you?”

  “I usually am.” He stopped, lowering his voice. “You do not have to petition Mary Magdalene, you know.”

  She pulled her hand free from his.

  “Do you do that often? Pray for forgiveness?”

  She’d deceived her father, asked her mother to lie for her, and she was still hiding the truth from Peter.

  “Zipporah?”

  She held up a hand. “Let’s just practice my archery.”

  He wanted to say more. She could tell.

  “Peter, please.”

  “Aye,” he acquiesced, but she knew the conversation wasn’t over.

  * * *

  “Your aim is improving.”

  Zipporah turned to look at Peter from over her shoulder. He was leaning against a pear tree, well behind her. It was the safest place to be, she supposed. “I am going to embarrass myself at the competition, aren’t I?”

  “Of course not.”

  She narrowed her eyes.

  “Maybe just a little.”

  Zipporah turned and faced her straw target. “This is harder than I remembered. Perhaps it is good that my mother isn’t too close by. With my aim, I would probably shoot her by accident.”

  Peter came up behind her. “Here.” He took the bow, then an arrow from where they’d pushed the tips into the ground at her feet. “Line it up the way I showed you.” He cocked the string back and let the shot go, hitting the bull’s-eye directly in the center.

  “Perfect shot, of course,” she muttered.

  He passed the bow back to her. Zipporah took up an arrow, nocked it, and then lifted and started to draw. Her arms were sore. “It is too hard to pull back.” She lowered it again.

  “Try this one.” He handed her another bow. “The tension is lower.”

  She loaded it and drew back the string.

  “Better?” he asked.

  “Aye.” She took her time sighting the target.

  “You could have told me that you were struggling.”

  “I thought I would get used to it.” Zipporah let the arrow fly. She didn’t hit the bull’s-eye, but at least she did hit the target, along the edge. “Well, that was better.”

  “How’s your arm holding out? Can you try a few more?”

  Zipporah flexed her fingers. They’d tied her sleeve back because it was getting in the way. “My skin is raw where the string has brushed against it.” She showed him the inside of her arm.

  He winced. “I brought a brace for you, but I forgot.” Peter dug through his saddle bag and pulled out a leather arm cuff. “This belonged to John’s page before he grew out of it. It might fit you.”

  He positioned it around her arm and did up the laces. “Too tight?”

  Peter was being very patient. Too patient. “Peter, you do not have to do this.”

  His brow furrowed as if he had no idea what she was talking about.

  “You do not have to be so nice.”

  “I . . .” He let go of her hand.

  Maybe she should have skipped her final prayer for the sake of sparing his heart.

  “I do not know what else to do for you,” he said.

  “Just forget what you saw this morning.”

  “As if I could.” Peter cradled the back of her head in his hand. “I was beginning to wonder why I vowed to marry you before we could be together again.” His thumb caressed her scalp. “At least I was wondering, until I saw you praying.”

  “Peter . . .”

  “Stop.”

  “Nay, I will not stop, because I know you blame yourself.”

  His hand slid away. “Shouldn’t I?”

  “I was the one who let you through my window in the first place.”

  “And I was the one who kept coming back for more.”

  “It is in the past now.”

  “Is it?”

  She didn’t know what to say.

  “I think we are done with your lesson.” He ran his hands through his hair. “I was wrong. Back then. And aye, I meant everything I wrote in my letter.”

  “I know.” Her voice was small.

  “It is almost time for me to duel Gilburn,” he said, closing the subject.

  She felt immediately guilty. About everything.

  “John will be here soon as well,” he said. “He does not want to miss it.”

  Zipporah watched Peter gather up his gear, hating the injured look on his face. She knew she was weakening him. Her greatest fear was that Gilburn would find a way to have him killed. If Peter was not in full control, it could happen.

  “Please be careful out there,” she said. “It seems I worry about you no matter what. I did not want you sneaking around because I felt badly for you. Now I do not want you here in such a public manner for fear he will have you killed.”

  Peter made to shake his head, but Zipporah stopped him, slipping her fingers into this sandy blond hair and pulling his face down to hers. His eyes widened as she paused with her mouth a hair’s width from his. “What do you need, Sir Knight, to win yon battle?”

  He hesitated and she pressed her palm against his chest, noting the thump of his heart. She lowered her hand down his stomach, feeling his muscles tighten in response. He stopped her when she reached his belt, his breath ragged.

  “You,” he said. “I need you.”

  She needed him too, but her cowardliness was keeping them apart. How stubborn was she? Stubborn enough to get him killed?

  “I probably should not be doing this outside of our hiding places,” she said. Zipporah wiggled her hand, still in his grasp. With a groan of resignation he released her. “It is for luck.” She kissed him, letting her hands roam free.

  By the time they jerked apart— at the sound of a muffled gasp—they were both out of breath, Peter’s clothes in disarray, and Zipporah’s laces halfway undone.

  “Working hard,” Gilburn said. A vein on his forehead pulsed.

  Peter clamped his hand protectively around her wrist, urging her behind him. “If she keeps at it,” he said, “she might just hold her own.”
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br />   She pulled tight her laces with one hand, holding them in place at her breasts.

  Gilburn flexed his fingers. “Keeps at what, pray tell?”

  “I was referring to her archery. What were you suggesting?”

  Gilburn’s face turned livid red.

  Zipporah tried to break free. If she could just talk to Gilburn then maybe she could diffuse the situation. Peter wouldn’t release her. She glared at the back of his head.

  “She is fatigued,” Peter said. “It must be the sun.”

  Gilburn’s eyes were like the blackest of holes. She found herself willingly hiding behind Peter.

  “Just what were the two of you doing?” he asked.

  She would have thought it to be fairly obvious. But she wasn’t about to point that out to Gilburn.

  “What we do is none of your business,” Peter said. She watched the muscles in Peter’s back bunch against the fabric of his tunic, like a coiled snake ready to strike.

  “It never occurred to you to resist your business?”

  “Why would I do that?” Peter smiled.

  By the saints, but that mouth of his was going to get him killed. Zipporah couldn’t take anymore. “It was my fault,” she said.

  Gilburn straightened. It took him a moment to recover, and then his face settled into dark acceptance. “That is noble of you, my lady, but these matters are always the responsibility of the knight.”

  “It looks like your charms are not working on her,” Peter told Gilburn. “Not this time. Not on this woman.”

  Gilburn took a step closer, his hand coming over the hilt of his sword. Peter pushed Zipporah back a step.

  “Enough!” Lady Havendell yelled.

  Zipporah peeked over Peter’s shoulder and saw John standing next to her mother, his eyes narrowed, his hand over his sword hilt.

  “Back down, Sir Gilburn.” Lady Havendell lifted her chin. “Do not forget who my husband is. This is my home.”

  Gilburn hesitated, then lowered his hands to his sides.

  “That is better.” Her mother positioned herself between Gilburn and Peter. John remained behind, scowling at Gilburn as if daring him to try his patience. “I have come to the conclusion that all the chaos here is too much for my daughter. I am sending her to Ravenmore under the care of Lord John.”

  What? Zipporah stepped out from behind Peter. He pulled her back. “Mother, you cannot do this to me. What about Father?”

  “You will be able to visit him.” Lady Havendell turned to Gilburn, her neck arched back. “And as for you, young knight, your status as her suitor remains in effect only because it was my husband’s wish, but if you continue to question my daughter’s behavior it will be rescinded, and that is a promise. Now, do you care to challenge me?”

  He opened his mouth as if to argue, then snapped it closed again. As long as her father still lived, Gilburn was just a knight. With John glaring down on him, and Peter ready to put an end to the tension at any time, he had no choice.

  “Good,” her mother said. “You may leave us. There will be no duel today.”

  Gilburn ducked his head in a bow, then turned on his heel and walked away.

  “Mother.” Zipporah took a cautious step. When Peter didn’t fling her back, she continued. “Do you know what you have done?”

  “Tie your laces, sweetling.”

  She looked down, then, humiliated, turned her back on John and tied them off.

  “And aye, I do.” Lady Havendell turned to John. “Have Sir Mark brought forth. Tell him to choose two of my most trustworthy knights. The three of them will take turns guarding me at all times from this point forward.”

  He nodded and backed away.

  “Mother!”

  She gave Zipporah’s arm a squeeze. “I will be fine. Sir Gilburn needed to know that I still hold sway here. I have been remiss in that.”

  “But . . .”

  “Go home with John and Peter. I will send two maids with you. They shall act as chaperones,” she eyed Peter with a wry smile, “and John will be responsible for you as well.”

  “Did John have any choice in this?”

  “We were discussing such a possibility when Gilburn walked in on the two of you.”

  She could hardly believe her ears. John and her mother had been talking about whether or not she and Peter might be caught in a compromising position? “I have never fainted in my life Mother, but I might begin today.”

  “Sir Peter,” Lady Havendell faced him. He straightened, hands clasped behind his back. He looked pained. “I am counting on you now. Don’t you dare let me down.”

  He nodded stiffly.

  “Play along with Gilburn’s idiocy, please,” Lady Havendell continued. “So that Zipporah and I can have this time with my husband. Once he . . . I will abdicate completely to Gilburn, and leave my home for good. Come daughter, and let us pack your things before Gilburn recovers from his humiliation.”

  Zipporah took one last glance at Peter. He wasn’t looking at her. His gaze seemed focused on thin air.

  She turned and followed her mother out of the garden.

  Chapter Thirteen

  John waited with Peter in the bailey while Zipporah’s mother had her things packed into a wagon.

  “You agreed to this?” Peter said.

  John shrugged. “She will be safer.”

  “She will kill the both of us.”

  “She will buck for a bit, then realize it is for the best, and settle against the bit.”

  Peter eyed him. “She is not a horse.”

  “Same concept.”

  “You know nothing about women, do you?”

  John ignored him. “You could not go on like this any longer. Think of it, now there will be no more riding out at dawn and coming home for no reason other than to check on me.”

  “I am not checking on you.”

  John lifted his brows. “Aye, you are. I know, because I would do the same.” He continued before Peter could say anything. “No more worrying about her, every moment, of every day.”

  “That is because she will slay me herself.” Peter made the motion of a hangman’s noose around his neck.

  John waved a hand in dismissal. “She will get over it.”

  Zipporah appeared at the top step, along with her mother, two maids, and the towheaded Sir Mark standing watch behind them.

  Peter ascended the steps, taking a bag out of her hands.

  “I am sorry,” she said.

  She was apologizing to him? “You have nothing to be sorry for.” He hooked her leather sack over his shoulder.

  “Do I not?” She brushed past him. It took him a baffled moment before he was ready to turn around and follow her.

  His previous assumption had been wrong. She didn’t blame him. She blamed herself. That was not any better. She was suffering under enough pressure as it was.

  Menservants loaded a large, wrought iron, four-poster bed onto the wagon. “That was my grandmother’s,” she said. “My mother wanted me to have it when I married.”

  Ah . . .

  John laughed, and Zipporah shot fiery darts at him with her eyes.

  Once the wagon was filled with what appeared to be Zipporah’s every worldly possession, Lady Havendell came forward and kissed her cheeks. “I shall see you soon.”

  “I am not ready for this,” Peter heard her say. “Do not force me.”

  “No one is forcing, sweetling. Now go on.”

  Zipporah gathered up her gelding’s reins. Peter gave her stiff body a boost into the saddle. He knew it was going to be a long ride home.

  As they neared the gates he wasn’t surprised to see Sir Gilburn and a number of his men before the closed metal portcullis. Some held crossbows. Others stood with hands over sword hilts. All were dressed in black leather like their master. Peter and John were outmanned, twelve against two.

  “He will not let me go without a fight,” Zipporah said.

  “Stay behind me.” Peter motioned.

 
; “Just leave me here. Do not fight him.”

  “Zipporah.” He lowered his voice. “Do not argue with me. Do as I say.”

  John reined in next to Peter. The maids in the wagon were whispering. A lad of about five and ten held the reins, blanching, but keeping a steady seat nonetheless.

  “Let me talk to him,” John said. “It will be best if I handle it.”

  John might be able to reason with Gilburn—assuming that was even possible. Peter nodded, and John met Gilburn at the gate. Peter reached down and pulled his bow free, just in case.

  “Disobeying a direct order?” John said. “This is not like you.” He glanced at Zipporah, then back to Gilburn. “Betrothal papers were not drawn up between the two of you. Her mother can change her mind at any time. I think it would be in your best interest to humor your lady.” He spoke more quietly for a moment, and Peter missed most of what he’d said. “. . . stand for being forced, unless that is the way you like your women.”

  John turned and winked at Zipporah from over his shoulder. She scowled in return.

  Gilburn scowled at all three of them. “This courting is naught but foolishness. Look at the position it has gotten her into already?”

  “I will watch over the lady,” John said. “And I will watch my brother as well. She is as a sister to me. I give you my word that I will keep her reputation intact.”

  Sir Gilburn eyed Peter. “Too late for that.”

  “You really do not have any choice in the matter,” John said over him. “What if her father recovers and finds out that you disobeyed a direct order from his lady wife?”

  “And if he finds out about Peter?”

  “You are his First Knight. You are expected to honor Lady Havendell.”

  Gilburn turned and waved to the men above. “Open the gate.”

  The metal portcullis rattled upward. It came to rest with a clang and they passed under the archway. Gilburn stepped in front of Peter. “We will play this their way for now,” he said. “But she is mine, and I swear, you will pay for what you have taken.”

  “I will be waiting,” Peter said.

  No one pursued them as they passed onto the road.

  “I am sorry about your having to leave your mother like this,” Peter said.

  “I cannot believe she had all of my things packed. And the bed!”