Free Enduringly Yours by Olivia Stocum Page A

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.