Free Enduringly Yours by Olivia Stocum Page B

“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?”