Enduringly Yours by Stocum Olivia

Author:Stocum, Olivia [Stocum, Olivia]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: TangledMoon Books
Published: 2014-11-20T08:00:00+00:00

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.

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