“Sir Peter is ruthless,” she said. “I heard he became that way in the Holy Land.” Yes, she heard that much right from his mouth, right before that mouth came over hers…
“I had expected him to fight much as he had three years ago,” Gilburn said. “He has changed. I allowed myself to make assumptions, but it won’t happen again. Believe me. I’ll make sure he never has another chance to shame you.”
Gilburn would be studying Peter now, preparing for their next encounter. Zipporah tried to hide her true feelings, but failed to react soon enough.
“I’ve upset you,” Gilburn said. “I swore I wouldn’t let you down and already I have.”
She shook her head, no longer hearing him. She needed to find Peter and warn him. “We all make mistakes,” she muttered.
This was her fault. If she’d only had more control over herself. She never should have kissed Peter back like that.
“Then you forgive me?”
“What? Of course.”
“I could ask for no more. I shall see you this evening.”
He stood and walked away. Her mother was still yanking out weeds. The woman could do it all day. Dark clouds had gathered in the sky and a breeze rippled her mother’s wimple. Soon it would rain, and they would be forced inside.
Zipporah walked quickly down the path and under the fruit trees, wondering how best to go about her subterfuge without Gilburn finding out. Perhaps she could send Sir Mark to Ravenmore with a letter for John. He would make sure Peter got it, wherever he was.
“What has you so distressed, my lady?”
It was Peter. She looked up, need rippling through her. Did it ever end—the lust? She couldn’t see him yet. “Where are you?” she whispered.
He slipped out from behind a gnarled apple tree, gesturing for her to follow. She checked both ways and saw no one on the garden path, then went after him. He caught her hand and led her deeper until they stopped at the garden wall. They were sheltered by mazy branches.
Darcy Branwyn 
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