Darcy Branwyn

“Where should we put her things?” John called as Peter took the steps two at a time.

“Need you ask?”

“I told you,” he heard John say to Zipporah. Peter ignored her subsequent protest, leaving her arguing with John.

Reaching his brother’s impeccably neat solar, Peter closed the door and sat behind the desk. He placed the scroll before him, wondering how he could have received a reply so soon.

With hands that felt numb with shock, Peter broke the seal and unrolled the parchment. The first sheet was a brief letter to him, signed by one of the king’s advisors acting in the king’s behalf. That explained the speed of the response. He turned to the next sheet. And then stopped short.

It was a betrothal agreement.

Lady Zipporah of Havendell was to marry Sir Peter of Ravenmore, by order of King Richard. No matter that the king didn’t know of it yet. His advisors had permission to make such decisions based on what they believed the king would do.

Peter’s head pounded as he flipped to the third sheet. It stated that the succession of Havendell was to pass through Zipporah. Upon the death of her father, Peter was to become lord.

There was a knock at the door, and John stuck his head in. “I was worried about you.”

Under milder circumstances, Peter would have accused him of checking to make sure his little brother hadn’t ruffled any of the leather-bound manuscripts on the perfectly straight shelves, or tilted any goose feather quills in a northward direction when they should all be facing east.

Or something like that. Peter knew he was exaggerating. But John’s straight lines had been fodder for sibling rivalry for years.

“Come in.” Peter slid the sleeves of parchment toward John so he could look them over.

He read them in silence. Then he rolled the papers up. Pulling out the key to the coffer chest he kept behind his desk, John placed them inside, locking them safely away.

“Peter,” he said, straightening.

“Yes?”

“Go and claim you bride.” John smiled.

Peter came to his feet. “Should I tell her?”

“Why would you not?”

“She’s not ready.”

“Little late for that, I think.”

“This has been a big day for her.”

John clamped a hand on his shoulder. “This was meant to be. The land is yours. Congratulations.”

Peter wished he could share in the expression of pride in his brother’s eyes, but all he felt was numb shock. Like jumping into cold water. He was to be Lord Havendell, taking Zipporah’s father’s place after his demise. Was he prepared for that?