“At least you haven’t climbed the trellis to my window yet,” she said as if reading his mind.
Peter faked a smile and avoided that altogether. She was barely talking to him. Going there with her—even with words was dangerous terrain.
“Gilburn has been scenting after you,” he warned, “and I can’t allow that.”
“He’s not scenting after me. And it’s not up to you.”
“He wants you. Trust me, I know.”
“Yes, you would know, wouldn’t you?”
He winced. “Bad choice of words.”
“We’d better walk, to appease my mother.”
“Walking with me? How will you survive?” he said before he could stop himself. Don’t do that. Getting frustrated with her would solve nothing.
“Just a walk,” she said. “Just for my mother.”
He offered his arm, but she refused it, crossing hers over her chest.
“Don’t expect me to talk to you,” she said, turning to dramatics again.
He smiled despite himself. She was just too adorable sometimes. “I think you’re already talking to me.”
“Merde,” she swore under her breath. “I’m not doing it of my own volition. You haven’t changed at all.”
She was wrong. He had changed. He wasn’t the foolish boy-child that had left her three years ago. There was nothing he could have done about the leaving. He’d been expected to prove himself to King Richard by going on Crusade, but he’d left behind unfinished business, and he regretted that.
Peter felt around his belt, pulling out the piece of parchment he had tucked into it. It was sealed with wax and folded into quarters. He’d wanted to give it to her all along, but the timing had never felt right.
He held it out to her like a goodwill offering.
“That’s not what I think it is.” She paled at the sight of it.
“Just take it.”
Slender fingers curled around the parchment. Her fingertips brushed his, and then she jerked the missive out of his hand.
“Tear it up, burn it,” he said. “Do whatever you want. But do me the courtesy of reading it first.”
“Courtesy?” She laughed.
“Then humor me.”
“I can’t believe you kept it.”
“I couldn’t believe you had it brought all the way back to me? What did that cost?”
She waved her hand. “It was Gilburn’s idea, not mine. I was going to destroy it.” She looked at the letter, frowning.
Peter had had it sent to her from the Holy Land. A returning knight had agreed to deliver it for him. The parchment was weathered from its long journey.
“Leave, please,” she said, her voice breaking. “Just leave me.”
“Zipporah…” He reached for her but she pulled back.
“God help me, if you so much as touch me,” she warned.
He straightened, feeling like she’d slapped him across the face. “I wouldn’t have hurt you.”
“Hurt? No.” She shook her head; her blue eyes were cold. “It wouldn’t hurt at all, would it, Peter? You’d make it so good.” She hesitated, and then shoved at him with both hands. She had to weigh half of what he did so it was useless. “I never want to see you again.” She walked away, leaving behind the scent of juniper.
Darcy Branwyn 
Leave a comment