Part Two

Zipporah slipped into the dark interior of the castle keep, closed the heavy oak door behind her, and stood frozen with her back against a cold, damp wall, Peter’s missive still in her hand.

She listened to the sound of her heart in her ears, breathing in the familiar mustiness of the castle, and the faint scent of apple blossoms.

“Zipporah?” It was her mother.

Lady Havendell came to her, blue eyes sympathetic. Something about her sympathy weakened Zipporah, and a muffled sob choked her.

“Peter’s trying,” her mother said, hugging her.

“I can’t be around him,” Zipporah said into her mother’s shoulder.

“You need to try. You’ll have to do something soon. What better choice do you have than Sir Peter?”

With her father ill, her brother laid to rest, and Sir Gilburn holding a claim on Havendell through Prince John, Zipporah was short on options.

She wasn’t blind. Peter was right, Gilburn did want her. Zipporah backed away from her mother. She looked down the stone corridor to make sure no one was there. “I’ve been having dreams about her again,” she said, pressing her hand to her stomach, as if she could make her baby come back to life with nothing but her thoughts. “Seeing him only makes things worse.”

“I suppose that’s to be expected,” her mother said gently. “He’s different now, I can tell. War will change a man. Some return ruined. Some return fixed.”

“Ruined, fixed, what does it matter? We’re not good together. We’ll only hurt each other.”

“Finish your walk alone. Think things through. You’ve been spending too much time in your father’s sick chamber and it’s not good for you.”

“I’ll walk if you want me to, but I don’t think it’ll help.”

“Thank you for humoring me then.”

Peter had said something about humoring him. Was she that stubborn, that everyone had to tread carefully around her?

If nothing more, she knew she had to be exhausting her mother. She’d done nothing but tax the poor woman for the majority of her life. Opening the door, she blinked into the sun.

She looked back at her mother, who nodded approvingly. Zipporah stepped outside and made her way down the garden path. No amount of air would make anything better. She wanted her brother alive. She wanted her father whole. She wanted to take back the last three years of her life and start all over again.

But none of those things were going to happen. She’d made choices with her life that could never be taken back. Well, one choice, involving a young knight with green eyes, who could talk the tail feathers off a sparrow.

“My lady?”

She recognized Sir Robert of Gilburn’s voice. Zipporah stilled the annoyed look that she felt coming on. Everyone called Robert, Gilburn. It had been his request when he’d first come to live with them as a child, in memory of his home, that had burned to the ground.

Zipporah shoved Peter’s missive into her belt, then turned and graced Gilburn with her most polite smile and a small curtsy.

He ducked his head in response. “Is your father resting comfortably?”

His deep voice gave her chills. For all of her bluster with Peter, Gilburn did scare her. Zipporah nodded, rubbing her arms. “As well as to be expected.”

“I’m glad for that small blessing,” he said.

He was dressed in black. He always was. Zipporah assumed that was because he took pride in being intimidating. Black leather jerkin, tunic, hose, and boots. They accompanied his dark hair that fell around his shoulders in heavy waves. Even his eyes were the color of damp soil. He was broad and not unhandsome, but fear wasn’t an attractive quality to her.

 “I’ve been meaning to speak with you,” Gilburn said.

“About what?”

“Walk with me first.”

Another walk with another man who wanted to speak with her alone? She placed her hand on his arm out of duty when he offered it.

Part Four