Maybe she should have accepted Peter’s letter when it had first arrived, but she hadn’t wanted anything to do with him. When she’d first found out that she was carrying she’d been appalled. Over time that had changed. She wasn’t sure what had happened, but she’d felt the baby move, and then she’d started talking to her, and had even come to look forward to her arrival.
And then Katrina had died.
Zipporah stood and crossed to the hearth. Peter was right. It was safest she burn the letter. She reached toward the fire, the missive dangling from her hand. She watched the corner catch and smolder.
The moment it flared up, she jerked the sheet back and dropped it on the stone floor. She pressed the sole of her leather boot over it.
She couldn’t burn the letter.
She had already lost too much. Zipporah bent and picked it up. His signature was gone. She wiped her eyes, carefully folded what was left, and tucked it back into her pouch.
*
Peter unbuckled his sword belt and set it aside. He pulled off his surcoat and tossed that aside. With a sigh born more of frustration than exhaustion, he collapsed into a chair before the fire at Ravenmore.
“Messy, messy,” came John’s voice.
Peter watched his brother cross the great hall. John picked up the coat and laid it over an empty chair. He sat next to Peter.
“I don’t know if you noticed, but it is late,” John said, running his hands through his shoulder-length blond hair. “You have missed the entire day. You missed a rather important meeting. And you missed your supper.”
Peter patted his stomach. “That would explain the growling sound. Sorry about the meeting. It must have slipped my mind.”
John softened his voice. “Where have you been, little brother? Or dare I ask?”
“Zipporah was out alone today. I had to guard her.”
“Until the middle of the night?”
“I stayed until I saw the light go out from behind her shutters.”
Peter recognized the look in John’s eyes. He was ready to give some brotherly advice, whether Peter had asked for it or not. “I think it would be best if you called Sir Gilburn out,” he said. “Duel him for her, and be done with it once and for all.”
John only knew two colors—if they could be considered colors—black, and white.
“You forget one detail,” Peter said.
“What?”
“The lady.”
John shrugged. “She’s a good lass. She will see the value in a duel.”
“And how is your search for a bride coming, my lord brother?”
“I’m not searching.” John stretched his booted feet out before him and crossed his ankles. “I’m nowhere near ready.” He laced his fingers over his stomach.
“You’ll need an heir.”
“There’s more to life.”
Peter eyed him.
“I know I’ll need one. We’ve only been home for a fortnight. Don’t press me.”
Peter wiped the grin from his face. He loved to annoy his older brother. Nothing cheered him more.
Darcy Branwyn 
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