Darcy Branwyn

Part Five

Zipporah tucked her skirts under her and sat on the bank with her knees against her chest and her arms around her legs. Peter sounded a bird call; a turtledove. She tightened her grip around her legs. He did it again. Her shoulders moved. He repeated it a third time wondering how long it would take her to understand.

Zipporah turned her head to look over her shoulder. She gasped and rose to her feet. Her hand went to the jeweled dagger on her belt.

“It’s only me,” he said, coming out from under willow branches.

She kept her hand right where it was.

“Do you really need that?” He gestured to her blade.

She sighed and lowered her hand. “What are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same.”

“I wanted to be alone.”

“So did I.”

“We are not alone.”

“No.” He smiled. “We’re not.”

“Don’t smile at me like that. What little charm you ever had, and I mean little, no longer has any effect on me.”

She was right about one thing. He’d never had much charm. But there’d been a time when she’d had him anyway.

“I wasn’t trying to charm you. I’ve been… wanting to tell you that I’m sorry about Edward.” Sorry about Edward? Was that the best you could come up with?

She started walking down the shore. “It’s not as if it was your fault. You didn’t force him to go to war.”

He followed after her.

“Why did you have to come back?” she said, not bothering to look at him. “I was doing better without you.”

That stung but he let it pass. “This is my home too. Would you rather I had died?”

She stopped, turning to face him. Her gaze worked upward, flicked over his face, and then focused on the lake instead of him. “What was it like?”

“Crusading?”

“Yes.”

“I’m not sure I should tell you.”

“My brother died because of it.”

She did have a right to know, whether he was ready to tell her or not. “Sand,” he said. “Sand and sun. When the sun rises, the sand shines like jewels.” He spread out his hand. “Then everything heats as if you were in a giant furnace. Your eyes burn and you have to shield them just to see where you’re going.”

She pulled her braid over her shoulder, twisting the end of it. “Tell me more.”

“Nights so cold you would freeze without a fire. The snakes seek after your body heat and you wake up with them curled at your side.” He’d meant to stop but it just kept coming. “Saracen blood… English blood… French blood.”

“And my brother?”

“Yes, your brother.”

“How did he die? The messenger said he couldn’t tell us.”

“He died well.”

“How?” Her blue eyes, so much like Edward’s, begged for honesty. He had to give it to her; it was compulsory.

“In battle, like many others,” he confessed, looking away from those eyes. “I saw it. I called out to him and I tried to get to him in time, but I was too late.” Peter felt as if he were caught between sparing her and the need to release himself. How fitting, he realized. “Edward died in my arms, his life’s-blood spilt upon the sand. It was on my hands.” He looked at his fingers. “My brother and I buried him in the sand.”  

Peter swallowed, his throat tight. When he looked at Zipporah, he saw silent tears on her face. He touched her arm, expecting her to pull away, but she turned into his shoulder instead.

“I want him back,” she said. 

It took him a moment to respond. Zipporah in his arms felt more like a familiar fantasy than reality. He drew her closer, rubbing her back. “So do I.” 

Her fingers clenched into the front of his tunic. Her shoulders were shaking, and he could tell she was trying not to make any noise as she cried.

“My father is dying,” she said, sniffing into his sleeve. “And my mother has suffered too much as it is.” Zipporah lifted her head.

So close; her face with moist eyes needing him to fix her, or so he’d like to think. She wavered there trembling and damn if all he could think of was lowering her to the ground beneath him. He should know better—it would solve nothing—but his body was convinced. Somewhere in the back of his fogged mind screamed a voice, back away from her now. His cock told it to go to hell.

Zipporah heaved a shuddered breath, and then she pulled away. Thank God. She had no idea how close she’d come to getting more than she’d bargained for.

No. Not like that. He still knew exactly how she liked it; he’d make sure she got it that way.