So many things she had hidden from him. Her dishonesty ate a hole through her skin sometimes. She wanted to come clean, but was afraid it might be too late...
Her father had been moved out of the chamber he normally shared with her mother because of the regular medical care he required. His arms were out from under the blanket, one bandaged from a recent bloodletting.
Zipporah crossed the room. There was so little she could do for her father. She hated it. Sitting in the chair next to his bed, she reached out to smooth his lank gray hair off his face. She thought of the times he had lifted her onto his shoulders and galloped her around, pretending to be a horse. Now he couldn’t even lift himself out of bed.
Remembering Peter’s letter, she sat back and took her coin pouch off her belt then loosened the drawstring and pulled it out. She held the parchment in her hands, still folded, afraid to read it. The last thing she wanted was to be reminded of Peter’s many betrayals.
Footsteps sounded outside the door and she sat up, her fingers crinkling the parchment accidently. A shadow passed in the gap under the door. Whoever it was, continued on their way. She blew out a breath. Going to the door, she slid the bolt into position, locking it.
Zipporah took her seat again. Her fingers traced the wax seal while she gathered her courage. It was John’s seal of course, since he was lord and Peter his first knight. Still, she’d known all along that it was Peter’s script inside.
A promise was a promise, whether she trusted Peter or not. What they’d had together, as imprudent as it might have been, deserved that much. She slipped her nail under the wax to break the seal and then spread the parchment over her lap, recognizing his handwriting immediately.
The top was dated at two years and four months ago. She remembered the day it had arrived. It had taken months to find its way to her door. That part didn’t surprise her. It had come a long way, after all. What had caught her off guard was the exact date it had been composed.
Her eyes filled with tears.
Do not think about it. Do not.
She took a deep breath, turning back to Peter’s elegant script. He sounded homesick. He alluded to their time together, making it sound as if she was all that stood between him and madness.
She set the letter aside and stood, pacing before the fire and recalling what he had told her about Crusade. She looked at her unconscious father.
Zipporah didn’t understand why her father would want her to marry Gilburn. Obviously he saw something in the man that she didn’t.
“I need you,” she whispered to her father. “You can’t leave me yet. There’re so many things I need to talk to you about.”
So many things she had hidden from him. Her dishonesty ate a hole through her skin sometimes. She wanted to come clean, but was afraid it might be too late.
His pale, lined face revealed no sign that he’d heard her. She sat, and with slow fingers picked up Peter’s letter. The rest was cryptic, probably in case anyone got their hands on it. She understood though. Peter was trying to apologize for having left her so abruptly. There was something along the lines of wishing he’d married her before he’d left.
He’d never asked her to marry him.
Not once in the six months that he’d practically shared a body with her. How she hadn’t managed to conceive sooner was a mystery to her.
What if he had married her before leaving?
Would it have changed anything? Other than giving people something to gossip about when her child came too soon?
Edward would still be dead, her father dying, and the land would go to Gilburn anyway. Katrina would still have been born blue and lifeless on the same day Peter had penned the letter she now held.
Zipporah lowered her face to her hands, and wept. She hated crying because it gave her a headache and it solved nothing, but she couldn’t hold it back any longer. Her throat was raw by the time she lifted her head and wiped her eyes. She strained to see Peter’s handwriting through her blurred vision.
Darcy Branwyn 
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