“You may continue on with us, Sir Peter,” Gilburn said, his words clipped. “But if you vex Lady Zipporah, know that I’ll have you removed from Havendell permanently, despite what her mother might think of you.” Gilburn was stiff and irritated in the saddle. His stallion pinned back his ears in response.
“I’ll ride back to Havendell with you,” Peter said. “I have business there.”
“We’re not yet going back,” Zipporah countered.
“Then I’ll see you out.”
“The village idiot has arrived,” Gilburn said, raking his hand over his face. “We might as well go home.” He turned his stallion around.
Well, at least she wouldn’t have to endure Gilburn’s company for much longer. She followed after him. For some reason she peeked over her shoulder at Peter. Sunlight filtering through branches showered him like yesterday, but this time he was covered completely in gold. Her mind was playing tricks or her, and she thought she saw in him the face of her dead child. Peter’s gaze questioned hers and she tore her eyes away.
Peter closed in on one side of her. Gilburn was on the other. Sir Mark was tailing them. “How is your father this morning?” Peter asked.
“The same as yesterday, and the day before. He wakes up long enough to eat a little, and that’s all. My mother and I have to feed him by hand.”
“I’m sorry.”
“You don’t have to be polite to him,” Gilburn said.
Zipporah had almost forgotten about Gilburn already. She needed to be more careful. “It’s for the best,” she said. “Sir Peter is an ally, isn’t he?”
“Only if one truly wishes to be aligned with the village idiot,” he muttered.
She couldn’t stand witness to this. The two of them would drive her daft before they reached the castle gates. “I should like to canter home,” she said, setting heel to her gelding before either of them could say another word.
Peter came up next to her soon after. He lifted his brows in question.
“What?”
“We could lose him,” he said.
“Whatever you’re thinking, stop.”
“Pretend you’ve lost control of your horse, and then I’ll come and rescue you.”
Well, part of that plan sounded familiar, anyway. It had been her mother to suggest such a possibility. “I cannot.”
Gilburn rode up on her other side. She smiled nicely at him, and then her gelding suddenly spooked, almost running into Gilburn’s stallion.
Out of the corner of her eye she saw Peter tuck something back into his saddle. Gilburn’s high-strung warhorse snapped at her gelding. Gilburn fought to control him, and Zipporah’s gelding, convinced that he couldn’t trust either of the stallions, bucked once, took the bit between his teeth, and galloped away.
Darcy Branwyn 
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