Darcy Branwyn

Enduringly Yours

The year of our Lord, 1192

…John reined in next to Peter. The maids in the wagon were whispering. A lad of about five and ten held the reins, blanching, but keeping a steady seat nonetheless.

“Let me talk to him,” John said. “It’ll be best if I handle it.”

John might be able to reason with Gilburn—assuming that was even possible. Peter nodded, and John met Gilburn at the gate. Peter reached down and loosened his bow from the saddle, just in case.

“Disobeying a direct order?” John said. “This isn’t like you.” He glanced at Zipporah, then back to Gilburn. “Betrothal papers were not drawn up between the two of you. Her mother can change her mind at any time. I think it would be in your best interest to humor your lady.” He spoke more quietly for a moment, and Peter missed most of what he’d said. “…stand for being forced, unless that’s the way you like your women.”

John turned and winked at Zipporah from over his shoulder. She scowled in return.

Gilburn scowled at all three of them. “This courting is naught but foolishness. Look at the position it’s gotten her into already?”

“I’ll watch over the lady,” John said. “And I’ll watch my brother as well. She’s like a sister to me. I give you my word that I’ll keep her reputation intact.”

Sir Gilburn eyed Peter. “Too late for that.”…