Zipporah leaned forward in the saddle to scratch her gelding’s neck, all too aware of Sir Gilburn on his tall stallion next to her.
“Do I make you nervous,” he said with a smile.
“No, of course not.” She really wished she’d sent that missive to Peter.
John.
She meant John.
“You can admit to it, my lady,” Gilburn said. “I understand. In time you’ll be more comfortable with me.”
She glanced over her shoulder at Sir Mark, her mother’s personal knight. He was a tall, lean man of five and twenty years, with a head full of golden hair. He was trustworthy, and directly employed by her mother, thereby free to refuse any order from Gilburn. Mark nodded to her.
“I’ve allowed many people, most actually, to be intimidated by me,” Gilburn said. “I’ve had little choice. A lowly son of a knight, with all family connections lost to him at a young age, rarely does. When your father took me in, he changed my life.”
Gilburn’s dark eyes were unexpectedly humble. She couldn’t help but to feel at least a little sorry for his circumstances.
“A knight with no family,” he said, “cannot rely on his name alone. To maintain order it’s essential that men be intimidated by me.”
Somehow that didn’t sound right. John had a reputation for being a warrior leader, but what most people felt for him was respect, not fear. “But you have my father’s reputation to aid you,” she said.
“So far my methods have served me well,” he continued as if he hadn’t heard her. “I admit this is the one time that it doesn’t. I value your opinion. I want your opinion.”
He valued her opinion only if it mirrored his opinion of himself. “And in public?” she asked.
He smiled. “No man wants to be contradicted in public, especially by his lady.”
She pursed her lips at that.
A turtledove cooed from the woods. Zipporah looked up and saw movement along the roadside.
Peter. It had to be.
She scanned the forest and saw him leaning against an oak tree, arms crossed over his chest as if he hadn’t a care in the world. He was wearing a dark green tunic that blended in with the forest. Peter motioned with a nod of his head into the woods. She waved him away and he disappeared.
Zipporah glanced at Gilburn. Thankfully he was looking forward, an expression of contentment on his face. She waited for the inevitable to happen.
Peter rode out on his stallion, halting to a dead stop in the middle of the road.
Gilburn’s outtake of breath could have felled a tree. “What does he think he’s doing?”
Zipporah shrugged innocently.
“I’ll take care of this.” Gilburn nudged his stallion forward to face Peter.
“Sir Gilburn.” Peter rested his forearm casually on the saddle pommel. “So good to see you this morning.”
“Do you not have anything better to do than harass my lady?”
“Harass?”
Zipporah walked her horse up to them.
“I’m sorry about this, my lady,” Gilburn said. “I will be rid of him posthaste.” He lowered his voice. “I know he reminds you of Edward, and that it bothers you. Just give me the word. I’ll see to it that he never steps foot in Havendell again.”
Was that what Gilburn thought? “It is hard,” she said, playing along. Zipporah remembered her mother’s advice and chose her words carefully. “However, he brings my mother comfort in her grief, and I can’t take that from her.”
Peter lifted his brows as if to say well done.
She wished his approval hadn’t meant as much to her as it did.
“If he distresses you in any way, my lady,” Gilburn said, “let me know.”
“I’ll be fine, assuming he keeps his distance.” She cast a warning look at Peter. He smiled back as if calling her bluff.
Darcy Branwyn 
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