“That will be interesting.”
“It certainly will.”
“At least one of us can be happy on her wedding day.” Alana shrugged, looking back onto the field. “I know I am not the first lady to be less than satisfied with her match. Besville has a fine keep of stone in a beautiful part of the country, and all he wants is an heir. Chances are, he’ll forget about me soon enough.”
“Alana . . .”
“I’m here to enjoy the last of my freedom.” She smiled a little too widely.
Zipporah sat back, feeling defeated. “My mother told me that sometimes you have to take a chance on love.”
Alana was quiet for a moment. “I cannot wait for some white knight to ride out of nowhere and rescue me.”
Zipporah didn’t have any answers. She closed her eyes and said a prayer for Alana. When she opened them again her gaze fell upon John.
Reliable, brave, stubborn, and rather awkward with women, John.
Zipporah glanced at Alana again. John was seven and twenty, about eight years older than Alana. Still, not an excessive age gap between them. He wasn’t exactly looking for a wife, but maybe with the right persuasion he could be convinced.
They watched as the archers took a second, and then a third line through. The best spread out of three sets was taken, and three finalists called forward. John was in top position, Peter and Gilburn were tied. The three of them would compete once more against each other, but first, there was to be a break, with a meal being served on the field.
“Sit with us,” Zipporah said to Alana as they left the stands.
“Us, as in?”
“Peter and I.” She took Alana by the arm. And John. “Where is your brother, anyway?”
“He had planned to come, but was kept away on business. He sent me with retainers. We only have a few left.”
“You could have asked for help.”
“It seemed like you had enough trouble of your own. What with your father . . .”
“Aye.”
They met up with Peter. Alana gave them some space, as if worried she might be in the way. Zipporah almost said something, then caught John edging toward her and decided against it. Alana was so tall that they were nearly the same height. Zipporah hoped John might see the benefit in not having to hunch.
“I thought you were going to kill Gilburn,” Zipporah whispered to Peter.
“He still thinks he has a chance with you, even after what he did to your face.”
“He is quite stubborn. “
“Delusional is more like it.”
“That too. You didn’t try very hard when you shot.”
“I am leaving it to John.”
Tables were brought efficiently onto the field and dressed. Soon they were seated. Gilburn was at another table altogether. Zipporah glanced around and saw her mother with an old friend. Alana and John sat across from her and Peter.
Zipporah turned to Alana. “How long can you stay?”
“For the week. Why?”
She cleared her throat, glancing at John. “I was wondering is all.”
Peter filled the chalice she was to share with him, then passed the flagon off to John. She watched him fill the large metal cup sitting before Alana, taking note of how nice they looked together.
Then she finally focused on what John was saying. He set aside the flagon and pulled a knife from parts unknown, jabbing the air with it in demonstration. “You have to turn the blade at an angle as you pull it free from the victim. That way it yields the most damage.”
Oh, nay. John was going to require some aid.
Servants arrived, placing bowls of soup before them. Zipporah took up her spoon then turned to Peter. He was already digging into his food, obviously hungrier than she was.
“I just heard some unsettling news,” she whispered to him. “A young lady I know has recently been betrothed to the Duke of Besville.”
“That is bad news.”
She was glad Peter agreed, because she was going to need his help.
“Her brother was forced into accepting the match, as there seems to be the matter of a debt.” Zipporah glanced at Alana, who was managing to eat her soup, even though John was talking about bloody wounds. Zipporah looked at her bowl, then pushed it aside.
“And she is the payment,” Peter said.
“Unfortunately.”
“I’ll speak to Matthew about it.”
“How did you know I was talking about Alana?”
He lifted his brows. “Call it a lucky guess.”
“Matthew is not here though.”
“Perhaps we could invite Alana back, and ask her to bring her brother along.”
She kissed his cheek. Then she smiled and kissed it again. “Thank you. I wonder if I should ask her now.”
“Go right ahead.” He smiled. “I cannot wait to see the look on John’s face.”
“The look . . . oh . . .” She turned back to Alana and John.
“John,” Peter said, loudly to get his attention.
“And then I gave him a short jab under the chin,” John finished, looking up. “Aye?”
Peter nudged Zipporah, signaling that it was her turn. “I was just thinking,” she said, “that perhaps we should invite Alana and her brother to come stay with us.”
Alana answered first. “I would like that very much. By us, you mean . . .”
“She is currently living under my custody,” John supplied.
“That is . . . different.”
“I know,” Zipporah said, “but Gilburn was making things uncomfortable, so my mother moved me.”
Alana looked at her bruise again.
“It is a long tale,” Zipporah said.
“I see. Well, I will tell Matthew as soon as I return.” Alana turned to John. “That is if it is all right with you, my lord.”
“’Tis no inconvenience.” He shrugged one shoulder as if it really didn’t matter if Alana came or not. Zipporah knew better though. His green eyes were a little too bright for noncommittal.
The remainder of their meal was served, and the tables eventually taken away. Zipporah and Alana returned to their seats in the stadium.
“I hope John didn’t spoil your appetite,” Zipporah said.
“I’ve a hard stomach.”
“That is good.” Very good. She was going to need it.
“I am glad for your invitation. I would rather stay with you than at home thinking about the end of life as I know it.” She laughed. There was no humor in it. “Are you sure I won’t be in the way of you and Peter?”
“Oh, you will not.” Because Zipporah had every intention of pushing her and John together as often as possible. “How do you feel about things of a sporting nature?”
“Like archery? I never really learned that. Otherwise, I would have signed up for the ladies’ competition.”
“What about swordplay, hunting, riding. Anything like that.”
She didn’t answer. Her brow furrowed.
“What?”
“It is just that I have been giving swordplay a lot of thought lately.”
“You have?” Zipporah stopped herself. “I mean, how nice.” How convenient.
“Have you ever wondered if a woman could . . . Never mind.”
“If a woman could what?”
She lowered her voice. “If a determined woman could be as good as a man with a sword.”
“Why would she want to?”
Alana shook her head. “I do not know. Forget I said anything.”
Zipporah looked at John, now on the field awaiting the last leg of the competition. “I have heard John boast that he could teach anyone to wield a sword.”
“Anyone?”
“Anyone.”
Chapter Nineteen
“This is sad, really,” John told Peter as they awaited their turn in the last round. “I had hoped for more of a challenge.”
Gilburn stepped into position. He nocked his first arrow and shot dead center. John fak
ed a yawn. Gilburn took his second shot. It landed close to the first, but not enough to make any of the feathers fall away like John’s had.
“That wasn’t bad,” Peter said.
John snorted.
Gilburn’s third shot landed just a hair away from the other two. He stepped back, handing his bow off to his page. Peter moved into position. John, who had the most points, would be shooting last. Peter aimed, then shot dead center. He shot again, aware of Gilburn glaring at the back of his head.
This was ridiculous.
What were they doing, fighting over Zipporah?
This was going to be over soon anyway. Did he really need to do this?
Peter lowered his bow. He heard murmured voices from the stands. Turning, he made his way past Gilburn, who looked at him like he had an arrow sticking out of his chest and blood oozing down the front of his tunic.
Nay, take that back. Gilburn would be grinning ear to ear if he’d seen that.
Peter stopped before their judges; two aged lords who’d shown no interest in competing.
Peter ducked his head. “I am forfeiting,” he said.
Lord Smithe gestured toward John with a bejeweled hand. “But why? Surely you and your brother have competed against each other before.”
“We have, my lord, on many occasions. This is about something else entirely.” Peter lifted his bow to them as he backed away. There were more whispers from the stands as he made his way under the pavilion, then up the steps to where Zipporah was sitting. He was being impulsive again. Hopefully she would forgive him.
Bowing his head, Peter handed his bow to her.
She took it slowly, blue eyes wide.
Gilburn was yelling now. Peter heard John’s warning.
“Peter!” Zipporah screamed, she and Alana both scrambling to their feet. Sensing Gilburn behind him, Peter drew his sword and turned.
Sir Gilburn’s sword crashed against Peter’s.
“On the field,” Peter said from over his blade.
Gilburn hesitated, then glanced at Zipporah and drew back his sword. He made his way down the stairs, away from the spectators.
“Finish him,” John called.
Metal scraped, slid. Crosspieces caught and held, then broke away again. They circled each other, Gilburn’s teeth gritted as he studied Peter.
And then Sir Thornton’s sword came down between them. Peter kept Gilburn in his sights as they parted.
“How dare you!” Gilburn said.
“You may want to be with your lady now,” he told Peter, ignoring Gilburn. “Her father is dead.”
“He’s . . .” Gilburn ran toward the castle keep with his sword still in his hand.
Peter looked for Zipporah in the crowd, but it wasn’t necessary. She burst out, coming in his direction. He caught her against him.
“Are you all right?” she asked, looking him over.
“Your father . . .”
“I know. Are you all right?”
He’d expected her to be more concerned about her parents. “Aye, I am fine. Come on.”
Guests parted for them, eerily silent as they made their way to the hall. When they reached her father’s chamber, her mother was just coming out, Sir Mark with her. He could see Gilburn in the room as well.
“Don’t come in,” her mother said.
“But . . .”
“Daughter, please.”
“My father?”
“Is gone, sweetling. Let the men take care of him now.”
Her mouth opened, then closed, no sound coming out. She buried her face in Peter’s shoulder and he rocked her, knowing there was nothing he could say that would help.
Gilburn came out of the room, wiping his sleeve across his eyes. Peter wondered if in some recess of his soul, Gilburn really had cared about her father.
Zipporah lifted her teary face. “I’m sorry,” she told Gilburn. “I know how you felt about my father, how hard you tried to keep him alive.”
Gilburn froze.
“I know about the herbs you were giving him.” She sniffed. “I found the goblet.”
Peter glanced from between them. “What herbs?”
“I do not know what they were exactly. I found some in my father’s chamber after Gilburn was there.”
“Given to you by the physician?” Peter said to Gilburn, his tone allowing for no argument.
Gilburn stumbled over a basket in the hall, caught his balance, then retreated at full speed.
“Stay here,” Peter told Zipporah.
He ran after Gilburn, following him down a circular stairway, catching glimpses as they wound their way down dank stone steps. Gilburn took the door that went into the garden. Peter caught a blur of black as he cut through the orchard.
Then stopped at the garden wall.
There was no sign of Gilburn, but Peter had been in and out of there enough times to have some idea where he must have gone. Peter trailed him along the wall, reaching a crumbled section that allowed enough space for a man to squeeze through, then continued as far as the forest.
Where he lost him entirely.
John caught up with Peter in the hills. “Anything?” He was breathing like he’d been sprinting.
“Nay.”
“He cannot hide forever. We’ll find him. Come on. You need to go home.”
Home. To his hall.
“I have detained Gilburn’s knights and secured the grounds,” John said.
“Thank you.”
“My pleasure.”
Zipporah was standing on the front steps of the castle keep when they returned, her eyes red. Alana was next to her. Their gowns rippled in a quiet breeze.
“Did you . . .” Zipporah looked at his sheathed sword.
“Nay, he got away.”
“Peter.” She came down the stairs. “Do you really think he poisoned my father?”
“I do not know yet. I am going to check your father’s room.”
“I will go with you.”
He went up the stairs with her, gesturing for John to follow. Alana came with them as they made their way to her father’s chamber.
“Maybe you should stay out here,” Peter said when they reached the door.
“I want to go with you.”
She did not need to see her father’s dead body. Peter placed his hands on her shoulders. “I will not be long. Stay here.”
He turned without another word, stepping into the room and closing the door behind her muttered protest. Lord Havendell was stretched out on the bed, a sheet pulled over his face. Peter forced himself to look past the man as he checked the room for an empty goblet, a sachet that contained herbs, even traces of poison on the table or floor.
He left the room disappointed. “I need to check Gilburn’s chamber.”
“This way,” Zipporah said, leading their procession up to the third floor. She tried the handle, but it was barred. “I forgot to get the master key from my mother,” she apologized.
“You do not have to do any of this you know. John and I can take care of it.”
“I have to.” She held his gaze. “I have to do something.”
If there was anything he could count on in life, it was his wife’s stubborn streak. Nodding, he took her downstairs. They found her mother in the great hall with the other matrons.
“We need the master key,” Zipporah said.
Lady Havendell struggled out of her chair. Her face was tearstained. “Why?”
“I need to check Gilburn’s chamber,” Peter said.
She removed her key ring from her belt and handed it over.
By the time they climbed the stairs back to the third floor, Gilburn’s door was wide open. John greeted them with a satisfied smirk.
“It seems we didn’t need a key after all,” Peter said.
“It would have taken all the fun out of it for John,” Zipporah hooked the key ring onto her belt.
Alana was going around the chamber, opening drawers. The four of them continued to search the
room, eventually turning over the mattress and checking in trunks and behind leather-bound manuscripts.
“Found something,” John said. He shifted his weight over a squeaky floorboard. “It’s loose.” He came down on his knees and pulled out his dagger. Working the board free, he reached down inside and pulled out a satchel. “What do we have here?” John said, tossing it to Peter.
He untied the drawstring and scooped out dried, ground leaves. “Was this what you saw before?” he asked Zipporah.
“He had it mixed with wine.” She leaned down to smell them, then nodded. “That’s it.”
Peter rubbed the course, grayish-green powder between his fingers. “John.” He poured some into his brother’s outstretched hand. “Any ideas?”
“I’m really not sure. But then again, I do not know much about herbs. Lady Alana?”
She shook her head, leaning over his offered hand to smell them. “I know many plants, but I could not tell you.”
“The midwife,” Zipporah said, already in motion. “She will know. I can find her.”
Peter put out his arm to stop her. “Tell me where, and I will go.”
She nodded. Then her expression changed. The color drained from her face. “I think I should go with you.”
“You are safer here. I will leave John behind.”
She closed her eyes, muttered something, and then looked at Alana. “Why do you not take John below and make sure he gets something to eat.”
“I am not hungry,” he said.
“Aye, you are.”
“Nay, I am not.”
Peter ran a hand through his hair. “I need to talk to the midwife. Now if someone could tell me where to find her . . .”
“John, Alana,” Zipporah said. “Please just give us a moment.”
They left, John eyeing them like they were both tetched. Alana followed on his heels.
“Just let me go with you,” Zipporah said once they were alone. “We need to talk.” Her eyes were guarded. It was an expression he recognized all too well.
“I cannot.”
“I will be with you.”
That she believed she would be safe as long as she was with him was gratifying, but he couldn’t risk her like that. Peter cupped her face in one hand, tilting it toward his. “Stay here. And we will talk when I return. Whatever you need to say I want to hear. But right now, I have to go.”
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