Enduringly Yours by Olivia Stocum

she asked.
    “He is fine. I forfeited is all.”
    “Whatever for? You are my only chance at not having to kiss Sir Gilburn.” She leaned around John to look at her mother. “Go order Sir Mark to win.”
    “This is between Peter and Gilburn,” John said.
    “But he is injured.”
    “He will be fine. Trust me.”
    She pressed her hand to her stomach. “I think I might be sick. How badly is Peter hurt, really?”
    “Do not fear, my lady. He is angry enough to make up for his injury.” John rubbed his hands together, smiling. “This will be good.”
    “I do not want to kiss Peter either.”
    “Just kiss him. Lord knows he needs it.”
    “Aye,” her mother seconded.
    Zipporah glared at the both of them.
    John leaned back in his chair, metal scraping against wood. “You want to see Peter best Gilburn just as badly as the rest of us, admit it.”
    Her mother looked up from her needlework. “How much more is left?”
    “Gilburn is just finishing his duel with Sir Mark. Next it will be Peter against Sir Gilburn.”  
    She set aside her frame and needle. “I should like to see Gilburn trounced.”
    “Peter is injured,” Zipporah reminded her.
    “He has been smote,” John said. “But he is also smitten.” He winked at Zipporah.
    “So is Gilburn.”
    “This will be interesting,” her mother said.
    “I hope Peter’s arm holds out.” Zipporah held her breath as Peter entered the field. “He is so much bigger than Peter.”
    “But dumber.”
    She rolled her eyes at John and he shrugged.
    Sir Gilburn looked up at her before donning his helmet. She smiled so it would look good. His chest puffed, reminding her of the way her father looked at her mother. With pride.
    The poor man was obviously delusional. 
    They began, and Zipporah watched the way Peter fought. Aye, he was smaller, but he was also as hard as stone beneath his armor, with no excess on his frame. Peter moved like a man who understood his body, and precisely what it was capable of.
    Her face warmed. “He is even better than I remembered,” she said.
    “His time in the Holy Land transformed him.” John nodded. “What was once a trained swordsman is now an experienced one.”
    “I can see that.”
    “Too bad your father was not able to join us,” Lady Havendell said. “I do believe he would be impressed.”
    “So do I.” Zipporah wondered how much pain Peter might be in. He didn’t show it at all.   
    Gilburn turned quickly to avoid Peter’s blade, lost his footing, and stumbled backward.
    “He is off balance,” John said. “His greater size does nothing to aid him.”
    Peter drove Gilburn to his knees with two solid blows, knocking his sword out of his hand.
    It was over already.
    John bellowed congratulations that made her ears ring. Zipporah kept her emotions in-check, despite the way her face stung from heat and excitement. She could almost taste Peter.
    Gilburn came heavily to his feet, his shoulders bowed. He walked forward to acknowledge her and her mother. Zipporah smoothed her hands over her skirt, wondering what she should say.
    “Well done, Sir Gilburn.” Her mother saved her the discomfort. “I daresay the ground is not level on that part of the field.”
    He grunted, his gaze shifting through them. His pride was wounded. Gilburn bowed, then turned on his heel and walked away.
    The other knights shouted for her to kiss Peter. This too, was a matter of pride. A lady’s pride. She had little choice but to offer Peter his reward, lest she appear arrogant before the men. Chivalry was not only about the lady. It was also about the knight.  
    She looked at her mother.
    “Go on, sweetling,” she said.
    Zipporah rose from her seat and stepped down off the stadium. The knights lined up to present themselves to her. She smiled at them the way she’d been trained to, giving each damp, overheated man an expression of approval.
    They shoved Peter out of line and prodded him toward her.
     
    * * *
     
    A hard shove made