In Honor Bound (22 page)

Stephen was just as Tom remembered him and it occurred to him, as it had at their first meeting, that this supposed heir to the Lynaleighan throne did not look much like Chastelayne nobility. His limbs were thick and heavily muscled, and he lacked the lithe agility that graced his
Afton
cousins. His blond hair hung limply around his dough-complected face, a face that might have been handsome but for the marks of reckless cruelty that were on it. He was King Edward's son, there was enough Chastelayne in him to attest to that, but only just.

"I am quite pleased to see you here, cousin," Stephen said, the look in his pale eyes frighteningly sincere. "Really quite pleased."

Tom made an elaborate bow. "I am gratified, my lord of Ellenshaw, and honored by your kind attentions. May I ask what you intend for me now?"

"I mean you no harm, cousin. You and your father and your brother, too, are guilty of treason and murder. My duty as your king is to see the law satisfied in these matters. Nothing more."

"Nothing more than hanging, drawing and quartering. Again I am gratified. May I be allowed to see my father?"

"If that pleases you. I for
one am
loath to see families parted. Even now, I wish with all my heart that your brother were here with us."

"Yes," Tom replied, "I am certain you do."

"Yes. Well, perhaps that can be remedied soon. I hear he has his army at Lindfors and is stubbornly refusing to yield to my forces. Still, there will be time enough, I'll warrant, to teach him the folly of false pride. Come, I will send you to your father now. Pity you've come so late, though. You've just missed supper." His mouth twisted into a sardonic grin when he saw Tom swallow hungrily. "But you'll be all the keener for breakfast in the morning."

Tom bowed once again. "Most considerate, my lord."

Bidding his host good night, Tom followed his guards through a maze of corridors and finally down into the depths of Stephen's dungeon. In the deepest passageway, posted with guards every few feet, was the captive king's cell. The silent soldiers opened the door and stepped aside to let Tom enter. Once they had freed his hands, they locked the door upon him.

"Father?"

The prisoner stopped pacing and lifted his head, a suspicious, searching look on his face. Tom came closer, dismayed by the toll captivity had taken on his father. Robert was not old, scarcely forty, yet he looked older by far and as ravaged by grief and care as King Edward had when Tom had last seen him.

"Father?" Tom repeated, and Robert's expression turned to one of astonished recognition.

"Tom? Oh, Tom, have they taken you, too?" He pulled his son into a crushing embrace. "It's a selfish thing, boy, but I am glad you are here."

Tom returned the hug, understanding.

"You are well, son?" Robert asked, eyeing Tom's swollen lip and his many bruises.

"I am hungrier than I would like, but well enough. Are you well treated?"

"Better than I deserve."

Tom looked at him, puzzled. "Father–"

"Have you had news of Philip?" Robert asked anxiously.

"Rarely, and that I've had I can rarely trust. I heard he was in
Deerfield
, but Stephen told me just a moment ago that he was at Lindfors and likely to be taken. I cannot tell which is true, if either, but you mustn't worry for him. God is watching over him, and better than you or I could."

"How can I not worry for him?" Robert sat down on the bed and dropped his head into his hands, his whole aspect deeply engraved with grief. "When I think of what I have made him to endure for my sake? What grief I've brought all of you boys for my ambition? Dear God, I would not lay upon my greatest enemy such a burden of sorrow, much less upon my own sons. It is a bitter thing for a man to know he destroys everything he touches."

"You mustn't think that."

"I've had a long while to think, Tom. If nothing else, Stephen has given me time to reflect upon my life. I see now what I am, but it is not what I had meant to be. I knew it would not come cheaply, this throne, but I thought I could quickly regain what I gave up to get it. Now I see I paid for it with things that I can never buy back." He rubbed his furrowed brow. "I knew I could win the people as hero of the Riverlands, so I paid for my warrior reputation with your mother's love. My long absences from home told her plainly which I valued more highly, although I cannot say now whether I ever truly had her love at all. I paid with my sons, too. Richard is dead, Philip is as lost to me as if he were, and even you, Tom..." He looked up for a moment, searching for something. "That trusting admiration that once burned in your eyes is gone."

Tom looked down and said nothing, knowing he could not deny that that bright-hot light had dimmed into nothingness.

"I lost my sons' respect and my own," Robert mourned, covering his face again. "And the lives I've thrown away. God forgive me, that unborn child of Philip's, I knew it was his."

"Unborn child?"

"And the Fletcher girl pled so for it. I can hear her still."

"Katherine was to have a child?" Tom felt a sting of pain. "Does Philip know?"

Robert's head drooped lower. "She said she'd not told him yet. I never could tell him. It would only be cruelty for him to know now, but I know. That sin of mine hangs hard and heavy in my heart, more than all the rest. That and one other."

"John."

"John." Slow, hot tears ran down Robert's cheeks. "I told myself I had done what I must, but seeing him lying there in Tanglewood– He was such a boy yet. Lying there, he did not belong to the sins of his faithless mother anymore. He was not even Albright's bastard. He was just John. My John. The little child I had held in my arms. Oh, Tom. Tom. So many wrongs. So many wrongs I can never make right. I did what pleased me to get the crown, thinking I could get forgiveness later. Now I've gone too far to even ask."

"Ask, Father. God always forgives a repentant heart."

"He sees me for what I am. He knows all of my iniquities. How can He ever forgive me? I know Philip never will."

"Philip must forgive you. The hate will kill him if he does not."

"I've done him wrong, Tom. I've done all of you so much wrong, but I never meant not to love you. I thought I could make everything right again once I had the crown. Now I've lost it all."

"You must believe that God will forgive you if you ask Him."

"No. I am beyond forgiveness, even from Him. I'll not ask the impossible."

"No, Father, please. Never give up hope. God's mercy goes beyond what we can ever hope to know. He will–"

"Stop, Tom." Robert looked up, his face drawn and weary and resigned to hopelessness. "Sit here by me, son, but don't let's talk anymore. I cannot think about this anymore tonight."

Tom sat down on the bed, resting his tired shoulders against the damp wall, hardly able to stay awake any longer. Despite his own request, Robert could not bear the silence for very long.

"What happened to your men, Tom?"

"I lost them. At Grant, two days ago. Every one of them." He yawned and his eyelashes fluttered and came to rest on his cheeks. "Sorry."

***

The rustle of footsteps on the rush-strewn floor was the first sound Tom was aware of when he woke several hours later. He struggled with his sluggish muscles, then managed to sit up, pushing aside the musty blanket his father had laid over him.

"You should not have given me your bed," he said, groggily rubbing his eyes.

Robert shook his head. "I sleep very little these days. Here, eat."

Tom took the piece of black bread he offered and wolfed it down, wincing as it scratched its way down his raw throat.

"They're taking us to Winton today. I've just been told."

"Winton?" Tom asked, the word muffled by food.

"We're to be tried for treason. Stephen will have us brought openly before his nobility, before the people. He wants them all to see that he is just in making us away. There's little doubt what verdict Stephen's court will bring."

Robert looked puzzled to see his son's quick grin.

"Do you not see, Father? If they kept us here for trial, there would be no hope at all that we might escape. But, outside of these walls, who can say what might happen? It is a long way to Winton."

"Philip is in
Deerfield
or Lindfors, you said. We cannot hope he will be able to rescue us. We cannot hope at all."

***

Stephen had realized too late that it was a mistake to bring his prisoners openly through the streets, even in such an insignificant town as this Breebonne was. Tom could see that he ruled now only by the force of his army. In the people's eye, Robert of Afton was still king.

The usurper rode at the center of a band of soldiers, rough Alensbrook men scarcely tamed by the gold with which he purchased his safety. They obeyed him without question, even seemed to take pleasure in the show of force, but it was obvious that their only loyalty was to his purse.

Tom and his father rode just behind their captor on jaded nags that could barely manage to keep plodding forward. Both of them were dressed in rags, unshaven, bound at the wrists, but only Robert looked defeated. Tom rode easily, as if he were still astride his fine thoroughbred, looking out over the people who lined the street, wordlessly conveying to them the fragment of hope he kept always in his sight.

Hearing the ominous murmur of the crowd, Stephen looked back fearfully at them. He could not afford to lose them now.

"Poor bonny boy," a peasant woman said, looking at Tom. He gave her a brave smile, and she began to weep openly.

Her husband, a vigorous looking old man, put his arm around her. "Bloody usurper!" he shouted, shaking his fist at Stephen.

The self-styled king turned eyes of fury on the crowd and the cries grew louder.

"God save King Robert! Down with the usurper!"

Stephen pulled his horse closer to the captain of his bodyguard, a swarthy-faced man, broad-backed and black-bearded. "Do not let my prisoners escape my hands, Cafton. See to it."

Cafton nodded his head and turned to one of his men. The word was quickly given through.

The crowd became louder and angrier as the troop passed through the center of town and soon the horses were stopped completely by the press of bodies.

"I charge you in His Majesty's name, let us pass in peace!"

Cafton's orders only made the crowd more hostile.

"Peasant slaves!" Stephen shouted over the noise. "We command that you let our royal person pass through with no further hindrance!"

"Release the king!" came the strident reply.

"Bloody tyrant!" another voice cried. "Give us our king!"

A stone whizzed from out of the crowd, thudding against Stephen's chest, making his high-strung horse rear up.

"Rescue the king! Save the king and the prince!"

Taking advantage of the sudden confusion, the townsmen swarmed around the usurper's bodyguard, and Tom felt himself lifted from his horse and dragged roughly over its back by many hands. They set him on his feet, protecting him with their own bodies, and he twisted around trying to see what was happening to Robert.

"My father!" he cried, struggling back towards the king. He stumbled over a body, but the press of men around him kept him on his feet.