In Honor Bound (24 page)

He knew he must have cried out, because he felt a steadying hand on his shoulder. Wiping the sweat from his face, he opened his eyes and turned around.

"Philip! Oh, Philip, it's been a black, black day."

He got to his feet and the brothers embraced.

"Palmer was in the town when it happened. He brought me word."

"Palmer? No, he is dead."

"Not so, my lord," Palmer said, coming out from among Philip's men.

"Palmer. Oh, thank God, Palmer." Tom clasped his friend's hand, then pulled him into his arms. "Thank God."

"I am sorry about your father, my lord."

"There will always be justice had," Philip said, his face unreadable, and Tom wondered if he meant for Stephen or for Robert, but he did not ask.

Philip looked at him for a moment, as if satisfying himself that he was indeed all right, then he clasped his shoulder and turned him towards the door.

"Come on, Tom. Let's be gone from here before Stephen can come back against us."

"Did you not bring any soldiers to defend Breebonne?"

"Tom, I haven't the men to garrison this town, scarce money enough to pay those soldiers I have."

"We cannot leave them so, Philip. They died in the streets to save me. One of them was killed at my back. I've pledged my word!"

"Tom, I know you do not give your word lightly, but I cannot make it good. I cannot!"

Tom bowed his head, then he looked up quickly. "Then let us leave Breebonne."

The tall blond man came from the back of the chapel, almost indignant. "My lord of Brenden–"

Tom grinned. "Leave Breebonne, Philip, and take your men to Winton. Do not let Stephen catch his breath."

Palmer smiled, but Philip was aghast.

"Have you gone mad? Attack Winton with Stephen's greatest power there? With our king new-killed and the men with their hearts in their boots? Are you weary of your life that you say so?"

Tom's smile widened. "So Stephen will think, as well, and he'll never look for us to attack yet. Besides, he was routed from this city, hardly escaping with his life and a few of his men." He looked with admiration at his protectors. "These men of Breebonne fight as if each of them were possessed of
two score
devils."

"We will gladly come with you, my lords," the blond man pledged. "We want payment for the slaughter of our townspeople and our king."

Philip found he could not resist a tight smile. "Tom, only you could convince me that this lunatic plan will prove good strategy for
Afton
."

"Ward him about with your angels, dear God," Rosalynde prayed as she looked out towards the south, towards the war. More than two months had passed since Philip had left her. "Open a way for him, sweet Lord, and give him victory." She wandered back to the bed where they had last lain together and smoothed the coverlet, hardly conscious anymore of the petitions that were so constantly on her lips. "Show him Your mercy, Lord, and bring him safe home."

She wondered where he was. A late winter had allowed the war to continue on through October, and she had such uncertain reports of the battles, of victories and defeats, she did not know whether to weep or rejoice at them.

"Oh, God, let it be Your will that he come back safe again to me."

"My lady, there is a messenger coming from the south!" Julia cried as she scurried into the chamber, and the other waiting women crowded around, eager for the news. Rosalynde ran to her.

"Oh, from my lord?"

"The soldiers say it is very like."

Rosalynde fairly flew down the stairs, and the messenger dropped to one knee as she reached the front step. She stopped, panting, before him.

"God save you, Your Majesty," he said.

"Majesty?"

Rosalynde looked back bewildered at
Darlington
's steward, and he quickly took her arm.

"Come, my lady, it is scarcely fit for you to stand out in the damp so to receive a messenger. Come in, fellow. Deliver yourself with more seemliness."

"No," Rosalynde said, recovering herself. "I would hear this news here and now. Why do you call me majesty?"

The messenger bowed his head. "King Robert is dead, lady. My lord Philip is now king."

"King?" she breathed, her eyes blazing and her face deadly white. "Where is he?"

"Coming, my lady, with some few of his men to return Your Majesty to Winton."

"Then it belongs once more to
Afton
."

"It does, my lady. When King Robert was killed, the usurper returned to the city and all of us, from my lord Philip's army and from my lord Tom's, joined together to follow him there." Amusement flickered in the messenger's eyes. "It seems the people of Winton did not much relish his reign and were happy to give some stealthy aid from inside the walls to let us in. Lord Tom keeps the city now, and our king is in pursuit of Ellenshaw himself. The traitor fled northward and will likely try to escape us by moving east and then south to refuge in Cold Spring."

"But the king is coming here, you say?"

"He is, my lady, not a quarter of an hour behind. You are to send some of your ladies ahead to make ready for your return to Winton, and the king will set out with you in the morning under the protection of his army."

"We shall be ready," she said, then she spied Julia peeking out the doorway. "Go tell the others, Julia. Tell Ursula and Helena they are to go with you to Winton now. The others will attend me until my lord and I can ourselves return. Tell them to all make ready. Hurry."

With a swift curtsey, Julia scurried away.

Rosalynde clutched the messenger's arm. "He is well? He is not wounded?"

"Oh, no, my lady. His Majesty is well and whole, God bless his grace, and longing for a sight of your ladyship, if we may judge by his haste."

He grinned as he said it, then coughed and ducked his head again, but Rosalynde did not notice his embarrassment. She stood gazing into the mist that rose over the fields southward, remembering that last night, her beloved's sweet tenderness, and the words that still held hope in her heart.

I could have loved you.

Did he love her now?

She trembled and could not seem to draw her breath fully. Philip was coming at last, and he was eager to be with her again. Her heart began to sing within her.

Dear God, thank you! Thank you, sweet, sweet Lord! Oh, holy, merciful–

A group of riders appeared out of the misty forest, a proud warrior-king at their head. She ran towards him, ignoring the cold, wet grasses that dragged at her skirts and soaked her velvet shoes, holding out her arms to him even from far off, her whole being crying out a joyous welcome.

She saw him urge his horse forward at the sight of her and, reaching her side, he scooped her up into his arms. Clinging to him, she kissed him again and again and again. He moved his mouth to the corner of her jaw and her heart fluttered at his nearness.

"My lady," he said low in her ear, "bear yourself like a queen."

Stung by the stern rebuke, she sat up stiffly before him, holding to him just enough to stay in the saddle. Was this his eagerness?

When they reached the house, she let the steward help her down, then she knelt with the others.

"God save Your Majesty."

Philip immediately dismounted and raised her up, touching her fingers with a formal kiss.

"My sovereign lady, will you come out of the damp? All of you, we've no time for ceremony. Come, we must away in the morning."

He studied her for a moment, then he dismissed his men and escorted her to her chamber.

"Make ready, my lady," he said. "I told you I would return you to Winton when the city and my father were free. Winton is ours again and my father is past helping, so it is time I made good my promise, but I must be brief. Stephen is free and at the head of an army."

"Perhaps you should send to my father." She pulled the ring from her finger, the one Westered had given to Philip the day of their wedding, the one Philip would not wear. The sight of it did not please him.

"I thought I had left that in Winton."

"You did, my lord, but I thought you might wish to send it now."

"That alliance was my father's, not mine," he said, refusing to take it from her. "I'll not go to Westered again to beg."

"It would not be begging, my lord. My father offered his help out of love and friendship."

"I did not ask it of him," he said. "Not then and not now."

"But the ring, my lord."

"Keep it," he snapped. "Or leave it or bury it, what you will. I shall never need it."

"Very well," she said and she put it back on her finger, covering it with her other hand, too aware of his disapproval.

"Good night, then," he said finally. "I shall come for you at dawn."

"Philip."

He turned back to her as if the familiarity startled him.

"Will you not stay, my lord?" She faltered at the almost-scorn in his eyes, but she pitied the burdened weariness she saw there, too. "You must rest sometime."

"There is more I must attend to, my lady. I'll not disturb you tonight."

"Oh, but you would not–"

He was gone.

She rode along with him the next day, too conscious that she was only another of his duties, so hungry to be more. She had so longed to have him with her last night, if just to watch over him as he slept and know he was beside her. He was beside her now, solemn with his responsibilities, seeing to each detail himself, never relaxing for an instant.

"We shall stop the night in Attlebrae, my lady," he told her. "My lord Kimberlin has offered us the use of his house there, and your ladies shall go ahead to Abbey to make a place ready for your comfort the next night. I am certain one of Kimberlin's maids can wait upon you tonight."

"Will my ladies be safe, my lord?"

"My army is in Attlebrae now. I'll send a few of my men ahead with your gentlewomen, then we shall all come after them the next day. It is safe enough. Stephen has no cause to come so far north. Besides, a great many of my soldiers sent their families to refuge in Abbey when Winton was taken, and they are eager to go there."

***

The young king and queen were received with all courtesy in Attlebrae. Philip spoke briefly to his soldiers, commending their bravery and the justice of the
Afton
cause, reminding them of the loved ones that waited in Abbey and how their safety rested upon Stephen's defeat. Rosalynde spoke to them, too, a shy little echo of her husband's words and their cheers nearly overwhelmed her. Weary as they were, they were not blind to her grace and beauty, and they felt sure this fair, sweet queen was well worthy the title.

It was only a short ride to Abbey the next morning, and the soldiers strained forward as they marched, boisterous and high-spirited, hungry for a few days' peace. Philip had promised they might stay in Abbey until he took the queen back to Winton and returned to lead them again. They talked and laughed along the way, their chatter growing more and more excited as Abbey came into view, then gradually their voices died into silence.

"Stay here," Philip commanded, then he spurred his horse and dismounted in the midst of the smoking ruin. The town was burned. All the inhabitants lay slain in the streets. Women, children, young, old, all slain, all butchered. Not one was left alive.

Philip saw the bodies of two of his wife's waiting women in a pitiful heap under a scorched tree. This could have been done no earlier than yesterday and there could be no reason for it but cruel revenge. Stephen had no need to come this way if his only motive had been escape. It was all Philip could do to keep his tongue from condemning his cousin to blackest hell.

Suddenly he realized he was no longer alone. All around him the weeping and wailing rose, mounting cry upon anguished cry, the clamor frequently punctuated by heart-rending howls as yet another of his soldiers found the blood-steeped body of one dear to him. He walked through the maze of butchery and grief, struck dumb by the horror of it.

"
Alice
!
Alice
!"

Hearing the broken words close beside him, Philip turned. Even warped with agony as it was, the voice was familiar to him.

Peter Hawkins, his groomsman, knelt there before the splintered door of a fire-blackened house, leaning his cheek against his dead wife's cold bosom. Her stiff arms yet clutched their little boy, both mother and child run through with the same single sword thrust.

Philip knew too well the ache of losing a dearly loved wife, the horror and pity he felt at this slaughter was plain on his face, but Hawkins was blind to all but grief and pain and rage. He turned on his master as a mad dog might.

"This is your doing!" he accused and Philip stared at him, speechless.

"Mind your tongue before the king," Eastbrook reprimanded, but Hawkins was beyond restraint now.

"I'll speak!" he cried. "Though it cost me my tongue, I'll speak!" He surveyed the slaughter that surrounded them, then glared at Philip. "We fight because of our duty to the crown. How much does duty ask?! Not only soldiers die, but wives and children, women and boys! Will the king not be satisfied until he has all? I'll fight no more."

The mourners around him began to murmur their agreement.

"It was you who promised us safety for our families," one said, pointing his finger at the young king, his voice shrill over all the others. "They are safe enough now. Now can nothing harm them."

Philip lowered his head in shame. He had promised.
Follow me, and Lynaleigh shall be safe for your loved ones.
Safe enough, indeed.

"Why should we care who is king?" another asked angrily. "
Afton
or Ellenshaw, what's that to us? We fight the wars and make the bread and sow the fields and breed more subjects to serve the king, and then we die. Why should we kill ourselves and our own countrymen debating who shall be king, when this one or that one makes us no difference? Can this," he asked, making a sweep of his arm around the square, "this sacrifice to your ambition ever be justified?"