In Honor Bound (26 page)

She handed him a warmed blanket. He quickly bundled his master in it and put him in the bed.

"Now the others."

Soon Philip was tucked under four blankets and the coverlet. He began to struggle weakly against the stifling heat, but Rafe held him still.

"Please, my lord, rest," Rosalynde begged, but Rafe merely shook his head.

"He cannot hear you, my lady, and would not understand you if he did. This fever's not taken him lightly. We must see he stays warm."

They kept careful watch over him as he went from restless delirium to deathlike stillness and back again. About
noon
, Rafe scrounged some dried beef from his pouch and shared it with Rosalynde. He even boiled some and tried to get Philip to drink the broth, but Philip turned his face stubbornly away and would not be coaxed.

"Sick or well, he will have his way," Rafe observed sourly, and Rosalynde managed a weary smile.

"You are a good man, Master Bonnechamp, despite your grumbling. I hope I can find another like you to tend to my child as faithfully as you do his father."

"Does Your Majesty mean to say–"

"Yes," she said, the glow rekindling in her eyes. "This summer."

"So that was what he meant," Rafe said almost to himself, then he smiled, too. "I am happy for you, my lady."

"What who meant?"

"He told us last night that we must fight on now. If not for him, for the
Afton
that is to be."

Just then there was a frantic pounding on the chamber door, and
Darlington
came inside.

"Where is the king?"

"He is very ill," Rafe said.

"I must speak to him."

"Speak, my lord," Rafe told him, gesturing towards the bed, "but he'll not hear you."

"You must wake him, Bonnechamp. He must tell us what he would have us to do. Ellenshaw's ordered his men to set the town afire."

"Fire!" Rosalynde cried, and Philip stirred.

Rafe took Rosalynde's arm to still her.

"What of the army?" he asked.

"Ellenshaw is driving us back north. We cannot stand against him, for all that we might want to. We must leave here and rally later on. Wake him up."

"My lord, I cannot. He is unconscious."

Darlington
pushed past him and went to Philip's side.

"Your Majesty, please, you must hear me. Ellenshaw is going to burn Attlebrae and us in it if we do nothing."

Philip's eyes did not open, but he began to breathe faster and struggled once more against the weight of blankets over him.

"Please, my lord," Rafe insisted, trying to pull
Darlington
away, "he is not well enough for this."

"He will be dead if we stay here and do nothing. Do you want him to burn?"

"No," Philip murmured, struggling harder, "do not let her burn. Please, not the fire. Oh, my God, Your Majesty, please, Father, not the fire!"

His brow furrowed with deep pain, and Rosalynde began to cry. "Shh, Philip," she whispered, stroking his hair. "Everything is well. She is safe."

"Please, my lord," Rafe said, "leave him now. This is too much."

"Will you order me, Master Bonnechamp?"
Darlington
asked indignantly, and Rosalynde turned on him fiercely.

"I will, my lord. I think, being your queen, I may. Take the men you have and defend the town as best you can. His Majesty cannot be disturbed any further."

She had never before given him a command, and taken aback, he bowed.

"Just as you say, Your Majesty. We will do what can be done."

In another instant he was gone.

Philip thrashed against the confining blankets and managed to throw them off, but Rafe pulled them back over him.

"No, my lord. Lie still now."

Philip opened his eyes and stared wildly at him.

"Rafe?"

"I am here. Lie still."

"They are going to burn her!" Philip cried deliriously, fighting to sit up. "Please God, Rafe, stop them!"

Holding him down, Rafe turned to Rosalynde. "Bring some water, my lady. Quickly."

She snatched up the bucket and brought it to the bedside.

"What are we to do?" she asked as she held the dipper to Philip's mouth, but Philip shoved it and her away.

"Rafe, do not let them! Please, God, have mercy, not the fire!"

"Shh, my lord," Rafe said. "You must lie still. She will not be harmed."

Philip's breath was coming in gasping sobs now. "You do not speak true. They'll burn her sure."

Rafe grabbed Rosalynde's arm and pulled her close to his master. "Here, my lord. She is here." He lowered his voice. "Speak to him, girl."

"I am here, my lord," she said.

Philip stared at her without seeing, then smiled a little and put his hands on her face.

"My sweet love," he whispered, then he drew her to him, burning her against his hot skin. She nestled there, soothing him with gentle words and caresses, and soon his breathing grew slow and regular. Thinking he slept, she moved away from him and he immediately grew restless again. Rafe tried once more to get him to drink, but Philip threw up his arm, flinging water and dipper against the wall.

"Shh, my lord, I am here," Rosalynde assured him.

He grasped her hands tightly and drew her close, murmuring tender, garbled words against her hair until he fell into a heavy sleep. For a short while there was peace in the house, then
Darlington
dashed back into the chamber, this time without knocking.

"Please, Your Majesty," he said to Rosalynde, "you must wake the king. If you cannot, then at least get him away from here. Ellenshaw will be coming very soon. The south side of the town is gone already. I do not know how much longer our men will last, and help is not likely to come before they are spent."

She looked up at Rafe. "What shall we do?"

Rafe shook his head. "We should not take him out into the cold unless, as my lord says, Ellenshaw is burning the town around us."

"You doubt me, man?"
Darlington
's eyes blazed. "Look outside!"

Rosalynde looked anxiously at Rafe. "If it is so bad, we should leave now."

Rafe bowed. "I will see how the battle goes and be back to you in a moment. Stay near the king."

"I will."

Darlington
bowed, too. "I will try to defend this house awhile longer, Your Majesty. Pray God I can."

Once they had gone, Rosalynde got into bed next to her husband, thankful that he was resting quietly at least for now. Still holding him close, she prayed fervently for his recovery and for his safety, for
Afton
's success in the battle and a merciful end to the war. She had no desire to look out into the streets to see how near the fighting was. It made no difference.

It was dark before Rafe returned. His nose was bloodied and bruised and he smelled heavily of the fire. There was blood all down the front of his jerkin and on the sword in his hand.

"We must leave now, my lady," he said, his voice roughened by smoke. "Get him dressed, take a blanket and I'll fetch horses for us. Ellenshaw's men will soon be here. Most of ours have retreated north."

Left alone, she managed to put Philip's clothes back on him, thankful that they were dry and warm. He never stirred, even when Rafe slung him over his shoulder and carried him out into the cold.

"I could get only one horse, my lady. I fear you shall have to walk. You would not be strong enough to hold him in the saddle."

"Where are we to go?"

"North is all I know. We surely will find someplace safe to shelter along the road. The few of our men still in Attlebrae will try to hold Ellenshaw back until we can make away. He will assume the king is with them and not think to look for us for awhile."

He put Philip in the saddle and then climbed up behind him and settled him against his shoulder. Rosalynde took the reins and led the horse into the wind. She did not look back into the blaze that had once been Attlebrae.

Rosalynde stumbled along the dark, unfamiliar road until dawn came again. Her arms and shoulders ached from constantly tugging the tired, overburdened horse forward, and she stopped for a rest, burying her face against the poor beast's neck. Philip moaned and shifted sideways in the saddle, and Rafe just managed to keep him from falling to the ground.

"We must rest awhile, my lady," Rafe said. "I'll drop him next time, my arms are that numb."

"They will find us by daylight."

"Not if we leave the road. He needs rest, too, and water and warm shelter. Some food as well, if we can find any and get him to take it."

She reached up and put her hand on Philip's forehead. He was no cooler and, even unconscious, there were tense lines in his face. Her touch turned into a pitying caress.

"Where can we take him, Master Bonnechamp, hunted as he is? I do not even know where we are."

"It is difficult to say now, my lady, but if we keep north we shall come to Treghatours. There's safety there."

"And for now?"

"There is a village down in that valley," Rafe said, pointing east.

"Would they shelter us, do you think?"

"We dare not risk it. Ellenshaw's men will check every village on this road. We can stop near it, though, and perhaps find something to eat."

Rosalynde nodded and led them into the field and down to the valley. There they found a farm and sheltered in the haystacks a short way off, concealing the horse in a nearby brake of trees.

Rafe could find nothing for them to eat but eggs, still hen-warm. Rosalynde nearly choked as the slimy warmth slid down her throat, but she was hungry and knew, for Philip's sake and their child's, she needed her strength. She cradled Philip's head against her and Rafe cracked an egg into his mouth then massaged his throat to make him swallow. Still he did not stir.

"He's been asleep so long," Rosalynde said, stroking his stubbled cheek.

 "Sleep is what he most needs."

Rafe swallowed down three eggs himself and fed another one to Philip, then he burrowed out a place in the hay for them and put Philip inside.

"It is turning colder, my lady. Get in beside him and put your arms around him. If he takes a chill, he may not be able to survive it."

She did as he told her, then he crawled in on Philip's other side.

"Now go to sleep. We can stay only until dark."

She pressed her lips to Philip's cheek and pulled him a little closer. Already she had begun to sweat with his feverish body against her and the stifling straw chafing her, but she was too tired to really notice. As soon as she closed her eyes, she was asleep.

***

At dusk they returned to the road and trudged on. An hour or two before daybreak the next morning it began to rain, penetrating drops only slightly warmer than ice. Philip huddled against Rafe, shaking with cold and breathing hard, rain running from his dark hair, making it look black.

"We shall kill him to keep him out in such weather," Rosalynde said. "There must be some shelter to be had."

"I saw another farm little more than a mile back, west of us. It is a risk, my lady, but better to risk destruction than do nothing and be certain of it."

Rosalynde led them back the way they had come, back to the farm Rafe had seen. Rafe tied the horse in the forest behind the house and, with Philip once more over his shoulder, crept with Rosalynde into the barn.

Feeling their way through the darkness, they found an empty stall. Rosalynde quickly pushed some straw together, and Rafe put Philip down on it. Something in the movement pierced his unconsciousness.

"Rafe?"

"Shh, my lord," Rafe hissed, clamping his hand over his master's mouth, but it was too late. There was a rustling noise in the loft and then a light.

"Who's there?"

Rafe shifted Philip's head into Rosalynde's lap, putting her hand in place of the one he held over Philip's mouth, then he crept towards the voice, drawing his sword.

"Who's there, I say!"

Rosalynde sank back into the shadows as the rustling came closer. Rafe tensed, waited, then sprang towards the light. The struggle was short lived.

"Move and I'll kill you." Rafe's voice was soft and very convincing.

"Mercy, for the good God's sake! Oh, please, my lord!"

Rosalynde could tell from the terrified cracking in his voice that their adversary was little more than a boy.

"I am not your lord," Rafe growled, "and you will speak lower or I'll cut out your tongue."

"What is it you want?" The boy spoke so softly now Rosalynde could scarcely hear him. She did hear the stirring of straw as Rafe let him up.

"Shelter for the day. No more than that, and perhaps something to eat."

"My master would beat me sure if he knew I let ruffians and cut-purses in his barn," the boy said, his voice indignant but still very soft.

"Then no need to tell him," Rafe reasoned. "If I meant you harm, you'd not be standing whole by now. Look at me. Do I look like a cut-purse?"

Rosalynde strained her ears, but for a moment heard nothing. Then the boy's reluctant voice came to her again.

"No. Perhaps not, but you've blood enough on you to be a highwayman." She heard another pause. "Or maybe a soldier. I've seen them coming north, away from the battles."

"Whatever I am, boy, is it not enough that I need shelter until nightfall and a little food? I swear I mean you no harm."

"Well, I suppose, so long as my master–"

"Where are you, Rafe?"

Philip's voice was loud in the barn's tense stillness. Rosalynde pressed her hand over his mouth again, but she knew it was too late.

"There is someone with you!"

"No harm there, believe me," Rafe told the boy quickly. "Just a sick boy and his little wife, both wet through and cold and as hungry as Pharaoh's lean kine. God would put it down a good deed if you say nothing to your master and let them stay."

"Let me see them," the young voice insisted and a moment later Rosalynde found herself looking up at a gawky, sharp-featured boy of fifteen. He smiled a little at her, and she read pity in his gray eyes.

"Please, boy," she begged and he brought his lantern closer, peering into Philip's flushed face. Glassy-eyed, Philip stared back at him and then, with a little sigh, slept again.

"He does look done up. And you, too, mistress," the boy observed, then he looked back at Rafe. "Will they keep quiet while they are here? My master–"

"I pledge it," Rafe said solemnly. "But for God's pity, would you bring some food for us?"

The boy shook his head. "It will be an hour or more before cook is up and calls us in to eat." He considered for a moment. "I could creep in and hook a bit of something, I suppose," he said, then his face curved into an elfin grin. "It would not be the first time."

He disappeared into the darkness, leaving the lantern with them.

Rosalynde sighed. "Thank God."

"Amen," Rafe agreed. "My lady, I have better thought what we should do. Instead of resting today and taking the king on at nightfall, I believe you would both do better to stay here and let me bring back some men from my lord of
Darlington
. He was to come to Treghatours as well, and he must be close on this road by now. I can bring him to you much faster than I can bring you both to him."

"Will you leave us unprotected?"

"Never fear, my lady. The boy's a good sort and I think will see you both safe. Here, I'll leave you my sword, if you want defense."

Rosalynde laughed a little hysterically. "I could never heft it, Master Bonnechamp."

"Very well, my dagger then." He pressed the small blade into her hand. "Please, my lady, it is the best way for us all."

"Should you not rest awhile before you go?"

"No. If I am not away before dawn, I'll likely be seen. I will eat first, though, if that stripling is as proper a man of his hands as he claims."

He was. A few minutes later, they were eating brown bread and cold boiled beef and drinking down the sweetest well water in Lynaleigh. It was all delicious.

Rosalynde softened a piece of the bread in water and managed to get Philip to eat it. Some of the furrows smoothed out of his brow, and he slept quietly again, his face buried in her lap.

She stroked his hair then smiled at the boy. "I thank you, indeed."

He grinned at her again and tugged self-consciously at the dark blond curls clustered at the nape of his neck. "I would be little better than a heathen to turn you out to freeze, or let you starve in my master's own barn. Despite your companion here," he said, indicating Rafe, "and with no respect to his threatenings, I would not have helped you, except I do feel some pity for you, mistress, and your husband looks as if he'd not last a mile further."

"I am grateful in any case," Rafe said gruffly. "As it stands, though, I'll push your kindness a bit more. Will you let them stay here until tomorrow night? I must go to our friends for help and will likely not be back until then."

"Until tomorrow night?" the boy exclaimed, then he pointed at Philip. "My master will know sure, what with him thrashing about out here. Cook'll likely lock the pantry if she finds any more food gone."

Rosalynde looked up him. "Please."

For a moment he looked into the pleading in her eyes.

"Let it be so," he said with an air of tragic resignation.

Rosalynde and Rafe both smiled.

"You shall have your reward for this, boy," Rafe said. "Trust me you shall, but I cannot say whether it will be in this life or no." He looked at Philip for a moment, then turned to Rosalynde. "Keep safe. I shall return soon."

She pressed his hand and he stole quietly away.

"You have come from the battle, have you not?" the boy asked as he squatted near Rosalynde on the straw. She nodded guardedly.

"You belong to
Afton
, true?"

Again she nodded, and he seemed pleased with his powers of deduction.

"I could tell it. If you belonged to Ellenshaw, you'd have no need to hide now. My master has his lands of my lord of Weatherford and stands to lose all if Ellenshaw is defeated. He'd not look fondly upon you, were he to find you here."

"Will you betray us?" she asked, pulling Philip closer, but the boy just grinned again.

"My master is a cruel man, and I have little cause to love him. I would have run away from my indenture long ago, but for my honor," he said with a proud lift of his head, then a wicked little spark lit his eyes. "Oh, it would chafe him to know someone had taken his shelter and eaten his food and all scarcely farther away than the end of his stingy nose. I'd not betray you, knowing that. Besides, if King Philip has good success, then my master will have nothing and my indentures will be no more. I have far greater cause to love
Afton
than hate it. Do not fear. I will never betray you."

Her gratitude was plain on her face. "You must tell me your name, for my prayers."

Just then a woman called from outside the barn, her voice as rough as tree bark.