In Honor Bound (37 page)

Stephen had them. For all the years Philip had led armies, for all the wisdom and experience of his councilors, he could see no way out. Stephen would breach the wall or Philip and his people would starve. Already the shortages that were too common throughout the city had reached the royal palace.

Philip took a bite of heavily spiced meat, horse by now he suspected, and watched Tom and Rosalynde in animated conversation a short way away. They seemed to be together a great deal since the siege.

Since she first came here,
he thought sourly.

A melodious cascade of her laughter reached Philip's ears, backed by Tom's throaty chuckle, and he felt a stab of jealousy. The emotion surprised him.

What should I care if she enjoys herself? There is little enough opportunity for that these days,
and
it is kind of Tom to show her some attention. God knows I've not.

It occurred to him that Tom had been given only a week with his bride, just enough, doubtless, to sharpen his natural desire for her before she was taken away from him, and now Tom had been a long while without her. It occurred to him, too, that Rosalynde was very, very beautiful and he had left her too often alone. She should not have been left alone.

My father made that mistake.

She turned suddenly in his direction and saw him staring darkly at her. In an instant, the sparkle died in her eyes and all merriment was swept from her face.

"Is anything wrong, my lady?" Tom asked.

"Pray excuse me to my lord," Rosalynde murmured, and she escaped out onto the balcony.

Tom turned and gave Philip a reproachful glance, but Philip only returned a cold stare until Tom looked away.

***

"I am sorry," Rosalynde said to the pale-faced moon as she stood letting the night air cool her burning cheeks. She realized she had again somehow transgressed. Again she could not fathom in what. "I am sorry."

"For what, my lady?"

She turned to see Philip standing in the dark archway, just out of the moonlight.

"You left your supper uneaten," he said. "Was it not to your liking? Or perhaps it was I who was not to your liking. I think I have let this siege make me very poor company for you."

"You have a great many things to see to, my lord," she said, unable to read his mood in his half-shadowed face, wondering if he were trying to make amends. "I understand."

"I'll not admit that as an excuse. You should be angry."

"Never, my lord. Not with you."

He stepped a little way out of the darkness, and for a moment they stood in awkward silence, searching each other's eyes. Then she looked away and sat down on the rough-hewn bench the sentries sometimes used.

"They are quiet tonight out there," she ventured finally.

He sat down beside her. "I pray it bodes peace both inside the wall and out."

She lifted her eyes to his, still searching. "Surely, if peace were offered, both sides would put aside their grievances and embrace it."

"If it could be done with no compromise of honor. If it could, I would open my arms wide to it." He gently twisted a lock of her hair around his finger and then released it, letting it spring back into place. "But honor is not so easily kept, and such differences cannot be always so easily mended."

"But they can be mended," she said, hearing something like regret in his tone, and she moved closer to him, close enough for her velvet skirt to brush his thigh and cover the toe of his boot. "Both sides being willing."

"I would it could be so." He leaned back against the wall. "I want nothing now more than peace."

"Nor I, my lord."

He rested his cheek against her hair. "Only peace."

She felt the breath of his words against her ear and nestled closer to him, and the night was quiet.

***

For several minutes he sat holding her, considering what she had said.

...both sides being willing.

Being willing.

He felt her hand at the back of his neck, felt her gentle fingers easing away the tension. He had had nothing from those hands save soothing tenderness, sweet comfort. He pressed his face into the curve of her shoulder, his breathing slow and deep, and felt all the tightness melt out of him. She held him closer and, of their own volition, his arms went around her.

He had not meant to even touch her, that was never his intent in coming out to her, but he could not help himself, she smelled so intoxicatingly of saint's rose. Her skin was softer than its petals and fairer, too, and when he pressed a tentative kiss against the sweet whiteness of her throat, her sigh, soft and low in his ear, made his heart quicken. He tightened his arms around her until she was breathless from the feel of his body against her and the possessiveness of his touch and she offered her lips in wordless invitation. Wordlessly, he accepted, holding her with an endless kiss until finally he dragged his mouth away from hers.

"God's mercy," he gasped. "What are you that you draw me so?"

Frustrated tears welled into her eyes. "What are you then, my lord?" she cried, throwing his hands off her and getting unsteadily to her feet. "You madden me, Philip! Either ice or fire always and never a warning which!"

He looked at her for what seemed eternity. "I suppose you wish you'd not married me. Have you learned to regret that yet?"

"No, my lord."

"You might have had someone who makes you laugh and not cry." His eyes narrowed and there was a sudden edge to his voice. "Tom makes you laugh, does he not? He makes you laugh and soothes your hurts and bids you trust in God to set things right and never says a wrong word."

"My lord–"

"Oh, I know it well enough. He can always smile. He has no past to bind him, no memories to rot him, no scars to hide. He need do nothing more than smile and talk sweetly."

"Just because he is kind, my lord, that does not–"

"I dare say you think he would have made you a better husband."

"I think no such thing, my lord," she said with a weary sigh, and again there was a long silence between them.

"Forgive me, lady," he said finally. "Your patience deserves better than I have been able to give you. Give me time and I will make amends."

She looked up at him in astonishment, then the hope faded from her eyes.

"I know that look in you, my lord, that dutiful emptiness that is as far from your heart as heaven is from hell. Why do you say such things when we both know how little you mean them?"

"Because I do mean them," he said impassively.

"You told me you would not lie to me, my lord."

He clenched his jaw. "Because I promised your father I would–"

"Because you promised my father?" Tears sprang into her eyes. "Because you promised my father?"

She turned away and he tried to make her face him.

"My lady–"

"Do not touch me. Save your charity for the alms house."

Instantly, he released her and his expression turned cold. "As you please."

Before he could stand, she caught his face in her hands and pressed a gentle, loving kiss on his lips.

"Why did you do that?" he breathed, that mistrustful fear once more flooding through him.

"I am not made of stone, my lord, as it seems you are."

"No," he murmured, "not stone." He caressed her cheek with the back of his hand. "Not stone, but too much flesh."

She clutched his hand and held it there. "Philip–"

He leapt to his feet and shook her by the shoulders. "Stop! Stop trying to make me what I cannot be! What I must not be!" He pushed her away from him. "Go back inside. No doubt my brother is missing you by now."

With a quickly muffled sob, she went back into the great hall. A few minutes later, Tom came out onto the balcony.

"I would have a word with you, Philip."

"Now is not the time. Come to me tomorrow."

"Shall I bring this up before the council, my liege?" Tom said, keeping his expression pleasant. "I hardly believe you want all of your nobles to hear what I have to say. You know how they talk already."

Philip could feel his temper tightening around his self-control, straining it, ready to snap it at any moment. With effort, he nodded calmly. "As you say. What is it you want of me?"

"I have tried very hard to hold my tongue since I've come back to Winton, but I merely–"

"You merely could not resist an opportunity to meddle in things that do not concern you."

"Please, Philip, for your lady's sake and your own, be kind to her if you can manage nothing more."

"You're quick in her defense," Philip observed, a trace of acid in his tone.

Tom studied him for a moment, then laughed abruptly. "Oh, spare me your jealousy. What, jealous of me?"

"I am not!"

"You are," Tom said, "else why are you so angry over nothing? Why do you care unless you love her?"

"And why are you so bent upon pushing her at me? You are worse than Father ever was."

"I am not trying to push you, Philip. It just pains me to see you so cruel to her when she loves you so."

Philip glared at him. "What does she know of love? She is a woman, a creature of appetite. She does not love me, she needs me. She needs me to see she is well kept, to make her queen, to deck her with jewels and fine silks, to keep her safe. Love me? Use me rather. Can you call that love?"

"I call it love when she weeps for your pain and pleads with God for your happiness, when she lives and dies by your smiles and frowns."

"I never professed to love her, Tom. She is the one who claims there is something nobler than lust between us. Still, for all her words, I am nothing more than a moment's pleasure to her."

"I dare say she would thank God, fasting, for even a moment's pleasure with you," Tom retorted. "Can you be so blind? She wants your heart, not just that fine flesh you are so vain of. It's certain she wants you, and it is right that she should, being your wife, but she knows too well that that is not enough. I've seen the heartache in her eyes when you treat her as if you can scarcely endure her presence or, worse, when you do not even acknowledge it. If you are determined to be miserable, must you make her miserable as well?"

Philip lifted his chin. "I never asked to marry her."

"Has it never occurred to you that perhaps your marriage is not the most pleasant thing to her either?"

"She wanted it."

"She wanted you, because she loves you. Can you ask more of love and devotion than she has already given? Put aside the past, Philip, and take the happiness that is even now in your hands. Do not turn away the love and comfort God has sent to help you through this trouble."

"What love and comfort?"

"Rosalynde. Love her. God's own word says you ought to take pleasure in the wife of your youth."

"Kate was the wife of my youth. I ceased to be young when they burnt her."