In Honor Bound (40 page)

"Are you hurt, my lord?" Rafe asked as Philip came up to him in the corridor outside the nursery, covered with dust and grit from the cathedral. Rafe had been given special charge to guard the baby prince since the bombardment had begun, so he knew little of the siege beyond the sound of the guns. "Have they broke through yet?"

"Not yet, but soon." Philip looked with great intensity into his face. "Rafe, my lady and my son–"

He broke off, struggling to resign himself to their loss.

"I will guard them with my life, my lord, until you release me of that charge."

Philip nodded and padded silently into the nursery, startling the nurse.

"I want a moment with my son," he told her and with a clumsy, sleepy curtsey she left them alone.

Robin started to whimper when he took him from the cradle and Philip held him close in farewell.

"Better a life too short than one too long," he murmured. "We'll not meet again in this world, little summer Robin." Nor, he feared, in the next.

Robin quieted against him and was soon asleep again. Philip laid him back in the cradle with a final caress and turned to see Rosalynde in the doorway. She curtseyed low.

"Your Majesty."

"Madame," he said with a cool bow.

She seized his arm as he passed by her. "Please, my lord, a word."

"Well?"

The nurse had come back to tend the baby, and Rosalynde looked apprehensively at her. "Please, not here, my lord. I must speak with you."

"Very well."

She took him to her chamber and dismissed her fretful ladies.

"They are all afraid. It is said that tomorrow Stephen will take the city."

"Yes."

"We must fight them then."

"We will, but I'll not lie to you, madame. Not now. We cannot match them. We are lost."

"No, please, never say so."

"It is true," he said dispassionately. "I shall meet my judgment tomorrow. I only pray God will end it there with me."

"Oh, no, Philip, please. Ask His pardon and favor for tomorrow. Do not surrender before the battle can even begin. Put your trust in Him and in His mercy. He'll not fail you. He loves you, I know He does."

Philip shook his head. "Why should He? What have I ever done to make Him love me?"

Somehow, there was pity in her eyes as she took his hand. "You still do not understand, do you? It is His goodness, not yours, that makes Him love you. All you have to do is accept it and be thankful. How can you say He does not love you? He has blessed you with everything a man could wish for."

He desperately wanted to believe her, and then the old anger welled up in him again.

"This
blessing
you claim I have, what is it? If I have my crown from God, it is a curse, not a blessing. It drains my strength and eats away my life until I have none left. If He gave it, then it was punishment for my pride."

She held tightly to his hand, and, surprised, he stopped trying to pull away from her.

"Do not go like this," she pled. "I could not bear to lose you."

"You mean you could not bear for me to lose. I know you know Stephen will have no mercy on anyone belonging to
Afton
. Not women, not children. He might spare you for Margaret's sake, but never Robin. Heir to
Afton
? Never."

"Please, Philip, for Robin's sake and for your own, do not go into the battle this way. Stephen would not have to kill me if you were lost. I would die."

"Why should you care?" he asked bitterly. "After last night, after what I said to you, why should you care? I know I was unjust. Sweet Lord, I beat Tom half to death! You should be well rid of such a wretch."

She caressed his cheek. "Do you not know yet that you take my life with you into every battle? That my heart does not beat until I see you safely home? Will you never understand? How much more plainly can I say it? I love you. With my whole heart, I love you."

Stiffening, he pushed her away and stood quivering like some wild thing at bay. "Don't."

"But I do love you. Perhaps at first when I said that, I did not know what I meant. Maybe then I did only love the image of you I had created for myself, but you have surely destroyed that. You cannot say I have any romantic notions about who and what you are. But just as surely as I have learned to know you, I have learned to love you. As difficult as you have made it, I know you, Philip, and I love you still."

"Don't force me."

"It was my choice, not yours. If you cannot return my love, well, let it be so. My love will be as silent and as invisible as you wish, but I will love you."

"Never say that."

"Whatever you do, I will love you."

"I said never say that!"

He cracked his palm fiercely across her face, making her stumble backwards. They both gasped, and his hand went instinctively to his own scarred cheek.

"Oh, Rosalynde–" he stammered, backing away, his eyes wide. "I never– I could not–"

There are some things I could never be pushed to do...

The print of his hand was livid on her white face, but she did not lash back at him. She had not even cried out. Her tear-filled eyes held nothing but compassion and deep love.

...and should never expect to be forgiven if I did.

He lowered his head in shame.

"Rosalynde, I–"

She slipped her fingers around his and gently pulled his hand from his face, then she pressed her lips to the fine white scar on his cheek.

"I still love you, Philip."

The realization pierced through his heart. She still loved him. After all he had done to wrong that love, after all he had done to kill it, she still loved him. No matter what he did or whether he ever loved her in return, she still loved him.

As God loved him.

He was still for a moment, then he shuddered, stabbed through with the pain of ice cracking in an unexpected thaw. He exhaled twice, deep hurting rushes of air, then suddenly he was on his knees before her, his arms tight around her waist. She held him against her as the sobs wracked him.

"Oh, Rosalynde, what have I done?"

"Shh. It will all be well."

"I cannot–" He clenched his teeth and turned his face away. "I cannot do it anymore. I cannot do it alone."

"Shh," she soothed, her own tears falling into his hair as she pressed her cheek against it, "you are not alone."

She had never before seen him cry, never before seen him anything but strong and so in control, but she did not turn him away.

He pressed closer to her, straining to hold her tighter and tighter, shielding himself from the flood of memories that assaulted him– his own doubt, bitterness, unforgiveness, ingratitude, faithlessness, vainglory, wrath, blasphemy, stubborn pride, more, an endless litany of sins against a gracious, openhanded God who was, in the very face of them, still holding out His arms in loving welcome. How could he have been so blind?

"Forgive me, please forgive me, God. Dear Lord, my God, forgive me."

He looked up at Rosalynde, remembering also his sins against her, and touched her wounded cheek with trembling fingers. "Can you forgive me, too?"

"I love you," she said simply.

He stood up and took her into his arms. "Then love me, Rosalynde. I need you to love me. I swear before God and all heaven that I love you."

***

After Philip left him, Tom knelt alone in Winterbrooke's ruins, pleading for peace and deliverance for the town and for his brother. It was not long before the moon broke the heavy clouds and shone through the shattered roof, bathing his earnest, upturned face in pale silver. He felt an almost-physical release and a gratitude that defied words. He had no answers yet, only peace.

Rosalynde lay in Philip's arms, basking in the deep joy she felt. At last he had given her himself, all of himself, openly, freely, without reservation. There were tears in her eyes because she had never before known such love.

There were tears in his eyes because he had known and had thought never to know again.

She sighed his name and stroked his hair as he rested his head against her shoulder. Then he began to tell her everything.

She wept with him and for him as he struggled with the painful words and the agonizing emotions behind them, the merciless torrent of feeling he had kept so long chained up inside himself. He told her everything, forced himself to feel the pain he had denied, until at last he lay panting in her arms, his body trembling from sobbing, nothing binding him but deep love.

She held him tightly against her and prayed with him as he asked God once more to forgive him and then asked forgiveness for all those who had wronged him, for his faithless mother, his ambitious father, for Margaret, for Dunois, for Stephen himself.

"Give me the grace, dear God, to forgive them as You have forgiven me. In Your strength, Lord, I do forgive them."

Again he asked Rosalynde's forgiveness and again she gave it, this time in exchange for his, for all the times she had in her ignorance rubbed his bruises with gravel. She had known so little about the hurt he had suffered, the cruel losses and crueler betrayals, the memories and fears that had tortured him. Now she understood him better and loved him better still.

He told her again how much he loved her, and she could read the clear truth of it in the crystal depths of his eyes.

***

Palmer came to Tom before true dawn and found him sprawled out on the cathedral's cracked marble floor, soundly asleep.

"My lord," he said, waking him. "You choose a strange bed, my lord."

Tom stretched and stood up, shaking back his tousled hair and straightening his clothes. He knew Palmer was looking him over, questioning his battered appearance, but made no explanation beyond a wry grin. "Could a man ask for sounder sleep than in the hand of God Himself?"

"Best pray He will use that hand on
Afton
's part today," Palmer said with a grim, set expression. "Ellenshaw has sent his terms."

Tom was instantly alert. "Has the king read them?"

Palmer shook his head. "The lords sent me for you. They think it best if all of you go together to him."

"Do you know where he is now?"

"With the queen yet, I expect."

Tom was surprised. "So early?"

"So late, my lord. Her ladies said she did not call for them last night or yet this morning, so he must be with her still. Shall I take this to him?"

There was the tiniest hint of a smile on Tom's face. "No. Let me see what our good cousin proposes first." He opened the paper and, reading it, whistled low between his teeth. "He does not ask much."

"Shall I send word to the king?"

Tom looked up through the ruined wall, to the window of Rosalynde's tower chamber. It was still dark.

"No. Let him have peace awhile longer. We have a few hours yet to answer this. I will go to the lords and we will make what preparation we can without him."

***

Philip woke with his head cradled against Rosalynde's silken bosom. She was still whispering lovers' endearments into his hair, toying with the soft damp wisps at the nape of his neck. He wondered again at the resilient depth of her love, remembering how they had talked during the night, more, perhaps, than during all their marriage before.

He remembered laughter, too, among the tears, his own laughter at his proud, foolish self that had fallen farther and farther from truth, clinging to his stubbornness, imagining that it was strength and only now seeing it for the blind weakness it was. He felt now as he had while he was recovering from his wounds in Tanglewood, when he had almost had to learn to walk again, only this time he need not face the struggle alone.

He smiled at Rosalynde and pressed a tender, giving kiss on her lips. He knew that the battle would begin today and end today, too, but he did not allow worry to darken his contentment or hurry him from her arms. The fate of Winton, of all Lynaleigh no longer rested on his shoulders.

He had been too proud to send to Westered while there was yet time, and now he had no choice but to trust in the mercy God had already shown him. But there was a curious freedom in that. He had been so tied to duty. Now his only duty was to trust and obey, and how could he do any less for the One who had shown him so much love undeserved? So desperately undeserved?

He looked into Rosalynde's loving eyes and a shadow passed over his face. She was at risk now, and the baby, too, all because of his pride, but she had already forgiven him that. There was only one confession left for him to make.

"Will you forgive me, love, for lying to you?"

"Lying?"

"When I swore I would not love you."

She pressed one finger to his lips, smiling a little to think that the long ago pain could now be so sweet. "I could never think you a liar."

"I was then. Oh, believe me."

"You have never lied to me, sweet love."

"But–"

"Philip Ice-Heart made that oath, not you, and so long as I have you, he may keep his word."

He kissed her again, still astonished by the reality of her love. "I love you," he said, then he pulled her head to his shoulder and held her against his heart. "I could stay here and tell you so a year together."

"And I would not think it enough."

"I do not think my dear cousin will wait so long," he said lightly, but she was suddenly apprehensive.

"Must you go down to him?"

"I promised Robin a kingdom," he said, then he squeezed her tighter. "And should I not defend the treasure I have so lately discovered?"

She did not return his smile. "Oh, Philip, if anything should happen now–"

"Do not fear, love. God will dispose the day as pleases Him. You told me to trust Him. Now you must also."

"I do. Truly, I do. But we've had so little time."

"I do not know God's will for this battle, only that I must go to it in faith and obedience to Him."

"Can your soldiers match Stephen in the field?"

Her voice sounded very small, and he pulled her even closer.

"No. There aren't enough of us to last an hour against his forces." He felt her tremble and he turned her face up to his. "But there aren't enough of them on earth or in hell to last an instant against God."

Her eyes were suddenly bright with tears, but she smiled, too, and nodded, trying to hide her fear from him.

"It will be all right, love," he soothed.

Seeing a hint of dawn in the east window, he kissed her once more and started to get out of bed, but she held on to him.

"Not yet," she pleaded. "I cannot let you go."

"You must," he said. "I must." Slipping his hands out of hers, he got up. "Pray God's mercy on us today, but more that His will would be done."

She held tightly to one of the pillows and wept quietly as he pulled on his boots and breeches. Finally unable to bear more, he knelt beside the bed and put his arms around her.

"We'll not be parted long, sweet," he said, holding her close and closer still, then his voice dropped to a husky whisper. "Just do not ever stop loving me."

She held her breath as if she could hold the moment and, for a little while, there was no sound but the beating of their hearts, then he gently took her arms from around his neck. Her breath came back in a painful sob.

"Shh," he murmured. "If I do not come back to you today, then you shall one day come to me." With one sweet kiss he stood up and somehow managed a brave smile. "Do not be afraid."

"I do love you, Philip. Truly, truly."

That brought the tears to his eyes, and his smile was suddenly not so steady.

"I know." He touched his fingers to her cheek. "Truly."

He stood for a moment outside her chamber once he had left it, waiting until his breath came more evenly and some of the pain of parting had diminished. She loved him,
truly, truly,
and he took strength from his certainty in it, but he felt like such a fool recalling all the time he had wasted not loving her, the pain he had brought them both, and now there may never be another night for them together.

"Oh, Jesus."

The very sound of the name fell like a healing balm on his soul. Here was another love he held as a certainty, this one beyond the human capacity to fail. Whatever happened, he knew he could trust in that love.

"Show me Your way," he prayed. Then he went to ready himself for battle.

***

Clad in chain mail, wearing the proud symbols of his royalty, Philip went down the steps into the courtyard. He slowed seeing Tom there, also fully armed, tightening the cinch on his saddle.

"Tom?"

Tom turned to him, an expectant hopefulness in his expression, as if he knew already of the peace Philip had made and was glad of it. But there were those bruises, too, still at his throat.

"I've been so wrong," Philip said, feeling a keen pang of shame. "Will you forgive me?"

"I did that long ago," Tom assured him, and Philip felt his uncertainty melt into nothingness. He grasped the hand Tom offered him.

"I haven't time to say what I would say to you, Tom. Only that I've been every bit the stubborn fool you said I was."

"That is a common enough trait in mankind," Tom allowed, "though I've not seen many who've worked so hard at it." He grinned. "Perhaps it was your diligence that made God choose you to rule this kingdom."

"Perhaps it was," Philip agreed with a rueful smile, then his expression sobered. "Whatever it was, whatever my failings, I know He chose me for this, just as you said, to bear His light in this darkness. His light, not mine. There would be no honor in me did I not uphold that charge with my life." Catching himself, he smiled again and added, "By His grace."

"By His grace," Tom repeated. "We need nothing else."

Philip looked him steadily in the face. "You've stood by me all this while, Tom. Will you this once more?"

"You know my answer. My sword is yours, now and for so long as you have need of it."

"Ellenshaw has sent terms, my lord,"
Darlington
interrupted, and Philip looked over the paper he was given.

"So, we are to have peace. That is if we will surrender all
Afton
claim to the crown, forfeit all our lands and goods, and be brought to trial in the death of King Edward and, no doubt, face the full penalty the law allows for that. What say you, my lords?"

"It is more than we would have Your Majesty answer to,"
Darlington
replied and the other lords murmured their agreement.

"We must go out to meet them then," Philip said calmly, and
Darlington
gaped at him, certain he had misheard.