In Honor Bound (36 page)

"Good morning, my lord."

He dismissed her waiting women and sat on the edge of the bed. "You have done well, my lady," he told her, keeping his gaze fixed on the baby. "I am sorry it was such grief to you."

"Oh, no. It was a small price to pay for such a precious treasure. Look at him. Is he not beautiful? He is so like you."

Philip looked up at her suddenly. "Do you love him?" he asked urgently. "Truly?"

"Yes, of course–"

"Truly?" he insisted.

"My lord, you know I do. You must know."

"I need you to love him. A child needs his mother's love."

"His father's as well," she added gently.

"Faith, does he. Let me stand for that. Swear that he will know your love and be secure in it. Swear."

She had never seen such insistence in him before. "I do swear it, my lord, but you had as well make me swear to eat and sleep, to worship my God, or to please you. All these things I do without any thought not to."

She ventured to touch the baby's velvet cheek, and Philip's expression softened.

"He is too small to be left in this world alone," he said. "The midwife was going to take him to the nurse, and I–"

"Oh, my lord, forgive me, but may I not have him? At least at first?"

"You want to nurse him yourself?"

"I know it is not the fashion but, my lord, he is my baby. A nurse could not love him as his own mother would. I beg you, let me nurse him, if it does not displease you."

"It pleases me very much," he said, handing the child to her. "If you love him."

She cradled the baby lovingly to her breast. "I love him better than all the world."
Next to you alone, my love,
she added in her heart.

Philip's eyes took on a warm tenderness that she had rarely seen there. He settled her against him as he had during the night and watched his son greedily taking his first meal.

Rosalynde studied him as he did. His hands were bruised, his sleeve torn and bloodied as she remembered. His face was tired and unshaven, his hair tousled and in disarray, but to her he was more beautiful at that moment than ever she had seen him.

How she had longed for this. How she had missed this closeness after that brief bit of heaven they had shared in Treghatours. Surely for the sake of the child he would remember now that there was more to this life than duty and honor.

She remembered little of her labor save the pain and his soothing presence. He had been faithful to her all through the night, heart and soul, as if there were nothing in the world but the two of them alone. Truly this child was theirs together. More than compounding their flesh, they had brought him together into the world and together they would raise him to manhood. Philip had promised.

For awhile, Philip seemed to lose his obsession with the war and let Rosalynde nearer to him. He had told her that their son would be named Robert, another of his duties, a promise he had made his father a long while ago, and there had been a touch of fear in her eyes when he made his grim announcement, fear that the obligation would sour his pleasure in the child. But then he had cooed at the baby and called him "little summer Robin," and she had smiled again.

It is only for the sake of the child,
Philip told himself, but he found he could not so easily push her away from him now that there was so tangible a bond between them. Still, he would take care that it never grew to be something more. He had told her from the beginning that he would not love her, and had made sure she knew he would never break his word. So long as she remembered that, so long as she did not try to press close into his heart, into the deep places he had reserved for Katherine, they would have peace enough.

Tranquillity ended with the news that Stephen had amassed an army at the Grenaven border and was coming to Winton, leaving a wide path of destruction behind him. The council chose Tom to lead the force against him. Philip was set on going himself, but Tom reasoned him out of that.

"You are more needed here," he said, taking a glance at Rosalynde as she sat with some of the other ladies across the great hall.

Philip followed his glance and frowned. "My duty is first and always to Lynaleigh."

"Your duty to Lynaleigh lies here. I know you had rather be in the midst of the fight, but it is part of your duty as king to direct rather than do."

"You are right, of course. Well, take my men, then. I trust you with them over anyone."

"You can trust my diligence if nothing else." Tom grinned at him. "I've a wife waiting. No amount of letters between us will content me until I have her with me always, and that cannot be until this war is won."

How often he forgot that Tom had a wife. Had and did not have. Would he be content when he did?

"I pray she proves worth the winning, Tom."

"God's grace upon us, we shall have peace soon, and then I will prove to you what great return a little investment of love will bring." Tom looked again at Rosalynde. "You might find it so yourself if you cared to."

They exchanged farewells and Philip watched him go to Rosalynde's side and speak something cheerful to her, something that made her smile. He scooped up the baby that lay kicking and cooing at her feet and kissed his pink cheek, then he touched his lips to Rosalynde's hand and was gone.

What great return a little investment of love will bring,
Philip reflected.
I know you have not found it so with me, my lady.

But he was finding it harder and harder to ignore the pull that endless love of hers had upon his heart.

***

The news of the battles was grave in the weeks that followed. Messengers came and went, and the council seemed forever in session. Then, late one night, word came that Tom's army had been pushed back to Chrisdale. The nobility debated long about what must be done next and afterwards, exhausted with their bickering, Philip made his way up to the nursery.

Duty and nature and affection all demanded he love this child of his, just as he would have loved Katherine's child, and there was nothing, nothing in that innocence that had never wronged him, to say he must not. He had little time these days to demonstrate that love, though the little bit of softness in his heart, that little bit he still admitted to, longed for it. He wanted just a moment to hold the child, to tangibly know that he was not alone in the world, before he went to the empty sleeplessness of his bed.

"Good evening, my lord."

He was startled to see Rosalynde in the nursery so late. "I had thought you would be asleep long ago, my lady."

"I was," she said, "but our little Robin decided he was hungry again. I've only just settled him back in bed."

He came up beside her as she leaned over the cradle, and they both looked fondly on the sleeping child.

"It pleases me to see you caring for him yourself. He will grow to be a good man, with such a mother."

"And such a father."

She turned to him with that unquenchable adoration in her eyes and, taken unawares, everything in him fought to answer it, everything but his pride. Before that could be overmastered, they heard a furtive knock.

"My lord?"

Philip recognized Rafe's voice and opened the chamber door.

"Lord Tom is coming back into Winton, my lord" Rafe said. "He and his men are not half a mile away."

"Tom?"

Rosalynde clutched Philip's arm. "My lord–"

"Pardon me, my lady, but if they are coming in so late at night it will not be in triumph. You must excuse me."

He briefly kissed her hand, then he hurried out of the chamber with Rafe scurrying behind him.

***

Tom's soldiers poured into the city, wounded, dirty, dying. One demoralizing defeat had crowded onto another, and the news Tom brought with him held little occasion for cheerfulness.

"Stephen's hot behind us, Philip, and King William with him."

"So, Grenaver is backing him as we heard. But why? Stephen hates Grenaver. And we both know what small love Grenaver holds for Lynaleigh."

"Stephen's promised them all the Riverlands in exchange for their aid," Tom informed him, "and they've not forgotten our father's triumph over them not so long ago. They'd love to pay
Afton
for that."

"So how far off is our loving cousin?" Philip asked tightly.

"His main force will likely be at Winton's walls by tomorrow afternoon. Next morning latest."

"Can we not meet them before then? The garrison here and all your men–"

"All my men? Philip, I've perhaps a quarter of those I left with if I count the wounded, and many of those'll not likely last the night. Why do you think we came to shelter here? There are simply too many of them now. We must consider another way to defeat them. Winton will keep us safe for some while, if we are wise. In that time, we can devise a plan."

"We've no choice but to try," Philip agreed slowly, "though with your men here, drawing on our supplies too, we'll not last long."

"Long enough, I pray."

Tom's prediction proved true. The combined armies of Ellenshaw and Grenaver surrounded Winton at sunset the next day, a formidable host of foot soldiers and horsemen with colorful banners held high. Tom and Philip watched from the walls as Stephen himself came to the city gate with a great show of heralds and footmen and other bright trappings to give legitimacy to his claim.

"Good evening, Cousin Philip," he called confidently.

Tom watched his brother's reaction, but Philip merely looked down on the would-be king, not deigning to speak.

"Still proud, cousin?" Stephen demanded, needing no provocation to spoil his temper.

"Still king, cousin."

Stephen smiled. "King of Winton. Perhaps. For awhile."

"That is yet to be tried. Despite your armies, though, and whatever the outcome of this battle or this war, I am king of Lynaleigh. By the acclaim of the people, by right of blood, by my father's holy anointing, I am king."

"Not so, cousin," Stephen said with a bland smile. "My father, the one you had murdered, was king. Who but his only son and heir should be king after him?"

"My father," Philip shot back, "the one
you
had murdered, was rightful king, leaving me rightful king now."

Stephen laughed outright. "I suppose we are even, then, regarding fathers. Let us speak of kingdoms. I've no wish to bandy pedigrees with you."

"No, you'd hardly want that."

"I'd not feel so secure, cousin, were I you. Who can tell how many bastards your mother passed off as Chastelaynes. Rounchaux may not have been the only one."

"John was worth a hundred of you!" Tom spat, then he stopped himself and matched his cousin's sardonic grin. "Better a bastard by birth than by disposition."

Stephen's expression blackened. "I'll have that insolent tongue–"

"Your informants know their duty well," Philip interrupted icily, and abruptly Stephen was smiling again.

"Dunois was a veritable fountain of information. Still, I have meant to thank you for disposing of him for me. He was too clever and ambitious for my tastes. He betrayed my father, then he betrayed yours. I could hardly trust him. Besides, I believe he had some fancy that I would marry his daughter and put his grandson on the throne. Ha! A yeoman's son grandsire to Lynaleighan royalty? Indeed."

"I believe you came to speak of kingdoms, cousin," Philip reminded him, his cold voice cutting through the growing darkness. "Pray you, keep to that."

"I did not come to speak of kingdoms, cousin, but to take mine."

"Hell is the only kingdom you have due you."

"Then let the devil look to his crown. Until I come there, though, you had best look to yours."

"I do, cousin, and shall. Winton has never been taken by force and is not like to be."

"You cannot stay sheltered there forever. We will breach the walls or you will starve. Either way," Stephen gloated, "I will take back my city and my throne. Return them both to me now and save your people from the destruction I will bring them if I must take what is mine by force."

"Take them, cousin," Philip said, "if you can. I'll not give them to you."

"The slaughter on your head then. I wash my hands of it."

Tom's eyes turned hard. "Any blood you shed here will join with the seas of blood you have shed already and cry out to God for His vengeance."

"If this God of yours is so great and mighty, why are you who claim to be His people driven into hiding here? Why does He not strike me dead now and my armies too and give you victory?" Stephen looked up at the silent sky then he laughed, an evil sound that deepened Tom's anger.

"He is merciful and not willing that even you should perish." There was no godly charity in Tom's tone, and Philip shook his head.

"Do not waste your words on him, Tom."

Tom studied him for a moment and then looked down at Stephen. They were so alike in their proud disdain, and he knew he was himself no better, speaking of God's mercy without love.

"Please, cousin," he said, his tone gentler. "It is not too late even now for you to come to Him and make peace."

"Do you think I will give up everything that is mine to follow your helpless God? I'll not submit myself to anyone– God or man!" Stephen raked his horse's flanks with his cruel spurs, making the beast rear up as he turned. "Call on your God. Let Him save you if He can. I do not fear Him or you."

He signaled his men and in a moment they were gone. Philip stared after them long after they had disappeared into the darkness.

***

The days of siege wore into weeks, and with every day that passed the tension grew. Philip's soldiers became restless and quarrelsome as they wasted the time away, eager for action and spoiling for trouble. Philip himself was as restless as they and spent his time in endless meetings with
Darlington
and the others, trying to find some way to raise the siege.