In Honor Bound (14 page)

He turned again to his back and let his ring catch the wan firelight. It felt heavy on his hand, as it had when it had been placed there the first time, at his father's coronation, hallowed and blessed by the Archbishop himself. Four times, once for Philip and once for each of his brothers, the austere cleric had made his solemn recitation.

"Be you, young prince, as pure as this gold, as truly set as this precious stone, and, honor binding all, serve your king."

Four times a proud-blooded young prince had knelt and then made grave answer.

"So, before God and His angels, I do swear."

Four times the heavy seal had been set on a strong young hand and four times the gathered nobility had answered a reverent amen.
Let it be so.

Philip turned the ring on his finger, as if it chafed him, and almost permitted himself a jaded smile at the single word engraved upon it –
honor
. Honor. It had seen little enough of that, even from the first day he wore it, at his father's stolen coronation. Later, he had himself given it as a pledge. He had thought then never to wear it again, yet here it was on his hand. So much for honor.

It belongs with you, Kate.

He could see her still as he had at the very first, standing with Margaret's waiting women, looking all innocence among their worldliness. He had not thought her beautiful then, not the cold, perfect way his mother had been beautiful, but then Katherine's soft sweetness had begun to work its way into his heart, deeper and deeper, until he could see no beauty but hers.

Perhaps it was because she was the only woman at court who dared go out to Brenning, where the Heretics met. He saw her there whenever he went to anonymously hear their words of life, and in time he was certain that a man could safely trust his heart to such a woman.

If God Himself had no respect for wealth, title, or nobility of birth, as they preached, how could a man? Why should any man, slave or prince, desire more in a wife than a true, loving heart? He had convinced himself their words were all true, but he had been very young then.

"Marry me, Kate," he had begged her when he could bear no more to be without her. "Love me."

She had drawn a startled breath, then rushed into his embrace. "I do. Oh, I will."

Then there had been that first hesitant kiss between them, a kiss that grew in intensity until it left them clinging, trembling together.

"Now," he had murmured, his mouth very close to hers. "Marry me now."

"My lord–"

"It will have to be in secret." The words had spilled out of him, as if they feared they would be seized and silenced. "And you know what will be said of you."

"My lord, your father–"

"I will keep you safe." He had kissed her then, kissed her until he was afraid she would swoon, then he had wrapped his arms tight around her. "Will you have me, Kate?"

He still could see her sweet eyes, filled with sudden tears.

"You know I would die if I did not."

The ride to Brenning had seemed swift, the simple ceremony even swifter. It was then that he had given her his ring in exchange for her fine sapphire cross, the only jewelry she had.

"I will wear it always near my heart," he had sworn once they had been proclaimed man and wife.

"I shall have to wear this near my heart as well," she had said, looking at the ring that was clearly too large for her slender finger. "It would never do for anyone to see it on my hand."

He closed his eyes and saw Katherine again as she had been their first night together, nestled in his scented sheets, clad only in her shift, with his ring hanging from a ribbon around her neck and her fair hair falling loose and lush onto his pillows.

He could still feel the racing in his heart, remembering how he had gone to her and knelt beside the bed, clutching both of her hands. "Kate–"

He felt once more the softness of those hands against his lips and pressed tenderly to his face, remembered his own breathless words.

"Oh, Kate, I've waited so long for you, my own precious–"

"Do you mean to talk until morning, my lord?"

Her voice was still velvet in his ear, almost he could feel her sweet breath, almost taste that first deep, hungry kiss. She had slid her arms around his neck then, pressing closer to him, twining her fingers into his hair, sighing with pleasure as his mouth moved to her throat.

"Oh, my lord."

"Do not call me that, Kate," he had murmured against her soft skin. "Not here, not now."

She had turned his face up to her and kissed him again, then lay back on the bed, drawing him with her. "Then come to me, Philip."

"Come to me," he whispered, an invocation to the torturous memory of her not to leave him. Not yet. Not while this last night was his. His and hers.

Come to me.

He pulled one cold pillow into his arms and hid his face in it, remembering the words and the sweet exchange of innocence that had followed, that wondrous rush of pure love.

Never again. Never again.

He ached with the remembrance. She was gone, but the memories would not stop. He imagined her there, nestled in his arms, and remembered how she had admired the way that first dawn had gilded them both and how she had called him beautiful.

"So very beautiful."

He had laughed then, low and full of wonder, and pulled her closer to his side.

"If I could find words to tell you how much I love you, Kate, you never would believe me."

"That you could love me?"

"No. That I could love you so much and not die of the pure joy of it."

She had moved closer still and pressed her face to his shoulder. He remembered the warm wetness of her tears on his skin.

"I would have died to see you marry one of those noblewomen your father wants for you. I would have died to know someone else might hold you and kiss you and love you like this." She had looked up at him with those guileless brown eyes, those eyes that had from the first drawn him with their sweet purity, and urgently clutched his arm. "You would never play me false?"

"Kate, by my honor–"

"Oh, do not swear." She had caressed his cheek and relaxed against him again. "You know you needn't swear to me. It's not in you ever to deceive me. I just cannot believe it all yet. There must be great evil ahead for me. I've had too much happiness all at once."

Again he had laughed and put both arms snugly around her. "Never be afraid, Kate. I will take care of you."

He had sworn it, but the oath mocked him now.

Kate, by my honor–

He grappled the pillow more tightly against himself.

"Must I remember? Please, God, no more. No more."

Sleep came to him at last, and it was mercy.

***

Rafe came early the next morning to prepare him for the wedding, and before long, Philip was standing at his looking glass while Rafe searched for the tiniest flaw in the image it reflected. There was none.

Philip's doublet was exactly the deep blue of his eyes and had been styled to compliment the elegant lines of his body. Like the doublet, his boots were newly made – soft as glove leather and cut to cling snugly to his long legs, all the way up to the middle of his hard-muscled thighs. He showed no trace of the sleeplessness of the night before and, from the dark sleekness of his hair to the burnished gleam of the ruby ring on his finger, everything about him was perfection.

The young lady will not be able to take her eyes from him,
Rafe considered.
No, nor none of the court.

He had been wont to take pride in the comeliness of his young master, as if he had had a hand in creating it, but now he could not. It was his duty to see that Philip was properly dressed for the great occasion, but it seemed like betrayal now to do it.

Still, he does look magnificent,
Rafe thought.
He would have been too thin and worn before to cut such a fine figure.

Rafe had hoped then that one day Philip would be able to put aside the deep grief that had shadowed his expressive eyes. That was before the king had come to Tanglewood, when Philip's eyes still held some expression.

"What more?" Philip asked and Rafe was startled back into the present.

"Uh, forgive me, my lord. Nothing more. The young lady cannot choose but be pleased."

Rafe wondered for a moment if that was not just the wrong thing to say, but Philip's face told him nothing and Rafe dared say no more.

***

The ceremony proceeded without a flaw. The bride was radiant in cloth of gold that had been slashed and inset with pearl white silk. Her dress and her dark hair both were liberally sprinkled with seed pearls, and heavy ropes of pearl hung at her wrists and throat. On her finger was a ruby ring, the very image of the one Philip wore, but made smaller to fit her hand. He had been told it was his wedding gift to her.

He did not look at her during the ceremony. He fixed his gaze on the iron lock that secured the gate to the catacombs behind the altar and let the Archbishop's words slide past him, making unintelligible singsong in his ears. Only his bride's responses, soft and hesitant beside him, refused to be muted into meaninglessness. He was to be cherished and obeyed and cleaved to, whether he would have it so or no.

Then he heard his own name spoken and his own oath asked. Would he cherish this woman who had been chosen for his father's security? Would he give himself for a woman he did not know, who did not know him? Would he cleave to such a woman, knowing the one he loved had been swept aside to make place for her?

There was absolute silence in the cathedral as everyone awaited Philip's answer. His eyes met his father's then he looked abruptly back at the Archbishop. When he spoke, his voice was as clear and as cold as crystal.

"I will."

The wedding guests smiled their satisfaction and Philip knew there must be triumph on his father's face, long awaited triumph.

I have obeyed you now, Your Majesty,
Philip thought darkly.
I hope you are pleased.

The Archbishop blessed the new couple in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Philip moved his lips to say the amen with everyone else, but his throat tightened around the word and would not let it pass.

That done, he turned with Rosalynde to bow low to the king and then to James of Westered who sat beaming at his renewed alliance. Only one thing remained.

All color gone from his face, Philip turned to his bride and, taking her hands, coldly brushed her lips with his own. A great cheer rose from the crowd and the cathedral bells began to peal in celebration.

***

Rosalynde blinked back tears and pressed her trembling lips together, then she lifted her chin and smiled a wide, stiff smile, acknowledging the people, her people now. Philip, too, was smiling, smiling the dazzling smile his people loved, and they cheered the louder because of it. Only Rosalynde was near enough to see that the smile did not reach his eyes.

He offered her his arm and she took it apprehensively, feeling as if she might swoon from the claustrophobic press of people around them. Her attendants took up her long train and the halberdiers opened a path through the crowd to let the new couple pass. The wedding guests flooded out behind them, eager to begin the feasting and celebration that would last well into the night.