In Honor Bound (38 page)

"Do not waste your life in grieving for her. She would never have wanted that for you, not if she loved you so deeply as you claim. Let go of the past. Love Rosalynde."

"It could never be the same."

"True, it could not possibly, but it could be as good, better, if only you would let it be so. Give up that pride that makes you cling to what has hurt you. Give up your grief and live."

"It is more than I can do after all that has happened," Philip said, his voice expressionless. "I would not know how."

"Give it to the Lord. He will carry sorrow's burden for you, if you will let Him. He surely knows what it is to grieve, watching over this poor world. You think you loved John? You think you loved Katherine? He loves them more than you could ever hope to know."

"Then why did He not love them enough to save them?"

"What did you do when they were taking Katherine to be burned? Did you pray?"

Philip looked away and Tom forced him to turn back.

"Did you? Did you pray? I was told you cursed everyone from the peasants to the king himself. How was God to answer that?"

"What about you then,
Saint Thomas
?!" Philip wrenched away from him. "When John lay bleeding to death did you pray?! Did you ask God for his life?"

Tom winced. "No, God forgive me, I came too late for that."

There was deep pain in his face, and Philip wished he could take back the words. He knew Tom's prayers at Tanglewood had saved his own life.

"Tom, I–"

There was a thick silence between them until Tom finally spoke again.

"All that is past, but Rosalynde is now. You needn't fear to trust your love to her."

Philip laughed harshly. "Rosalynde again? What would she need with my love, so long as she has you to pet her and remind her how ill-used she is."

"Yes, well I am certain it must be easier by far for you to be angry with us both than to admit to yourself that you love her."

"Take care, Tom."

There was a fierce spark of anger between them, then Tom bowed.

"If you will pardon me, my liege, I have better things to occupy me than to try to coax you into loving your wife."

"See to them then."

I do not love her,
Philip told himself once Tom was gone.
I do not. I am merely drawn by my pleasure in her. Mass, I am no better for my appetites than she.

He knew that was a lie and he cursed his weakness. There were other women who would have willingly satisfied his desires and asked nothing else, but he was familiar with that feeling– lust and no more. He was long used to mastering that.

With Rosalynde, there was a difference. If there had not been, he could have kept that distance between them without effort. He could have gone to her bed and found it easy to leave and not think of her until he wanted her again, easy to use her as he deemed necessary and feel no remorse if he should have to hurt her. If there had not been a difference, there would not be this torture inside him now.

He had found something healing in her embrace, something that satisfied more than his body. He told himself it was weakness, not his desire for her, that was his right and duty as her husband, as natural as eating and sleeping, but his need for her to hold him close, to fill the emptiness in his arms that Katherine had left behind her, a need he should not want anyone but Katherine to fill. Could it be that Rosalynde loved him so deeply as her every word and deed cried out she did? That if he went to her, even now, she would not turn him away?

He knew she had a tender little heart, despite all the blows he had dealt it. Doubtless she was weeping even now, and he could not bear to hear her cry, but she was fortunate to be a woman, to have the sweet release of tears. He was a man, more, a king. Tears were not allowed him. He could not allow them to himself. But he knew she would allow them to him, her with her tender little heart.

He berated himself again with his vows to Katherine and realized that her image was fading from his mind. He struggled to recall it, to see again the golden hair, the soft, fresh-blooming cheeks, the innocent fawn-brown eyes, but he could not form the pieces into a coherent whole. All he could see was Rosalynde, her emerald eyes crying out the devotion he had forbidden her to speak aloud and her soft, trembling lips pressed to his in a kiss that held nothing of lust and everything of tender love.

With a groan, he leaned against the wall and buried his face in his arms, trying to obliterate the image. Had he inherited his constancy from his inconstant mother?

I'll not love her, Kate.
Did he love her? He must not. What had he heard about a double-minded man? Unstable in all his ways?
If I lose all else, Kate, I will keep my honor and keep my vows.

"My liege?"

Philip straightened with a jerk, then at once was all dignity. "My lord
Darlington
. What news?"

"Ellenshaw has brought his siege guns to our walls, my liege. They are bound to begin using them come morning."

"It was sure to come. Go and tell the rest of the council. I will find Tom."

***

When she left the great hall, Rosalynde went into the nursery to visit Robin. She could not just go sit down at supper the rest of the evening, not with Tom looking at her, reading the distress in her eyes, his own filled with knowing pity. She could not bear that tonight. Besides, it comforted her to hold the baby, to know that at least this much of Philip was hers, but she did not cry anymore. There was little to cry about, she knew, unless it was the months of seeing her husband slip farther and farther away from her.

She often wondered why she let him hurt her at all any more, why she still cared, why she did not let her pain sour into hatred. Then she would remember the sweetness of their winter together at Treghatours, or his tender care of her the night the baby was born, or the searching lost look that was sometimes in his eyes when he did not know she could see him, and remember that he was wounded still. Inside. Those times she knew that everything else did not matter. He belonged to her, he needed her, and she would always love him.

She stayed with Robin until he fell asleep with most of one chubby fist in his mouth, then she crept quietly back to her own chamber, glad her ladies would not return for some while yet. Not bothering to light the candles, she loosened her bodice and began to unbind her hair, hoping that would ease the throbbing in her head. Things ought to look better in the morning. At least with a sound night's sleep she would be better able to face them.

She pushed off her shoes and ran her fingers through her thick locks, glad to feel her headache ease. Closing her eyes, she rolled her head to one side and then dropped it forward.

"Oh, God, please–"

There was a knock at the door, and her prayer went unfinished.

"Yes?"

Tom pushed the door open. "Stephen has brought his siege guns to Winton, my lady. The council is looking for the king. He is not here?"

She almost laughed, thinking how unlikely it would be these days to find her husband in her bedchamber. Instead, she burst into tears.

"Oh, my lady, please do not cry." Tom lit a taper from the hearth and came to her. "I am sorry."

"Can I never reach out to him without touching a raw place?"

"Do not blame yourself, my lady," he said, pity in his eyes. "He is his own chief torturer. Until he bends that stubborn will to God's, he will never be free. Until then, you will never be able to love him enough to make him happy."

"I thought I could, but he always has his memories to poison any happiness I try to give him. He is sworn to his Katherine, and she had one chief charm that I cannot hope to defeat. He loved her."

"He did," Tom agreed, "I know it. And with him it is impossible to love by halves."

"They were married," she said. "He loved her as much as that."

"Yes, I know."

"You do? Of course you do. He would have told you."

"No, lady, he never told me. He never told anyone."

"Then how–"

"I heard the gossip, saw them together, and knew with him it could be no less than marriage. If you know nothing else of him, my lady, you must know how strict he holds his honor. Sometimes beyond reason. That is why he fights so hard to keep you away from him. Not because he does not want you, but because he wants you too much. He considers his vows to her binding yet."

"But she is dead."

"That does not matter," Tom said. "To him any thoughts of you are lust and adultery."

"Why did he never tell anyone she was his wife? She was a princess. Would that not have protected her from your father?"

"Philip feared if Father knew they were married he would do just as he did and make away with her for it, because he did not think her fit to be queen."

"But surely for her child's sake, he could not–"

"You knew there was to be a child?" Tom asked.

"So Dunois said. He said your father knew it as well."

Tom nodded, his mouth grim. "Does Philip know?"

"Yes. I think that has only bound him more closely to his Katherine. What was she, my lord? What was in her that made him so forever tied to her love?"

"Nothing but a pure heart and a love for him he was sure would never prove false. That was all in all to him. It is still."

"He longs for her even now," she murmured, and he shook his head.

"He longs for you."

"For me?"

"There is a fineness in him and a love well worth having if you could but reach it," Tom said, taking her hand. "Even if he denies it to himself, he loves you. I've seen it in him all along, but he is so bound in his pride, I fear he would die before he would surrender to you. He'll not even yield himself to God."

"He is grinding his heart into dust," she sobbed, "and I do not know how to stop him."

Tom sat down and put his arm around her, and she clung to him, taking comfort from his strength, from his soothing calmness, from just the touch of kindness. He held her a little tighter.

"Love him. Pray for him. I can only believe that in time he will see–"

"See what? My brother and my wife whoring behind my back?"

Rosalynde sprang to her feet.

"No, my lord," she cried, trembling at the implacable contempt on her husband's face as he slammed the door shut behind him. "No, never."

"You do your lady great wrong," Tom said, standing too. "I do not think you know what you say."

"No," Philip said. "No more than I know what I see."

Tom nodded. "Precisely."

Philip's slap caught him off guard and knocked him to his knees. Before he could defend himself, Philip took him by the throat and slammed him against the wall.

Rosalynde watched, terrified. "No!"

"You want him?" Philip demanded, and she shrank away from him, tears streaming down her face.

Tom grabbed his brother's wrists, trying to free himself.

"Philip," he said thickly, a trickle of blood on his lips, "you cannot think–"