In Honor Bound (42 page)

"At once, Your Majesty,"
Darlington
said, and he grabbed the would-be king by the arm, unceremoniously dragging off his helmet before he led him up the hillside.

Philip watched for a moment, the he looked to the men surrounding him.

"As for the rest of you rebels–"

"Philip! Philip!"

He turned to see Rosalynde running along the top of the wall above them, still in her shift and robe, still with her hair cascading down her back. Looking up at her, he smiled. The nightmare was over and he was free.

"Rosalynde!"

He lifted his sword above his head in triumph, then he flung it to the ground and started up the hill. She disappeared for a moment and then reappeared inside the gate and ran across the drawbridge, her bare feet pattering lightly on the planks.

"Philip!"

His soldiers began to cheer again as he held his arms out to her and she ran through their ranks, past their captains, past
Darlington
and Stephen– Stephen!

"Philip!" Tom warned, but it was too late.

Stephen broke
Darlington
's hold and snatched his dagger. In another instant that dagger was at Rosalynde's throat, and Stephen was dragging her backwards, his left hand wound fast into her hair.

"No closer," he cautioned and Philip halted midstride, holding up his hands to show he was unarmed.

"What do you mean to do?"

"I only wish to become better acquainted with my fair sister, Lady Rosalynde."

He pressed familiarly against her and Westered swore.

"Before God, I'll tear him to pieces myself!"

Philip stilled him, his eyes never leaving the white terror on Rosalynde's face.

"What do you mean to do?"

"Not to be taken," Stephen answered. "Not today. Not if you hold your lady dear."

"I need not tell you the value of your life if she is harmed," Philip warned.

"No, nor the value of hers if I am hindered."

Stephen began to back towards his men, pulling Rosalynde along with him, and her eyes widened in a silent plea.

"Have faith, love," Philip called to her, tensing forward, and Stephen held her closer.

"Have a care, cousin. Such a little, little force would leave you with nothing but a pretty corpse."

Philip and Tom exchanged a covert glance and Tom took a step towards Stephen.

"Stay back, Brenden," Stephen said. "I am watching you."

"Never do this, cousin," Tom said, stopping where he was.

As they spoke, Philip moved back slightly, just in front of one of his men, and reached backwards out of Stephen's sight. Soon he felt the press of something heavy in his hands. Stephen was at his horse now, Rosalynde still shielding him, and Philip tightened his fingers, waiting.

"Ellenshaw, you'll pay this dear!" Westered threatened, and Tom came to stand beside him.

"Let him alone, my lord," Tom advised. "He knows we cannot move against him now."

"Very wise, cousin," Stephen said, then he pulled Rosalynde up into his saddle with him and turned to Westered with a self-confident sneer. "My dear father-in-law, I–"

His body stiffened, and the dagger thudded to the ground. Then he pitched backwards, a bolt from Philip's crossbow squarely between his startled eyes. In that same instant, a hundred of Westered's archers aimed their weapons at the rest of the enemy leaders, daring them to make a move in Stephen's revenge.

Philip tossed down his bow and in a few long strides was at Rosalynde's side, lifting her from the saddle, cradling her in his arms, against his racing heart.

"Thank God, thank God," he murmured, rocking her gently, his eyes squeezed shut, his cheek pressed to hers. "Oh, Rosalynde, thank God."

A moment passed before he remembered that there was a host of enemy forces still surrounding him. With Rosalynde still clinging to him, he lifted his head, a stern look of kingly displeasure on his face.

"Have Lynaleigh and Grenaver any further quarrel, my lord?" he asked King William, and Westered moved to stand behind him.

"My army is still at your disposal, Your Majesty," he reminded Philip.

The King of Grenaver quickly shook his head. "No, Your Majesty. We cannot hope to stand against you now. We are at your mercy."

"Very well," Philip said, then he raised his voice for all to hear. "Ellenshaw is dead, and King William has surrendered. You who have come here to challenge my right as king, leave your arms and I shall leave you your lives."

All around him, soldiers laid down their weapons.

"Now leave my sight."

"I will see to it," Tom said. "Your lady needs you."

Philip looked down into Rosalynde's face, his eyes full of tenderness. "He did not harm you, did he, love?"

She shook her head, and, cuddling her to him again, he carried her up the hill back into the city

As they came to the cathedral, he halted and looked up at the ruins, feeling as if he could not pass the holy place with her safe in his arms and not pause to give thanks.

Reading the thought in his eyes, she smiled her assent, and he carried her through the rubble to the altar. Careful of her bare feet, he set her down. Hearing the clatter of armor, they both turned.

"You should never frighten my old heart as you did down there, child," Westered said, coming up to them, and Rosalynde stood tiptoe to kiss him.

"Oh, Father, I am so glad you've come."

"You look as if you were not expecting me, girl," Westered said, the release of victory making his booming laugh come easily. "Does this husband of yours not keep you in his confidence? The two of you look as close as bees and honey."

He laughed again, and she looked up into Philip's face, her eyes questioning. Philip shook his head, equally puzzled.

"You looked surprised to see me, my liege," Westered said. "I trust not disappointed."

"No, of course not. We were lost without your help. But I am surprised, my lord."

"Did you think I would not keep my word when you had need of me, son? I told you I would come when you sent."

Again Philip shook his head. "I never sent to you, my lord. We've been weeks under siege. I could not send."

"Then what is this?"

Westered slipped something from his finger and dropped it into Philip's hand. It was his ring, scarred and encrusted with dirt, the only bright spot the engraved lion that Westered had rubbed clean in order to identify it. Now Philip rubbed it, too.

"How? I never sent it."

"I've asked
Darlington
to escort King William back to the border," Tom said as he came in from the street. "He and his men will–"

He broke off at the bewildered look on Philip's face.

"I thought it was gone forever, Tom. I threw it away, last winter in Treghatours. I thought–" Philip struggled for words, rubbing the ring again, amazed at its very tangibility in his hand. "I thought–"

"You thought God would not know just when you would need Him?" Tom asked softly.

"I thought–" Philip clutched the ring against his chest and stared past his brother's face at the gentle-eyed statue that was yet wedged into the corner. "I never stooped to ask His help before last night. The journey to Westered and back at best takes at least– Oh, God," he whispered, lifting his face to heaven, trembling as he gulped down the crisp morning air. "Great God, my Lord."

Rosalynde nestled against him and he stood for a long moment holding her.

"You never sent this to me?" Westered asked Philip finally.

"No, my lord. How did you get it?"

"One of my lieutenants brought it. Are you certain none of your people–"

Philip shook his head, and Tom looked at the older man keenly.

"How did your man come by it, my lord?"

Westered chuckled. "I never thought to ask. We merely set out for Winton at once. I could have it traced down–"

"No," Philip said quickly. "Whomever He used to bring it, I know who meant you to have it. I need know nothing more." He could feel nothing but reverent wonder, coupled with utter humility and thankfulness. "God has delivered us, without a drop of blood shed save Stephen's, and I can only think that his death was a move of God's sovereignty." He pulled Rosalynde closer and drew a deep, shaky breath. "May He judge me so, too, if ever I doubt His love for me again."

He bowed his head and for a moment there was silence, then behind him came the sound of singing, starting low and small then growing to rich resonance. He turned to see the cathedral filled with people, his people, all joined together in thanksgiving.

"Non nobis, Domine," they sang, "non nobis, sed nomine tuo da gloriam..."

It was the words of a Psalm, in the language of the old church.
Not unto us, oh Lord, not unto us but unto Your name do we give glory...

The great Bible that had once graced the pulpit now rested on a pile of shattered stones, but the Archbishop stood before it as if he were at High Mass and began reading, words of mercy and deliverance, his usually-droning voice cracked and beautified with emotion.

Philip closed his eyes and listened, then came to stand beside him.

"My lord Archbishop, please you to let me read from the Holy Scripture."

The Archbishop backed away from the great Book with a graceful bow, and Philip stood in his place, turning the stiff, illuminated pages. Then he looked up, haloed in the shaft of sunlight that broke through the ruined roof, his face earnest and solemn.

"Is there one of you who who'll not say that God's grace alone delivered us today?"

"No!" came a thunder of soldiers' voices, augmented with many others, old and young, peasant and noble, all who had seen that day's victory.

"'Not unto us, oh Lord," Philip read, the words of the Scripture flowing from his heart. "Not unto us but unto Your name do we give glory, for Your mercy and for the sake of Your truth. Why should the unbeliever say, Where is now their God? Our God is in the heavens, and has done whatsoever He has pleased.'" He shut the Book. "He has pleased to show us His mercy today. He has given me–" He pulled Rosalynde to his side. "He has given me more than I could imagine to ask, forgiveness when I deserved judgment, and deliverance in a way I have yet to comprehend. If you are my subjects, then you are His, for I am His and I pledge that He, not I, shall rule sovereign here in Lynaleigh."

***

He pledged it over again a few days later at the long-neglected coronation, kneeling before the altar in the midst of the cathedral's reconstruction, under the serene gaze of the statue of Christ that had been righted and set back in its proper place. The Archbishop anointed him with holy oil and then set the crown, hallowed and blessed, upon his head. Then Philip stood, meeting Rosalynde's radiant gaze.

God fashioned you for such a time,
she had told him earlier, that same light shining in her eyes.
I imagine the warrior angels seen by the saints of old must have looked just as you do now, strong and resolute, clad in royal white, and so very beautiful.