In Honor Bound

by DeAnna Julie Dodson

  "It is deserted, Your Majesty," Eastbrook informed him. "The people heard what happened in Abbey and fear Ellenshaw will come here next in search of us."

  "Do we have knowledge of him yet, where he is?"

  "Not yet, my lord, but we should have some report soon."

  "Well, my lords, I put the men to your charge. Have their comforts seen to. That is all for tonight."

  "Will you not speak to them once more, Your Majesty," Darlington pled. "They are weary and grieved. Some of them have the fever. I fear yet that many of them will go after today's business."

  Philip refrained from telling him to let them all go. "I'll not try to hold any man with words tonight," he said instead. "They've done too much already. Tomorrow."

  "But, sire–"

  "No. Tomorrow is soon enough."

  With that he left them and made his way through the solemn huddled soldiers, heading towards Kimberlin's house. The men looked at him strangely, startled to see their king walking alone and unheralded. He could hear the swell of murmuring voices as he passed and knew they spoke of him. One of the bolder ones, an archer, stepped out before him and made an awkward bow.

  "Pardon me, my lord king, but where will we go now?"

  Philip shook his head. "I do not know, friend. You men have a rest due you, God and Ellenshaw willing, then we must see where we can engage them again. Leave that for now, though. It will come soon enough."

  "Not for me," the archer said, with hate in his eyes. "That was my little one Her Majesty was holding today. I had three others, too, and a wife. It cannot come soon enough for me."

  Philip stared at him, grief and pity and remorse tugging at his face. Abruptly, he threw his arms around the surprised man, embracing him fiercely.

  "Dear God, I am sorry."

  "Your Majesty, I– I– "

  As startled as the soldier, Philip released him and backed away, shaking his head, then he turned and broke into a run. By the time he reached Kimberlin's house, his limbs felt heavy and weak and he was forced to drop into a walk. The pounding in his heart slowed to an almost-painless throb.

  Rosalynde looked up expectantly when he pushed open the door, relief and joy mingled in her face.

  "Oh, my lord-"

  She broke off, seeing his strained expression, the discouragement in his eyes. He took three shuffling steps to the table and dropped into a chair, his back to her, his shoulders sagging. Before she could go to him, Bonnechamp came into the room.

  "Your Majesty," he said with a hasty bow, "I am sent to beg you to return to the men. My lord Eastbrook has report that Ellenshaw is no farther away than Holyvale and may be making his way here even now. He begs Your Majesty to come to him."

  Philip slowly nodded. "I will be there," he said, and Rafe bowed once more, relieved.

  "I will tell him so."

  Philip flinched when the door slammed, then buried his face in his hands with a moan.

  ***

  Swallowing her fear of rebuff, Rosalynde went to Philip and put her hands on his shoulders, massaging the tension-knotted muscles. He started at her first touch but did not resist it, and she continued for several minutes, pleased to feel him relax, pleased to hear his breathing slow, pleased that he did not order her away.

  "Rest," she urged gently, but she knew he would not stay long.

  "I must go to them," he said, his tired voice muffled and indistinct, but she put one hand on his over-warm brow and drew his head back to rest against her.

  "Just another moment," she said, holding him there. He made a half-hearted attempt to pull away from her, then, with another low moan, he gave himself over to his exhaustion. She rubbed his temples with her soft fingers, and he leaned into her soothing caresses, gradually going limp against her. Gaining confidence from his yielding tractability, she decided to tell him the news she had hardly been able to contain. She let her hands travel down over his shoulders to rest on his chest.

  "When you speak to your soldiers, cheer them with the tidings that there will soon be another Afton prince to lead them."

  Her eyes sparkled as they sought his, for she felt sure he would take as much pleasure in the news as she did, but he was Philip still and never what she expected him to be.

  "You are with child?" he asked woodenly. He did not look surprised, doubtless he knew this was the natural course of things, but he seemed unprepared, unwilling to add this burden to those he already carried.

  "I had thought you would be pleased," she said uncertainly.

  He sat there unmoving, still entwined in her arms. She had felt his muscles tighten again at her announcement, yet when he spoke it was with a calm that belied the disquiet in his heart and mind.

  "A king must have an heir," he said, disentangling himself from her, "and an heir must have an inheritance. There shall be no unrest in Lynaleigh when this child is born."

  With that he stood up and went out to his men.

  She put her hand on her stomach and tried not to cry. "He will love you, my little one," she whispered. "You are not a reality to him yet, but he will come to love you. I know he will." She sat down and pillowed her head on her arms. "He will love me, too."

  She had meant only to rest her eyes, but it was dawn when the door flew open and a blast of cold air woke her. Rafe stood in the doorway with Philip unconscious in his arms.

  "Philip!" she cried.

  Rafe carried him to the fire. "Quick, my lady, get blankets. As many as you can."

  She closed the door and went to him. "Has he been wounded, Master Bonnechamp?" she asked, worriedly smoothing the tangled hair back from Philip's forehead and caressing his face. He was much warmer than before.

  "No. He's taken this fever that's swept through the army. I can feel it through his cloak. Please, my lady, turn down the bed and get some blankets."

  She managed to find four and followed Rafe into the bedchamber with them.

  "Warm them," he ordered brusquely, then he turned back to his master. "Young fool," he muttered as he began to strip off Philip's damp clothes. "Not enough food, not enough sleep, taking this whole war on your shoulders. It's a wonder you've lasted this long! Spending the night in the chill and–"

  He broke off, seeing Rosalynde watching him.

  "Tell me what happened, Master Bonnechamp."

  "My lords Eastbrook and Darlington think that Ellenshaw is likely to come against us again at any time." He struggled for a moment with one of the rawhide bindings on Philip's leggings and finally had to cut the moisture-tightened strip before he went on. "They and my lord Philip and some of the others were debating what was to be done when he went very pale and had to steady himself against a tree. Before I could get to him, he was flat of his face in a puddle and hot as new-forged iron. Bring one of those, please you, my lady."

  She handed him a warmed blanket. He quickly bundled his master in it and put him in the bed.

  "Now the others."

  Soon Philip was tucked under four blankets and the coverlet. He began to struggle weakly against the stifling heat, but Rafe held him still.

  "Please, my lord, rest," Rosalynde begged, but Rafe merely shook his head.

  "He cannot hear you, my lady, and would not understand you if he did. This fever's not taken him lightly. We must see he stays warm."

  They kept careful watch over him as he went from restless delirium to deathlike stillness and back again. About noon, Rafe scrounged some dried beef from his pouch and shared it with Rosalynde. He even boiled some and tried to get Philip to drink the broth, but Philip turned his face stubbornly away and would not be coaxed.

  "Sick or well, he will have his way," Rafe observed sourly, and Rosalynde managed a weary smile.

  "You are a good man, Master Bonnechamp, despite your grumbling. I hope I can find another like you to tend to my child as faithfully as you do his father."

  "Does Your Majesty mean to say–"

  "Yes," she said, the glow rekindling in her eyes. "This summer."

 
"So that was what he meant," Rafe said almost to himself, then he smiled, too. "I am happy for you, my lady."

  "What who meant?"

  "He told us last night that we must fight on now. If not for him, for the Afton that is to be."

  Just then there was a frantic pounding on the chamber door, and Darlington came inside.

  "Where is the king?"

  "He is very ill," Rafe said.

  "I must speak to him."

  "Speak, my lord," Rafe told him, gesturing towards the bed, "but he'll not hear you."

  "You must wake him, Bonnechamp. He must tell us what he would have us to do. Ellenshaw's ordered his men to set the town afire."

  "Fire!" Rosalynde cried, and Philip stirred.

  Rafe took Rosalynde's arm to still her.

  "What of the army?" he asked.

  "Ellenshaw is driving us back north. We cannot stand against him, for all that we might want to. We must leave here and rally later on. Wake him up."

  "My lord, I cannot. He is unconscious."

  Darlington pushed past him and went to Philip's side.

  "Your Majesty, please, you must hear me. Ellenshaw is going to burn Attlebrae and us in it if we do nothing."

  Philip's eyes did not open, but he began to breathe faster and struggled once more against the weight of blankets over him.

  "Please, my lord," Rafe insisted, trying to pull Darlington away, "he is not well enough for this."

  "He will be dead if we stay here and do nothing. Do you want him to burn?"

  "No," Philip murmured, struggling harder, "do not let her burn. Please, not the fire. Oh, my God, Your Majesty, please, Father, not the fire!"

  His brow furrowed with deep pain, and Rosalynde began to cry. "Shh, Philip," she whispered, stroking his hair. "Everything is well. She is safe."

  "Please, my lord," Rafe said, "leave him now. This is too much."

  "Will you order me, Master Bonnechamp?" Darlington asked indignantly, and Rosalynde turned on him fiercely.

  "I will, my lord. I think, being your queen, I may. Take the men you have and defend the town as best you can. His Majesty cannot be disturbed any further."

  She had never before given him a command, and taken aback, he bowed.

  "Just as you say, Your Majesty. We will do what can be done."

  In another instant he was gone.

  Philip thrashed against the confining blankets and managed to throw them off, but Rafe pulled them back over him.

  "No, my lord. Lie still now."

  Philip opened his eyes and stared wildly at him.

  "Rafe?"

  "I am here. Lie still."

  "They are going to burn her!" Philip cried deliriously, fighting to sit up. "Please God, Rafe, stop them!"

  Holding him down, Rafe turned to Rosalynde. "Bring some water, my lady. Quickly."

  She snatched up the bucket and brought it to the bedside.

  "What are we to do?" she asked as she held the dipper to Philip's mouth, but Philip shoved it and her away.

  "Rafe, do not let them! Please, God, have mercy, not the fire!"

  "Shh, my lord," Rafe said. "You must lie still. She will not be harmed."

  Philip's breath was coming in gasping sobs now. "You do not speak true. They'll burn her sure."

  Rafe grabbed Rosalynde's arm and pulled her close to his master. "Here, my lord. She is here." He lowered his voice. "Speak to him, girl."

  "I am here, my lord," she said.

  Philip stared at her without seeing, then smiled a little and put his hands on her face.

  "My sweet love," he whispered, then he drew her to him, burning her against his hot skin. She nestled there, soothing him with gentle words and caresses, and soon his breathing grew slow and regular. Thinking he slept, she moved away from him and he immediately grew restless again. Rafe tried once more to get him to drink, but Philip threw up his arm, flinging water and dipper against the wall.

  "Shh, my lord, I am here," Rosalynde assured him.

  He grasped her hands tightly and drew her close, murmuring tender, garbled words against her hair until he fell into a heavy sleep. For a short while there was peace in the house, then Darlington dashed back into the chamber, this time without knocking.

  "Please, Your Majesty," he said to Rosalynde, "you must wake the king. If you cannot, then at least get him away from here. Ellenshaw will be coming very soon. The south side of the town is gone already. I do not know how much longer our men will last, and help is not likely to come before they are spent."

  She looked up at Rafe. "What shall we do?"

  Rafe shook his head. "We should not take him out into the cold unless, as my lord says, Ellenshaw is burning the town around us."

  "You doubt me, man?" Darlington's eyes blazed. "Look outside!"

  Rosalynde looked anxiously at Rafe. "If it is so bad, we should leave now."

  Rafe bowed. "I will see how the battle goes and be back to you in a moment. Stay near the king."

  "I will."

  Darlington bowed, too. "I will try to defend this house awhile longer, Your Majesty. Pray God I can."

  Once they had gone, Rosalynde got into bed next to her husband, thankful that he was resting quietly at least for now. Still holding him close, she prayed fervently for his recovery and for his safety, for Afton's success in the battle and a merciful end to the war. She had no desire to look out into the streets to see how near the fighting was. It made no difference.

  It was dark before Rafe returned. His nose was bloodied and bruised and he smelled heavily of the fire. There was blood all down the front of his jerkin and on the sword in his hand.

  "We must leave now, my lady," he said, his voice roughened by smoke. "Get him dressed, take a blanket and I'll fetch horses for us. Ellenshaw's men will soon be here. Most of ours have retreated north."

  Left alone, she managed to put Philip's clothes back on him, thankful that they were dry and warm. He never stirred, even when Rafe slung him over his shoulder and carried him out into the cold.

  "I could get only one horse, my lady. I fear you shall have to walk. You would not be strong enough to hold him in the saddle."

  "Where are we to go?"

  "North is all I know. We surely will find someplace safe to shelter along the road. The few of our men still in Attlebrae will try to hold Ellenshaw back until we can make away. He will assume the king is with them and not think to look for us for awhile."

  He put Philip in the saddle and then climbed up behind him and settled him against his shoulder. Rosalynde took the reins and led the horse into the wind. She did not look back into the blaze that had once been Attlebrae.

  XII

  Rosalynde stumbled along the dark, unfamiliar road until dawn came again. Her arms and shoulders ached from constantly tugging the tired, overburdened horse forward, and she stopped for a rest, burying her face against the poor beast's neck. Philip moaned and shifted sideways in the saddle, and Rafe just managed to keep him from falling to the ground.

  "We must rest awhile, my lady," Rafe said. "I'll drop him next time, my arms are that numb."

  "They will find us by daylight."

  "Not if we leave the road. He needs rest, too, and water and warm shelter. Some food as well, if we can find any and get him to take it."

  She reached up and put her hand on Philip's forehead. He was no cooler and, even unconscious, there were tense lines in his face. Her touch turned into a pitying caress.

  "Where can we take him, Master Bonnechamp, hunted as he is? I do not even know where we are."

  "It is difficult to say now, my lady, but if we keep north we shall come to Treghatours. There's safety there."

  "And for now?"

  "There is a village down in that valley," Rafe said, pointing east.

  "Would they shelter us, do you think?"

  "We dare not risk it. Ellenshaw's men will check every village on this road. We can stop near it, though, and perhaps find something to eat."

  Rosalynde nodde
d and led them into the field and down to the valley. There they found a farm and sheltered in the haystacks a short way off, concealing the horse in a nearby brake of trees.

  Rafe could find nothing for them to eat but eggs, still hen-warm. Rosalynde nearly choked as the slimy warmth slid down her throat, but she was hungry and knew, for Philip's sake and their child's, she needed her strength. She cradled Philip's head against her and Rafe cracked an egg into his mouth then massaged his throat to make him swallow. Still he did not stir.

  "He's been asleep so long," Rosalynde said, stroking his stubbled cheek.

  "Sleep is what he most needs."

  Rafe swallowed down three eggs himself and fed another one to Philip, then he burrowed out a place in the hay for them and put Philip inside.

  "It is turning colder, my lady. Get in beside him and put your arms around him. If he takes a chill, he may not be able to survive it."

  She did as he told her, then he crawled in on Philip's other side.

  "Now go to sleep. We can stay only until dark."

  She pressed her lips to Philip's cheek and pulled him a little closer. Already she had begun to sweat with his feverish body against her and the stifling straw chafing her, but she was too tired to really notice. As soon as she closed her eyes, she was asleep.

  ***

  At dusk they returned to the road and trudged on. An hour or two before daybreak the next morning it began to rain, penetrating drops only slightly warmer than ice. Philip huddled against Rafe, shaking with cold and breathing hard, rain running from his dark hair, making it look black.

  "We shall kill him to keep him out in such weather," Rosalynde said. "There must be some shelter to be had."

  "I saw another farm little more than a mile back, west of us. It is a risk, my lady, but better to risk destruction than do nothing and be certain of it."

  Rosalynde led them back the way they had come, back to the farm Rafe had seen. Rafe tied the horse in the forest behind the house and, with Philip once more over his shoulder, crept with Rosalynde into the barn.

  Feeling their way through the darkness, they found an empty stall. Rosalynde quickly pushed some straw together, and Rafe put Philip down on it. Something in the movement pierced his unconsciousness.