In Honor Bound

by DeAnna Julie Dodson

  "Is there anything you want?" he asked as he wiped her face once more. Her hand tightened slightly on his, but she made no other answer.

  "Do you want the women back?"

  "No," she whimpered, then she gasped again at the sudden pain and dug her nails into his arm, drawing blood. He clenched his teeth and held her close until the contraction passed, leaving her spent and panting. Gently he stroked her cheek and pulled her tangled hair away from her face, wondering if he would know when it was time to call back the midwife.

  "Forgive me," she sobbed after a little while. "I did not mean to hurt you."

  For the first time, he noticed the blood that had soaked into his sleeve, and he laughed faintly at her concern for such a trifle.

  "Never mind," he said as he sat her up and sat down at the head of the bed and then settled her back against him. "I have long been a soldier and this–"

  He grimaced and grit his teeth again as another spasm hit her and she clawed his arm once more, raking the first wounds afresh. Yet she did not cry out. She had not but once since she had known of his presence in the room.

  "I am sorry," she said once the pain had ebbed. "I know a queen should show more courage. I fear I have made you ashamed of me."

  He smoothed her damp hair and tried to comfort her, feeling inadequate to the task. Then he held her a little closer, remembering all they had been through together.

  "You have more courage than any woman I know," he told her, only just realizing it himself, "and there is no shame in crying now. Do not spare for my sake. Even I am not so selfish as that."

  She said nothing, but nestled closer to him, a grateful tear running down the side of her face. For a moment all was still, then another contraction wrenched her. Though she tried to hold back, the pain was too much for her and her moans grew once more into screams. She clung to him as if for her life, and he wrapped his arms around her, wishing desperately that he could bear some of the pain himself.

  "Oh, God, help her," he pled, and the contraction passed, leaving them both bathed in sweat. The pain had grown so fierce, he began to be afraid. "Shall I call the midwife back?"

  "If that is what you wish," she said brokenly, holding more tightly to him, and he shook his head.

  "No, no," he soothed. "It is what you want that is important. I know nothing of these women's matters, but I will stay as long as you will have me."

  "Please, please stay," she begged. Another contraction began, and she wrung his bruised hands again, writhing as the pain gripped her.

  So the night went on, hour after slow hour, the pain coming and going relentlessly. It seemed that the child was no nearer to being born than it had been at nightfall. Philip talked to her ceaselessly, trying to distract her and himself with the old tales Joan had told when he was a boy. She took in few of the words, but rested easier to hear his voice and feel his arms about her. The midwife came and went and each time Philip asked her if the child would come soon.

  "Not yet. Not yet," the old woman would answer, and Rosalynde would sigh wearily and cling closer to him.

  In the hour after midnight, the midwife brought her attendants back into the room along with basins of cool water and fresh linens for the bed.

  "Now?" Philip asked her tensely.

  "I do not think so yet, my lord," the old woman said, "but for your own comfort and hers, let us change the bed and her shift and cool her with this fresh water."

  He looked uncertain for a moment. "You will not be long?"

  The midwife shook her head. "Not long."

  He squeezed Rosalynde's hand. "My lady–"

  "Come back to me soon," she told him weakly.

  The women lifted her off his lap, and he slid out from under her, his back stiff and his legs half-numb. "I swear it, my lady, the very minute I may."

  He limped out into the corridor, where Tom was waiting for news.

  "How is she?"

  Philip paced, trying to bring feeling into his legs again, holding himself back when he heard Rosalynde cry out.

  "It is torture for her and so hot."

  "Here, drink this." Tom handed him a cup of cool water. "Rest awhile."

  "I promised I would go back. I cannot let her suffer alone. It is my child, too."

  The women soon came out of the chamber, bringing the crumpled sheeting and empty basins with them, and Philip went to the door.

  "Can I do nothing?" Tom asked, but Philip only returned a weary shake of the head.

  "Pray for a breeze."

  Philip shut the door and sat as he had before, at the head of the bed holding Rosalynde against him. She seemed to be resting easier now that the women had changed the sweat -drenched linens and pulled her hair back away from her face.

  "When will it be?" she asked later, helpless and tired. "When will it be?"

  "Soon," he promised, not knowing whether or not he lied. "It cannot be much longer."

  "Oh, for a breath of air," she moaned, and at her words there was a breeze from the east windows and a strain of soft music from the corridor.

  "Tom," Philip breathed. "No doubt he's set people outside to fan the air in to us and brought the musicians, too."

  "Dear Tom." Rosalynde drew a grateful breath and put her hands on her swollen stomach. "Won't you come, little one?"

  As if in answer, it began again, worse than before, the pain, the brief respite, and again the pain. He talked on and on, trying to fill the hours and distract her from the pain and fear. When the pain became continuous, the midwife and her attendants came back into the room and hurried Philip out into the corridor. He stood staring at the door, and Tom had to draw him away.

  "I did not know it would be like this," Philip said. "I would have never left her so alone."

  "Let the women take care of her. They know what's to be done."

  "They say many of them die of this, Tom. I could not bear it, not after–"

  "Rest now," Tom said, pulling up a chair. "It may be hours yet."

  Shrugging, Philip began to pace again, too tense to rest. How could a child be worth such suffering? How could a woman survive it?

  The minutes passed like days, and Philip fought the urge to bolt each time he heard her cry out. Once, after a particularly terrible scream, there were several minutes of silence. At first Philip thought nothing of it, but soon the quiet began to worry him.

  "Tom," he began uncertainly.

  "Maybe it has been born," Tom said, forcing hope into his voice.

  "Then we should have heard it cry," Philip insisted. He listened again, straining to hear, but still there was nothing.

  "Tom, no!" he cried, springing to the door. Only Rosalynde's weary moan stopped him. Suddenly unable to stand, he dropped into the chair Tom had offered it seemed days ago.

  "I should have left the midwife to her work," he said. "If anything were to happen–"

  "No, believe me. They could do nothing until the time came. No doubt you comforted her more to stay with her as you did."

  Philip leaned back in his chair, exhausted. "If anything happens..." Not finishing, he drifted into sleep.

  ***

  It seemed he had just closed his eyes when he heard someone call his name. He started awake, blinking in the flood of morning sunlight, then looked at the squirming bundle Tom was holding out to him.

  "You have a son," Tom said, supporting Philip's arms around the child so Philip would not drop him.

  "It– it's tiny," he stammered finally, and Tom's laughter rang through the corridor.

  "The queen?" Philip asked with an anxious look towards the door, and the midwife smiled.

  "Very well, my lord."

  With a relieved sigh, Philip looked again at the baby lying in his arms, his tiny fists curled up against his chest, his little mouth puckered and quivering, his eyes closed. This was his own son and heir, his first born one day to be king. This child would be raised in his royalty, not brought to it later when he was old enough to know the shock of the newness of it,
not brought to it in shame, but bred to it as his right. Lynaleigh would be a kingdom of peace as well when this child was made king. Philip had already promised that and he would keep it so.

  He touched the soft mouth and the baby opened his eyes and began to cry angrily.

  "Faith, he has your temper," Tom said, laughing again.

  Philip smiled. "It is a wondrous thing, Tom."

  "Here, my lord," said the midwife, holding out her arms. "I will take him to the nurse."

  "No. His mother will nurse him."

  "Now, my lord, it is not fit that the queen of Lynaleigh should suckle the child herself. Only the common–"

  "I said no." He turned his attention to the still-crying child and shifted him gingerly in his arms, quieting him. "Shh. You shall have your breakfast."

  ***

  Rosalynde smiled through her exhaustion when Philip pushed the door open with his foot and carried the baby in to her, smiled to see the two she loved best.

  "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.

  XVII

  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 overmaste
red, 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.