"Good evening, Cousin Philip," he called confidently.
Tom watched his brother's reaction, but Philip merely looked down on the would-be king, not deigning to speak.
"Still proud, cousin?" Stephen demanded, needing no provocation to spoil his temper.
"Still king, cousin."
Stephen smiled. "King of Winton. Perhaps. For awhile."
"That is yet to be tried. Despite your armies, though, and whatever the outcome of this battle or this war, I am king of Lynaleigh. By the acclaim of the people, by right of blood, by my father's holy anointing, I am king."
"Not so, cousin," Stephen said with a bland smile. "My father, the one you had murdered, was king. Who but his only son and heir should be king after him?"
"My father," Philip shot back, "the one you had murdered, was rightful king, leaving me rightful king now."
Stephen laughed outright. "I suppose we are even, then, regarding fathers. Let us speak of kingdoms. I've no wish to bandy pedigrees with you."
"No, you'd hardly want that."
"I'd not feel so secure, cousin, were I you. Who can tell how many bastards your mother passed off as Chastelaynes. Rounchaux may not have been the only one."
"John was worth a hundred of you!" Tom spat, then he stopped himself and matched his cousin's sardonic grin. "Better a bastard by birth than by disposition."
Stephen's expression blackened. "I'll have that insolent tongue–"
"Your informants know their duty well," Philip interrupted icily, and abruptly Stephen was smiling again.
"Dunois was a veritable fountain of information. Still, I have meant to thank you for disposing of him for me. He was too clever and ambitious for my tastes. He betrayed my father, then he betrayed yours. I could hardly trust him. Besides, I believe he had some fancy that I would marry his daughter and put his grandson on the throne. Ha! A yeoman's son grandsire to Lynaleighan royalty? Indeed."
"I believe you came to speak of kingdoms, cousin," Philip reminded him, his cold voice cutting through the growing darkness. "Pray you, keep to that."
"I did not come to speak of kingdoms, cousin, but to take mine."
"Hell is the only kingdom you have due you."
"Then let the devil look to his crown. Until I come there, though, you had best look to yours."
"I do, cousin, and shall. Winton has never been taken by force and is not like to be."
"You cannot stay sheltered there forever. We will breach the walls or you will starve. Either way," Stephen gloated, "I will take back my city and my throne. Return them both to me now and save your people from the destruction I will bring them if I must take what is mine by force."
"Take them, cousin," Philip said, "if you can. I'll not give them to you."
"The slaughter on your head then. I wash my hands of it."
Tom's eyes turned hard. "Any blood you shed here will join with the seas of blood you have shed already and cry out to God for His vengeance."
"If this God of yours is so great and mighty, why are you who claim to be His people driven into hiding here? Why does He not strike me dead now and my armies too and give you victory?" Stephen looked up at the silent sky then he laughed, an evil sound that deepened Tom's anger.
"He is merciful and not willing that even you should perish." There was no godly charity in Tom's tone, and Philip shook his head.
"Do not waste your words on him, Tom."
Tom studied him for a moment and then looked down at Stephen. They were so alike in their proud disdain, and he knew he was himself no better, speaking of God's mercy without love.
"Please, cousin," he said, his tone gentler. "It is not too late even now for you to come to Him and make peace."
"Do you think I will give up everything that is mine to follow your helpless God? I'll not submit myself to anyone– God or man!" Stephen raked his horse's flanks with his cruel spurs, making the beast rear up as he turned. "Call on your God. Let Him save you if He can. I do not fear Him or you."
He signaled his men and in a moment they were gone. Philip stared after them long after they had disappeared into the darkness.
***
The days of siege wore into weeks, and with every day that passed the tension grew. Philip's soldiers became restless and quarrelsome as they wasted the time away, eager for action and spoiling for trouble. Philip himself was as restless as they and spent his time in endless meetings with Darlington and the others, trying to find some way to raise the siege.
Stephen had them. For all the years Philip had led armies, for all the wisdom and experience of his councilors, he could see no way out. Stephen would breach the wall or Philip and his people would starve. Already the shortages that were too common throughout the city had reached the royal palace.
Philip took a bite of heavily spiced meat, horse by now he suspected, and watched Tom and Rosalynde in animated conversation a short way away. They seemed to be together a great deal since the siege.
Since she first came here, he thought sourly.
A melodious cascade of her laughter reached Philip's ears, backed by Tom's throaty chuckle, and he felt a stab of jealousy. The emotion surprised him.
What should I care if she enjoys herself? There is little enough opportunity for that these days, and it is kind of Tom to show her some attention. God knows I've not.
It occurred to him that Tom had been given only a week with his bride, just enough, doubtless, to sharpen his natural desire for her before she was taken away from him, and now Tom had been a long while without her. It occurred to him, too, that Rosalynde was very, very beautiful and he had left her too often alone. She should not have been left alone.
My father made that mistake.
She turned suddenly in his direction and saw him staring darkly at her. In an instant, the sparkle died in her eyes and all merriment was swept from her face.
"Is anything wrong, my lady?" Tom asked.
"Pray excuse me to my lord," Rosalynde murmured, and she escaped out onto the balcony.
Tom turned and gave Philip a reproachful glance, but Philip only returned a cold stare until Tom looked away.
***
"I am sorry," Rosalynde said to the pale-faced moon as she stood letting the night air cool her burning cheeks. She realized she had again somehow transgressed. Again she could not fathom in what. "I am sorry."
"For what, my lady?"
She turned to see Philip standing in the dark archway, just out of the moonlight.
"You left your supper uneaten," he said. "Was it not to your liking? Or perhaps it was I who was not to your liking. I think I have let this siege make me very poor company for you."
"You have a great many things to see to, my lord," she said, unable to read his mood in his half-shadowed face, wondering if he were trying to make amends. "I understand."
"I'll not admit that as an excuse. You should be angry."
"Never, my lord. Not with you."
He stepped a little way out of the darkness, and for a moment they stood in awkward silence, searching each other's eyes. Then she looked away and sat down on the rough-hewn bench the sentries sometimes used.
"They are quiet tonight out there," she ventured finally.
He sat down beside her. "I pray it bodes peace both inside the wall and out."
She lifted her eyes to his, still searching. "Surely, if peace were offered, both sides would put aside their grievances and embrace it."
"If it could be done with no compromise of honor. If it could, I would open my arms wide to it." He gently twisted a lock of her hair around his finger and then released it, letting it spring back into place. "But honor is not so easily kept, and such differences cannot be always so easily mended."
"But they can be mended," she said, hearing something like regret in his tone, and she moved closer to him, close enough for her velvet skirt to brush his thigh and cover the toe of his boot. "Both sides being willing."
"I would it could be so." He leaned back against
the wall. "I want nothing now more than peace."
"Nor I, my lord."
He rested his cheek against her hair. "Only peace."
She felt the breath of his words against her ear and nestled closer to him, and the night was quiet.
***
For several minutes he sat holding her, considering what she had said.
...both sides being willing.
Being willing.
He felt her hand at the back of his neck, felt her gentle fingers easing away the tension. He had had nothing from those hands save soothing tenderness, sweet comfort. He pressed his face into the curve of her shoulder, his breathing slow and deep, and felt all the tightness melt out of him. She held him closer and, of their own volition, his arms went around her.
He had not meant to even touch her, that was never his intent in coming out to her, but he could not help himself, she smelled so intoxicatingly of saint's rose. Her skin was softer than its petals and fairer, too, and when he pressed a tentative kiss against the sweet whiteness of her throat, her sigh, soft and low in his ear, made his heart quicken. He tightened his arms around her until she was breathless from the feel of his body against her and the possessiveness of his touch and she offered her lips in wordless invitation. Wordlessly, he accepted, holding her with an endless kiss until finally he dragged his mouth away from hers.
"God's mercy," he gasped. "What are you that you draw me so?"
Frustrated tears welled into her eyes. "What are you then, my lord?" she cried, throwing his hands off her and getting unsteadily to her feet. "You madden me, Philip! Either ice or fire always and never a warning which!"
He looked at her for what seemed eternity. "I suppose you wish you'd not married me. Have you learned to regret that yet?"
"No, my lord."
"You might have had someone who makes you laugh and not cry." His eyes narrowed and there was a sudden edge to his voice. "Tom makes you laugh, does he not? He makes you laugh and soothes your hurts and bids you trust in God to set things right and never says a wrong word."
"My lord–"
"Oh, I know it well enough. He can always smile. He has no past to bind him, no memories to rot him, no scars to hide. He need do nothing more than smile and talk sweetly."
"Just because he is kind, my lord, that does not–"
"I dare say you think he would have made you a better husband."
"I think no such thing, my lord," she said with a weary sigh, and again there was a long silence between them.
"Forgive me, lady," he said finally. "Your patience deserves better than I have been able to give you. Give me time and I will make amends."
She looked up at him in astonishment, then the hope faded from her eyes.
"I know that look in you, my lord, that dutiful emptiness that is as far from your heart as heaven is from hell. Why do you say such things when we both know how little you mean them?"
"Because I do mean them," he said impassively.
"You told me you would not lie to me, my lord."
He clenched his jaw. "Because I promised your father I would–"
"Because you promised my father?" Tears sprang into her eyes. "Because you promised my father?"
She turned away and he tried to make her face him.
"My lady–"
"Do not touch me. Save your charity for the alms house."
Instantly, he released her and his expression turned cold. "As you please."
Before he could stand, she caught his face in her hands and pressed a gentle, loving kiss on his lips.
"Why did you do that?" he breathed, that mistrustful fear once more flooding through him.
"I am not made of stone, my lord, as it seems you are."
"No," he murmured, "not stone." He caressed her cheek with the back of his hand. "Not stone, but too much flesh."
She clutched his hand and held it there. "Philip–"
He leapt to his feet and shook her by the shoulders. "Stop! Stop trying to make me what I cannot be! What I must not be!" He pushed her away from him. "Go back inside. No doubt my brother is missing you by now."
With a quickly muffled sob, she went back into the great hall. A few minutes later, Tom came out onto the balcony.
"I would have a word with you, Philip."
"Now is not the time. Come to me tomorrow."
"Shall I bring this up before the council, my liege?" Tom said, keeping his expression pleasant. "I hardly believe you want all of your nobles to hear what I have to say. You know how they talk already."
Philip could feel his temper tightening around his self-control, straining it, ready to snap it at any moment. With effort, he nodded calmly. "As you say. What is it you want of me?"
"I have tried very hard to hold my tongue since I've come back to Winton, but I merely–"
"You merely could not resist an opportunity to meddle in things that do not concern you."
"Please, Philip, for your lady's sake and your own, be kind to her if you can manage nothing more."
"You're quick in her defense," Philip observed, a trace of acid in his tone.
Tom studied him for a moment, then laughed abruptly. "Oh, spare me your jealousy. What, jealous of me?"
"I am not!"
"You are," Tom said, "else why are you so angry over nothing? Why do you care unless you love her?"
"And why are you so bent upon pushing her at me? You are worse than Father ever was."
"I am not trying to push you, Philip. It just pains me to see you so cruel to her when she loves you so."
Philip glared at him. "What does she know of love? She is a woman, a creature of appetite. She does not love me, she needs me. She needs me to see she is well kept, to make her queen, to deck her with jewels and fine silks, to keep her safe. Love me? Use me rather. Can you call that love?"
"I call it love when she weeps for your pain and pleads with God for your happiness, when she lives and dies by your smiles and frowns."
"I never professed to love her, Tom. She is the one who claims there is something nobler than lust between us. Still, for all her words, I am nothing more than a moment's pleasure to her."
"I dare say she would thank God, fasting, for even a moment's pleasure with you," Tom retorted. "Can you be so blind? She wants your heart, not just that fine flesh you are so vain of. It's certain she wants you, and it is right that she should, being your wife, but she knows too well that that is not enough. I've seen the heartache in her eyes when you treat her as if you can scarcely endure her presence or, worse, when you do not even acknowledge it. If you are determined to be miserable, must you make her miserable as well?"
Philip lifted his chin. "I never asked to marry her."
"Has it never occurred to you that perhaps your marriage is not the most pleasant thing to her either?"
"She wanted it."
"She wanted you, because she loves you. Can you ask more of love and devotion than she has already given? Put aside the past, Philip, and take the happiness that is even now in your hands. Do not turn away the love and comfort God has sent to help you through this trouble."
"What love and comfort?"
"Rosalynde. Love her. God's own word says you ought to take pleasure in the wife of your youth."
"Kate was the wife of my youth. I ceased to be young when they burnt her."
"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. Y
ou 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.
In Honor Bound Page 27