Philip looked away. "Go on. None of this matters now."
"Please, Philip, do not leave it at this. We were never false to you."
"I said it does not matter."
"It matters to me. You are a stubborn-hearted idiot, but whatever you do you are my brother. I would give you my life would it stop the hurt you've been nursing. How long can you live in this hell you've made, turned by every wind of doubt and suspicion, believing God does not care for you? The proof of His love is all around you."
"All around?" Philip looked at the cathedral's destruction. "Proof, indeed."
"Not in this rubble," Tom insisted, "but in this." He gestured towards the statue. "He's protected you throughout this long conflict. He's chosen you to bear His light in this darkness. He's given you charge over this kingdom in His name, to defend His people from Stephen and the destruction he brings, and He's graced you with every gift of man and nature to help you do it. Beyond that, He's given you someone who loves you as He does, no matter what you do or how cruelly you use her. Do you think you've earned her love any more than you can earn His? She loves you."
"Yes, she loves me and you love me and this faithlessness is how you demonstrate your love."
"We did not wrong you! You know in your heart we did not! You know Rosalynde loves only you. Not your name or your title, not your wealth or any other trappings of nobility, but you. You know she loves you, and you are afraid because you love her, too. Do you think that if you make her hate you that it will be easier for you not to love her? Philip, Katherine is dead. It is no sin for you to love Rosalynde now."
"You talk like a fool, Tom. What difference does it make now who was false or who was not, whether I love her or she me? We've fallen into Stephen's hands, and there there is no mercy."
"Put yourself into God's hands, brother, and there you will find great mercy. He'll not forsake you."
"He has forsaken me."
"You've forsaken Him! Are you so enamored of destruction that you rush to it with open arms? Are you so hungry to lie with death?"
Philip looked at him steadily. "As ever I was to lie with Kate."
"No. Make it right with Him, Philip, and make it right with Rosalynde before tomorrow. It is not too late yet. Go into the battle with faith, not fear. Do not let your pride destroy you and pull all Lynaleigh down with you. Please, Philip."
"You are a fool, Tom." Philip shook his head and walked deliberately out into the street.
***
Out of Tom's sight, Philip began to run. When he reached the city wall, he climbed the steps near the east gate. He knew as he stood there panting that he should call together his lieutenants to plan for the coming battle, but he also knew that planning would be no use. He could see the enemy camped around the town, the glow of their fires, the grim silhouettes of their siege guns. There was no hope against so mighty an adversary. He would no longer waste his time in planning– or in prayer.
Rosalynde would never betray you. She loves you.
Tom's words had come too near not to cut, as much as he denied their truth to himself. "Why should she love me?" he whispered into the darkness. "I've hurt her too many times. Tom was right in that much."
Do you truly think that I could do you wrong? I can bear anything from you but that.
He saw again the unfeigned hurt in his brother's eyes, the silent reproof of the bruises his fury had left on Tom's throat, and had to steel himself against the shame he felt.
"I've hurt him, too," he murmured, then he looked up at the starless sky. "I've done nothing to make You love me either. Well, You will have Your justice tomorrow."
Wearily he walked the top of the wall towards the castle. He was tired, but he knew there would be no sleep, no comfort for him tonight and surely none tomorrow. He would wait out the night alone. Let the day come and bring with it what it would, he was tired and had run out of answers.
"Are you hurt, my lord?" Rafe asked as Philip came up to him in the corridor outside the nursery, covered with dust and grit from the cathedral. Rafe had been given special charge to guard the baby prince since the bombardment had begun, so he knew little of the siege beyond the sound of the guns. "Have they broke through yet?"
"Not yet, but soon." Philip looked with great intensity into his face. "Rafe, my lady and my son–"
He broke off, struggling to resign himself to their loss.
"I will guard them with my life, my lord, until you release me of that charge."
Philip nodded and padded silently into the nursery, startling the nurse.
"I want a moment with my son," he told her and with a clumsy, sleepy curtsey she left them alone.
Robin started to whimper when he took him from the cradle and Philip held him close in farewell.
"Better a life too short than one too long," he murmured. "We'll not meet again in this world, little summer Robin." Nor, he feared, in the next.
Robin quieted against him and was soon asleep again. Philip laid him back in the cradle with a final caress and turned to see Rosalynde in the doorway. She curtseyed low.
"Your Majesty."
"Madame," he said with a cool bow.
She seized his arm as he passed by her. "Please, my lord, a word."
"Well?"
The nurse had come back to tend the baby, and Rosalynde looked apprehensively at her. "Please, not here, my lord. I must speak with you."
"Very well."
She took him to her chamber and dismissed her fretful ladies.
"They are all afraid. It is said that tomorrow Stephen will take the city."
"Yes."
"We must fight them then."
"We will, but I'll not lie to you, madame. Not now. We cannot match them. We are lost."
"No, please, never say so."
"It is true," he said dispassionately. "I shall meet my judgment tomorrow. I only pray God will end it there with me."
"Oh, no, Philip, please. Ask His pardon and favor for tomorrow. Do not surrender before the battle can even begin. Put your trust in Him and in His mercy. He'll not fail you. He loves you, I know He does."
Philip shook his head. "Why should He? What have I ever done to make Him love me?"
Somehow, there was pity in her eyes as she took his hand. "You still do not understand, do you? It is His goodness, not yours, that makes Him love you. All you have to do is accept it and be thankful. How can you say He does not love you? He has blessed you with everything a man could wish for."
He desperately wanted to believe her, and then the old anger welled up in him again.
"This blessing you claim I have, what is it? If I have my crown from God, it is a curse, not a blessing. It drains my strength and eats away my life until I have none left. If He gave it, then it was punishment for my pride."
She held tightly to his hand, and, surprised, he stopped trying to pull away from her.
"Do not go like this," she pled. "I could not bear to lose you."
"You mean you could not bear for me to lose. I know you know Stephen will have no mercy on anyone belonging to Afton. Not women, not children. He might spare you for Margaret's sake, but never Robin. Heir to Afton? Never."
"Please, Philip, for Robin's sake and for your own, do not go into the battle this way. Stephen would not have to kill me if you were lost. I would die."
"Why should you care?" he asked bitterly. "After last night, after what I said to you, why should you care? I know I was unjust. Sweet Lord, I beat Tom half to death! You should be well rid of such a wretch."
She caressed his cheek. "Do you not know yet that you take my life with you into every battle? That my heart does not beat until I see you safely home? Will you never understand? How much more plainly can I say it? I love you. With my whole heart, I love you."
Stiffening, he pushed her away and stood quivering like some wild thing at bay. "Don't."
"But I do love you. Perhaps at first when I said that, I did not know what I meant. Maybe then I did only love the imag
e of you I had created for myself, but you have surely destroyed that. You cannot say I have any romantic notions about who and what you are. But just as surely as I have learned to know you, I have learned to love you. As difficult as you have made it, I know you, Philip, and I love you still."
"Don't force me."
"It was my choice, not yours. If you cannot return my love, well, let it be so. My love will be as silent and as invisible as you wish, but I will love you."
"Never say that."
"Whatever you do, I will love you."
"I said never say that!"
He cracked his palm fiercely across her face, making her stumble backwards. They both gasped, and his hand went instinctively to his own scarred cheek.
"Oh, Rosalynde–" he stammered, backing away, his eyes wide. "I never– I could not–"
There are some things I could never be pushed to do...
The print of his hand was livid on her white face, but she did not lash back at him. She had not even cried out. Her tear-filled eyes held nothing but compassion and deep love.
...and should never expect to be forgiven if I did.
He lowered his head in shame.
"Rosalynde, I–"
She slipped her fingers around his and gently pulled his hand from his face, then she pressed her lips to the fine white scar on his cheek.
"I still love you, Philip."
The realization pierced through his heart. She still loved him. After all he had done to wrong that love, after all he had done to kill it, she still loved him. No matter what he did or whether he ever loved her in return, she still loved him.
As God loved him.
He was still for a moment, then he shuddered, stabbed through with the pain of ice cracking in an unexpected thaw. He exhaled twice, deep hurting rushes of air, then suddenly he was on his knees before her, his arms tight around her waist. She held him against her as the sobs wracked him.
"Oh, Rosalynde, what have I done?"
"Shh. It will all be well."
"I cannot–" He clenched his teeth and turned his face away. "I cannot do it anymore. I cannot do it alone."
"Shh," she soothed, her own tears falling into his hair as she pressed her cheek against it, "you are not alone."
She had never before seen him cry, never before seen him anything but strong and so in control, but she did not turn him away.
He pressed closer to her, straining to hold her tighter and tighter, shielding himself from the flood of memories that assaulted him– his own doubt, bitterness, unforgiveness, ingratitude, faithlessness, vainglory, wrath, blasphemy, stubborn pride, more, an endless litany of sins against a gracious, openhanded God who was, in the very face of them, still holding out His arms in loving welcome. How could he have been so blind?
"Forgive me, please forgive me, God. Dear Lord, my God, forgive me."
He looked up at Rosalynde, remembering also his sins against her, and touched her wounded cheek with trembling fingers. "Can you forgive me, too?"
"I love you," she said simply.
He stood up and took her into his arms. "Then love me, Rosalynde. I need you to love me. I swear before God and all heaven that I love you."
***
After Philip left him, Tom knelt alone in Winterbrooke's ruins, pleading for peace and deliverance for the town and for his brother. It was not long before the moon broke the heavy clouds and shone through the shattered roof, bathing his earnest, upturned face in pale silver. He felt an almost-physical release and a gratitude that defied words. He had no answers yet, only peace.
XIX
Rosalynde lay in Philip's arms, basking in the deep joy she felt. At last he had given her himself, all of himself, openly, freely, without reservation. There were tears in her eyes because she had never before known such love.
There were tears in his eyes because he had known and had thought never to know again.
She sighed his name and stroked his hair as he rested his head against her shoulder. Then he began to tell her everything.
She wept with him and for him as he struggled with the painful words and the agonizing emotions behind them, the merciless torrent of feeling he had kept so long chained up inside himself. He told her everything, forced himself to feel the pain he had denied, until at last he lay panting in her arms, his body trembling from sobbing, nothing binding him but deep love.
She held him tightly against her and prayed with him as he asked God once more to forgive him and then asked forgiveness for all those who had wronged him, for his faithless mother, his ambitious father, for Margaret, for Dunois, for Stephen himself.
"Give me the grace, dear God, to forgive them as You have forgiven me. In Your strength, Lord, I do forgive them."
Again he asked Rosalynde's forgiveness and again she gave it, this time in exchange for his, for all the times she had in her ignorance rubbed his bruises with gravel. She had known so little about the hurt he had suffered, the cruel losses and crueler betrayals, the memories and fears that had tortured him. Now she understood him better and loved him better still.
He told her again how much he loved her, and she could read the clear truth of it in the crystal depths of his eyes.
***
Palmer came to Tom before true dawn and found him sprawled out on the cathedral's cracked marble floor, soundly asleep.
"My lord," he said, waking him. "You choose a strange bed, my lord."
Tom stretched and stood up, shaking back his tousled hair and straightening his clothes. He knew Palmer was looking him over, questioning his battered appearance, but made no explanation beyond a wry grin. "Could a man ask for sounder sleep than in the hand of God Himself?"
"Best pray He will use that hand on Afton's part today," Palmer said with a grim, set expression. "Ellenshaw has sent his terms."
Tom was instantly alert. "Has the king read them?"
Palmer shook his head. "The lords sent me for you. They think it best if all of you go together to him."
"Do you know where he is now?"
"With the queen yet, I expect."
Tom was surprised. "So early?"
"So late, my lord. Her ladies said she did not call for them last night or yet this morning, so he must be with her still. Shall I take this to him?"
There was the tiniest hint of a smile on Tom's face. "No. Let me see what our good cousin proposes first." He opened the paper and, reading it, whistled low between his teeth. "He does not ask much."
"Shall I send word to the king?"
Tom looked up through the ruined wall, to the window of Rosalynde's tower chamber. It was still dark.
"No. Let him have peace awhile longer. We have a few hours yet to answer this. I will go to the lords and we will make what preparation we can without him."
***
Philip woke with his head cradled against Rosalynde's silken bosom. She was still whispering lovers' endearments into his hair, toying with the soft damp wisps at the nape of his neck. He wondered again at the resilient depth of her love, remembering how they had talked during the night, more, perhaps, than during all their marriage before.
He remembered laughter, too, among the tears, his own laughter at his proud, foolish self that had fallen farther and farther from truth, clinging to his stubbornness, imagining that it was strength and only now seeing it for the blind weakness it was. He felt now as he had while he was recovering from his wounds in Tanglewood, when he had almost had to learn to walk again, only this time he need not face the struggle alone.
He smiled at Rosalynde and pressed a tender, giving kiss on her lips. He knew that the battle would begin today and end today, too, but he did not allow worry to darken his contentment or hurry him from her arms. The fate of Winton, of all Lynaleigh no longer rested on his shoulders.
He had been too proud to send to Westered while there was yet time, and now he had no choice but to trust in the mercy God had already shown him. But there was a curious freedom in that. He had been so tied to duty. No
w his only duty was to trust and obey, and how could he do any less for the One who had shown him so much love undeserved? So desperately undeserved?
He looked into Rosalynde's loving eyes and a shadow passed over his face. She was at risk now, and the baby, too, all because of his pride, but she had already forgiven him that. There was only one confession left for him to make.
"Will you forgive me, love, for lying to you?"
"Lying?"
"When I swore I would not love you."
She pressed one finger to his lips, smiling a little to think that the long ago pain could now be so sweet. "I could never think you a liar."
"I was then. Oh, believe me."
"You have never lied to me, sweet love."
"But–"
"Philip Ice-Heart made that oath, not you, and so long as I have you, he may keep his word."
He kissed her again, still astonished by the reality of her love. "I love you," he said, then he pulled her head to his shoulder and held her against his heart. "I could stay here and tell you so a year together."
"And I would not think it enough."
"I do not think my dear cousin will wait so long," he said lightly, but she was suddenly apprehensive.
"Must you go down to him?"
"I promised Robin a kingdom," he said, then he squeezed her tighter. "And should I not defend the treasure I have so lately discovered?"
She did not return his smile. "Oh, Philip, if anything should happen now–"
"Do not fear, love. God will dispose the day as pleases Him. You told me to trust Him. Now you must also."
"I do. Truly, I do. But we've had so little time."
"I do not know God's will for this battle, only that I must go to it in faith and obedience to Him."
"Can your soldiers match Stephen in the field?"
Her voice sounded very small, and he pulled her even closer.
"No. There aren't enough of us to last an hour against his forces." He felt her tremble and he turned her face up to his. "But there aren't enough of them on earth or in hell to last an instant against God."
Her eyes were suddenly bright with tears, but she smiled, too, and nodded, trying to hide her fear from him.
In Honor Bound Page 29