In Honor Bound (8 page)

***

For several days Philip did not sleep. He did nothing but sit in silent grief by day and walk the dark corridors at night. Rafe wore himself out worrying over his young master, for Philip still would not eat the food brought to him, hardly would drink even water, and sternly forbade Rafe to follow him in his restless wanderings. Nearly a week passed before Rafe could persuade him to even talk to him.

There was scarcely a trace of the famed Chastelayne beauty in him now. He was worn and pale, his white lips pressed tight in a struggle to keep his raging grief in check. His eyes seemed larger for the black smudges beneath them, and they held such pain that it tore Rafe's heart to look into them.

"My lord," he said as he watched Philip's bruised hands fitfully clenching and unclenching the arms of his chair. "Please, my lord, this cannot go on."

One side of Philip's mouth twitched into a wrenching mockery of a smile. "The church, I understand, does not look favorably upon suicide, so I suppose it must go on."

"My lord!"

Before Rafe could say more, there was a sharp rap on the chamber door. Without waiting for an invitation, the Lord High Chamberlain swept into the room.

"If you would grant me a moment, Your Highness–"

Rafe turned. "My lord Dunois–"

"Leave here, my lord," Philip warned, and the Chamberlain's face turned all concerned sorrow.

"I know you are grieved, Your Highness–"

"I'll not hear sympathy from you. You had none for her."

"Please, my prince, I tried as best I might to spare you this. Ask your father's men if I did not go to her during the trial to see what plea she might make to save her life, even in the face of such strong proof against her." Dunois held up one hand in pledge of truth. "God knows I begged the king not to act hastily in this, but you know His Majesty when he's set his mind to a thing."

He ended with an apologetic shake of his head and Philip squeezed his eyes shut and drew a painful breath.

"I know."

"I hope, then, you do not believe me disloyal to Your Highness."

"You are loyal to
Afton
, my lord," Philip said, looking as if he wished he could choke the sycophantic voice into silence. "I suppose that is loyal enough."

"I thank you, Your Highness."

Dunois made a flourishing bow and Philip shifted in his chair.

"Well? I trust there is more to what you have in charge."

"Oh, yes, my lord. I am commanded by His Majesty the king to read to you the accounts of the last council meetings at which you have not been in attendance." Dunois held out the massive book the scribes used for such records. "I will do so now, if you have your leisure."

"I am not an idiot or a child, my lord, that I must be read to," Philip snapped, and Rafe moved closer to him, almost putting himself between the two of them.

"My lord Chamberlain," he interposed, "if you will pardon me, my lord of Caladen has not been well. Such a reading would overtire him and I feel–"

"It is an order direct from your father, my lord," Dunois said, ignoring Rafe's protest, and Philip slumped down into his chair.

"By all means, let the royal will be carried out."

"My lord," Dunois said with a bow and an unctuous smile, and he began to read of the cost of the crystal goblets given to the Archbishop at his investiture, and how many pairs of boots were needed for the army on the southern border; of the importance of strict control over the supply of silks brought into the country, and how many of these new ministers were spreading their heresy here in the south. Before he could finish his explanation of why a tax should be imposed on beeswax, however, Rafe noticed that Philip had fallen into an uneasy sleep.

"My lord," he whispered to Dunois, "please, you can see he has not slept well since the trial. Another time, I beg you."

Dunois slammed the book shut. "The king will not be pleased," he warned, and he turned on his heel and left, slamming the door shut, too.

Looking down at Philip, Rafe shook his head. "No, I do not imagine he will."

He lifted Philip like a child in his arms and laid him down on the bed, then drew the coverlet over him. He dared not remove his boots for fear of waking him, but the boy looked so worn out that Rafe doubted he would have felt even that.

"Rest now, boy. Life'll not seem so cruel after a little sleep."

He gently loosened Philip's fingers from the tight fists they had formed, then he sat down in the chair and went to sleep himself.

***

It was not long before the blackness of Philip's exhaustion dissolved into dreams. He saw Katherine as she had been the morning after they married, with the dawn light shining through her shift, making a halo of her long fair hair. Her lips were curved into a sweet smile and she bent down, as she had then, to stir the fire.

Then the dream turned nightmare. A tendril of blonde hair caught fire and in an instant the flames consumed her. With a shriek, she fell into ash and the well remembered acrid smell of burnt hair and flesh filled Philip's nose.

Gasping, he bolted up in bed and for a long while he did not move. He forced himself to breathe slowly, reminded himself that it was only a dream. Still, the memory nauseated him. He'd been spared the sight but not the smell of her execution, and it seemed he would carry that to his grave.

It was dark. He did not know how long he had slept, but he was determined to not let it happen again. Sleep now held for him a terror he could not control. He would have gotten up and roamed the passageways as had become his habit, but he knew he would never be able to get past Rafe unseen. Instead, he gathered up the pillows and propped himself up, prepared to spend the hours until dawn battling this new enemy– sleep.

***

The following day, Philip received another royal summons. This one he obeyed.

"Sit down, son," Robert said. "I trust today finds you well."

Philip felt no inclination towards idle talking.

"What would you have of me?"

"I must command something of you, something I would not ask yet except it has become necessity. Please, sit down."

"I rather would stand. What would you have of me?"

"I must require your marriage now. It cannot wait any longer."

Philip turned even paler than he was already. "You promised me."

"As I before told you, this is no boys' game, this playing for kingdoms. Your safety and mine, Tom's, the whole realm's, could depend upon the alliance you make."

Anger brought sudden color to Philip's cheeks. "Is this alliance so dear that you would lie and murder for it?"

"It could mean the whole kingdom to
Afton
," Robert said, pricked by his son's frank accusation. "Our link with Westered could bring us victory. Without it, we can hope for nothing but defeat."

"Westered? But Margaret–"

"Not Margaret, but Lady Rosalynde, her sister. The grieving widow Margaret seeks yet to be queen. I've had word that she's gone to Stephen of Ellenshaw and he's married her."

The color again dropped out of Philip's face. "Then that was her reason." He felt a knot pull tight inside his heart. "You must see now that Kate was innocent."

"It may well be so," Robert said gravely.

"You know it is so!"

"I did not know it when she was condemned. What was I to think in the face of the evidence? But that is past. We must think of the future now and, to keep that safe, we need Westered. I must have you marry Lady Rosalynde at once. If her father throws his support to Margaret and Ellenshaw, we are lost." He picked up a ring from the table, the one that Philip had not worn since he had hung it around Katherine's neck, a token of the vows they had exchanged. "Put this on. It is time you remembered that you are a royal prince."

A fresh fury boiled up in him. "I'll not wear your cursed ring anymore!"

"Be reasonable."

Philip snatched the ring out of his hand and hurled it at him. "You and your Rosalynde be hanged together! Yes, and I, too, if ever I marry her!"

Robert flinched away from the bright metal that whizzed past his ear and made a ringing bounce off the stone wall behind him.

"Philip–"

"Murderer!"

Robert's face turned hard. "You've used that word to me often enough, boy."

"Truth speeds best in plain terms," Philip spat.

"Very well, my young lord, if we are to use plain terms, who was I to believe? My son's widow or my son's harlot?"

"Before God, you'll not speak so of her."

"Who shall say I may not? Do you think merely because you dared shame me with flaunting your trull before my court that you may now tell me what I may and may not do? I suppose with Richard's child gone, I was to accept her first brat as heir to the throne after you, and see you stand insolently by, having put so much of your pure Chastelayne blood into such a bastard that you'd not have enough left yourself to color a blush of shame."

"Kate would never have shamed our name. She was the only pure thing I ever found in this place. But I'll not defend her to you. You deserve your ignorance. God grant you may die in it."

Tears came back into his eyes and his father sought to console him.

"Philip, son–"

Philip wrenched away from him, unable to endure his touch, unable to endure the pain that wracked him again and still.

"Send me away from here," he pled once more, his voice ragged and grating. "Send me away."

"Where would you go?" Robert asked, a touch of hollow regret in his tone.

"Someplace where there is much work to be done. I care not where."

"You know with Ellenshaw's rebellion, Grenaver thinks now is the time to reopen the dispute over the Riverlands. We must make ready for them."

"Where?"

"Maughn has yet to be garrisoned and fortified. It will take the winter in hard labor. Would you go there?"

"If I may go at once."

"Believe me, son, I am sorry for your grief, but for my kingdom's sake, you left me no other choice."

Robert tried again to reach out to him but again Philip backed away.

"Do not force me," Philip warned, his voice rising as taut as his strained nerves. "Let me away from here. I cannot bear any more from you."

Robert took a step back himself, looking a little afraid of what he saw in his son's bitter eyes.

"Go then. But withhold your judgment of me until you have yourself lived awhile as king."

"God send that day may never come."

***

The ride to Maughn was weary and slow and Philip was relieved when the colorless little town finally came into sight. Perhaps here in a place that held none of Katherine's memories he could escape some of the pain and maybe even sleep without fear. There was little more to hope now. She was gone and not to be resurrected until that final day when even the sea would give up its dead. There was not even a grave at which he could mourn, only a handful of ashes lost to the wind and a charred pyre that had seen and would see other such executions.