Philippa’s heart caught. The time for resolving this was gone. It was with frustration still seething in her that she stepped from Temric’s embrace and turned to greet his mother.
Dressed in brown traveling attire, Alwyna swept into the hall. Excitement put new color in her face, her eyes fair dancing with it. “Look,” she cried to them, moving aside to let the one who followed enter the hall, “see the illustrious traveler we met along the road, looking for our own Peter no less!”
It was Oswald of Hereford who strode through that doorway. Bishop William’s cleric wore bright robes of blue and a jaunty feather in his velvet cap. He stopped not but two steps into the hall. His eyes widened. His jaw dropped. “Jesus God Almighty! Philippa of Lindhurst! But, you’re dead!”
From beside Philippa, Temric sucked in a swift breath. “Christus,” he groaned. “It was Peter’s scribbling I forgot.”
Philippa’s banked anger roared back to life. She whirled to Temric. “See! I told you I could be recognized here as well as any other place,” she cried, only to will back the words as deep sadness filled Temric’s face. It was his death and hers she saw reflected in his eyes.
Terror rose, eating up all other emotion as it grew. With a wordless cry, she threw herself against him and pressed close to his side. Her hand dropped to the curve of her belly. She wasn’t ready to die, not when she had so much life left to live.
Jehan hobbled onto the landing, then eased into the hall behind Oswald. His mouth was twisted into a scornful grin as his gaze met hers. “Why, Pippa, could it be you aren’t the woman my half-brother would like us to think you are? Father,” he said to Oswald, “pray tell us where you met my brother’s wife.”
“Wife?” The word squeaked from Oswald’s lips as his eyes widened even farther. Blanching, he crossed himself.
Temric’s arm tightened across Philippa’s back as if in promise of protection, when she knew full well he had nothing to offer. She leaned her head against his shoulder.
“Oswald, make no mistake,” Temric said mildly. “Your discovery means my life is forfeit. Since I must die, I’ll chose to do so with a sword in my hand as I seek to keep her for mine own.”
“Oh, nay,” Alwyna moaned, tears starting to her eyes as she wrung her hands. “Nay, this cannot be happening. Father,” she cried to Oswald, “I pray you, don’t give my Philippa back to those who tried to kill her!”
With Alwyna’s words, Philippa’s terror ebbed. In its place was a strange anger. She straightened in Temric’s embrace to face the churchman.
“Is that what you’ll try to do, Oswald?” she demanded. “Return me to Roger? Well, best you think again, for I won’t go.”
The churchman’s eyes nigh on swam in his face. “Mary save me,” he groaned, “but Roger of Lindhurst is remarried!”
“Bigamist,” Philippa crowed in hard satisfaction. “If that’s true, then I doubt he’ll want me any longer.”
Jehan gave a sharp laugh and turned to retreat onto the landing. “I think I’ll go see what keeps Peter,” he said as he started down the stairs.
“Whether Roger wants you or not, you must give yourself into my custody,” Oswald entreated her, his expression earnest. “Your sin here is very great.”
Yet buoyed by that newfound rage, Philippa gave a haughty shake of her head. “What do I look like, some dog who comes at the snap of your fingers?” she retorted. “It’s my life and my sin. Now, go away and leave me to it.”
“I will not!” Oswald bellowed, stirred from his confusion by her insulting tone. “Temric, you’re right. You’ll forfeit your life to her lord husband for your adultery. As for you, Lady Philippa, you’ll come with me!” The walls fair shook with the power of his voice as he finished.
Beneath his assault, Philippa’s anger collapsed, leaving her awash in the reality of their situation. With a wild cry, she threw her arms around Temric to hold him close. “Nay!”
Temric gave an amused huff. “Oswald, I believe you have your answer. Philippa will stay with me, even if she thinks me a pompous ass.”
She lifted her head to look at the man she loved. Despite the horror of their situation, his eyes were once more alive with golden lights. “I was angry when I said that,” she murmured in apology.
“Rightfully so,” he said in reply, wrapping his arms around her to hold her close. “I was a fool to think you safe from discovery in any place. Forgive me, love.”
Her heart melted with his words. “What can I forgive you for? Giving me the happiest months of my life?”
Oswald glanced between them in disbelief. “How can you stand shameless before us and do that when you know it’s incest,” he cried out, sounding truly shocked. “Mistress,” he said, turning to look at Alwyna, “Lord Graistan is wed to Lady Philippa’s sister. Tell them they must stand apart.”
Wiping her cheeks with her sleeve, Alwyna shook her head in refusal. Her chin quivered as she looked at the churchman. “I’ll do nothing of the sort.”
“You cannot condone what they do here.” Shock made his voice crack.
“You forget that I’ve been fined more than once for illicit copulation,” Alwyna said, trying for a casual tone as she again set to wringing her hands. “Who am I to judge them?”
Oswald glared at Philippa. “Then, I’ll call the guard and take them by force to your city’s prison.”
Philippa squeaked. “Say something,” she begged of Temric.
Temric only shook his head. “There’s no more to be said. He’s been warned. I’ll spend my life before I let you go.”
The thought of Temric made cold and still by death tore at Philippa’s heart. Even as the ache began, it ebbed into decision. Just as she might have followed him to Normandy, she would now follow him to this journey’s destination.
“Where you go, I follow,” she told him, then turned to look at Oswald. “Call your guards. By the time they wrench me from Temric’s arms, I’ll be dead and this time not in pretense. Aye, and it won’t be only suicide, but murder as well, for I bear a child.”
The churchman staggered back a step until his shoulders met the door’s frame behind him. His hands came to clutch at the front of his robe, where his crucifix usually lay. “Nay,” he gasped.
“What reason do you give me to want otherwise?” Philippa replied as a new calmness flowed through her with every breath. “Either you’ll force Roger to set aside his new wife and take me back or force me into a convent. Roger will swiftly see both me and my child dead, while we both know there’s no room in a nunnery for a child save as an oblate. I’ve no wish to live after you’ve stolen both my love and my child from me.”
“But, you’ll be damned to hell,” Oswald protested in true horror.
“To meet my mother there when I arrive.” Philippa laughed as Oswald’s mouth gaped with her words. “Well, who did you think was buried in my place?”
“Oswald, it was by her own hand and no one else’s urging that Lady Edith died,” Temric said, a certain urgency in his voice. “I had no part in her death.”
The churchman pressed his knuckles to his lips as his face paled. “Jesu save me, but we buried her in hallowed ground at Graistan’s abbey.”
Alwyna managed a shrug. “If God hasn’t spit her out by now, He must not mind her resting where she is.”
Oswald shook his head like a man stunned, then stiffened. “You’re all blasphemers and heretics!” he roared.
That brought Philippa upright with a start. “Not true,” she protested. “I love God with all my heart for it’s by His direct intervention that I live to meet you again this day. It was God, himself, who came to me, saying I must stay with Temric. I say it’s you who sins by trying to force me from the man God commanded me to keep.” The emotions left behind by that holy experience left her gasping as she fell silent.
Across the room, Oswald’s eyes narrowed as his shoulders squared in new confidence. However unsure he might be in dealing with this strange situation, he knew himself capable
of discerning heresy. “You’ll explain yourself,” he commanded, “or I’ll denounce you and see you examined for your misuse of our Lord’s name.”
Her emotions yet stewing, she looked up at Temric. Although confusion darkened his eyes, he smiled at her. The very movement of his mouth was enough to give Philippa the strength she needed to reveal what she’d never thought to share outside herself.
“It was after Roger struck me. I felt death come for me,” she said, her words dropping slowly and uneasily from her lips, “and I welcomed it, for it meant the end of my torment at Lindhurst. Then, I saw a figure, light streaming from around him. When I’d have gone beyond him into that other life that waited just beyond my reach, he refused to let me pass. He would only say, his words filling me from the inside out as the holy must speak to mortals, that I must stay for Richard.”
Again, she looked at Temric. The confusion in his gaze had been replaced by calm consideration. His expression softened and he caught her hand, lacing his fingers between hers, his touch transmitting his approval of her tale. She smiled at him.
“At the time I knew you only as Temric, not Richard,” she told him. “I didn’t understand what his command meant until your mother told me your true name once I’d come back to the living.”
The golden lights took fire in Temric’s gaze again. “Glad I am you were held here,” he said softly.
“Nay,” Oswald protested. “This tale of yours is a falsehood meant to make me ignore the sin I’ve found here.”
Once more looking at the churchman, Philippa shook her head. Her gaze didn’t waver as he glared at her. “I, too, have struggled to accept the experience. But, no matter what question I ask myself, the truth remains the same. I knew no Richard, save a few peasants at Lindhurst more commonly known as Dickon, until Alwyna spoke my Temric’s true name. So I will swear on any relic or endure any ordeal you set before me, for I do not lie. Test me at your will.”
Oswald’s dark brows drew down. Again, he reached for his non-existent crucifix and found only fabric beneath his fingers. “I don’t know what to do,” he cried out.
“Then, do nothing,” Temric replied swiftly. “Can you not see how concealing Philippa’s existence benefits you? Think on what might become of you if you reveal her to your bishop. It was your lord who declared her dead. He’ll not much care to learn that your cousin has made a fool of him. Who was it that granted Lindhurst the right to remarry? Who allowed Lady Edith to be wrongly buried in the abbey? Your lord, the fool twice more. When we appear, having conceived a child in adultery and incest, I doubt Bishop William will continue to look upon his favorite aide as fondly as he has.”
With a gasp, Oswald released the breast of his gown to stretch his hands out before him and stare at his fingers. It was as if he saw his career slipping from them this very instant. Oswald knew his master well, indeed.
“What if it was God who intervened?” Philippa offered, hoping a gentler push would ease Oswald onto the path Temric wished him to take. “Might it be a test of your faith that this judgment has been laid before you? After all, you were the one sent to fetch Peter,” she pointed out, “not some other who wouldn’t have known me.”
Oswald bent beneath the weight of her words. “I must think,” he whispered to himself, then straightened with a start. “Aye, a night of prayer will make all things clear to me.
“Mistress,” he said to Alwyna, “I must decline your invitation to bide here. Instead, I’ll take up residence in the priory with my brethren. Send young Peter to me there and I’ll speak to him without prejudice from these events. Temric,” he said, glancing at his cousin, but before he could say more Temric held up a hand to stop him.
“Don’t ask for my vow,” he warned, “for I’ll not give you my word on anything just now.”
Oswald’s mouth narrowed as he eyed his cousin in something akin to disgust. “You’re right, I need no vow. The fact that you’re a sworn knight will keep you here until I call for you upon the morrow.” With a final grim look at both of them, he turned on his heel and strode out the hall door.
Alwyna, her hands pressed to her mouth as if to keep from shouting, stared at them as the churchman’s footsteps rang down the stairs. When she heard the door at their base close, she sprang to life, running at them, her hands flying as if they were sheep to be herded. “Run,” she cried. “Go as quickly as you can!”
“We can’t, Mama,” Temric said with a shake of his head. “Now that Philippa is revealed, there’s nowhere left to hide.”
Anger left bright red streaks across his mother’s cheeks. “Nay! You can’t ask me to stand helplessly by while I lose my firstborn son, the daughter of my heart and my first grandchild, all at once,” she cried out. “Oh, Richard, you turned the world on its ear to have this woman you adore. How can you let it go so easily now?”
“He’s right, Alwyna,” Philippa said, winding her arm around Temric’s waist as she spoke. “There’s nowhere left for us to hide that they cannot find us. Besides,” she said, trying to smile, “hiding is no life at all.”
“Nay,” Alwyna protested, her gaze darting frantically between them as a new set of tears sprang to her eyes. In the next instant, she straightened to her tallest. “Nay,” she said with more authority, “I won’t let this happen. I’ll fight the churchman. My husband’s name yet has influence. I’ll bring witnesses to swear that Philippa is none other than Pippa of Stanrudde, born and raised within these walls. I’ll have a marriage document made, all signed and sealed, proving you were wed to my Richard before Midsummer.”
Leaving Temric, Philippa went to embrace her. “That you should love me so,” she marveled, then stepped back. “I thank you for that, but it would be a wasted effort, one that Oswald will never accept. Alwyna, there’s nothing you can do.”
A sob tore from the older woman at this. Alwyna pressed her hand against her mouth to stop the next one as she fought for control. Misery was printed on every line of her face.
“If you cry for me, do not,” Philippa protested, trying to aid Alwyna in her battle. “In these short months, I’ve had more happiness than I ever dreamed to own. I can’t regret one minute of it, even if the morrow brings the end of my life. As for you,” Philippa offered a tremulous smile, “you’ll soon have Clarice to take my place.”
“So I shall,” Temric’s mother said as she caught the line Philippa threw and drew herself onto safe ground. She freed a trembling sigh. “Gerard means to come on the morrow to discuss the wedding. I haven’t told Jehan yet. After all he’s done, he deserves to stew a little longer. Here’s another of my sons who’s trapped himself when he need not have been caught.” She looked heavenward and lifted her voice. “I’d have been happy with children of less complexity, Lord. But, now that You’ve given them to me, might You consider lending them a hand in their present difficulties?”
“Philippa,” Temric said, coming to take her hand in his. His cloak, which he’d shed upon entering the hall, now lay across his arm. “Will you spend the next hours with me, alone?”
“Aye, go,” Alwyna insisted, then pointed to Temric’s weapons, “but only if you’ll swear you’ll do nothing until the churchman has rendered his decision on the morrow. Where there’s life, there’s hope.”
“You have my word on it, Mama,” Temric replied evenly as he reached out to touch his mother’s cheek. “I’ve no desire to leave this world an instant sooner than I must.”
“Good,” his mother returned, tears again filling her eyes. She caught him by the arm and shoved him toward the door. “Go and swiftly, before I flood the hall.”
Philippa let Temric lead her out the door and down the stairs. In the courtyard, the servants were busy unloading the packhorses. No one paid them any heed as they slipped out the gate and onto the street. Even though Philippa was now accustomed to Stanrudde’s filth and the rush and push of the city’s many folk, all the hubbub today felt as if it would crush her. What lay before them demanded peace and time to become
resigned to their fate. That, she could only find in the serenity that waited outside the city’s walls.
“Temric,” she begged, “might we go to the stables? I need to fill my eyes with trees and feel grass beneath my feet.” One more time, she wanted to add, but couldn’t bring herself to say the words.
“You’ve read my mind,” Temric replied with a low laugh.
They paused long enough for Temric to purchase a bit of food and drink to take with them, then went to the city’s Priory Gate. That they passed through gateway unchallenged said Oswald trusted Temric’s honor. Without speaking, they strode past fields scythed down to ankle-deep stubble and orchards now plucked clean. In the day’s misty sky, an uncertain ‘V’ of swans made its way across the heavens. Save for their raucous calls, the wildlands were quiet, a startling change after the summer’s many melodies. All around Philippa, the meadowlands were now a rolling sea of drying grasses, while copse and thicket were stained in glorious oranges, bright golds and deep red. She drew a deep breath and savored the spicy, cool air.
At last, the little building was at hand. A few late fruits yet clung to the trees that surrounded the fields. As they strode toward the stable, Temric’s massive steed came to the fence. Plucking an apple, Temric went to meet him. Philippa joined him at the fence.
“What’s his name?” she asked.
“Horse,” he replied bluntly, then laughed. “I fear there’s no romance in my soul. I’ll leave my noble brothers to name their steeds after great heroes.” He scratched at the gelding’s ears. “You also answer to ‘idiot’ and ‘pig-headed fool,’ don’t you?” The big horse nodded in amiable agreement, then snorted, as if it, too, enjoyed the jest.
Temric gave the creature a final pat, then turned to face his avowed wife. “So, what now?” he asked gently.
Uncertainty and fear made Philippa’s stomach twist. The need to escape even thinking about what they faced brought words rushing to her lips. “First, I’d apologize. I should have told you of the babe before I announced it so openly.”
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