Chapter 14: The Sickness and the Remedy

The Doctor was exhausted that morning. The work of a king was endless, and he was required to draw more and more on Philip's mind in order to carry out his duties. This was not something he had ever done before, and he found it unexpectedly taxing on his mental faculties. Add to that the fact that Philip was an active man, inclined to do things himself whenever possible, rather than send representatives to do work for him. He rode out of Paris regularly to survey particular regions or to discuss problems with local officials or to hold courts where his people could come to receive justice, and so the Doctor also found himself physically as well as mentally tired. So tired that he had recently slept for several hours two nights in a row. In addition, he had spent an inordinate amount of time mooning over Rosalind. There was no other word for it. It had been bad enough since his proposal and their first kiss, but recently their embraces had become more and more passionate and his body felt the effects for hours afterward. And then she had told him that she loved him. From then on all his idle moments were spent imagining things he shouldn't be imagining, for so many reasons. The passions of a Time Lord were always intense; when experienced while co-existing with a human body and brain, they were even more draining and disturbing.

He had told Donna that they would leave before the wedding. That he would switch Philip back to his rightful position and they would be on their way. Logistically, it would be no problem. He had first sent the TARDIS from the forest in the north of England to an uninhabited area outside of the city, and then he had made a brief detour from one of his outings as king and sent it to his own bedchamber, now that he had the exact location. It sat now in the corner, hidden under a perception filter. Nothing would be simpler than to finish the job they had come to do. Everything was moving forward smoothly. The wedding was only days away.

And yet. Something was stopping him. He could feel Donna's eyes on him when they were together, watching and waiting for him to give some sign that it was time to go. As of now she had said nothing, but he knew what she was thinking. And still he could not move. Why? No, the question was disingenuous. He knew exactly what was stopping him, and it was precisely what Donna had warned him about. He might not be willing to admit that to her, but as he lay on his bed awake late at night he was forced to admit it to himself. Rosalind. He loved her. He was in love with her. He wanted to marry her and have a wedding night with her and every night thereafter. When he was with her, his world narrowed to her taste and smell, her wit and innocence, her daring and brilliance. And when he was away from her, his imagination sought to recapture her presence.

But of course, he couldn't have what he wanted. It was that simple. And there was no point in glorifying it, in pretending that she would hurt if—when—he left. This was no heart-wrenching Dido and Aeneas scenario, where she would suffer due to his departure. Rosalind would not know the difference when he replaced himself with the real Philip. No, it was only his own hearts that would be broken, knowing that another man would get to love her and that she would not even realize what had happened. But that should not count. There were larger considerations at stake. And yet, would the world end if he sampled those joys for just a little while? Around and around his mind went until he fell into a restless sleep, dreaming so vividly of being inside her that he woke up gasping and not feeling the least refreshed.

He had already been on edge that morning, therefore, and the work of trying to perfect a draft of a complex document granting royal land to a monastery was frustrating him. And so when his steward had appeared and murmured to him that the Lady Rosalind had returned from her ride but had apparently been injured in a fall from her horse, his defenses were low. He immediately saw in his mind Robert's blood-drenched hair and sightless eyes. He leapt to his feet and dashed to Rosalind's chamber, not giving his steward time to amend his statement and point out that the injuries were reportedly very minor. Donna opened the door at his pounding knock. He said, "Where is she?" and Donna gestured wordlessly toward the inner room. Reading his mood, Donna decided to leave the two alone together for a little while, closing the door behind her as he advanced into the bedchamber. Once he saw Rosalind he simply stared, trying to calm his racing hearts, reassuring himself that she was alive and upright and apparently not badly hurt. She stood near the window looking at him with some defiance in her eyes but also, he noticed, a bit of fear. She held her arm at a slightly awkward angle, presumably because it hurt from her fall. Where her dressing gown slipped open slightly, revealing one shoulder, he could see an abrasion and the beginning of a bruise.

He strove to keep his roiling emotions under control, asking softly, "Are you well?"

"I am fine. A few bruises." Her voice was normal, but her look wary.

"What happened?"

"A man crossed our path unexpectedly. The horse reared and threw me."

"Where?"

"Saint-Germain."

"Ah."

He was silent, but did not cease studying her. She shifted nervously under his gaze and then said, "Philip, I can't imagine why you're here. I would hate to think that I am interrupting your work for no reason. It was nothing…"

"It was nothing?" Now there was an edge in his voice. "You were thrown by your horse, and it was nothing?"

"I'm fine."

"This time."

"Philip, you've ridden your entire life. You know as well as I do that falls happen occasionally."

"Not to you. Not anymore." He felt like he was drowning in anger, or maybe it was panic. He wanted her to feel what it did to him for her to be in danger. He wanted to shake her. He wanted to kiss her until she understood. "You're not going riding without me anymore."

She stared at him in disbelief. "You must be joking."

"Oh, I assure you, I'm not."

"I ride everyday."

"You will ride with me from now on."

"Philip, be sensible. Your schedule would not allow for such a thing. You travel, you hold courts. And…even if you had been there today, what could you have done?"

He did not answer that, saying instead, "I mean it, Rosalind."

"As do I."

"You are going to defy me on this? When you watched what happened to…"

Now her mood swung instantly from disbelief and placation to anger. She held up her hand, her eyes flaring. "Stop there."

"I…"

"No!" Her voice was almost a shout. She bit her lip and continued in a more controlled fashion. "Do not finish that sentence. You were about to imply either that I have forgotten my brother's death or that I contributed to causing it. And I'm not sure I could forgive you for either statement."

They stood staring at each other, both angry now, both breathing quickly, both silent.

She spoke first. "Falls happen. You know that. Sometimes they are fatal. Most of the time they are minor. You cannot stop me riding." She paused and then whispered, a touch of pleading in her eyes, "You cannot."

He retreated into formality. "The queen cannot be seen to be in danger. It simply won't do."

"The men that you assigned to protect me were with me!"

"And what will protect you from this sort of accident?"

"What would you have me do? Sit here in my chamber and sew? Never leave the palace?"

He knew this was ridiculous but his emotions were so frayed he couldn't bring himself to care. "Perhaps. If that is what it takes."

"If you want to kill me, that would be the surest way." He said nothing, staring at the floor to avoid her gaze, and she continued, "I have never hidden my nature from you. Why did you ask me to marry you if you wanted some…traditional woman?" Still he did not speak. "Are you regretting it, my lord?" She put bitter emphasis on the title. "Saddling yourself with the bad wolf?"

His head came up violently, an unreadable look in his eyes. He took a step forward. "I will not lose you in a riding accident."

"Then you will lose me some other way."

His mind reeled. "What?"

"Philip, one of us will die before the other. One of us will lose the other."

"No."

She stared at him for a long moment before her lips curved into a small smile. When she spoke again, amusement had crept into her tone. "No?"

"No."

You plan to defy death? The fate of all humanity?"

"Yes," he said mutinously.

Her smile widened. "You're ridiculous, you know?"

He could no longer not be touching her. He moved to her side and pulled her roughly to him. She hissed as his arms closed around her bruised flesh but when he pulled back, contrite, she reached up and locked her arms around his neck. "I love you, Philip."

"Oh God. I love you," he gasped, burying his face in her neck.

"I'm sorry that I frightened you."

"When they told me, I thought of Robert. I thought…"

"I know. I thought of it too. Only afterward, of course. These kinds of things happen so fast, it's over before you know it." She took a breath that ended as a low moan as he raised his head from her neck just long enough to lay gentle kisses down its length.

"I can't lose you," he whispered.

"Shh. My love. You won't. Not anytime soon." She wanted to soothe him, but she couldn't understand why his eyes were still filled with so much fear, why his movements spoke of desperation. This was a man who had seen death and hardship and plague, who had been in battle. To be this upset over a simple fall from a horse… She made him look at her, stroking his cheek. "I'm here, Philip."

In response he crushed her mouth with his own. He slid his hands under her dressing gown, finding the thin linen of her slip and feeling the heat of her body through it. She removed her arms from around his neck long enough to shrug off the gown, revealing to him more of her skin than he had yet seen. The undergarment was sleeveless and cut low, showing the tops of her breasts. Running his hands over her smooth shoulders, which were damp from her hair, he reached down to kiss the bruises and scrapes on her left arm, then encircled her waist with his hands. He was beginning to feel overwhelmed by his desire for her and so he tried to steady himself, holding her hips and breathing deeply.

Rosalind felt dizzy. This was not a new sensation for her of late. In recent months she had frequently found herself deeply unsettled by the swings of fortune she was experiencing. To go from the unthinkable tragedy of Robert's death to the offer of marriage from Philip. To travel for the first time, to live in a great city. To find herself in love with the man she was marrying—a luxury rare for women of her status—and even more than that, to find that the touch of his fingers aroused feelings she didn't know she possessed. And now, to go from an argument to a passionate embrace in a matter of moments. She had grown warm under her heavy dressing gown and so had slid it off her shoulders, although she then wondered if this had been an error, as Philip gripped her hips, holding her slightly away from him and not meeting her eyes. She ached for him to continue touching her.

"Philip?"

He looked up at her with pleading eyes. "Rosalind… If I don't stop now I won't be able to stop."

She smiled at him, full of love. "I don't want you to stop."

"But…"

"We'll be married in two days. It's fine." Still he hesitated, and she realized that she would have to be the one to be brave. She stepped forward, molding her body against his, and whispered in his ear. "Please, Philip. Please don't stop."

Her words released something in him. He made a feral noise in the back of his throat and swept her up in his arms. She laughed, a sound of pure joy, as he carried her to the bed and laid her down on it. He stretched out next to her and immediately reached to give her a long slow kiss, exploring her mouth thoroughly with his tongue. She moaned and shifted her body against him. He moved away from her mouth and kissed his way down her jaw to her neck and then on to her collarbone, left gorgeously bare in her shift. He nipped and sucked his way along it, reveling in the sounds she made. Her hands scrabbled at the bottom of his tunic, and he sat up long enough to help her pull it off him. She then pulled his linen undershirt from the waist of his trousers and rid him of that too. She lay down again, encouraging him to lie fully on top of her, rubbing her hands up and down his bare back. The feel of her skin on his was almost too much for him, and with a garbled sound he began to pull at the clasps on the bodice of her shift, trying to release her breasts. She giggled and tried to help him, but their fingers were made clumsy by haste.

With their attention focused on each other, they did not hear the soft sounds emerging from the outer room. A tap at the door. The slight creak as it opened. Donna's quiet call of "Rosalind?" But they certainly did hear her cry of surprise when she entered the room to find them half-naked and sprawled on the bed. "Oh my God!" Donna cried, whirling about and fleeing.

Philip and Rosalind looked at each other and collapsed into laughter. Philip sat up and pulled her to sit beside him. The spell was broken, although their breathing was still unsteady. Rosalind said resignedly, "I suppose we shall have to wait after all."

The Doctor nodded and after a moment he moved to put on his shirt and tunic. "Let me help," Rosalind said, and she proceeded to dress him, leaving kisses on his skin as she covered it.

"You're not making waiting seem very compelling," he growled at her.

She grinned and added another kiss. "Good."

Once he was dressed he held her tenderly for a few moments. "Can I ask you, at least, not to ride again without me before the wedding?"

"Of course. I'm going to be sore for a few days anyway."

"Thank you."

Rosalind pulled away and looked up at him. "What about Donna?"

"Donna's a grown woman. She will understand what happened. She might be a bit embarrassed, but it'll be fine." This, of course, was a lie. Donna would be sure to confront him sooner or later—probably sooner—and he would have to find some explanation to give her.