War Of Honor

'Welcome home, My Lord,' he said to White Haven.

'Thank you, Nico.' White Haven acknowledged his greeting with a smile. 'This is Duchess Harrington. Is Lady Emily in the atrium?'

'She is, My Lord,' Nico replied, and bestowed another, more formal bow on Honor. His emotions were complex, compounded of his deep loyalty to the Alexander family, and to Hamish and Emily Alexander in particular, and an awareness that there was no truth to the vicious stories about Hamish and Honor. She tasted his sympathy for her, but there was also a sharp edge of resentment. Not for anything she'd done, but for the pain others had brought to people for whom he cared, using her as the weapon.

'Welcome to White Haven, Your Grace,' he said, and to his credit, not a trace of his ambivalence at seeing her there colored his voice or his manner.

'Thank you,' she said, smiling at him as warmly as her emotionally battered state allowed.

'Should I announce you to Her Ladyship, My Lord?' Nico asked the earl.

'No, thank you. She's . . . expecting us. We'll find our own way, but ask Cook to put together a light supper for three, please. No, make that for five,' he corrected, nodding at the two treecats. 'And make sure there's plenty of celery.'

'Of course, My Lord.'

'And see to it that Her Grace's armsmen get fed, as well.'

'Of course,' Nico repeated as he stood aside, then closed the door behind them, and Honor turned to LaFollet.

'I think Earl White Haven, Lady White Haven, and I need to discuss things in private, Andrew,' she said quietly. 'You and Simon and Spencer stay here.'

'I—' LaFollet began an immediate protest, then clamped his jaws tight.

He should be used to this by now, he told himself. The Steadholder had made great strides in accepting that it was his job to keep her alive whether she liked it or not, but the old stubbornness still reasserted itself at times. At least if it had to do it right now, White Haven was probably about as safe a place as she could be. And even if it hadn't been, he thought, looking at her exhausted face, he wasn't about to argue with her. Not now.

'Of course, My Lady,' he said.

'Thank you,' Honor said softly, and looked at Nico.

'Take care of them for me, please,' she asked, and the retainer bowed more deeply still.

'I'd be honored to, Your Grace,' he assured her, and she smiled one last time at her armsmen and then turned to follow White Haven down a wide, stone-floored hallway.

She had a vague impression of deeply bayed windows set in the immensely thick walls—of tasteful paintings, bright area rugs and throws, and furniture which managed to merge expense and age with comfort and utility—but none of it really registered. And then White Haven opened another door, and ushered her through it into a crystoplast-roofed atrium which must have been twenty or thirty meters on a side. That wasn't very large for Grayson, where the need to seal 'outdoor gardens' against the local environment created enormous greenhouse domes, but it was the largest atrium she'd ever seen in a private home in the Star Kingdom.

It also seemed younger than much of the rest of the estate, and she looked sharply at White Haven as a spike in his emotions told her why that was so.

He'd built it for Emily. This was her place, and Honor felt a sudden, wrenching sense of wrongness. She was an intruder, an invader. She had no business in this peaceful, plant-smelling space. But she was here, now, and it was too late to run, and so she followed White Haven across the atrium to the splashing fountain and koi pond at its heart.

A woman sat waiting there. Her life support chair hovered a half-meter off the atrium floor, and it turned smoothly and silently on its counter grav to face them.

Honor felt her spine stiffen and her shoulders straighten. Not in hostility or defensiveness, but in acknowledgment and . . . respect. Her chin rose, and she returned Lady Emily Alexander's regard levelly.

Lady Emily was taller than Honor had expected, or would have been, if she'd ever stood on her two feet again. She was also frail, the antithesis of Honor's slimly solid, broad shouldered, well muscled physique. Where Honor was dark haired and dark eyed, Lady Emily's hair was as golden blond as Alice Truman's, and her eyes were a deep and brilliant green. She looked as if a kiss of breeze would lift her out of her chair and carry her away, for she could not have weighed over forty kilos, and her long-fingered hands were thin and fragile looking.

And she was still one of the most beautiful women in the entire Star Kingdom.

It wasn't just her face, or her eyes, or her hair or bone structure. Anyone with her wealth could have had those things, in these days of biosculpt and cosmetic gene therapy. It was something else. Some inner quality she'd been able to transmit to the camera during her actress days, yet one which was infinitely stronger in person than it could have been through any electronic medium. It reached out to anyone who came near her, and as Honor felt it, magnified and multiplied through her link to Nimitz, she understood precisely why Nico was so devoted to his Countess.

'Emily,' White Haven's deep voice was deeper even than usual, 'allow me to introduce Duchess Harrington.'

'Welcome to White Haven, Your Grace.' The voice was a husky shadow of the warm, almost purring contralto which had reached out to so many HD viewers, but it retained more than a ghost of its old power. The countess held out one delicate hand—the only one she could move, Honor realized, and stepped forward to take it.

'Thank you, Lady White Haven,' she said softly, and her thanks were deep-felt and genuine, for there was no anger, no hatred in Lady Emily's greeting. Sadness, yes—a vast, bottomless sorrow, and a weariness which almost matched Honor's own. But not anger. Not at Honor. There was anger, a deep, seething rage, but it was directed at another target. At the men and women who had callously used her, just as surely as they'd used Honor or Hamish, for political advantage.

'You're not as tall as I expected from the talk show circuit and news reports,' Lady Emily observed, with a faint smile. 'I expected you to be at least three meters tall, and here you are, scarcely two and a half.'

'I think we all look taller on HD, Your Grace.'

'So we do.' Lady Emily's smile grew broader. 'I always did, at any rate,' she went on, and her tone and emotions alike were barren of any self-pity for those vanished days. She cocked her head—the only thing, besides her right arm, that she could move—and gazed up at Honor thoughtfully.

'You look as if this has been even uglier for you than I was afraid it had,' she said calmly. 'I regret that, just as I regret that you and I must meet under these circumstances. But the more I've thought about it, the more it's become clear to me that it's essential for the three of us to decide how we will all respond to these . . . people.'

Honor looked down into those brilliantly green, understanding eyes, and felt something deep within her begin to yield as she tasted the genuine compassion at Emily Alexander's core. There was resentment, as well. There had to be, for however special Lady Emily might be, she remained a human being, and no mere mortal confined forever to a life support chair could look at Honor, standing beside her husband, and not resent the younger woman's physical health and vitality. Yet that resentment was only a part of what she felt when she looked at Honor, and her understanding, her refusal to prejudge or to condemn, reached out to her guest like a comforting embrace.

Lady Emily's eyes narrowed slightly, and she pursed her lips. Then she glanced at Hamish, and one graceful eyebrow rose as she saw the treecat in his arms. She started to speak, then paused and visibly changed what she'd been about to say.

'I see we have even more to talk about than I'd expected,' she said instead, gazing speculatively at Samantha. 'But that should probably wait. Hamish, I think Her Grace and I need to get to know one another. Go find something to do.'

A whimsical smile took the possible sting from the final sentence, and Honor surprised herself by smiling back. It was a fragile, weary smile, but genuine, and White Haven actually chuckled.

'I will,' he agreed. 'But I've already told Nico to ask Cook to put together something for dinner, so don't take too long.'

'If we take too long, it won't be the first time dinner's gotten cold,' his wife replied serenely. 'Now go away.'