Lover's Knot

by Louise Clark

  Strathern’s eyes hardened, but he was a just man. “You will not find us ungenerous for the most part, Sir Philip, but times have changed. Of necessity we are more cautious now. And so I ask again, why were you emerging from my woods just now?”

  Hampton raised a dark brow. “As I said, Lord Strathern, my apologies. I did not know I was trespassing on your lands. I was exploring, as I have done since I returned. I can remember certain things about West Easton and its area, but I have not been here since I was a lad. I was merely trying to acquaint myself with the district, as it were.”

  Somewhat mollified, Lord Strathern nodded. The border between Strathern and Ainslie was an irregular line that followed the natural contours of the land. In this particular spot there was a small ridge that pointed like a finger toward Strathern. Here the boundary crossed through the woods that lay between the slopes of the ridge and the pond where they now were. It would be easy enough for Sir Philip to have misjudged the exact line of demarcation. “Perhaps, Sir Philip, you would enjoy your explorations more by riding along with us. We are visiting some of my tenants today. You might find it informative to see how other properties in the area are performing.”

  Executing a sweeping bow that brought him low over the withers of his mount and would do justice to the most polished courtier, Philip said, “I should be delighted, Lord Strathern.” As he clapped his curly beaver over his dark, flowing locks he shot a sideways look at Alysa. “I could not ask for more charming company.”

  Alysa’s faintly mischievous smile tugged at her bowed lips. “Sir Philip, my sister and I will become quite ridiculously puffed up in our own esteem if you continue to shower us with compliments!”

  Philip inclined his head and bestowed one of his devastating smiles on Alysa. “I have no fear of that, sweet lady, for my remarks are more than merely shallow flattery.”

  Alysa laughed, enjoying the repartee and not believing one word. “Indeed sir, you are too kind. But come, we are delaying my father and he has it on good authority that the afternoon will be marred by rain.” She shot Edward a mischievous look and Prudence rolled her eyes.

  Amusement in his eyes, Strathern agreed that they should be going and led the way to their first stop.

  At the cottage of the third tenant, Alysa and Prudence went inside to talk to the farmer’s wife while Edward introduced Sir Philip to the farmer and pointed out various improvements that had been made on the property since the area had been devastated during the war. The repairs had the fresh look of recent work, as if there had not been the money for them earlier. The scars of war ran deep in West Easton.

  Leaving Philip to examine some fencing that had been recently installed, Strathern went off with his tenant to the barn. Philip was still alone when Alysa and Prudence emerged from the cottage. The perfect gentleman, he offered to help them remount, but Prudence suddenly remembered that she had meant to ask the farmer’s wife for a recipe and darted back into the house, a whirl of bright green cloth and sand-brown curls.

  Alysa watched her sister’s precipitous departure with rueful amusement and hoped that Philip Hampton had not noticed Prudence’s contrived attempt to give them a few minutes alone together.

  He hardly seemed aware that Prudence had gone, and as he spoke, he watched Alysa steadily. “I must compliment you on your riding skills, Mistress Leighton. I saw your race as I was riding through the trees and was positive that you would emerge the winner.”

  “Oh!” Alysa wasn’t sure how to respond to that. She thought she discerned an edge of contempt in his deep voice, and she guessed that he’d noticed her deliberate loss to her father. Embarrassed color stained her smooth cheeks; then her blue eyes began to sparkle challengingly. “Indeed, sir, I do enjoy riding, but my father is the better of me.” She slanted him a sideways look as she deliberately changed the subject. “But you do not mention my indiscretion at the pond. How thoughtful of you! The wind is most unkind to ladies who give in to the urge to race.”

  A smile twitched at the corners of Philip’s mouth. Strangely, for Alysa was used to the grim, humorless smiles of Cedric Ingram, the look was full of warm amusement. Her stomach did a little flip and she found herself suddenly breathless. The laughter died out of Philip’s face as his eyes met Alysa’s and saw her involuntary response. His voice lowered a notch as he said huskily, “The wind transformed a veritable goddess into a delightful nymph.”

  The words were nothing more than the usual flowery phrases Royalist ladies expected from their cavaliers, but the rough passion in Philip’s voice gave these a meaning beyond the obvious. For a moment Alysa could only stare at him, disconcerted. Then she managed a shaky laugh. “Sir Philip, you go too far! We are ordinary country folk here, not creatures of myth. I promise you that you will see us looking less than perfect more often than not!”

  Prudence returned at that moment and Philip didn’t reply. Instead, he repeated his offer to help the ladies mount, tossing Prudence up first, then Alysa.

  The action was that of a gentleman helping a lady, but the effect was far more than that. From the moment he put his hands around her waist, Alysa was vitally aware of him. As he lifted her, their bodies were so close that she could smell the warm, clean scent of him. She breathed deeply, enjoying the heady fragrance, even as her flesh tingled with an unexpected pleasure. Never before had a man had this affect on her. She found it unsettling.

  Once in the saddle Alysa tried desperately to collect herself, but his eyes were intent upon her, firing her blood and making her heart thump. They could have been the only people for miles about, so lost was she in the depths of his dark eyes. She started to say something, but at that moment her mare issued a high-pitched scream and reared up on its hind legs. She almost lost her seat, but instinct took over and she clung precariously to the horse.

  “Alysa!” Prudence shouted. Thoroughly agitated, the mare dropped back to the ground and bolted. Alysa had lost hold of the reins, so all she could do was hang on to the mane and pray that the horse exhausted itself soon.

  The mare was charging across a muddy field that had not yet been plowed. The earth caught and sucked at its hooves, slowing the beast, but directly in its path were a stile and a row of trees that separated this field from the next. With no control of the bolting mare, Alysa did not think that she or the horse would come safely over the obstacle. She gritted her teeth, refusing to accept that a nasty fall was inevitable. Slowly, she leaned against the mare’s neck, reaching for the flapping reins. The horse stumbled, almost unseating Alysa. She shrieked and clung to the flying mane, thoroughly frightened now.

  Ahead of her, the stile loomed perilously close. Alysa knew that if the mare tried to jump the fence, she would not be able to keep her seat. Worse, she feared that the horse would not take the jump cleanly and would injure itself. Her heart beat rapidly as she desperately tried to think of a way to save both her mount and herself. No brilliant ideas came to mind, however, for panic had begun to take hold of Alysa’s emotions.

  “No!” she screamed, oblivious to everything but the straining horse beneath her and the dangerous obstacle ahead. She tugged at the mane in a last desperate attempt to turn the horse, but to no avail.

  From somewhere close she heard the low thunder of a second galloping horse. Hope surged in her, but she didn’t dare risk looking behind to see who the rider coming to her rescue was. Besides, it wasn’t necessary. She knew her father would never allow her to come to harm.

  But it wasn’t the gray Lord Strathern rode that gradually drew abreast of Alysa’s sweating chestnut, but Sir Philip’s sleek black stallion. Admiration for his riding abilities drove the panic from Alysa’s mind, because he was guiding the powerful horse with only his knees as he edged the stallion close to her mount. As the horses raced neck and neck he leaned over and plucked Alysa from the saddle as if she were nothing heavier than thistledown.

  She gasped and couldn’t help crying out as she was suspended in the air, but Philip’s arms were strong aro
und her and she was soon safely settled before him. Gradually, the big stallion slowed, responding to silent signals Alysa couldn’t interpret.

  “Are you all right?” There was none of Philip’s usual flowery charm in the words. Right now he was the man of action, stripped of the superficial panache he used as a disguise.

  Deeply shaken, Alysa’s eyes searched his face. “Yes, I’m fine, thanks to you.”

  He shrugged away her thanks, as if they were not necessary. “What happened to make your horse bolt?” he asked, as abruptly as before.

  She frowned. “I have no idea.” Now that the danger was over exhilaration seized her and laughter warmed her voice. “I was rather busy making sure I didn’t take a nasty tumble, you see. I wasn’t able to pause and find out.”

  “No doubt,” he replied curtly. He turned his big horse toward Alysa’s mare, which had come to a trembling stop just before the stile.

  His continuing abruptness made Alysa’s eyes widen. “Sir Philip, I assure you that beyond a scare I was not harmed in any way. Your dismay over my mishap is flattering, but you need not be so concerned on my behalf!”

  Philip frowned for a moment; then his features emptied as he cleared his face of all expression. A moment later he was smiling and Alysa wondered if she had imagined that little moment of careful blankness.

  “Allow me to tell you how delighted I am that you are safe and unharmed, Mistress Leighton. Your father and sister must be beside themselves with worry. If I catch your horse, would you feel able to ride to rejoin them?”

  “Of course.” Alysa couldn’t help staring at him, for the difference in his manner was so pronounced from that of moments before. Moreover, he had withdrawn from her in a very tangible way. Beneath the flowery statements there was none of his earlier passion. He was like a man reciting a poem without knowing the meaning of the words.

  They reached the mare, who sidled skittishly away as they approached. Sir Philip crooned softly to the frightened animal, calming it with nonsense words until he was able to get close enough to grasp the trailing reins. The mare snorted and tossed her head, but didn’t try to escape. He jumped down from his stallion, heedless of the mud dirtying his boots, and reached for Alysa. She slid into his outstretched arms, confident he would keep her safe.

  For a moment he held her against him. They were so close that she could hear the thump of his heart and feel the warmth of his body. A shiver of excitement ran through her and she looked into his eyes, wondering if he had felt the same flaring of emotion she had. Satisfaction enhanced her pleasure, for burning in the dark depths of his eyes was an awareness as keen as hers.

  “Your steed, fair lady,” he said huskily, tossing her up into the saddle. “Allow me to escort you back to your father and sister.”

  “I should be delighted, kind sir,” she replied, keeping her tone as light as his. He kept up an easy flow of conversation as they slowly returned to the cottage and Alysa let him talk while she thought. Once they reached the house, Lord Strathern thanked him profusely, while Prudence exclaimed volubly. The tenant and his family added their own delighted relief to the conversation, creating a pleasant confusion that lasted until Philip announced that he must take his leave and Strathern decided to curtail his visits for the day. Besides, the rain Bailey had predicted now appeared imminent.

  As they rode home Alysa allowed her horse to lag a little behind and Prudence joined her.

  “What a splendid man,” Prudence remarked enthusiastically. “It was fortunate that he was there to rescue you, was it not?”

  “Fortunate indeed. What would I have done if he had not been able to catch me before my horse reached the stile?”

  “I know what a good rider you are. I’m sure you would have come to no harm,” Prudence said cheerfully.

  Alysa looked her sister in the eye. “Did you somehow arrange for my horse to bolt, Prue?”

  Opening her eyes wide, Prudence contrived to look injured. “Alysa! How could you think I would do such a thing?”

  Alysa sighed, her hunch confirmed. “Prudence, there are other, easier ways of throwing me together with Sir Philip, if that was your plan.”

  Prudence laughed. “But none so effective, dear sister.” She kicked her horse into a canter and joined their father. Alysa remained behind, thoughtfully remembering her short discussion with Philip Hampton. Her interest in the man had indeed intensified, but not quite in the way Prudence intended.

  Chapter 3

  Clouds covered the moon and stars, making the footing difficult for Philip Hampton’s sleek black stallion. He let the horse pick its way slowly through the undergrowth, which covered the flanks of the low ridge that jutted like a pointing finger into Strathern land. Despite its proximity to Strathern Hall, the thickly wooded hill was the perfect place for a midnight rendezvous, for the top of the ridge was covered by an old stand of mature trees, which provided a relatively clear space to meet, but also gave adequate cover for men who did not want to be seen.

  Men like Philip Hampton and his government contact, Sir Edgar Osborne.

  As the stallion nosed through the wild tangle of saplings, blackberry vines and bushes, Philip reflected that the hillside, like the arable lands in the area, gave evidence of the depredations of war. Once the whole ridge had been covered by large, mature trees like those that crowned the top, but a wanton fire, caused by parliamentary soldiers when they were camped on the hillside, had burned off the ancient growth, leaving nothing but barren landscape behind. In time vegetation returned, but it would be many years before trees of any size again stood on this hillside.

  The night was very quiet. The sounds of the stallion’s hoofbeats and the snort of its breathing were loud in the dark silence, but Philip was certain he could hear no other telltale sounds. That meant he was the only one in the area, which pleased him, for he wanted to be settled at the rendezvous point when Osborne arrived. Having control of the meeting ground would give him a slight advantage over the other man, and when dealing with Sir Edgar Osborne, he needed every advantage he could get.

  When the stallion breasted the rise, Philip pulled it to a standstill so that he could survey the terrain. His practiced eyes picked out a spot that provided the maximum cover, while at the same time was an excellent vantage point. Without any undue hurry he urged the horse in that direction.

  There he dismounted, tied the stallion where the shadows hid its bulk and settled down to wait. Creative waiting was a skill he had long since mastered. He would use the time to run over his preparations in his mind, making sure that he had not forgotten any obscure details; then he deliberately turned his thoughts away from the crisis that was about to happen. To worry over what could not be changed would only make him tense and edgy, which could affect his judgment when he most needed to be coolheaded and quick thinking.

  So, once he was satisfied that he was ready to cross verbal swords with Sir Edgar Osborne, he began to think of other things. Creature comforts came first. For the first time in a month he did not have to wear the frivolous fashions that a Royalist cavalier would choose. Instead of a skimpy doublet of velvet or satin he was wearing the oiled-leather buff coat of the military. He’d owned the jerkin for years and it shaped to his body in a most comfortable way. Moreover, it was warm, unlike the garments he was required to wear in order to further his claim that he was a Royalist just returned from exile.

  He shifted uneasily as he thought about the deception he had become involved in. When he had agreed to come to West Easton, it all seemed very simple and very logical.

  Osborne had approached him in Scotland, where he was serving under General Monck. Philip had recently been promoted to the rank of colonel and he was discovering that he spent more time at headquarters than out on patrol with his men. Headquarters, to Philip, was the court in miniature. Officers fawned on those in power, while their wives gushed and flirted and often gave their favors to whatever man they thought able to promote their husbands’ careers. Officious clerks cited
rules and regulations to every request and made even the smallest requisition difficult.

  Philip hated it.

  However, his life was the army and he had no private fortune that he could fall back on should he resign his commission, so he had gritted his teeth and accepted what he could not change.

  Then Osborne had come to Edinburgh with the information that Philip had inherited Ainslie Manor. He suggested bluntly, that, as a loyal subject of the Lord Protector, Philip should take up residence at his new property and keep an eye on the Royalists in the area for his ruler.

  Initially Philip had rejected the suggestion. He was a plain, honest man, not a spy, and he disliked slippery, untrustworthy men like Sir Edgar Osborne, to whom he took a quick and very active dislike. Not only that, but Ainslie was his by right of inheritance. Since his uncle had been neutral during the war and Philip had been an active supporter of parliament, there were no crippling taxes that must be paid before he could inherit, as there were on Royalist estates. He could go down to Ainslie any time he wanted without having to agree to spy on his new neighbors in order to gain his property.

  Osborne quickly disabused him of that cheery notion. Philip was a Roundhead. West Easton was Royalist. If Philip did not agree to Osborne’s plan, Osborne would make sure that everyone in the neighborhood was aware that the new owner of Ainslie Manor had supported parliament and later the Lord Protector Cromwell. There would be no point in Philip’s trying to take up his inheritance, for life at Ainslie would be uncomfortable in the extreme.

  Philip’s immediate reaction to this blatant piece of blackmail was to damn Osborne and throw his threats back in his face, but his father, the courtier, had taught him well.