by Louise Clark
Noticing a particularly large rock, he took Alysa’s arm to guide her around it. Not only did the warmth of her flesh heat him in ways he should have been able to control, but their bodies leaned close to each other for a few short moments and the brush of her skirts against his thigh sent a shimmer of sensation lancing through him.
He should have dropped her arm after they were well away from the obstacle, but he liked the warmth of her in his hand and he found he could not easily give it up. It struck him that they were virtually alone together in a beautiful setting that was the perfect site for a romantic tryst. Grimly he pushed the thought away. But he did not let go of her arm.
“You must have found exile very difficult then. I understand that everything is more intense—all the gossip, the fighting for position, the emotions that are roused.” There was a tiny revealing shake in Alysa’s voice, which told Philip that she too was affected by their proximity. He noted as well that she chose to remark on his more serious comment rather than his last, light observation.
He smiled enigmatically, once more using the truth to substantiate a lie. “I did prefer my days in the cavalry.”
Alysa looked at him sharply, a question in her vivid blue eyes.
Hastily, Philip clarified his statement, once more cursing himself for underestimating Alysa Leighton’s sharp intelligence. “I was speaking of the time I spent serving His Majesty during the war, Mistress Alysa. I was in the cavalry. Despite the desperate times, I found there was much to recommend the life.”
Alysa laughed. The sound was brittle, as if she was relieved by his answer. “Oh, yes, we are back again to your riding ability.”
Philip followed her lead and chuckled too. “I didn’t intend to bring the conversation a full circle, but it seems most appropriate, does it not, to end it here?”
They had reached the point where the cliff softened into hillside. A thick forest clung to the slope and they could walk no farther. Philip released her arm and stepped back, watching as Alysa wandered over to a huge old oak that stood on the edge of the woods. She rubbed her hand along the gnarled trunk, glancing up at the spreading branches. Then she smiled as she looked over at Philip. “When young King Charles stayed with us after the Battle of Worchester, he told us how he had nearly been captured by some Roundhead troops. He hid in the branches of an old oak like this one, and while his trackers milled about below searching for him, he watched them with his heart in his mouth, every moment expecting to be captured. Did he ever tell you that story while you were in Europe together?”
Philip discovered that he hated the dreamy look that had stolen into her eyes as she spoke of the Black Boy, as King Charles’s enemies called him. The nickname had been given because of the young king’s swarthy skin, long black hair and dark eyes, but it could be applied just as easily to Philip himself. He forced himself to smile grimly. “His Majesty and I were never close enough for storytelling, ma’am. I was by way of being a very minor functionary at his courtin-exile.”
“So you did not know him well?”
“To my deep regret, I did not.”
Alysa raised her arched brows. “A pity. He is a charming man. Despite the danger he was in, he had time to spend with those who supported him. I shall always remember the way he spoke so easily to me. He was entirely natural, despite his great rank.”
Alysa’s words told Philip more than he wanted to know. He envisioned a young, impressionable girl swept away by the aura of danger that emphasized the lazy charm of a young man who had always had a way with people. There would have been no time for Alysa to see beyond the carefree facade Charles used to hide his true feelings. All she had seen was a man who had been treated with great unfairness and she resented that treatment and the men who did it.
Philip found that he wanted to smash Alysa’s idealistic vision and replace it with something closer to the truth. His truth. Very gently, he said, “The young man escaping from England after a desperate attempt to regain his father’s throne was charming. His years in exile may have hardened him more than you care to know.”
“All the better for when he is king once more.” Alysa’s eyes snapped.
Philip laughed, without amusement. “A valid point, Mistress Leighton. A little hard seasoning might have made Richard Cromwell more secure in the position his father left him.”
Alysa turned away from the oak and began walking back the way they’d come. Philip strolled along beside her. “Tell me about Richard Cromwell,” she suggested lightly.
Philip shrugged, trying to appear cool. “Like His Majesty, I hardly know the man.”
“But you must have met him when he agreed that you could return to Ainslie!”
“I met more of his advisers,” Philip said ruefully and with complete honesty. “I was told how I should act and what I should say if I was approached by anyone seeking to reinstate the king.”
Alysa’s lovely blue eyes opened wide. “And what was that?”
“Mistress Alysa, I have already been pardoned once for my participation in a rebellion. I would not be given the same consideration again.”
“No, I suppose not.” She looked thoughtfully at his set features. “Did they make you give your parole?”
There was danger in this line of conversation. He could only stretch the truth so far and he hated lying. He wondered too if Alysa’s probing questions had a purpose beyond personal interest. “No, they were so busy telling me what I must do that they forgot to ensure my agreement. I fear the present Lord Protector and his henchmen are not as skilled at enforcing their will as the late Oliver Cromwell was.”
“All the better for those who support King Charles,” Alysa said with a suppressed passion that spoke volumes on her intense belief in the restoration of the monarchy.
They were almost at the horses again. Philip halted and brought Alysa to a stop beside him by catching her hands in his. “Alysa, take care. As inept as Richard Cromwell and his supporters seem, they still have all the weight of the government behind them. The Sealed Knot is rotten from within—”
Her hands curled around his fingers. “What do you know of the Sealed Knot?”
“Everyone knows about the Sealed Knot!” he said impatiently. “The courtin-exile, the Lord Protector and his men. It is an open secret that King Charles authorized six men to link the Royalists in every region of England so that an isolated revolt could become a country-wide rebellion. But someone in the Sealed Knot is selling their secrets to the Lord Protector.”
Alysa pulled her hands away and crossed her arms over her chest. Her expression was stricken, but mutinously defiant. “The Sealed Knot is only six men. Though it is true they have great influence with the king, they are not the ones who would rise against the Lord Protector and his men. It is men like—” She stopped just short of saying a name, but Philip knew that she was speaking of her father. She drew a deep, steadying breath, then demanded, “Who told you the Lord Protector knows of the Sealed Knot?”
Philip hesitated. He knew he had already admitted more than he should.
“Who!”
Reluctantly, he said, “My brother.”
“Your Roundhead brother.”
“Yes.”
Alysa shivered. Though the members of the Sealed Knot never actively participated in acts of rebellion, they were the Royalists’ link with the king-in-exile. As the most prominent Royalist in the area, Lord Strathern was in contact with one of the members of the Sealed Knot. That was how he had learned that Thomas was being sent to England. “I must tell my father.” Though there was urgency in her voice, she was able to smile. “Thank you, Sir Philip, for this information. My family will be indebted to you.”
There was nothing Philip could do but try to make use of his slip of the tongue. “Pray tell you father that I shall be happy to be of whatever assistance I can.” He caught her waist as he prepared to toss her up into the saddle. Once more the hot, instantaneous response to her nearness rushed through him and when she smiled at
him he felt a fierce flush of male pride.
“I shall,” she said softly, moistening her lips in a way that told Philip that she was as affected by their proximity as he was. As she settled into the saddle, he moved away. “And, Sir Philip, you need have no fear that we here in West Easton will expect more of you than you are prepared to give. An honorable gentleman’s word is as important as his actions.”
Philip didn’t reply. Absurdly, her remark made him feel like a traitor. He swung up onto his horse in one lithe motion, and by the time he was mounted, he was again in control of his emotions.
More than once on that ride home, as he kept their conversation on bland subjects, he was aware of Alysa looking at him with questions in her eyes, wondering why he had suddenly reverted to the enigmatic man who kept his own counsel. There was no doubt in his mind that Alysa Leighton represented danger to him.
In more ways than one.
*
“Do you know, Mama, that we have not had company at Strathern Hall for quite some time.” Prudence, dressed in her favorite sky-blue gown and peach petticoat, set a stitch in the handkerchief she was sewing.
The Leighton family was ensconced in the shabby sitting room they habitually used. Dusk had fallen and the candlelight gave the wood paneling a soft glow that made the room seem cozy rather than worn. The chairs they were using were clustered around the fireplace to catch the warmth that took the edge off the crisp spring evening. The ladies were busy with needlework while Lord Strathern idly read a London broadsheet. He occasionally entertained his womenfolk by indignantly reading out what was printed and commenting tartly on the information afterward.
Abigail responded to her daughter’s comment with considerable relief. Politics was not her favorite subject. “These times do not lead to revelry, Prue. The Puritans frown on levity.”
“That is not quite true, my dear.” Strathern looked up from his broadsheet. “Remember when Cromwell’s daughters were married, what was it, a year or two ago? From all accounts the celebrations were quite rowdy. Not only was dancing allowed, but I understand some of the guests became quite intoxicated.”
“What is acceptable for the Lord Protector is not necessarily acceptable for his subjects, especially those who are known supporters of the king.” Abigail snapped her thread in a pointed way that emphasized her words.
Prudence laid the handkerchief she was stitching in her lap. Her expression was indignant. “I was not thinking of a ball, Mama! Merely a small gathering of some kind.” She contrived to look innocent. “For instance, we might hold a reception to welcome Sir Philip Hampton to the area now that Alysa has determined he is truly a respectable person.”
Alysa lifted her golden head and looked at her sister. Her expression was indignant. “You make me sound quite awful, as if I were a grand inquisitor or something!”
“Well, are you not in a way? Are we all not scrutinizing him? The neighborhood takes its cue from us, especially Papa, of course. If we are seen to accept Sir Philip, then he is assured of welcome in West Easton. You told us that you believed Sir Philip was a man of principle. Well, is that not enough?”
Lord Strathern’s expression turned thoughtful. Idly he flicked at a piece of fluff that had adhered to the black cloth of the breeches he wore with a dark green doublet. “I think Prudence has a point. Sir Philip has already made excellent progress in gaining the allegiance of the Ainslie tenants and word has it that he is bringing a fresh viewpoint to the thorny problem of how to return the lands to profitability. We should make it known that he is welcome in West Easton.”
“But, Papa! Would it not be better to wait until after Thomas has left the area?” Alysa protested.
Strathern smiled. It was a remarkably pleased expression that boded no good for anyone who was not of his point of view. “Arrangements have to be made for Thomas’s arrival. I have been cudgeling my mind for some way of having a meeting without drawing notice. What could be more natural, or seem more innocent, than deliberately welcoming a stranger into our midst at this time? It is perfect! We can invite all of the respectable people of West Easton and the surrounding area on the pretext of introducing Sir Philip. Once the party is well begun my committee and I can retire to the King’s Salon and make our plans. When we are finished we simply return to the party and no one is the wiser.”
“Then we are agreed!” Prudence said with delight. “Mama, we must start making arrangements for the party immediately. Shall we hold it a sennight from now?”
Abigail glanced at her husband, who nodded. “That should give us enough time. We will have an informal evening gathering. First Edward must make certain that those gentlemen he wants to confer with are able to attend; then we must invite Sir Philip. After that we will ask those who would expect to be invited to a party of this sort.” She glanced at her family, a general in a ruby gown and white petticoat marshaling the troops. “Now, we have much to do and not much time to do it in. Edward, you must prepare invitations for those you want to meet with so that we can send them off at first light. Alysa, you help your father. Prudence and I will make a list of those who should be invited and begin the other preparations.”
Strathern cast a rueful look at his daughter and said, “Come, my dear, I believe we have been given our orders.”
Alysa willingly set down her stitching. She stood, smoothing the quilted green petticoat she wore under a royal blue gown. “Papa, I know the others will be against it, but I do hope that you will remember to find a way for me to participate in Thomas’s homecoming.”
Abigail sent Alysa a long, level look. “Your papa would be exceedingly sensible if he chose not to let you be a part of your brother’s landing. My heavens, Alysa! The Lord Protector has spies all around us! Do you honestly think that Thomas’s return will remain a secret?”
Alysa lifted her chin. “Sir Philip Hampton was able to return to England.”
Abigail snorted with unladylike vigor. “Sir Philip has a brother who supports the Lord Protector. Moreover, Sir Philip fought in the Civil Wars, not young King Charles’s rising in fifty-one. His crimes have been paid for long since.”
“And Sir Philip is not here to foment rebellion,” Prudence added, finishing her sewing and holding up her handkerchief to admire her needlework.
Alysa’s jaw hardened. “He is my brother, Mama. I would be there when he comes home.”
“Enough!” Strathern said, holding up his hands. “One thing at a time. Alysa, come with me. We must begin if we are to get those invitations written tonight.”
When they had left the room Abigail shook her head and sighed. “Prudence, I hope you do not intend to use your sister as a guide on how to make your way in life. There are moments when I fear that she will come to no good with her nonsensical ideas.”
Prudence said seriously, “No indeed, Mama. Alysa is beautiful and she can have her pick of the men hereabouts, but her ideas are such that I do not think she will ever be willing to commit herself to anyone. She expects too much. I am much more practical. I would like to wed a man of property and position who is not repugnant to me. I do not expect my heart to be involved.”
“Good.” Abigail neatly put her serving away and began to tick names off on her fingers. The subject of Alysa’s inept handling of her matrimonial prospects was lost in the more pressing issues of who was to be invited, what was to be served and what the ladies should wear that evening.
The next few days were busy ones as the invitations were sent out and the acceptances received. Strathern’s committee members were quick to reply, so it was not more than two days later that a note was sent to Sir Philip asking him if he would consider attending a small evening party that Lord and Lady Strathern were holding. Sir Philip too was pleased to accept, so the final set of invitations was sent out.
In the meantime, preparations were going on apace. The house was cleaned thoroughly. The furniture in the Great Hall and the nearby Music Room, so named because of the harpsichord there, was polished until i
t shone. Alysa sat down at the instrument one day and, a little wistfully, played a lively tune upon it, but she knew that dancing would not be advisable. It was disconcerting, though, to realize that the man she envisioned herself dancing with was not Cedric Ingram, but Sir Philip Hampton.
*
When all of the guests had arrived and Sir Philip Hampton had been properly introduced to each and every one, Strathern decided it was the prudent moment to slip away with a few other gentlemen to discuss the details of Thomas’s arrival. Hampton was well occupied and the other guests would not question the disappearance.
“The King’s emissary is to arrive a fortnight from now. The man chosen to visit this area is my son, Thomas, whom you all know.” He paused and looked carefully at each man in the room. “I recently received disturbing information that one of the members of the Sealed Knot cannot be trusted, but I do not know if it is true or not. Nor do I know who the man is. Consequently, I sent Thomas a message telling him that he should land at Fenwick Cove at midnight a fortnight hence. I deliberately changed the time and place of his arrival, so that only those of us in this room know when he is to land. I do not think that there is any danger that we will be met by any of the Lord Protector’s troops. However, I think it wise to keep the greeting party small. Two dozen or more on a lonely beach at midnight would be remarked upon, but a small party of gentlemen meeting a smugglers’ brig will not seem out of the way. We will have a lookout of course, but that too would be normal.”
The four gentlemen in the King’s Salon listened with grave expressions. Cedric Ingram was the first to speak. “A sensible observation, Strathern. Smuggling is rife on this coast, and although the Lord Protector and his henchmen have tried to put a stop to it, so far we have been able to keep it running. Even if a patrol should happen to come across us, they would not suspect the real cause of the gathering.”
“They will arrest us just the same!” said Sir Henry Ballentyne, who was a nervous man. His estate was a dozen miles from West Easton and he was Strathern’s contact with Royalists in the western part of the county. He was the sort of man who was full of opinions, but poor at backing them up. However, men willing to risk their necks in the service of the king were not always easy to find, so Strathern had to overlook his inadequacies.