Lover's Knot

by Louise Clark

  Prudence opened her eyes wide and managed to look surprised. “I have no idea.”

  Her contrived innocence made Alysa cast her a sharp look as she stood decisively. “Then let us go and tell them, shall we? Is Nanny Green still about? She should be with us to supply the details when we announce the news.”

  Prudence fell into step beside Alysa. “Nanny doesn’t know any more than what I told you. She heard the story from the barber who went to Ainslie Manor to attend to the wound.” She looked at her sister critically. “You are so calm, Alysa. I thought sure that you would be distressed that Sir Philip was hurt. Instead you prosaically ask if Mama and Papa know and suggest we tell them. I’m disappointed.”

  A grim, little smile curled Alysa’s fine lips. “My dear sister, the man is nothing more than a neighbor. Of course I am concerned about his mishap, but….”

  Prudence made a sound that was suspiciously close to a snort. “Of all the fustian! Admit it, Alysa, you like Sir Philip!”

  “I hardly know the man,” Alysa said gruffly.

  Prudence cast her a disbelieving look.

  “Yes, all right, I do like him, perhaps too much!” Alysa’s emotions rose to the surface and poured out freely.

  “Well then, don’t you care that he has been shot?”

  Alysa stopped abruptly, the expression on her face mutinous. “Yes, I care! However, there is nothing I can do, beyond making sure that Papa knows that a brigand is afoot in the area. He will do all he can to find the culprit.”

  “In the meantime, Sir Philip might die!” Prudence allowed the melodramatic words to lie in the air between them. She smiled with satisfaction as Alysa’s skin paled.

  “Surely not!”

  Prudence shrugged. “Nanny Green said the wound was not bad and the barber thought it should heal fine, but,” she added, shaking her finger for emphasis, “one never knows with a gunshot wound, does one?”

  Alysa hesitated, her large blue eyes shadowed. Suddenly she lifted her brown cloth skirt and whirled away from Prudence. “Sister, I charge you with ensuring that Papa is informed of this heinous crime. Pray tell Mama that I will be home whenever possible. I will send a servant with a time when I have a better idea of how long I will be.”

  Prudence’s eyes lit up. “Alysa, what are you doing?”

  “I’m going to Ainslie,” Alysa tossed over her shoulder as she headed for the door. “To nurse Sir Philip back to health.”

  Prudence laughed delightedly. “Wait for the coach, dear sister. You will get there much faster than by walking!”

  Alysa looked over her shoulder and wrinkled her nose at her sister. “Don’t forget, explain to Papa.”

  Prudence nodded at her sister’s departing back. She was well satisfied with the effects of her meddling.

  *

  As the coach lumbered up the curving drive to Ainslie Manor, Alysa peered out the window, searching the weathered stone facade of the building for evidence that its owner had not been swept away by the tide of events. The house dozed in the afternoon sunlight, serene and peaceful. Alysa, who had been expecting at least some activity, wondered fleetingly if Prudence had decided to play a trick on her and had invented the story. Seconds later she dismissed the errant thought. Prudence wasn’t capable of creating such a tale.

  At the front steps, the coach drew to a halt. Ashton, the butler at the manor, opened one side of the imposing double doors, just as a footman jumped down from the coach to help Alysa alight.

  “Good day, Mistress Leighton,” Ashton said, eyeing Alysa dubiously. She had paused to throw a sturdy black cloak over her shoulders while the coach was being readied, but hadn’t taken the extra time needed to change into a more elegant gown.

  “Hello, Ashton,” Alysa replied, smiling. “How is your good wife? In health, I hope.”

  The butler, who had lived all of his life in West Easton and married one of the maidservants from Strathern Hall some four years before, unbent considerably. A broad smile crossed his face. “I’m right pleased to say that she be with child, Mistress Alysa. She’s due mid-August.”

  “Why, that is wonderful news!” Alysa said, climbing the steps and gliding into the house. As she shrugged off her cloak she noticed that the wood paneling on the walls had a high gloss to it that she had never seen before and that the slate floor had been scrubbed clean. Her brows rose as she handed the cloak to the butler.

  He nodded. “Sir Philip likes a clean house, he does. Soon as he arrived he set the maidservants—and some of the men too—to work polishing and scrubbing. The manor has taken on a whole new face thanks to him.”

  Another of the positive things she had heard about Sir Philip Hampton. Unbidden, the dismay she had felt when she heard of his accident rose up and threatened to suffocate her. Desperately, she clung to her calm. “Now then, Ashton, I have heard of Sir Philip’s mishap and have come to see him. Take me to him, if you please.”

  The butler looked at her dubiously once more, but he bowed obediently. “Of course, Mistress Leighton. This way please.”

  Alysa was somewhat surprised when Ashton led her, not up the grand staircase to the second floor where the bedrooms were located, but to one of the parlors that looked out on the back of the house.

  “Mistress Alysa Leighton,” Ashton announced in stentorian tones as he opened the door. He stepped aside to allow Alysa to enter and she automatically did so. The room was furnished with several high-backed chairs and a sofa set before the fireplace. A table decorated with carved leaves and flowers rested below one of the windows, which pierced the exterior wall and bathed the room in light. Alysa’s eyes widened as she saw Philip stretched out on the sofa, reading a book.

  He was wearing a long, loose garment known as a nightgown, which was tied by a broad sash at the waist. One leg was propped up on a pillow, but there was no other evidence that he had been injured. Some of the worthy sentiments that had supported Alysa’s bold decision to come to Ainslie began to dissipate.

  At his butler’s announcement, Philip looked up. His face was set in its habitual serious expression, but when he saw Alysa, he smiled.

  Alysa felt her heart leap. Sir Philip Hampton did have a truly charming smile.

  “I hope you will forgive me for not rising, but the local sawbones tells me I am fortunate that I was wounded only slightly. Even so, if I want the injury to heal quickly I must not move about any more than necessary.”

  “Then it is true.” Alysa moved rather hesitantly toward him.

  The grimness returned to Philip’s features. “That I was shot on my own lands last night? Yes, it is true enough.”

  “But you are not seriously hurt.”

  Philip heard the tremor in Alysa’s voice and hastened to reassure her. “It is naught but a flesh wound. I will be on my feet again in a day or two. The ball passed through some muscle, unfortunately, which makes walking awkward. Otherwise, I would ignore the good barber’s advice and go about where I pleased.”

  “I thought you were on your deathbed!”

  Philip’s sweet smile warmed his features. “Rumor has, as usual, outdone itself. I promise you, Mistress Leighton, that a month from now I won’t remember this happened.”

  Alysa sank down on a chair, clutching her hands together. “I… I really don’t know what to say. I feel like such a fool.”

  Philip continued to watch her with warmth in his eyes. “You have nothing to apologize for, Mistress Alysa. Indeed, I am flattered that my mishap brought you over here so quickly.”

  Alysa was becoming very aware that she was alone in the room with a very handsome man. The light touched his black, shoulder-length hair with gleaming highlights and the figured crimson silk of his garment made his dark skin look more swarthy than it was. His coloring was very much like that of the young King Charles, whom Alysa had always considered to be a very romantic figure of a man.

  Philip Hampton did not resemble the young king she remembered, however. Though both shared a thin face, a long, straight
nose and a wide mouth with firm, well-shaped lips, it was in expression, more than anything, that Alysa saw a difference. There was no light laughter in Philip’s dark, heavy-lidded eyes and his lips were usually closed tightly together, as if he was keeping secrets. Alysa knew that his mouth could curve upward in a sweet smile that would melt a lady’s heart, but he did not cast his smiles about casually, unlike King Charles, who had smiled often, even in the direst of circumstances. To Alysa, Philip’s rare smile was as priceless as a precious jewel.

  Being with Philip now was giving Alysa thoughts a well-brought-up woman shouldn’t have. Thoughts such as how his firm lips would taste under hers and what his long fingers would feel like stroking her skin. She blushed, suddenly very aware that when she had rushed over to be by Philip’s sickbed she hadn’t bothered to change out of the old, plain gown she wore for working around the house. With his dark eyes warm on her skin she wanted to look her best for him.

  Her composure in shreds, she said the first thing that came into her mind. “You were kind enough to rescue me when my horse bolted, sir. I suppose I was just returning the favor.”

  “And I am most grateful.”

  As Philip studied her thoughtfully, Alysa forced herself to meet his eyes, despite her shyness. Her heartbeat speeded up while her breathing slowed. She moved her hand, almost as if to reach out for him, and the spell was broken.

  “I hope you will stay and join me in refreshments. Though I am not badly injured, I am bored with my own company. I cannot be up and around as I would like,” Philip explained with a whimsical little smile. “Your presence would mean a great deal to me.”

  Alysa knew she should go, but the words of refusal never came to her lips. “I would be delighted, Sir Philip.” Her conscience got the better of her. “I cannot remain long. Indeed, I should not have come over here without my sister or Mama for company.”

  Philip glanced ruefully at his bandaged leg. “I promise not to compromise your virtue, fair lady.”

  Alysa had to laugh. “Thank you, sir. You are most kind.”

  He fumbled for something beside him on the sofa and came up with a brass bell, which he rang. Ashton reappeared with such speed that it was apparent he had been waiting just outside the door. Alysa sent Philip a speaking look, full of amusement. His eyes twinkled as he gravely ordered ale for himself, a glass of sweet wine for Alysa and a plate of cakes.

  After the butler had departed, Alysa said dryly, “I fear every word we speak will be grist for the gossip mill. We must take care, sir, to choose topics of general interest.”

  “Such as?”

  “Why, the subject which is on everyone’s lips, sir—your unfortunate mishap. Have you any idea who shot you?”

  He frowned. “None. As you know, the night was dark, with rain clouds obscuring the moon and stars. Whoever the scurvy rogue was, he lay in wait for me in the shadows. All I saw was a shape.”

  “Why would someone attack you on your own lands? Do you think it was one of the soldiers in the area?”

  “No. The man was alone and he aimed directly for me. Soldiers rarely act independently and a cavalry man is better at wielding a sword than hitting a target he aimed at with a musket.”

  “You sound as though you speak from experience.” Ashton returned with the refreshments and Alysa helped herself.

  “I do,” Philip replied, taking his tankard of ale and one of the cakes, his favorite kind, from the tray. “Armies, and the men in them, vary only in the colors they fight under.”

  Alysa sipped her wine and thought about his statement. “That is a very cynical opinion, Sir Philip.” She cocked her head and looked at him more closely. “Indeed, it sounds as though it comes from a man who has dedicated his life to the military.”

  “I did.”

  “Oh!” Alysa’s eyes widened. “But I understood you had spent most of your life at court and that it was your brother, your Roundhead brother, who was the professional military man.”

  Philip stared at her blankly for a second or two before his features assumed an amused, mocking expression. “Unfortunately, Mistress Leighton, all men who fought in our civil wars, whatever side they espoused, were professional soldiers. Four or five years in the army will make a soldier out of a courtier, whether he wills it or not.”

  The teasing light in Alysa’s eyes died. “Yes, Sir Philip, I guess you are right.” She frowned. “With these awful troops of Cromwell’s in the area I tend to think of them as the only soldiers England has known.”

  “That is very natural. The war has been over for almost ten years.”

  “And you were in exile for most of them,” Alysa said softly. “What was it like?”

  Philip paused a moment before replying, “Boring.”

  When he didn’t add anything more, Alysa smiled faintly. “I believe you are a man of industry and action, Sir Philip. I can tell that you would not have taken your years in exile easily.”

  Philip answered her gravely. “That is why I agreed to return to Ainslie Manor. I thought there would be more here to interest me.”

  Alysa laughed. “We are a small village, sir. What did you expect to find in West Easton?”

  Philip looked her directly in the eyes. “A great deal less than what I did find, Mistress Alysa.”

  Philip’s voice had softened, becoming a husky caress that charged the atmosphere. Alysa could feel her cheeks heat, with pleasure, not embarrassment. Making a show of finishing her wine, she set aside the glass and plate. “I must go.” Her voice lacked its usual decisiveness. Indeed, there was a wistful note underlying the words, as if she was only saying what she felt she must, not what she really meant. Philip was watching her, his black brows lifted quizzically, his brown eyes tender. Alysa smiled rather hesitantly, wishing she could bask in the warmth of his gaze forever.

  There was a quiet shuffling sound on the other side of the door. Philip looked past Alysa, a frown on his face, and she came alive to the dismaying improprieties of the situation. “I really must go, Sir Philip.” She stood, hesitating as if she didn’t want to conclude the visit. “Perhaps… perhaps, I might visit you again while you are laid up. With my Mama as a companion, of course.”

  “I would like that, Mistress Alysa. I would like that very much indeed.”

  *

  Alysa returned home to find that Prudence had told Lord and Lady Strathern of the attempt on Sir Philip’s life, but had neglected to add that Alysa had rushed to his bedside. Though Alysa appreciated her sister’s attempt to be tactful, she was not prepared to lie to her parents, even by omission, so she owned up over dinner and, as a result of her honesty, received a sharp lecture on the behavior expected of a gentlewoman. Prudence was read an even sterner lecture, but she seemed to be more put out that Alysa had confessed than she was by her parents’ disapproval.

  The next day Lord Strathern rode over to Ainslie Manor to find out what he could about the shooting. Although Alysa asked if she could accompany him, he refused, saying that this would be a conversation between gentlemen only.

  What was said that afternoon, Alysa didn’t know, but her father returned from Ainslie looking grim. She could only guess that he was worried about the lawlessness that had seized the area since Thomas’s return.

  Alysa was more successful in convincing Abigail that they should pay a duty call to Sir Philip while he was unable to get around easily. The two ladies went over to Ainslie in the coach the fourth day after Philip had been shot. Alysa prepared carefully for the visit, dressing in a gown of a deep indigo blue with a silver petticoat. The colors did wonderful things for her eyes and skin, making them glow with an inner light. Over the gown she wore a rich cloak of black velvet and on her gleaming blond hair she pinned a broad-brimmed straw hat at a saucy angle. Abigail was content to choose a more somber gown of earth brown with a tan petticoat and her cloak was a matching dark brown. She was quite willing to allow her stepdaughter to shine alone.

  When they reached Ainslie, they found Philip limpi
ng about, dressed in a fine linen shirt, wide black breeches, gray stockings and black shoes tied with large bows. He moved with the aid of an ornately carved ebony cane and he was visibly relieved to have company. He soon confessed that the inactivity was more difficult than the injury itself.

  Since it was a fine day, Abigail suggested that they sit out on the terrace at the back of the house. Sir Philip called for one of his servants to fetch him his doublet, while others moved chairs out into the sunlight. Abigail directed the placing of the furniture, while Philip and Alysa wandered over to the edge of the terrace to enjoy the sunshine.

  “Your father asked me to join his counsels,” Philip said eventually.

  Alysa smiled warmly at him. “I’m glad. It means that Papa has accepted you. He believes your opinion will be most valuable now that a decision whether or not to rise is near.”

  A shadow passed across Philip’s features and he turned his gaze to the sloping lawns beyond the terrace. “I hope Lord Strathern does not intend to rely too heavily on my views, for if he does he will never participate in a fresh rebellion. I hate the idea of another war. It is so useless. Men are killed or must go into exile or lose the lands that have been in their families for generations. And for what? The opportunity to put a new tyrant on the throne of England.”

  Of all the things in her shaky world, Alysa believed fiercely in the need for a Stuart restoration. “Tyrant, sir?” she said in a low, passionate voice. “How can you speak of our lawful monarch that way?”

  Philip glanced over at her and his bleak features warmed. His dark eyes caressed her, dousing Alysa’s fiery anger and leaving her confused.

  “That’s right,” he said softly, smiling. “You have met the Black Boy. From the time he was a small child he was always able to bewitch women.”

  Alysa thought it odd that Philip would use the common nickname based on Charles’s black hair and swarthy coloring, but she was willing to accept that Philip knew the king much better than she and perhaps felt close enough to the man to refer to him in a familiar way.

  A teasing dimple appeared in her cheek. “Men are not so easily swayed by his charm?”