by Louise Clark
There was no surprise in Alysa’s eyes. Philip could not even read disappointment there.
“At first I did wonder,” she said, “but I could not believe that you would do the underhanded tricks that the spy in our midst has done.” She watched him steadily. “As I have come to know you, I realized that you are a man of honor, whatever your political beliefs. You would not betray those you called friends.”
Philip’s expression was serious, despairing. “I thank you for your faith in me, Alysa, but—”
“Did you notify the authorities of the day and time of my brother’s arrival?”
“No.”
“Did you set fire to the smith’s forge and barn?”
A small smile cracked Philip’s set features. “No.”
“Did you suggest that the troops should intrude on our Sunday worship in the hope of capturing my brother?”
The smile hardened and died. “No.”
“Then you are not guilty of the crimes that have been committed against my family and the people of West Easton.” She stretched out her hand, reaching for him. “Philip, forget why you came to Ainslie. Remember only that you are innocent of the crimes that have plagued this area. Help me now to find my sister.”
“Alysa, I may not have done those things, but I am a spy. I report to a man called Osborne who is staying at an old inn some distance from the village. This is also where the troops are stationed. The last time I saw Osborne, he admitted to me that he was receiving information from someone else, a man who has lived in this area for a long time and who is trusted by the Royalists.” He hesitated, unsure how she would react when he told her who he believed the spy really was. “I think that man is Cedric Ingram.”
Alysa gasped and sat bolt upright. “Cedric Ingram! But that cannot be! Why, we have known him for years. His family is connected to the most ardent Royalist families in the realm! His position is beyond censure.”
“Exactly. But remember, he is not the owner of Ingram Abbey, he only manages it for his brother, the Earl of Easton, who is in exile. Should Charles Stuart be reinstated to his throne, the earl would return and Cedric would lose his power, his position and his income. All are persuasive reasons to pretend to support a cause, while at the same time to work against its success.” Philip watched while Alysa considered that. When her eyes clouded he knew that he had made his point.
“Then, if Master Ingram is the spy, he could well have been lying to us when we spoke to him this afternoon,” she said slowly, thinking things through.
Philip stood. “He undoubtedly was.”
Alysa stared ahead of her, her eyes focused inward as she remembered the conversation at Ingram Abbey. “There were several things he said that struck me as odd at the time. I did wonder, but—” She shrugged and looked at Philip, her expression baffled. “He is my father’s friend! How could he consider putting Prudence in danger?”
Philip’s mouth twisted. “He is a desperate man, grabbing whatever opportunity arises. Think, Alysa! If the Lord Protector continues in power Ingram has proved that he is worthy of reward. If the king regains his throne, Ingram will claim he has been loyal through the hardest of years. His statement would have the backing of your father and, through him, members of the Sealed Knot. Cedric would become a man of influence in the new government. Either way he wins.”
Alysa’s eyes began to sparkle with outrage. She stood up and started to pace impatiently. “What you are suggesting is abominable! Philip, we must thwart him as well as find Prudence.” She stopped, all business now. “Have you any suggestions?”
The abrupt change from a frightened, vulnerable woman to a decisive Amazon was so typical of his Alysa that Philip almost laughed. Instead he tamed the inappropriate pleasure surging through him and concentrated on the problem at hand. “If Ingram captured Prudence he would not be such a fool as to keep her at his house. He would hide her elsewhere. Osborne would also be involved. Even if Prudence didn’t know of his existence, he would consider her to be an first-rate tool for bargaining.”
“What do you mean?” She stood tensely, her hands balled into fists at her sides. As Philip strode over to her, she watched him with an alarmed frown in her blue eyes.
He sought to soften the words he had to say by cupping her cheek in his palm. “Your sister would be an excellent hostage to exchange for your brother, Alysa.”
Her eyes widened in dismay. “Is that what this is all about? Was Prudence captured so that she could be exchanged for my brother? Did Cedric plan all of this when the soldiers were once again foiled at the church?”
Philip thought about that as he gazed deeply into her lovely eyes. Her suggestion had merit, but from what he had learned, Prudence’s disappearance seemed to be an act of impulse. “I don’t think so. I would guess that Prudence had the misfortune to see Ingram in a compromising position. Once that happened he had to keep her from returning to her family and disclosing what she had seen. Now that she is in their hands, however, she has provided them with an unexpected but excellent counter for your brother.”
“What can we do?” Alysa asked, gazing hopefully up into his eyes.
Philip answered with more assurance than he felt. “Find Prudence before any damage is done.”
“How?”
She trusted him. Without a shadow of a doubt, Philip read her faith in her eyes. Suddenly anything seemed possible. “We’ll start by visiting the inn where Osborne is staying. It is possible that Prudence is being kept there under guard. If she is, it will be no great matter to rescue her.”
“And if she is not?”
“Then we must look for her elsewhere.” Philip ran his thumb down Alysa’s cheek. “Fear not, my lady. Your sister will come to no harm. Nor will your brother.”
Alysa caught his hand in hers and turned it over. Softly she kissed his palm. “Thank you, Philip. I knew I could rely on you.”
He let his hand rest in hers for what seemed an eternity. From that moment he was committed heart, loyalty and honor to Alysa Leighton.
Chapter 16
Darkness was falling as the aged coach that had served old Richard Hampton for most of the days of his life drew up in front of the decrepit inn. Testily, Philip jumped down from the vehicle without waiting for his coachman to come to his assistance. He was dressed in one of his new suits—a short, skimpy doublet of blue silk and black breeches adorned with bunches of blue ribbon loops and rosettes at the knees. Over his shoulders was draped a silk cloak in a blue that matched the doublet and on his head was his wide-brimmed felt hat with the rakish feather.
With his long, curling black hair, he looked very much the aristocratic Cavalier gentleman, and as he spoke to the driver, he assumed the curt, arrogant tone that had given many Royalists a bad name in the past. “Once again your faulty sense of direction has placed my lady and me in an awkward position. You are just fortunate that you were able to find a place for us to stay the night.” He sent a brooding look at the old building. “If there is a room to be had. Help my lady from the carriage while I talk to the proprietor of this establishment.” He stomped off without waiting for a reply.
The coachman, who had been fully briefed on his part in the action, climbed down from his place on the box, muttering darkly. He was still scowling as he lowered the stairs and helped Alysa down.
On her lovely features was the haughty expression of a gentlewoman pushed to the end of her endurance and she too spoke sharply to the servant. “Pray assume a more pleasing mien, coachman. As my husband said, it is your poor judgment that brought us to this pass.” She sniffed and cast a scornful glance around the courtyard. An ostler dressed in a grubby tunic was headed toward them. Deliberately, she raised her voice so the man could not help but hear. “Had you not insisted that you knew a quicker way, we would not have become separated from the coach bearing our trunks and servants. Now we shall have to endure a night in this… this place without the comforts of our own sheets and fresh clothes. I hold you responsible!”
With that she swept away, her full, silken skirts rustling an imposing accompaniment to her feigned annoyance. She was robed much more elegantly than she had been when she rode frantically over to Ainslie Manor, for she had returned to Strathern long enough to change and leave a note for her father explaining the desperate plan she and Philip had embarked upon. Behind her the coachman announced to the ostler that he was a good parliamentary man and shouldn’t have to put up with these high and mighty Cavaliers. The ostler nodded agreeably and started to unhitch the horses.
Inside, Philip had taken a quick look around to assure himself that neither Osborne, Cedric Ingram, nor the lieutenant were in the taproom before he shouted lustily for the landlord and demanded accommodations.
The innkeeper was a skinny, harried looking man who was not used to having so much company all at one time. He gaped at Philip and repeated blankly, “A room? A private parlor? For the night?”
Philip raised his eyebrows haughtily. “That is correct, innkeeper. For my wife and me. Do you or do you not have rooms to rent?”
“Aye, we have rooms,” the man said hurriedly. “I mean we do rent rooms. But, at this time… you see, we have a troop of cavalry staying here and, well, I hate to say it, but there are no rooms left.”
Philip narrowed his eyes. “Do you mean that you would turn me away so that a soldier could have a soft bed in a warm room for the night? You would make my lady and me sleep in our carriage in your courtyard so a soldier could stay in his warm bed? What kind of nonsense is this?” Philip’s voice rose as he spoke and with each increasing note the landlord cringed a little more.
“Your point is well taken, sir,” he said hastily, hoping to stem Philip’s rising tide of anger. “Perhaps if you returned to West Easton—”
“West Easton? What is that? That tiny village we passed through a few miles back?”
“Aye, sir, it is—”
“Absurd! There is no inn there.”
Philip was quite correct; there was no inn in West Easton. The innkeeper rushed in, his tongue tripping over itself as he tried to explain. “No indeed, sir, there is not. But—”
“But what then?”
“Well, sir, there are several fine houses in the area, owned by most respectable people. I am sure any one of those families would be happy to help a traveler in trouble.”
“You expect me to go to the home of a stranger, knock on his door and ask for sanctuary for the night?” Philip repeated, aghast.
Put that way the innkeeper could only agree that his suggestion sounded farfetched.
Alysa, who had entered in the middle of this dialogue, pulled off her gloves in a weary way and said in a bored tone, “Simply tell one of the soldiers that he must vacate his room for the night.” She looked around the little inn’s hallway disdainfully. “I suppose it is too much to hope that it will be possible to arrange for a private parlor as well.”
The innkeeper’s mouth gaped open.
“Yes, I can see that it would be.” She flicked her gloves in Philip’s direction. “I shall leave you to make the arrangements, my dear. I shall be in the common room soothing my parched throat.” She drifted off, a vision in magenta and white.
Philip stared with amusement at the innkeeper, whose expression said that he had been totally overwhelmed by Alysa’s autocratic charm.
“Which soldier should I evict?” the man asked dazedly.
Philip raised his brows again, but the amusement remained in his eyes. “The one with the most comfortable room, innkeeper. Would you expect my wife to accept anything less?”
“That would be Lieutenant Weston,” the innkeeper said, musing aloud.
Much as Philip liked the idea of the lieutenant spending a night sleeping in the stables, he did not want the man asking questions and demanding answers, so he pretended to be shocked. “Not an officer! ‘Od’s blood, even in these times the man might well be a gentleman. Evict one of the rank and file.”
The innkeeper looked relieved and said that he would do it immediately. Philip nodded and strolled into the taproom at a leisurely pace.
There he found Alysa seated in one corner, sipping gingerly from a tankard. The loud voices and raucous laughter that had echoed from the room before Alysa entered it were hushed now as the uniformed soldiers seated at several tables silently stared at her, some surreptitiously, some openly. Philip glared at each and every one of them, as furious at this ogling of his lady as any true husband would be. The men responded to his hard, challenging glances by lowering their eyes or turning their faces away. Only one or two continued to look on for a short time after he had silently challenged them. Then even those bold souls quailed under the hot blast of fury that shot from his dark eyes.
“This is ale,” Alysa said in a loud, querulous voice as he sat down at the table. “They were able to serve me nothing better. They do not even stock a decent wine here!” She fiddled irritably with the tankard. “Did you make the arrangements for a room?”
He nodded, afraid to say anything lest the laughter in his voice be audible to their eagerly listening audience.
Alysa’s lips tightened, in temper apparently. “Good.” She pushed the tankard aside with a disdainful flick of her fingers. “I shall go up immediately. Pray order me a plate of supper and, my dear, do try to wheedle a decent beverage out of the barkeep here. I fear the man is a trifle hard of understanding. Perhaps conversation with another man would help convince him that I do not thrive on such coarse beverages as beer or ale!”
Philip lounged in his chair as he watched her sweep from the room; then he lazily called one of the servants to the table and ordered the best meal and bottle of wine the inn was capable of producing to be delivered to their bedchamber. That task done, he returned to his indolent contemplation of the taproom while he consumed his own tankard of ale.
The plan was for Alysa to search the upper floor for Prudence while most of the residents of the inn were out or down in the taproom enjoying a glass of beer or their dinners. Philip would wait in the public room to keep the occupants there from returning to their chambers.
Once she had checked the second floor, Alysa would return to the taproom, announce that the bedchamber they had been given was simply not suitable and insist that they continue on their travels or do as the landlord suggested and return to West Easton to throw themselves on the mercy of the owners of one of the great houses there.
The plan would have worked, except for the inopportune arrival of Cedric Ingram. Philip heard him in the hallway loudly demanding to know if Osborne was in the building. The innkeeper’s frightened voice squeaked that Sir Edgar was in his room, but he was not expecting…. Then the sound of footsteps told Philip that Ingram had headed upstairs. Philip downed his ale and rose to his feet, trying not to seem hurried, but desperately afraid that Ingram would run into Alysa in the upstairs hallway. At best this would ruin her reputation. At worst Ingram would have another hostage to exchange for Thomas Leighton.
At the top of the stairs Philip didn’t know whether to be relieved or worried when he found the silent hallway empty. He paused, wondering which of the rooms hid Alysa. He was about to go down the passage, trying doors and damning the consequences if he barged in on Osborne and Ingram, when a door at the far end opened a crack and Alysa’s blond head peaked out. She saw him and motioned for him to come to her. Philip strode down the hall, relieved beyond measure that she was safe.
“What happened?” she hissed as she closed the door behind him.
“Ingram arrived demanding to see Osborne,” Philip said grimly. “The innkeeper sent him upstairs directly.”
“He almost caught me.” Alysa sighed. “Now what do we do?”
“Stay put for the moment,” Philip said after considering their options. “We cannot very well leave until Ingram does.”
Alysa looked around the small, spartan room. “No, I suppose not. Very well, let us eat the dinner the landlord will be sending up and see what happens afterward.”
There was silence for a space after that. By the standards of Ainslie Manor and Strathern Hall, the room was quite tiny. Of necessity, the furnishings were simple. A wide, plainly made bed was pushed against one wall, with a narrow chest at its foot. A straight-backed chair had been placed by the fireplace, but there was little distance between it and the bed. Alysa had sunk down onto the chair, leaving Philip the option of sitting on the bed or standing.
He eyed the surprisingly clean spread covering the white sheets dubiously, thinking of all the implications of a man and a woman in a small room dominated by a double bed and decided that standing would raise the fewest expectations in his own mind. He wondered if Alysa’s thoughts were as outrageous as his and glanced her way.
She was staring into the fireplace, biting her bottom lip. Philip decided she hadn’t considered the big bed and all it implied and thought he should be relieved. Insensibly, he was piqued. Perhaps she didn’t share the fierce attraction that had drawn him to her against all his beliefs and good sense.
Under the intense scrutiny of his eyes Alysa shivered. The tension in the room tightened. Slowly, almost reluctantly, she lifted her gaze from the safety of the leaping flames and turned her eyes toward Philip. Triumph filled him, for in her eyes he saw a need that could be quenched by him alone. Desire filled the room, warm and enticing.
“Alysa,” he said, taking a step toward her.
Her lips parted, but she never made her reply, for there was a knock on the door.
Philip stiffened. Soundlessly he moved to the door easing his sword in its scabbard as he went. Alysa sat immobile, hardly daring to breath. The change, from the heat of passion to the promise of danger, was almost too sudden for her to take in. So she waited silently while Philip eased the door open a crack.
The hesitant voice of the innkeeper made them both wilt with relief. “I brought the food you requested, sir,” he said, coming into the room as Philip opened the door wider.