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  Philip retorted mildly, “As I have mentioned before, Osborne, I have not been accepted by Lord Strathern to the degree that he would tell me a secret such as the date and time of his son’s return to England.” He shrugged dismissively, then tried what he feared would be a forlorn hope, for he badly wanted to escape from the trap he found himself in. “Evidently my services are not needed, for you have a well-informed spy in the Royalist ranks already. Certainly a more capable spy than I shall ever be.”

  Eyes narrowed, Osborne said calculatingly, “What do you mean?”

  Real amusement lit Philip’s features. “Come now, sir! There is no need to dissemble with me. Half the county has been the recipient of a visit from the troops you brought here to capture Thomas Leighton. As I was unable to tell you when and where he was to arrive, I must infer that someone else did.”

  Osborne’s eyes snapped wide open and he assumed a look of innocence. “And how did you know that my men were at the traitor’s arrival?” He cocked his head. “There was an unknown cavalier there who spoiled the perfect chance to capture Leighton. I’ve been wondering who that was.”

  Philip’s heart began to pound, but he let none of his dismay show on his face. He cursed himself roundly, though, for forgetting to guard every word he said to Sir Edgar Osborne. “I knew because I visited Lord Strathern today. He made mention of it. As to the unknown rider, I cannot help you, for I was not there.” Philip allowed himself a grim smile. “Perhaps if I were a better spy I would have been. Now then, what is the point of keeping me involved in this unhappy affair when you have a man who can supply you with the information you need?”

  A crafty look appeared on Osborne’s face. He thoughtfully examined his boots for some moments before replying to Philip’s remark. “And if I do have an agent secreted in the ranks of the local Royalists, what business is it of yours?”

  “None whatsoever,” Philip agreed blandly. “I wish to know nothing about the fellow. In fact, since I plan to stay awhile in West Easton, I would prefer not to learn which of my neighbors is selling out his friends for thirty pieces of silver. I am glad, however, that my dubious services will no longer be needed by the Lord Protector.”

  Osborne’s head snapped up. “Who says they will not?”

  Philip’s jaw hardened. “You have one informant, Osborne. Is not one traitor enough?”

  “You see yourself as a traitor?” Osborne hissed, his gaze probing.

  Philip realized the trap his words had set and sighed inwardly. In the unsettled atmosphere of Lord Richard Cromwell’s reign, the Protectorate had become a nest of suspicion. Every word a man said could be taken, twisted and ultimately used against him. Though Philip would have liked to have walked away from the loathsome Osborne and his innuendoes, he knew he could not. Therefore, he carefully clarified his remark. “I am posing as a friend to these people. Though their beliefs are not mine, I am pretending that they are. While I am not a traitor to my real loyalties, I do feel as if I truly am a traitor when I am among them.”

  “You’re too soft,” Osborne sneered.

  Philip stiffened. “I am a simple soldier, Osborne, nothing more.”

  The Roundhead agent snorted. “Don’t pretend to be naive to me. You were brought up at Charles’s court. You know what politics are all about.”

  Philip stroked the nose of his mount. He used the movement to help dissipate some of the anger Osborne’s words and manner had generated. “You are quite correct. I did grow up at court. I also joined the parliamentary army because I believed that the system needed to be changed.”

  “As did all of us who supported the Lord Protector,” Osborne intoned piously.

  Philip thought of the ruthless restrictions that had been placed on the defeated Royalists and never lifted, of the brutal bullying an officer like Weston believed he could get away with, and he abandoned the careful rein he kept on his tongue. There were times when caution was not a man’s best policy. “I wonder now whether or not ten years of war did any good whatsoever.”

  Osborne’s eyes bulged. “I cannot believe I am hearing this! From you of all people! Explain yourself, sir!”

  “No! You explain yourself, Osborne! What the devil did you mean by sending the dregs of the army to West Easton?”

  “The dregs?” Osborne sounded honestly puzzled.

  “Now who is being naive? I’m referring to the overbearing Lieutenant Weston and the pack of wolves with him you ordered to capture Thomas Leighton. When they could not, you had them comb the neighborhood for him.”

  “Ah! Lieutenant Weston.” Sir Edgar observed Philip thoughtfully. “While it is true that the man is not the flower of our officer corps, I would not call him the dregs either.”

  “I would,” Philip retorted, his professional pride injured.

  “Weston serves his purpose,” Osborne said, dismissing him. He pointed a finger at Philip. “I suggest, sir, that you do the same.”

  A muscle twitched in Philip’s jaw. “You do not need my participation in this scheme. You have an excellent spy already in place.”

  “Perhaps I do, Sir Philip Hampton.” Osborne used Philip’s full title quite deliberately, emphasizing that he would not have been allowed to inherit had it not been for the goodwill of the Lord Protector—and the fact that he would be useful located in West Easton. “But my agent runs a terrible risk of being caught out and since I have the good fortune to have a replacement carefully burrowing his way into the core of the Royalist organization in the area I will accept it. That way I have two men on the scene. If one is apprehended the other can carry on. And I am able to rest easy that the information I need will continue to flow my way.”

  Philip’s horse tossed its head, catching the restless tension that burned through him. He stroked the animal’s nose again, to soothe it and himself. “Very well then, it appears I must continue to make myself agreeable to Lord Strathern and his family.”

  Osborne laughed nastily. “That is one way of putting it.” He mounted his horse. As he gathered up the reins he said, “I don’t know why you are so set against this, Hampton. I would find romancing a young woman as pretty as Mistress Alysa to be no hardship at all.”

  Rage traveled like wildfire through Philip and seared into a white-hot fury that was all the more potent because it had to be contained. As Sir Edgar turned his horse to go, Philip said in a low, forceful voice, “A moment, Osborne.”

  The spymaster paused.

  “There is one matter on which I will not bend.”

  Osborne raised his brows. He did not make the mistake of underestimating the potential for violence at this precise moment. “What is that?”

  “Give your lieutenant a lesson in manners. If Weston makes any attempt to harm the people of this area in any way, I shall expose your whole dirty plot and raise a force against him. Do you understand me?”

  Osborne lowered his head in a mock bow. “You are very clear, Sir Philip. Now, if you will excuse me? I must be on my way.”

  He left without saying anything further. Philip let him go, idly rubbing his horse’s cheek as he watched. He stood there for a long time, stroking the horse and thinking about himself, Sir Edgar Osborne, and a traitor in the ranks of the West Easton Royalists.

  *

  Philip mounted his horse when he felt the first spattering of rain. While his mount picked its way through the undergrowth he remained relatively dry, but when he reached open ground there was no shelter from the shower and he was soon soaking wet.

  With a slight grimace, he put his heels to the horse’s sides and urged it into a gallop. As a cavalryman he had spent many wet nights like this. Though his leather jerkin was well-nigh waterproof and his beaver hat kept his head dry, his breeches clung to his skin and rain leaked down the sides of his boots. He well knew how to endure the discomfort of sodden clothes, but he was loath to do so unless he had to.

  His route home took him through Strathern land. He didn’t like trespassing on Lord Strathern’s property afte
r a meeting with Osborne, but there was no easy alternative path. The feeling of treachery that grew on him every time he considered what he was doing made him think again about his dialogue with Sir Edgar Osborne. He loathed the hold the man had over him. What he had agreed to do out of lingering loyalty to Oliver Cromwell’s memory, Osborne had despoiled with lies and innuendo. The man was totally devoid of honor. His whole existence was empty, pragmatic cynicism.

  Moreover, Philip was a man used to being in charge. As a senior officer in the parliamentary army he’d had the respect and obedience of his men and most of his fellow officers. He did not like being the one ordered about. It went against the grain. Even worse, he didn’t trust Osborne. The man claimed he wanted to keep Philip active in his service simply for the security of having an alternate agent. That was possible, but more likely he had other plans for Philip in the future.

  That was a thought that made Philip very nervous, not to mention angry.

  For a man who had chosen the straightforward command and obey of army life, the duplicity of someone like Osborne was anathema. Though it was true Philip had been raised at court and so could reasonably be expected to be hardened to the games people played, he had also quite deliberately selected a different way of life. Not only that, but he had supported a new government, pledged to reform the old ways and clear away the deceptions of the Royalist courtiers.

  Men like Sir Edgar Osborne made him doubt anything had changed, however. Had so many men fought and died simply to put a new set of duplicitous rogues into power?

  The answer was becoming very clear to Philip, but he was not yet ready to decide what he ought to do. He did know that he was sick of this underhanded business.

  His path took him through the trees to the lake where he had watched Alysa Leighton riding like the wind. He slowed, his thoughts naturally going to the lovely, golden-haired woman. A grim light entered his eyes as he remembered Osborne’s remark about her. How dare the odious fellow sully her name!

  A rather warm feeling rose up in him as he thought of Alysa. He believed she was responding to his advances in a most positive way, but he had to acknowledge that his reasons for courting her were flawed—he was using her to get to her father. Lord Strathern was a fine, respectable man whose only crime, if it was one, was that he had sworn allegiance to a king and had never broken that oath.

  Alysa Leighton was a beautiful, intriguing woman whom Philip could very easily learn to feel affection for, if he allowed himself to admit his feelings, and her father, Lord Strathern, was a man Philip respected. He hated lying to both of them.

  When he had agreed to take on this task it had seemed easy. Royalists were the enemy and he never dreamed that he would find himself being tied emotionally to one of their number. Yet here he was, respecting Lord Strathern and attracted to his daughter, while the distaste he felt for Osborne, a representative of the Commonwealth Philip had sworn to serve, was rapidly growing into hatred.

  Over the years he’d cushioned himself by creating an image of Royalists as cynical manipulators who would stop at nothing to achieve their ends. Men like that were easy to hate—and easy to kill. The image had kept him sane through years of war when he had wondered before every battle if one of the men on the other side was his brother—and if, as his unit charged across the field, he would be raising his sword to hack down upon his brother’s head as they broke through the Royalist lines.

  He had never faced his brother in battle, and Anthony had died a dissolute death in exile, but the image Philip had used to protect himself still remained.

  But the image he’d held and what he’d found when he came to West Easton were two very different things.

  If the image was one of ruthless cynicism, the reality was solid, honest men pushed to the limit of their endurance and finally refusing to be pushed any further. Despite the mandate King Charles had given to the Sealed Knot, the Royalists were not cohesive, but fragmented. Organization, as evidenced by Thomas Leighton’s near capture, was not their strong point.

  Osborne did not need two spies in West Easton. Let him acquire what information he could from his turncoat Royalist. Philip would use his discretion in deciding what he would tell Sir Edgar Osborne. Should he hear something vital to the safety of the Protectorate he would certainly pass it along. But otherwise… let the turncoat do the day-to-day spying while Philip concentrated on making a life for himself at Ainslie Manor.

  The skies opened in a deluge that made Philip put aside his thoughts of Alysa Leighton and the future. He urged the horse to increase its speed as much as possible over the slick mud of the clay path, but the stallion slipped in the sloppy going. Philip held it steady, avoiding a nasty spill and a long walk home in the heavy rain, but he was relieved when he had again reached the shelter of the trees.

  In the woods the darkness was complete, since the canopy of leaves blocked what little light remained in the night sky. Philip’s pace slowed to a crawl, but at least he was somewhat protected from the rain.

  He emerged from the forest on Ainslie property. From here his route led him through a series of open fields, past a thick copse of oak trees that fringed the home park, then on to Ainslie Manor. The spirited stallion snorted and shook its head, sensing that the warmth of the stables was not far away. Philip let the animal have its head and it broke into a canter.

  As he neared the trees Philip thought he saw a shadowy movement in them. He frowned, wondering who or what might be abroad on a nasty night such as this, but he didn’t take any precautions. Why should he? This was Ainslie land.

  His land.

  The shot that rang out could have been thunder. Philip was close enough that it deafened him like thunder. He was fortunate that the accuracy of the weapon, or the man handling it, was poor. The musket ball made contact with Philip’s upper thigh, passing through muscle and flesh before escaping to inflict a shallow graze on the horse’s flank. Philip’s wound was painful, but not overly dangerous. A seasoned campaigner and an accomplished rider, he kept his seat as the stallion shied, then let it have its head to run for home.

  Without a weapon of his own, there was nothing he could do to the person who had shot him. As every old soldier knew, it was wiser to retreat and fight another day than to march headlong into certain death.

  For now he would have to retreat. But later….

  Later he intended to find out who had lain in wait for him and why.

  Chapter 8

  Lady Strathern had always maintained that gossiping with servants was unacceptable behavior for any member of the Leighton family and for the most part her daughters obeyed the dictum. On this sunny afternoon, however, Prudence couldn’t resist listening to the tidbit of news her old nurse brought from the village. The information made her open her eyes wide and she could hardly wait to rush into the house to tell Alysa what she had just heard.

  She found her sister in the parlor, dressed in a serviceable gown of dark brown cloth, the skirt closed in the front and with no ornamentation on the bodice. She was instructing a new maid, whose dress was not much plainer than Alysa’s, on the art of the curtsey. Prudence interrupted unceremoniously, unable to contain her excitement. “Alysa! You have no idea what has happened!”

  Alysa looked over, her expression amused. “You are quite correct, little sister, I don’t. But I have a feeling you are about to tell me.”

  “It is the most awful thing, Alysa!” Prudence flounced down on the sofa, the skirt of her yellow gown flung wide, showing the peach petticoat beneath. She set her lips together and stared pointedly at the servant.

  Alysa frowned, then suddenly realized that Prudence wanted her to dismiss the maid so that she could impart her news privately. “You may go, Matilda. I will send for you when I am ready to resume our lesson.” She waited for the girl to close the door behind her before saying, “Very well, Prue. Now that we are alone pray do give me your news, or I fear you will burst before my very eyes!”

  Prudence leaned forward, he
r eyes bright with anticipation, but her countenance suitably serious. “The most terrible thing has happened.”

  “So you said before,” Alysa commented when Prudence stopped speaking and began to nibble her lip nervously. She smiled encouragingly and said, “Prue, do stop trying to find the right words and just blurt out what you know! It is the best way.”

  Prudence gave her a rueful little smile and nodded. “I’faith, you are right, Alysa! It is just that I thought… but no, if I am to pass these bad tidings to you I must do it truthfully and clearly.”

  Alysa paled. “What is it, Prue? Has something happened to Thomas? Have the Protectorate troops captured him?”

  “Thomas? Heavens, no! My news is not about Thomas!”

  “Then who?”

  Prudence looked surprised. “Why, about Sir Philip Hampton, of course.”

  Alysa relaxed a little, but her body remained tense. “What about Sir Philip?”

  “He’s been shot!”

  “Shot!” After a stunned moment Alysa was able to add, “By whom?”

  “No one knows. That is what is so terrible! He was riding back to Ainslie last night and someone shot him in his home woods. He was able to stay on his mount and reach the manor safely, but there is no telling what might have happened to him if he were not such a fine horseman.”

  “Who told you this?”

  Prudence cocked her head as she scrutinized her sister. “Nanny Green. She says it is all over the neighborhood.”

  Nanny Green’s name put paid to the possibility that this was nothing more than wild gossip, like the sort that had been circulating in West Easton ever since Thomas had landed in England. However, since old Nanny Green was well connected in the village, she could be relied on for reasonably accurate news.

  An unnatural calm settled over Alysa’s features. “Do Mama and Papa know about this?”