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  Philip smiled and agreed. As he watched Lord Strathern lead his son to the front of the room to call the meeting to order, he pondered the brief encounter. Apparently he had been able to convince Thomas that he was indeed the Royalist brother. He must have. Why else would Thomas not have exposed him then and there?

  Was it possible Thomas had never met Anthony Hampton? There were thousands of supporters of the Stuarts living in exile in Europe. Not all of them were as intimate with the king as Thomas Leighton was. To Philip’s knowledge, his brother had been on the fringes of the court, occasionally being allowed to attend the king, but more often observing from the outside. Exile had been hard on Anthony and he had drunk heavily, a vice that men like Edward Hyde, King Charles’s former tutor and now most trusted adviser, did not want their charge to become addicted to.

  So Anthony Hampton, despite his excellent lineage and the fact that he had known the young king since childhood, had been exiled once again, this time from the very man he’d given up his freedom to follow. Philip had heard that his brother had died a wasted, bitter man. The news had simply confirmed Philip’s opinion of court life and the stupidity of putting one’s fate in the hands of kings.

  Thus, it was indeed possible that Thomas Leighton had met Anthony Hampton only briefly while on the Continent. Thomas was part of the second wave of Royalists who had followed King Charles into exile after the Battle of Worchester. They were too young to remember the old regime and had no preconceived idea of what court life should be like. They accepted their king and their new life with more ease than the members of the old guard like Anthony Hampton had.

  As long as Thomas Leighton had not heard that Anthony had died, Philip thought he might well be able to carry his impersonation through successfully. The family resemblance between the brothers was strong and any differences Thomas might see he could very well put down to the positive effects of a cessation of heavy drinking.

  Philip’s rapid assessment of the danger he was in was brought to an abrupt end as Lord Strathern held up his hands to call the meeting to order. “Gentlemen! Thank you all for coming this evening. We have much to discuss, so I would ask you to find a seat so that we can begin.”

  There was some shuffling, the odd sound of laughter as two men attempted to take the same chair and polite protestations as each offered to give it up to the other. At last the company was settled and there was silence in the room.

  Strathern looked around, smiling. “My son needs no introduction, but I am proud to say that he has been chosen by King Charles to visit our area to discover how dedicated we are to the possibility of joining a revolt to reinstate the monarchy—” He stopped abruptly as the door to the room was flung open by the smith’s wife.

  She stood in the aperture, wringing her hands, clearly agitated. “I’m sorry to interrupt, sir, but we have an emergency.”

  Wishingham stood up, very flushed in the face. “It had better be a good one, mistress!” he said roughly. He was still smarting from the knowledge that it was his wife’s loose tongue that had put Thomas Leighton in danger on the night of his arrival.

  The poor woman blanched and swallowed. “It is, husband. I swear! I waited this long to disturb you in hopes that we could put it out, but—”

  “Put it out?” someone said with concern. “Is there a fire?” Fire was always a danger that no one wished to have to deal with.

  Mistress Wishingham nodded eagerly. “It started in the smithy, sir, and at first we thought we—that is my children and I—could deal with it. In faith, we did try! But now we fear, that is, our eldest boy is trying to lead your horses from the barn, gentlemen, so they will not be burned—”

  “The barn is in danger of catching the blaze?” Strathern demanded.

  Again she nodded. “Aye. It abuts on the smithy, you see, and—”

  “Why didn’t you bring this news earlier, woman!” Wishingham bellowed, outraged.

  “Well, with this grand company I did not want to interrupt and—”

  “Quickly,” Thomas said. “Now is not the time to talk. We must help fight the fire.”

  “Agreed,” Strathern growled. He broke the group up into parties, one to draw water from the well, another to take charge of the horses and by far the largest to work on beating out the blaze. Within minutes a disciplined force of men poured out of the parlor to do their best to save the smith’s home and livelihood. For Philip, who led the party responsible for controlling the horses, due to his well-known ability with those animals, the fire and Lord Strathern’s handling of it proved that when action was called for the man was an excellent organizer and a respected leader. Should a rebellion come to pass, Charles Stuart would be well served by Edward, Lord Strathern. Philip wondered how many more of the supporters of the exiled king were of the quality of Lord Strathern. Not too many, he hoped, or the Commonwealth was doomed.

  The blaze had not yet taken hold of the barn when Philip arrived, leaning heavily on his cane as he tried to trot as quickly as possible from the house. The smell of the smoke and the heat of the fire had panicked the horses and the poor beasts screamed with terror as they reared up, fighting the ties that bound them to the hitching rail or kicking fretfully at nearby animals. Philip quickly organized the members of his party, telling them to start with those horses stabled closest to the forge and reminding them to wrap cloth over the animals’ eyes before attempting to lead them out. Throwing his cane aside, Philip ignored his aching leg and joined the others in the desperate work.

  Within ten minutes they had cleared the barn, and not a moment too soon, for with a terrifying whoosh the hay in the loft caught and the old timbered structure went up in an orange fireball. From his position by the horses a safe distance away, Philip watched the inferno, his eyes narrowed thoughtfully.

  The barn had gone up quickly, too quickly. Admittedly, it was an old building and full of inflammable material, but that fireball was not the normal result of burning hay. To Philip the speed and intensity of the blaze indicated one thing—gunpowder. That meant the fire had been deliberately set, unless the smith had taken to keeping his own store of munitions in his barn, which Philip thought doubtful.

  If someone had set the fire, then who? And when?

  More importantly, why?

  Find the man who set the fire in the smithy, Philip thought grimly, and he would find the man who had betrayed Thomas Leighton’s arrival to the Roundheads. For there was no doubt in his mind that they were one and the same man.

  He thought too that he would also find the man who had tried to kill him.

  *

  “I’m going out to the kitchen garden,” Alysa said to Jenkins, the butler, as she fixed a broad-brimmed hat over her long tresses. “I want to see how the herbs did over the winter.” It was a beautiful spring day, sunny and warm, perfect for inspecting the garden and planning what to plant for the summer. “If anyone wants me, that’s where I’ll be.”

  She was crouching down beside a bed of lavender, snipping off the dead bits, when a large masculine shadow loomed up beside her. She smiled as she looked up, expecting to see her father or perhaps her brother. But the man who was standing there was Philip Hampton, not one of her relatives.

  Alysa blushed. When she’d told Jenkins to send out anyone who asked for her, she hadn’t meant for him to include visitors. The gown she was wearing was the same well-worn one she had been dressed in when she rushed over to Ainslie Manor to tend to the ailing Philip, and even though he’d seen it before, she still felt as if she was underdressed for receiving company.

  Moreover, her hair was unpinned. It cascaded over her shoulders and down her back in a glorious stream of golden silk. Alysa enjoyed letting her hair flow freely, but only when she was alone or with family. She felt she should wear her hair in a more formal style when greeting a guest.

  Especially a male guest as attractive as Sir Philip Hampton.

  Hastily, Alysa rose from her crouching position, dusting off her hands as she stood.
“Why, Sir Philip, what a surprise! I did not expect to see you here.”

  Unlike Alysa, Philip was dressed in clothes befitting a social visit. His doublet was expensive wine-colored silk and his matching breeches were adorned with rosettes and ribbon loops. Stirrup hose frothed at the top of his soft black boots and over his shoulders was a fine black cloak. In one hand he held a bouquet of fresh flowers. At Alysa’s words he looked down at the blooms with a rueful smile. “I thought you would be indoors, so I brought some flowers to remind you that spring is truly here. I did not expect to find you in a garden.”

  Smiling warmly, Alysa took the flowers from his hand. Accidentally, their fingers touched. She felt a surge of excitement that made her heart thump. Suddenly, she was very much aware that they were alone in the sunny, walled enclosure. “What a charming thought, Sir Philip.” She bent to smell the fragrant blooms. “I adore fresh-cut flowers. How thoughtful of you to bring me some.”

  Philip smiled, apparently with relief. His eyes caressed her face, bringing Alysa as much pleasure as his words did. “The flowers reminded me of you. Beautiful at all times, but glorious in the bright sunlight.”

  His voice had deepened as he spoke, growing softer and rougher at the same time. Instincts Alysa didn’t understand were pushing her in directions she had never been before. “Philip, I don’t know what to say. I—”

  He smiled at her obvious confusion and tipped her chin up with the edge of his hand. “Then don’t say anything.”

  They were very close. The sun beat down, encasing them in a sultry isolation that suspended time. For Alysa, all that seemed real was what could be sensed: the heady scent of the pruned lavender, the warmth of the sun, the touch of Philip’s hand on her skin, the sight of his face so close to hers. Lost in the dark depths of his eyes, she parted her lips.

  For a moment, Philip hesitated; then he lowered his head. Alysa closed her eyes as his face loomed nearer. But when his lips touched hers in a kiss that was little more than a chaste brush, she was unprepared for her own reaction. Her senses exploded in a rainbow of sharp, bright colors that were immensely pleasurable.

  Obeying the primitive response he roused, she shifted closer. Philip’s arm slipped around her waist and urged her more tightly against him. Still clutching the flowers he had given her, Alysa put her hand on his shoulder and let her body follow his command.

  Her hat tipped from her head as he caught a handful of her long, silky hair in his hand. His fingers burrowed through the thick mass as his kiss hardened. Alysa responded instinctively, willingly. Her inexperience didn’t stop her body from giving what nature demanded. She opened her lips under his.

  Fire raged through her as his tongue invaded the moist softness of her mouth and rational thought became impossible. Her body heated under the flame of his kiss. Urges from somewhere deep inside made her melt against him.

  “Alysa,” he groaned, framing her face with his hands as he released her for a moment, only to take her again in another fierce, potent kiss. She lost track of time and place. Her whole being was centered in Philip Hampton. Whatever he cared to do to her at this moment, Alysa would willingly accept. The kiss went on and on, branding her as his as surely as if he had taken a hot iron and burned his initials in her.

  And then he was drawing away, his breathing uneven, his eyes glazed with the same drugged passion that held Alysa in its sway. She knew, without a doubt, that it had taken every bit of integrity he possessed to keep from laying her down on the fragrant herbs and taking her to him then and there. She was unutterably disappointed but, at the same time, deeply relieved. Overall, she was profoundly touched that he would put her reputation and feelings above his own.

  Dropping his hands, he stepped away. Gradually, the passionate glaze faded from his eyes, leaving him achingly vulnerable. “Mistress Alysa, I am sorry.”

  Alysa blushed and looked down. “Sir, you need not be. You did not force me; I was a willing participant.” She bent to pick up her hat, then rather self-consciously brushed her hair back over her shoulders before she placed the hat on her head once more. From beneath the broad brim, she peeped up at him enticingly. “I shall not forget the kiss, sir, but perhaps for propriety’s sake we should pretend that it did not happen.”

  “That will not be easy,” he murmured, his voice gruff with suppressed emotion.

  She peeked at him through her lashes, the dimple in her cheek in evidence once more. “I know that, sir, but any man who is able to save every horse in Master Wishingham’s barn must be capable of great feats.”

  It was Philip’s turn to color. “Oh, you heard about that.”

  “Of course! Papa returned home blackened and reeking of smoke. Mama immediately made him tell us what had happened.”

  “It was a most unfortunate business,” Philip said grimly. He bent to pick up the cane he had dropped while he was kissing Alysa. “Have you seen your brother since? We had just started the discussions when the fire was discovered.”

  “No. Papa sent Thomas away as soon as it became clear that one extra person would make no difference to the outcome. He was afraid that the flames would bring the troops and he did not want Thomas lingering overlong.”

  “I see.”

  The innocent conversation had helped Alysa recover her equilibrium and she was very much aware of how isolated they were in the secluded garden. “Would you mind if we went into the house so that I could have these put in some water?” She held up the now somewhat bedraggled flowers.

  Philip looked at them doubtfully and her smile deepened, as she said, “I will have them put by my bedside, where I can see them when I go to sleep at night and when I first wake in the morning.”

  A surprised pleasure flashed in his eyes. He looked around at the walls that blocked out the rest of the world and nodded. “Of course.”

  He leaned rather heavily on his cane as they walked. Alysa was instantly solicitous.

  “I hope you suffered no injury from your heroic efforts at the fire last night.”

  Philip smiled deprecatingly. “Like everyone else, I only did what was necessary. I must admit that I was more concerned with saving the animals than worrying about my game leg, so I probably did more than I should have.”

  “When we get inside you must sit down and rest for awhile. I would not want you straining your wound further.”

  Philip laughed. “Mistress Alysa, thank you for the charming offer, but I believe I should be on my way. I hope, though, that you will allow me to visit you again soon.”

  “I should be delighted, sir.” The sincerity in her voice could not be doubted.

  *

  The next day, Philip was surprised when he received a message from Alysa requesting that he meet her at the small lake near the woods that bordered the property lines of Strathern Hall and Ainslie Manor. He read the message twice, searching for a clue to explain the purpose of the meeting, but could find none.

  Still, something about the note made every one of his senses wary. If writing him was something Alysa had never done before, requesting a meeting away from prying eyes was even more unusual. Briefly, he wondered if she wanted a repetition of the kiss they had shared yesterday, but he dismissed the notion. He did not believe that Alysa Leighton was the sort of woman who would lightly plot an illicit rendezvous with her lover.

  Philip considered the messenger, who was waiting for a reply. The man was not wearing Strathern livery and appeared to be one of the outdoor staff, for his skin was weathered and there were deep lines about his eyes, as if he squinted into the sun a great deal. He might be one of Lord Strathern’s servants; then again he might not be.

  If he was not, someone was using Alysa Leighton’s name to draw Philip into a trap. That did not sit well with Philip. His eyes narrowed dangerously, his decision made. Briskly, he told the messenger that the answer was yes.

  The man tugged his forelock and went away, leaving Philip to plan and prepare in peace.

  Two hours later he rode to the a
ppointed meeting place. As was his custom, he was early. It did not take him long to be certain that the person he had come to meet had not yet arrived. It took him even less time to find a spot in the trees where he could see, but not be seen. Dressed in a sturdy doublet of a mud-brown color that faded into the undergrowth, he was near invisible. When, not long after he had settled himself, he saw Thomas Leighton ride into the clearing, he knew that his wariness had been justified.

  The note had not come from Alysa at all, but from her brother. That explained why her name had been used to draw him here, but still Philip wondered what had made Thomas want to meet with him. Obviously the Royalist knew more about Anthony Hampton than he had let on. But why had he not exposed Philip that night at the Smith’s house?

  The answers would not come until Philip had spoken to Thomas Leighton. He urged his horse into motion with knees and a light twitch on the reins. Picking its way carefully, the animal emerged from the trees, if not as silently as any wild woodland creature, at least more quietly than the average horse. The stallion had been well trained. Philip had seen to that.

  Thomas had stationed himself where he could watch the path that led to Ainslie Manor, evidently expecting Philip to come from that direction. So, when Philip emerged from the dense trees, Thomas was clearly startled. He jerked at the bridle and his horse shook its head and sidled.

  “So, Roundhead,” he said, his blue eyes cold, hard chips, “you arrived before me.” He glanced around, rather disdainfully. “Is there a troop of cavalry waiting for the perfect moment to snare me this time too?”

  Philip stopped his horse a short distance from Thomas and allowed the reins to lie loosely on the animal’s neck. “I did not betray your arrival to the military.”

  “Yet you come early to a meeting and hide yourself away, like a man with something to conceal.”

  There was a sneer in Thomas’s voice, but Philip ignored it. After all, the man did have a point. He was not one to quietly let another gain the upper hand, however. “Just as you did,” he said, taking the battle to the enemy camp. The stallion shifted uneasily from leg to leg. Philip swayed with it, at one with his mount.