Lover's Knot Read online

  “I will, Papa,” Alysa said fervently, but there was a dark, worried expression in her fine blue eyes. “Papa, is it safe for me to visit Thomas? Since he returned we have discovered that we can no longer trust the people of West Easton. It is a difficult lesson to learn.”

  Lord Strathern shook his head somberly. “Only one man is guilty of betraying us, Alysa. We cannot condemn all the people of this area because one is a traitor.”

  “But who is it, Papa?”

  “There were very few people who knew that we would be holding our meeting after the church services last Sunday. One of those men betrayed us. I believe I know which one it was, but I will not act until I am sure. Nor will I whisper a name in case I am wrong.”

  Affectionate pride made Alysa smile for the first time during the conversation. Honorable and just, Lord Strathern would not condemn a man without proper evidence to prove his guilt. “But is Thomas safe, Papa? I don’t want to visit him if it puts him in any more danger!”

  “Thomas has been taking extra precautions, Alysa, since we realized that the traitor is a person I have long trusted. No one knows where Thomas is, except me, and he moves about frequently, in random patterns. After you meet him tomorrow he will leave Gardner’s cottage for another safe haven. Trust me, Alysa. Thomas is as dear to me as he is to you. I would not jeopardize him.”

  “And the traitor?”

  Lord Strathern’s voice hardened dangerously. “When Thomas is gone and I am certain, I will act.”

  Deep in her father’s eyes Alysa could see feelings of betrayal and sadness, as well as a ruthless resolution. Unnerved, she dropped her gaze. “Tell Thomas that I will be glad to see him. I too would like to say a proper good-bye.”

  The next morning dawned wet and gray, excellent weather to keep men abed and to discourage watching eyes. At her father’s suggestion, Alysa had donned a heavy black cloak with a roomy hood, which served two purposes. The thick woollen cloth kept the rain from soaking her, but it also served to disguise her familiar blue riding habit and glossy blond hair, for both were well known in the area.

  Lord Strathern had dressed with similar circumspection in a dark brown suit covered by a long enveloping cloak that was an uninteresting mud-brown color. His hat was an old one with the feather gone and brim frayed about the edges. Even the horses were unremarkable animals that would not be out of place in any man’s stables, a far cry from the highly bred animals Alysa and her father usually rode.

  Although it would not be possible to fool anyone who looked closely at the two shabby riders out in the early morning, from a distance a casual observer would not guess that the pair were Lord Strathern and his daughter. The precautions proved unnecessary when there were no chance meetings on the way to the cottage, but the need to present an unremarkable appearance did not end with their arrival there.

  Together Alysa and her father entered the small, well-kept cottage. Inside were Thomas and John Gardner, while the rest of the Gardner family waited in the shed behind the house, at Thomas’s request. Lord Strathern greeted his son with a gruff good morning and an affectionate clap on the shoulder, but then he deliberately left the cottage with John Gardner. They walked to the shed, Gardner talking earnestly and pointing from time to time, as if he had a complaint about something. From a distance it appeared that he was conversing in an animated way with a friend, nothing more. Alysa and her brother were left alone in the house.

  Thomas was oddly reserved as he gave Alysa a quick kiss on the cheek. “I’m glad you came.”

  The tension in her brother made Alysa draw back and observe him uneasily. He was wearing a jump, a loose jacket favored by the lower orders, made of a coarse fabric over leggings of an equally rough cloth. The tunic hung to mid-thigh and was belted at the waist with a leather thong. Alysa thought that even though he was dressed as one of the common folk, with his long, curling hair tied by a string at his nape, Thomas looked what he was, a well-bred aristocrat. There was an aura of reckless authority about him that could not be denied.

  “I wish you did not have to go back,” she said at last.

  A small smile cracked the grim lines on his face. “I too, little sister. I too. But I made my choice long ago and I do not regret it. I will go back to the Continent this time, but the next—next time I return to England it will be behind my sovereign lord!”

  “How can you be so sure, Thomas?”

  He strode restlessly across the small room, which was the cottage’s living room, dining room and kitchen combined. A small casement window looked out over a tiny flower garden, where daffodils made a bright splash of color in the gray morning. Thomas stared through the opening, his eyes a little misty. “England is changing, Alysa. Ferment is beginning to grow amongst all levels of society. The new Lord Protector is not the man his father was and he will not be able to control the changes that will inevitably come. People are not yet ready to rise up against Richard Cromwell, but soon they will be.” There was a smile on his lips and in his eyes when he turned away from the comfortingly English scene out the window. “And when they do, the king will be ready!”

  Caught up in his enthusiasm, Alysa clapped her hands together. “Oh I hope so, Thomas! I truly do.”

  “In the meantime—” Uncharacteristically, Thomas hesitated. “Alysa, Papa tells me that you are, well, that you would encourage the courtship of Philip Hampton.”

  The phrasing sounded ominous. Alysa stiffened. “I do not find him unattractive, if that is what you mean, Thomas.”

  “Take care, Alysa. He is not what he seems.”

  The words hovered in the air, deadly, vicious words that cut with the ruthlessness of a rapier. Alysa’s eyes widened with horror and she drew in her breath with a sharp, hissing sound. “Then he is the Roundhead brother!”

  Thomas nodded.

  “Thomas, why is it you who are telling me this, not Papa?”

  “Because Papa does not know—yet. I am going to tell him today, before he leaves here.”

  Alysa opened her mouth to say something, then shut it again firmly as she considered her brother’s motives. “Then you are certain that Philip is not the Royalist brother.”

  “I met Anthony Hampton many times before he died. Exile was not kind to him. He was bitter about his misfortunes and drank heavily. He resented too that his brother had chosen the parliamentary side. I think it was the estrangement that hurt him the most, for when he was in his cups, he would talk about Philip in a most affectionate way. Indeed, I came to feel I almost knew the man, even though I had never met him.” At the stricken look in Alysa’s eyes, Thomas concluded gently, “I can assure you, Alysa, the man living at Ainslie Manor is Anthony Hampton’s younger brother, Philip Richard Hampton.”

  The answer was essentially what Alysa expected. She nodded slowly, her eyes fixed on her brother’s face. “You must have known that Philip was not what he claimed as soon as Papa mentioned him. Yet you did not tell Papa this. Surely he deserves to know who the spy in our midst is?”

  Thomas sighed heavily. “Hampton is not the spy.”

  Alysa shuddered. “Thank God! When he first arrived, I was suspicious of him, but as I got to know him better—Oh, I don’t know! I began to think that he could not be a spy. He is too straightforward, too honest to indulge in that kind of subterfuge!” She took her brother’s hands and said urgently, “Thomas, who is the traitor?”

  He drew a deep breath. “Alysa, if you knew you might inadvertently alert the fellow to the fact that we had guessed his secret. He has no scruples and there is no telling what he will do. For your own good I cannot tell you who it is.”

  She allowed his hands to drop. With a little sigh she said, “Papa would not tell me either.” Tilting her head, she looked up at her brother. “Very well, if Sir Philip is not the spy, why are you warning me against him?”

  “Because he is a Roundhead,” Thomas said gently. “He is our sworn enemy. And one day, when it is time for the king to return, he will be forced to choose.
Could you live with yourself if your husband was an officer in the Roundhead army while your brother and father fought for the king?”

  Alysa paled. “A pox on this endless war!” She covered her eyes with her hands. “Oh, Thomas! When will it be over? Must it continue throughout our lives?”

  “The war will end when our sovereign lord is safely on his rightful throne once more.” Gently, he pried her hands away from her face. “Alysa, look at me. Hampton is just one man. Turn your eyes elsewhere. You are beautiful. You will have no trouble finding a husband among our kind.”

  “Too late,” Alysa said softly, gazing up into her brother’s concerned features. Tears shimmered in her lovely blue eyes. “It is too late, Thomas, for I have been foolish enough to give my heart to Sir Philip Hampton.” Her lower lip trembled. “Oh, what am I going to do?”

  “I don’t know,” Thomas said somberly.

  With a woebegone smile, Alysa removed her hands from his. The bright future she had envisioned only yesterday now loomed impossibly dark as decisions she didn’t want to make hovered over her. Thomas was right. If she married Philip Hampton she might one day find herself on opposing sides with the rest of her family. But if she loved him would that matter? Should it matter?

  Above all, Alysa was a realist. She had no doubt that, if Philip were to choose the Roundhead cause over the Royalist one, it would put unendurable strains on their marriage. Perhaps Thomas was right—it would be better to cut her ties to Philip now, before they became so strong that the breaking of them would destroy her.

  There was one good side to what she had learned today. At last she could be sure that her instincts were right. Philip Hampton was not the traitor who had betrayed her brother. But if he was not, who was? For the moment the question was of no matter. Thomas would soon be gone and after that her father could deal with the spy in West Easton.

  “Thomas, take care,” she said softly.

  “You too,” he replied. He bent to kiss her cheek and Alysa hugged him.

  “We will miss you.” She wiped a tear from her eye. “Safe journey.”

  He nodded, then strode from the building. Outside she could hear him talking to their father, then the sound of a horse’s hoofbeats as he rode away.

  A few minutes later Lord Strathern entered the cottage. “He told you about Hampton?”

  “Yes, Papa.”

  “Alysa, I do not think you should encourage the man any further.”

  She lifted her head proudly, her eyes flashing. “I am loyal to the king, Papa, and I will not consort with a rebel. Sir Philip will no longer be welcome at Strathern Hall on my account.”

  A small smile formed on Strathern’s lips, but his eyes were sad. “Good.”

  The approval should have made Alysa feel better, but it did not. Her mouth drooped despondently.

  “Come, let us go so that these good people will no longer be in danger from our presence,” Lord Strathern said briskly.

  Alysa nodded. She had no desire to remain any longer.

  *

  “Alysa, Sir Philip is waiting for you downstairs. Aren’t you coming down?”

  Alysa lifted her brush and calmly pulled it through her long silken tresses. She was dressed in an informal gown of aquamarine silk that was bound at the waist by a darker sash. The garment was meant to be worn only in the intimacy of the family setting, for there was no boning in the bodice and the flowing skirt was not opened to show a petticoat. “No.”

  Prudence stared at her aghast. “But why not?”

  “I have a headache.” Alysa stared at her reflection in the glass and was amazed that her inner turmoil was not apparent on her face.

  Prudence cocked her head in a puzzled way. “You don’t look terribly unwell. Are you sure you don’t want to come down, Alysa?”

  “Quite certain.” She turned to smile at her sister. It was a rather woebegone attempt. “Mama knows how I feel and will explain to Sir Philip.”

  Prudence sat down on the edge of the daybed set in front of the fireplace. The skirt of her primrose gown fanned out about her in a pool of bright, cheerful color. She frowned. “Alysa, is there something occurring that I don’t know about?”

  Sighing, Alysa put down the brush then moved to sit beside her sister. Taking Prudence’s hands she said gently, “All kinds of things. Even I don’t know the half of what is going on.”

  A glum expression settled on Prudence’s features. “Does this mean that you will accept Cedric Ingram’s courtship after all?”

  Alysa laughed. There were times when Prudence expressed herself with the straightforward self-interest of a child. “No, Prue, I will not. I told Cedric the other day that I was not bound to him in any way and he became quite perturbed. I do not think he will ask me to marry him now, and even if he did I would refuse him.”

  Prudence’s eyes lit up, but she still appeared puzzled. “I do not understand, but if you are happy with that arrangement, then I shall continue my study of him. But what of Sir Philip?”

  Alysa had to turn her face away, to hide the shimmer of tears in her eyes. “I have decided that Sir Philip is not a gentleman I wish to encourage. I will not accept his calls anymore.”

  “But why? What have you learned of him?”

  “Nothing and everything.” Alysa was hanging on to her self-control by a mere thread. Much more of Prudence’s probing and she would start to shriek. “Prudence, please go. I really do have a headache and I would like to be alone.”

  With a shrug Prudence complied. Alysa watched her, relieved and dismayed at the same time. Now she could be alone with her thoughts, even though the thoughts were ones she didn’t want to have.

  It had only been a day ago that Thomas had told her the truth about Philip Hampton, but it seemed like many long, miserable weeks. Her waking hours were spent asking herself what she should do. She brooded over her options, considering which would be best for her family, the people of West Easton and the Royalist cause. She even wondered which would hurt Philip the least. But she never asked which was best for her, for she knew that the only alternative that would keep her from hurt and make her happy would be to spend her life with Philip Hampton and that was no longer possible.

  She could cut him off immediately and absolutely, but if she refused to speak to him again, he was bound to find a way to ask why she had changed so in the space of a few days. She did not believe that he would accept a soft answer meant to deflect him from the truth and she feared that with her emotions so close to the surface he would easily realize that her love for him was, to her shame, not diminished at all. Breaking with him was an act of honor, nothing more.

  Moreover, there was an additional problem that went beyond Alysa’s personal reaction. Philip’s courtship of her had become well-known in the neighborhood. A sudden cessation of it would lead to questions and, ultimately, to Philip’s true identity. People might also brand him the spy in their ranks. Alysa was loath to subject him to the kind of hostility those assumptions would create.

  In the dark reaches of her mind and in the willful comfort of her dreams, Alysa sought refuge from bleak reality by imagining what could happen if she continued to allow Sir Philip to court her.

  She had no doubt that what Thomas had told her was true. Philip Hampton was the Roundhead brother. However, she found it difficult to believe that he was still deeply committed to the Protectorate and its causes. Many men had turned their coats throughout the war and after. It was possible that Philip’s loyalty to the Lord Protector could be undermined by a clever and determined Royalist wife. When the time came for the king to return she would not expect Philip to fight on the Royalist side. All she would ask was that he remain neutral. It was a tactic that had been successfully used by many of the great Royalist lords to keep what estates remained to them after the execution of the first King Charles.

  The difficulty was whether or not Philip could be persuaded to do that.

  Alysa didn’t think he could, and that was why allowing him to
continue his courtship was nothing more than a wish and a dream.

  Still, she could not bring herself to make the final break with him. So, she hid in her room and begged her stepmother to extend her excuses. Perhaps tomorrow she would feel stronger. Then she could send word that his attentions were no longer wanted, or she would confront him with his subterfuge.

  Tomorrow.

  Alysa put her head in her hands and wept.

  *

  The Reverend Randolph Graystone, the Vicar of West Easton, was a spare man with a high forehead and deep-set brown eyes that were always compassionate. Well, thought Alysa as she accepted a glass of sweet wine from his wife, almost always. At this moment, as they discussed the invasion of his church the previous Sunday, his eyes were quite ruthlessly cold.

  “The man who notified the Protectorate troops that a meeting of Royalist sympathizers was to take place after the service is obviously without scruples,” the Reverend Mr. Graystone was saying in outraged tones.

  “Obviously,” his wife repeated soothingly, offering him a slice of apple cake.

  The vicar took it and began to munch. “Excellent, my dear, as always,” he said around the crumbs, before continuing his tirade. “To have given away his neighbors and friends in that underhanded manner is despicable.”

  “Entirely without shame,” his wife echoed cheerfully. She offered the cake plate to their guests—Alysa, Prudence and Abigail, Mistress Wishingham and Mistress Thompson. The purpose of the meeting was ostensibly to arrange victuals for the raising of the forge and barn, which was to go ahead as outlined during the false planning session.

  “Whoever he was, he certainly did as much good as he did bad by calling in the soldiers. After all, we would not have organized the raising of Master Wishingham’s barn so effectively had we not been forced to have a town meeting about it last Sunday,” Abigail remarked peaceably. “This really is an excellent apple cake, Mistress Graystone.”