Lover's Knot Page 5

  Always think things through, Philip. Never act impulsively. Impulse is a weakness your enemies will take advantage of. A well thought-out strategy allows for mistakes and errors. No man can defeat an opponent who can outthink him.

  Philip’s careful planning and attention to detail had brought him through several major battles and a dozen skirmishes unscathed. He was not about to change his tactics now.

  So he had lifted the corners of his lips in a semblance of a smile and told Osborne that he would consider the matter, even as fury and outrage burned through his soul.

  Days had passed. Philip had not bothered to contact Osborne with an answer. Perhaps Osborne had guessed that Philip’s silence meant a refusal, or perhaps it was simply in his nature to try to coerce his victims in every possible manner in order to get the response he wanted. Whatever the reason, Osborne had gone directly to Philip’s commanding officer, General Monck, with his proposal and asked Monck to intervene with Philip on his behalf. Monck had done so, but not quite in the way Osborne intended.

  General Monck had pointed out to Philip that the army did not trust Richard Cromwell and would not support him as commander-in-chief. Since Richard refused to appoint a military man to that post, sooner or later there would be a confrontation and Lord Protector Richard would fall from power. Military rule would follow, something Monck didn’t think England would tolerate for very long.

  Settle yourself at Ainslie, lad. Tell Osborne a few secrets to keep him happy. He won’t be bothering you for long, I’ll wager my army on that. Once he’s gone you’ll be free and well out of whatever’s to come.

  Philip had followed the advice of both his father and his commanding officer. He had thought about Osborne’s offer, considered his options and wished he had a looking glass that could see into the future. In the end he had decided that Monck’s advice was sound. Ainslie was solid, real, and it was his. Osborne was a passing problem who could be dealt with in the fullness of time. So, he had resigned his commission and headed south to his future.

  When he left Scotland he had no idea how difficult he would find impersonating his brother, the ardent Royalist, to be. Living at Ainslie forced Philip to come to grips with the fact that he would never see Anthony Hampton again. Until the war had pushed them into different camps, he and Anthony had been close. They had been allies against the loneliness of growing up on the edges of the court, part of that small, tight world, yet not part of it. Their parents had been kind, but Anthony Hampton Sr. had relied on his position in the king’s household to support his family and he could not afford to offend those in power or to be seen to be lacking in any way. He spent more time at Whitehall than he did at the London lodgings he rented for his family.

  As they grew, Philip had resented his father’s absences, both for his own sake and his mother’s, and he blamed them on court life. While Philip vowed he would never allow himself to be sucked into the intrigue and politics that spread like a virulent disease through the court, Anthony became fascinated with the life. He took up with a rather wild bunch of young bloods and would come home at all hours, laughing and boasting of his night of revels, or whispering extravagant word pictures of his romantic conquests, to his impressionable younger brother.

  Now Anthony was gone, consumed by the incessant plotting and bickering of a courtin-exile. Because of his death Philip must pretend to be the brother he had loved and lost. It hurt, sometimes unbearably. At those moments of anguish, he blamed Sir Edgar Osborne for his pain.

  He glanced at the sky, wondering how long he had been waiting for the odious Osborne, but clouds blocked the moon and stars. Over the years Philip had become adept at estimating the passage of time and he guessed that he had been waiting a half an hour or more. Perhaps Osborne was lost. Philip found that the idea suited him just fine, for it gave him another slight advantage over the Londoner.

  Thinking about how he had come to be here tonight had started anger bubbling again through his veins, so he forced his thoughts into different paths. Random fragments of conversations about Ainslie and the needs of the property flitted through his head; then he focused on the chance meeting with Lord Strathern and his daughters. There he paused to linger on memories of Alysa Leighton.

  Alysa as she crouched over the lake, frantically trying to tidy her windblown hair, her lovely features alight with laughter. Or later, as she sat the bolting horse with all the skill of one of his own well-trained cavalry, her face pale with strain and a fear she wouldn’t admit. He had rescued her from, at best, a nasty fall and to his surprise she had felt good in his arms. Her laughing indifference to the danger she had faced sat oddly with his image of a Royalist lady. He wondered now if Alysa was as clear and honest as she seemed, or if she was as duplicitous as the women who had pursued his father during his time at court.

  From some distance away came the sound of a twig cracking. Philip shook himself out of his reverie with the speed of long experience. Every sense was alert as he strode over to the edge of the old growth and peered into the night. The shadows were as black and heavy as the clouds above, but he thought he detected the shape of a horse and rider heading toward him. Cautiously, he melted into the shadows and waited for the newcomer to arrive.

  Sir Edgar Osborne entered the old growth with reasonable stealth, given that he hated woodland areas. He couldn’t resist uttering an oath when Philip silently emerged from the trees behind him. “‘Od’s blood, Hampton! What the devil are you playing at?”

  Philip raised his brows. “I was merely being cautious, Sir Edgar. Were you followed?”

  Osborne was thoroughly fed up with his jaunt through the countryside. He fiddled with the lapels of his dark wool cassock, a long, loose coat he wore over a black doublet and narrow breeches. “Damn it, no. That wretched undergrowth is so thick I can’t imagine how anyone could possibly keep another person under observation.”

  Philip considered him wryly as he dismounted. “There would be no need to see you, Osborne. You were making enough noise to wake the whole area. I was able to track you from a mile away.”

  “Indeed!” Osborne said stiffly. He didn’t like being criticized by one he considered an underling. Deftly, he turned the subject. “Let’s have your report and be gone from here. As poor as my accommodations are, I would like to be in my bed before sunrise.”

  Ignoring the sarcasm, for it was hardly gone midnight, Philip shrugged. “There is not much to report. I have no proof that the leading Royalists in the area are associated with the Sealed Knot, though I believe they are. Nor can I prove that they are actively plotting to overthrow the Lord Protector. I have made contact with Lord Strathern and he appears willing to grant that I am a Royalist returned from exile. Once he has accepted me, I shall be welcomed in the area and I can begin to find out more about the Sealed Knot and its activities.”

  “You don’t have time for that.”

  Philip raised his brows again at the snap in Osborne’s voice. “How so?”

  “Our agents in the Low Countries have sent word that Charles no longer trusts the gentlemen of the Sealed Knot. Because of that, he has decided to bypass the Knot and send emissaries to Britain directly. Their mission will be to decide if another rebellion is possible. Apparently his spies here are telling him that Richard Cromwell does not have the support his father did. Charles wants to know if that is true before he acts.”

  “The conduct of a wise man,” Philip murmured without thinking.

  “Or a coward,” Osborne sneered.

  Philip shrugged. He wasn’t going to get into an argument with Osborne. “Do you know when these envoys are supposed to arrive?”

  “Within the month.” Osborne allowed a heartbeat to pass before adding, “And I know the name of the man being sent to this area.”

  Something about the way he said the words, perhaps the mockery in his voice or the delight in his eyes, prepared Philip for what was to come. He was able to ask quite casually, “And who is being sent to West Easton?”


  “Thomas Leighton.”

  Philip leaned against a broad tree trunk. His lazy posture and thoughtful tone belied the thumping of his heart. “This could be a problem. I’m sure Thomas Leighton knew my brother in exile. He will know that Anthony is dead. Even if he isn’t aware that I chose the parliamentary side in the war, he will question why I am allowing people to think that I was in exile with young Charles Stuart.”

  “You seem damn calm about the whole thing!”

  Philip pulled away from the tree. “What would you have me do, Osborne? Shout with rage and tear my hair out?”

  “Eliminate Thomas Leighton.”

  The words fell like a blow. “Eliminate? What the devil do you mean by that?”

  Osborne’s face creased in a smile of triumph, for he had at last cracked Philip Hampton’s calm aristocratic mask. “You have a week, mayhap two, and if you are lucky, nearly a month, to penetrate the local Royalist organization. We are certain the leader is Lord Strathern.”

  “Well? What has this to do with the danger of my charade being exposed?”

  “Find out when Thomas Leighton is to arrive in England and I will see he never meets his associates here in West Easton. That way he will not be a danger to you.”

  “An excellent plan,” Philip said, in control of himself once more. “But impractical. Lord Strathern is an intelligent man. Moreover he is a cautious one. Even if he accepts me as a true Royalist, he wouldn’t let me into a secret as important as when and where the king’s emissary is to arrive.”

  Osborne smirked. “No, but his daughter would, if you used her sensibly.”

  “His daughter!”

  The ugly smile continued to play on Osborne’s lips as he nodded. “We know that Lord Strathern is besotted with the girl. He tells her any number of inappropriate secrets. It is unlikely that he would be able to keep from her the time and date of her brother’s return.”

  Though Philip had already decided that Alysa was the way to gain Lord Strathern’s confidence and thus to find out more about the local Royalists, he found that he didn’t like the notion when it came from Sir Edgar Osborne. His tone was absurdly indignant as he demanded, “What do you expect me to do? Seduce the girl?”

  Osborne shrugged. “Why not give yourself some pleasure? I understand Mistress Alysa is quite handsome in her way.”

  It took all of Philip’s self-control not to put his hands around Osborne’s neck and throttle him. Instead he contemptuously turned his back on the man as he strode over to his tied horse. He led the animal into the clearing and as he mounted, he said simply, “I will contact you when I have news.” Without waiting for a response he guided the horse into the dense undergrowth.

  It was not until the darkness had swallowed him up that the stiff tension left his body. He had allowed Osborne to penetrate his thoughts and feelings tonight and that was a mistake. As long as he remained an enigma, Osborne had nothing to use against him. Exposing his indignation let Osborne see a little of his deepest soul and Philip did not doubt that Sir Edgar would use the knowledge, eventually.

  There was nothing he could do about it now, beyond putting a careful guard on his emotions in the future. His mouth hardened. Though he did not like the tangled deceptions he was being forced to engage in, he was more than capable of maneuvering his way through them. Somehow, he would ensure that his goals, and not Osborne’s, were the ones that were reached.

  Keyed up and wary of being seen, he kept his spirited mount to a careful, mincing walk until he had reached the park around Ainslie Manor. Only then did he allow the horse to stretch its legs in a canter. The fluid motion relaxed him and his thoughts roamed freely, trying to solve the problems that had presented themselves that evening.

  It was damn bad luck that the agent being sent to the West Easton area was Thomas Leighton. Much as Philip resented admitting it, Osborne was right—he would have to make some kind of arrangement to ensure Leighton didn’t identify him as an impostor. But what?

  Coaxing information about her brother from Alysa Leighton was not the answer. The lady was intelligent, observant and critical, qualities that made her extremely dangerous in Philip’s opinion. She would wonder why he was asking the questions he was, and before long she would have guessed that Philip Hampton was not the loyal follower of King Charles he claimed to be.

  There was another, softer reason for Philip’s refusal to use Alysa as Osborne had suggested. Even in the short time he had known her, he sensed that Alysa Leighton was a lady of deep loyalties and strong beliefs. She would be devastated if she discovered later that her words had caused her brother to be arrested upon his arrival in England. Philip could not bring himself to do that to her.

  No, he would have to find another way to deal with Thomas Leighton. The stallion’s hooves rang hollowly on the slate that paved the courtyard around which the Ainslie stables were built. Philip dismounted and led the animal to one of the roomy loose boxes, where he quickly brushed it down before putting away the saddle and bridle.

  The stable yard was quiet and no servant came to disturb Philip as he worked. That annoyed him and made him forget the thorny question of how to deal with Thomas Leighton. A thief could easily come in and steal all of his horses without any of the stablemen being aware of what was going on. Which only proved that West Easton was a safe area, unprepared for the more devious transgressions of mankind.

  Something that was about to change.

  *

  “Sir Philip Hampton to see Miss Alysa.” The elderly butler’s eyes rested with tolerant amusement on Alysa’s surprised face for a moment before he blandly glanced at his mistress.

  “Where have you put him, Jenkins?” Abigail asked.

  “In the King’s Salon, my lady.” Jenkins paused, then added serenely, “I thought you would want him to be properly impressed.”

  A smile flickered across Abigail’s face, then was gone. She looked over at Alysa. “Your father told me that Sir Philip asked leave to court you—”

  “He did?” Prudence interrupted, her eyes wide. She turned to her sister. “Alysa, did Papa tell you he’d done that?”

  Alysa was saved from replying by Abigail, who said sternly, “Enough, Prudence! Jenkins, tell Sir Philip that we will be with him directly. Oh, and find Lord Strathern. He will want to know that Sir Philip has called.”

  “Yes, my lady.” The butler departed without hurry.

  “Now then, Alysa,” said Abigail, eyeing her stepdaughter critically, “do you feel comfortable in what you are wearing, or would you like time to run up and change?”

  Alysa glanced down at the rose gown with the silver-blue petticoat she had donned that morning and shook her head. “No, I am quite happy wearing this, Mama.”

  “Your hair is newly washed and curled and the knot at the back is still neatly bound,” Abigail noted, thinking aloud. “I like the caul you have put over it. The blue satin and net highlights the gold in your hair.”

  Alysa touched her head tentatively. The fashion was to comb the hair at the forehead away from the face, leaving the shorter hair on the sides to frame a woman’s features. The long hair at the back and the hair on the top of the head would be bound in a small, tight bun, which would be covered by a tiny cap called a caul. If a lady chose, she might leave a few strands at the nape loose and curling to emphasize the long line of her neck, as Alysa had done this morning. Though she knew she was well dressed and looked her best, Abigail’s cool assessment was disconcerting, to say the least. “Mama, you do not fuss so when Cedric Ingram visits.”

  A little color pinked Abigail’s cheeks. “You have known Cedric Ingram this age, Alysa. Sir Philip is a virtual stranger to us. I want you to make a good impression.” She looked critically at Prudence. “Prue, your gorget is crooked. Straighten it before we go in to see Sir Philip.”

  “Am I invited too?” Prudence said artlessly as she dutifully rearranged the fine linen shawl, which covered the low décolletage of her daffodil-yellow gown.

&nb
sp; “Of course you are!” Abigail said impatiently. “I do not want Sir Philip to think that Alysa is the sort of girl who would throw herself at an eligible man.” She smoothed her tan skirt over the green petticoat and made sure the white bows that held the skirt back were straight. “There now, we are ready. Very well, we shall go in. I do hope that Jenkins has found your father. I think he should be there the first time Sir Philip calls, don’t you?”

  Prudence shot Alysa a look so full of affectionate amazement that Alysa almost laughed. Instead, she said soothingly, “I am sure Sir Philip will not be overly critical of my appearance, Mama. After all, he did see me in the village, and when he went with us to visit the tenants the other day, I was wearing my old, well-worn riding habit and my hair was quite windblown!”

  Abigail bustled through the vast, high-ceilinged Great Hall, her daughters trailing behind like obedient ducklings. “How many times have I said you should not race, Alysa! You never know whom you will meet and just see the damage that can be done!”

  “I don’t think there was any damage at all,” Prudence observed bluntly. “Sir Philip seemed quite taken with Alysa and he was most happy to rescue her when her horse bolted.”

  Abigail paused in front of the closed door to the King’s Salon. “We are here. Now, both of you, mind your manners!”

  Philip stood as the women entered. He looked very fine in a deep wine-colored suit laced with gold. A black cloak fell from his shoulders to his knees and at his waist was a beautifully wrought sword with a jeweled hilt. Evidently exile had not left him in financial hardship.

  “Sir Philip, how very delightful of you to call,” Abigail said, extending her hand to be kissed. None of her fussy concern of a minute before was visible on her calm features.

  Philip took her hand in his and made the deep reverence of a courtier. “Madam, the pleasure is all mine, I assure you. How could it not be when I am in the presence of three such lovely ladies?”

  Abigail smiled carefully as she removed her hand from his. “Sir Philip, your tongue is as polished as your bow is. Pray do sit down, sir. Would you like some refreshments? Some wine, perhaps?”