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  Strathern duly informed Barnabus about the envoy being sent by the king and asked if he would consent to be the lookout. Thrilled at being invited, Barnabus agreed without hesitation. He immediately told his wife, Ruth, of the event, for he wanted to give her plenty of time to get used to the idea that he would be roaming the countryside at midnight a fortnight hence. If there were arguments, he intended to get them over with early, rather than have to fight with his wife on the night of Thomas’s arrival.

  His good wife was not pleased by his plans, but she could do little to keep him from participating, beyond arguing fiercely against his role. Ruth Wishingham was not the committed royalist her husband was. She was keenly aware that involvement with such a group could lead to arrest and trial for treason if her husband was caught. However, Barnabus refused to listen to her good sense on this issue and continued to plot and plan with his betters. So, she took her frustrated anger to her sister, who was the confidante of all her marital troubles.

  Ruth’s sister was married to the town joiner and more than a little jealous that Barnabus, and not her husband, was the nominal representative of the little people in West Easton. Full of indignation, she told her husband of the time and place of the meeting and urged him to join the others there. Her husband was a timid man and of no mind to become involved in anything so dangerous as being on the beach when a condemned Royalist illicitly landed in England, but he was quite willing to pretend that he had been asked.

  In fact, he bragged of his involvement to his parents and brothers one evening when the family was altogether. To prove to his disbelieving relatives that what he said was true, he announced the date and time of the arrival. Suitably impressed, his family proceeded to boast of the event to virtually everyone they knew. By that point, the secret of Thomas’s arrival was as public as if it had been published in a London broadsheet.

  Philip heard about it three days before it was to occur, in plenty of time to relay the details to Osborne. He was standing in the mercer’s shop, looking over some cloth he planned to purchase to make livery for his house servants, when he overheard an excited woman proclaiming the details of the arrival to one of her friends. He stood very still, his ears straining to hear each fact, his fingers absently testing the cloth, his mind racing.

  This was the opening Osborne needed. This was the reason Philip had been sent to West Easton. In one quick instant he could fulfill his obligation and ensure that Thomas Leighton never returned to expose his masquerade. Simple.

  But the picture had become more complex since the day when he had reluctantly agreed to take this assignment. He liked living at Ainslie Manor. He enjoyed being tied to the land after years of having no home but his regiment. To betray Thomas Leighton would jeopardize his position here in West Easton. If Thomas Leighton was apprehended he would, at best, spend years in prison. More likely, he would be tried for treason and executed. If the people of West Easton guessed who had turned him in, and eventually they would, they would view that man as a viper, and would be justified in doing so.

  Then there was the Leighton family itself. Philip had discovered that he had a great deal of respect for Lord Strathern, who was an upright, honest man. No matter that he and Philip were on opposite sides. There were so few men of character these days that it was a pleasure to come across one, whatever his political stripe.

  Lord Strathern would be distraught if his son was captured, but he was a gentleman and knew the dangers of duty. Alysa, on the other hand, would never forgive the man who had betrayed her brother. With a woman’s unerring insight, she would condemn the crime for what it was—deceitful, underhanded, vicious—and she would do all in her power to avenge her loss. There would be no room in her heart for a Roundhead gentleman who had just been doing his duty.

  The shrill, gossipy voice changed tone, then went on to discuss some other subject of no interest to Philip. He motioned to the shopkeeper hovering nearby that he intended to purchase the fabric without really having an idea of what the cloth looked like. As the man took the bolt to the counter to wrap it, Philip’s thoughts continued to be on the news he had just heard, so he was a trifle abstracted as he handed over the coins. The honest merchant laughed pleasantly and told him he was being too generous. Brought back to the present, Philip smiled easily and told the man to keep what was left over. Gratified, the merchant thanked him profusely, promised to send the purchase to Ainslie Manor and bowed Philip from the shop, holding the door himself.

  Philip emerged into the bright sunshine, still undecided about what he should do. His duty?

  Or what his heart told him was right?

  *

  The night sky was clear of clouds, allowing the moon and stars to shed their light on the gently curving beach of Fenwick Cove. From the point of view of the little group waiting for the smuggling boat to arrive, the night was too bright for complete safety. Even wearing dark clothes, as they all were, a man was clearly silhouetted whenever he emerged from the safety of the shadows, while out at sea the moon cast a brazen glow over the water. If Thomas had been betrayed, his pursuers would have no difficulty spotting his arrival.

  The welcoming party Lord Strathern had assembled had not been particularly pleased when they realized that the youth in an oversize doublet and baggy breeches was Alysa Leighton. It was Cedric Ingram who discovered her identity first and he had yelled so sharply that the rest of the group had shushed him nervously, then gathered round Alysa to see if what he said was true. Now Sir Henry Ballentyne was worried about her safety, young Graham kept looking at her with an awed and somewhat lascivious expression on his face while Cedric Ingram fumed.

  Strathern silenced him with a curt comment spoken in a voice the brooked no disagreement.

  “The longer we remain here, the more danger there is that we will be spotted and betrayed,” grunted Sir Henry Ballentyne.

  “We cannot leave until my son’s ship arrives,” Strathern said mildly, but with the same inflexible tone that had silenced Ingram. “Until then we are in no danger.”

  Ballentyne snorted nervously. “I beg to differ.”

  “What can we be accused of?” Strathern countered patiently. “We are a group of men out for an evening ride, nothing more.”

  “Of being conspirators,” the other man said grimly. “Who else would be abroad in the small hours of the morning, huddled in the shadows, hiding from every man?”

  “Your conscience is overpowering your good sense, sir.” Strathern’s voice grew a little impatient. “Or have you lost your taste for the king’s cause?”

  “No,” Ballentyne growled. “Not that. But I am far from sanguine about this expedition! Why needs the king send emissaries from the Low Countries? Cannot he trust the messages the Sealed Knot sends to him about our readiness to rise? Why does he doubt us?”

  Good questions. Ones Lord Strathern had no intention of debating, because there were no answers that he could be sure of. If the rumors were true, there was a traitor in the ranks of the Sealed Knot. Strathern was inclined to believe the story, since Philip Hampton had inadvertently confirmed it to Alysa. That was why he had taken precautions to ensure that the day and time of Thomas’s arrival was not known to the central committee.

  As to Charles’s reason for sending envoys to England, Strathern suspected that it stemmed from the king’s experiences after the Battle of Worchester. He had learned caution from that first attempt to lead a revolt. Then he had found himself without the followers he’d been promised, at the mercy of the covenanting Scots, forced to deny his religion in order to survive. Intelligent and flexible, Charles Stuart would listen to all the promises made to him, but in the end he would make his own decisions.

  “Papa!” Alysa urged her horse beside Lord Strathern’s. Keeping her voice low, she pointed out to sea. “Papa! Isn’t that a sail? There—over by the headland?”

  Strathern peered into the gloom. Was she right? The breeze picked up and something white fluttered at the edge of the cove. Strather
n allowed the breath he hadn’t even been aware of holding to ease from his lungs. “Yes! It is a sail! Come, gentlemen, our wait is almost over!”

  A few minutes later the ship rounded the headland and its sails were fully visible. “Oh, Papa,” Alysa said on an excited sigh. “I can hardly believe that Thomas is almost here! When will the ship reach us? How can we bear to wait? Why is it taking so long?”

  “The ship will stand to in deep water and row Thomas ashore,” Lord Strathern said, smiling at her excitement. Unlike the rest of the party, his eyes were not fixed on the fast little brig gliding silently into the cove, but roved freely, searching the land, looking for a shadow that moved or should not be there, watching for evidence that they had been betrayed.

  “The boat’s over the side,” Cedric Ingram said, his voice unnaturally high with nerves. “He is committed now.”

  “We are committed,” grunted Sir Henry Ballentyne.

  The moon glittered off the droplets of water falling from the oars as the seamen began to row. Those on the sand waited with ever deepening impatience, for each stroke seemed to take an eternity.

  With agonizing slowness the skiff gained in size as it neared the beach. Now the waiting party could make out the laboring seamen bent over their oars and the erect figure seated in the center. Tension radiated from the men, making the horses snort and stamp their feet. While Thomas remained on the water his return could still be aborted. Once the skiff touched land and he came ashore there would be no going back. They would have taken the first step toward rebellion.

  The sailors pulled at the oars, propelling the boat ever closer. Alysa watched, her gaze fixed on her brother. In the dim light she could not see his face clearly, for it was just a white blur in the darkness, but she remembered his posture. He had always held himself proudly, his back straight, his head high. Anticipation of their meeting slithered along her nerve endings. At last he was here again.

  A grinding sound told those on the beach that the skiff had reached the shallows. There was a flutter of activity as Thomas leapt from the boat into the lazily curling surf, uncaring of the wetting his boots were getting. He raised his hat to the sailors and threw a pouch full of gold to them; then he turned and scanned the beach.

  Slowly, so as not to alarm him, Lord Strathern urged his horse from the shadows. The seamen pushed the boat back into the salt froth of the whitecaps to return to the ship as Thomas waded through the rushing water toward dry land. A smile dawned on his face as he saw who had come first to welcome him. He raised a hand in greeting.

  His movement seemed to be the catalyst that set the rest of the party into action as they followed Strathern from the shadows. Alysa kicked her mount into a trot, impatient to be close to her brother. She was leading the extra horse that had been brought for him and had to jab sharply at the animal’s reins to make it move as quickly as she wanted. She saw her father reach her brother and lean down to clasp his hand. Her heart soared.

  “Thomas!” she cried, keeping her voice low. Still, it sounded unpleasantly loud in the midnight silence.

  Thomas looked toward her. “Alysa?” He glanced at his father. “You allowed Alysa to participate in a dangerous activity such as this?”

  Lord Strathern was rueful. “Your sister is as hotheaded as you are, my son. Come, she will give you your mount and then we must be off. I mislike remaining in such an open area.”

  “You think we are betrayed?” This was from Cedric Ingram, who had followed Sir Henry Ballentyne and the rest from the dark rim of the beach.

  “Ingram!” There was surprise in Thomas’s voice. “I did not expect to see you here tonight.”

  Strathern shot his son a quick, searching look, but didn’t remark on his comment. Instead he replied to Cedric’s question. “No, but there is always danger in this sort of work.”

  Thomas had grasped the reins of his horse from Alysa and was mounting as his father spoke. He found the stirrups and gathered up the reins before leaning over to give Alysa a hug. “My darling sister, you should not be here, but I am delighted to see you all the same.”

  Alysa laughed and returned the hug. “Thomas, you cannot know how much I’ve missed you!”

  On the low rise above the beach where a small copse of trees sheltered the headland, there was a shiver of movement, movement that no one noticed, including Barnabus Wishingham, who was standing guard. Until now they had been no indication of any danger, so his attention was fully focused on the activity below.

  There Thomas was saying briskly, “Very well, then. What are the plans?”

  “Let us ride while we describe them to you.” Strathern kicked his horse into motion to emphasize his suggestion. The rest followed. “You will be going west first, to….”

  On the rise there was the stamp of a shoed hoof. The smith knew the sound well and he also knew his own mount had not made the noise. Panic seized him as he scanned the trees from which the sound had come. Were there shapes there that should not be?

  Yes!

  He kicked his horse into a gallop and careened down the path to the beach. “Fly!” he screamed. “Fly! We are betrayed!”

  Chapter 6

  The smith was a man of powerful lungs and his warning carried clearly on the night stillness. On the beach there was a moment in time when every action ceased, then a flurry of movement as men urged their horses into a run. Sand spurted from hooves digging into the beach for purchase, horses neighed, men shouted. From the trees there was another burst of activity as a troop of cavalry, warned of what was afoot, moved into action. Twenty men mounted on quick, light horses thundered from their hiding place and galloped in pursuit of the Royalists.

  All around there was a chaos of sound and fury. The darkly clothed cavaliers flew like shadows from the bright scarlet coats of the seemingly unstoppable Roundhead cavalry, which rushed down the hillside with ferocious speed. They closed rapidly on the Royalists until their horses reached the precarious footing of the soft sand; then they slowed.

  Near the water’s edge, where Thomas and his well-wishers were, the beach was tide washed. There the harder sand gave the horses a better footing, but to escape they had to cut across the soft sand before they reached the land’s edge. By prior, unspoken agreement the group broke apart, each man bent on saving himself. Only the Leightons stuck together.

  As the horses galloped along the tidal sand, Lord Strathern shouted to his son, “Thomas! Ride to Broadview Abbey. It is not the place I intended for you to go to first, but I fear that whoever betrayed us tonight might know of our original plans! At Broadview you will be safe until we can make other arrangements. It is far enough away that the Roundheads will not look there, not at first, and you know the way and the family.”

  Thomas nodded. Cautiously, he drew his mount from a gallop to a canter, for they were nearing the deep, dry sand where the footing was treacherous. “What happened Papa? Who betrayed us? Do you know?”

  Lord Strathern slowed his horse to keep pace with Thomas. Alysa’s mount continued its forward momentum, pulling ahead of the other two. Beside Thomas, Strathern shook his head grimly. “I can pinpoint no one,” he said bitterly. “News of your arrival was all over the village this past sennight. The traitor could have been anyone.”

  Suddenly a scream echoed through the night, overwhelming even the pounding of hooves and the shouts of men. Lord Strathern’s voice abruptly stopped, for Alysa’s horse had stumbled in the loose sand. She pulled desperately at the reins, urging the animal to move more carefully, but her caution was too late. A detachment of the Roundhead troops, their horses cantering steadily, were gaining ground. Soon they would reach her.

  The Leighton family had never been inclined to follow the safest path and on this night there was more reason than usual for acts of foolhardy daring. With Alysa in danger, both Lord Strathern and his son immediately turned their horses toward the oncoming soldiers, prepared to engage them so that Alysa could escape.

  Their gallantry was not needed,
however, for the midnight rendezvous had been attended by another unsuspected observer. A dark-haired gentleman, dressed in the serviceable buff coat worn by many officers during the wars, had also been observing from the security of the trees. When he saw that the little group was in danger of being captured he did not pause to question why two men had stopped to defend another. He simply acted. Clapping his heels to the smooth black flanks of his stallion, he charged into the fray, his sword raised.

  None of the troops expected an attacker to be coming from their rear and the cavalier’s intervention threw them into confusion. When confronted with the armed might of the Protectorate, Royalists usually fled, as this group of conspirators was doing. A deliberate assault was so unusual as to be unheard of.

  As the soldiers faltered and lost momentum, Lord Strathern and his son wheeled their horses to follow Alysa, who was now rapidly drawing away. Thomas raised his hand in a salute of farewell. “God willing, I will see you within the month.” He flashed a cocky grin. “Watch for me!”

  With that, he kicked his horse into a headlong gallop and turned its head to the left, drawing several troopers deeper into the soft, treacherous sand. Two others paused to meet the mad cavalier charging on them, leaving only one man to chase Lord Strathern and Alysa.

  The soft sand pulled at the hooves of the horses. Any step could be the one that would hobble the Leightons’ mounts and so end the chase. The hillside loomed ever closer, but never quite seemed within reach. Alysa risked a quick look behind that made her redouble her silent urgings to her horse. Inexorably, the Roundhead trooper was gaining on them, and from the grim smile of satisfaction that twisted his lips, the soldier was confident he would soon make his capture.

  A triumphant shout made Alysa risk another glance over her shoulder. The lonely cavalier had won through the troopers opposing him, leaving one man nursing a wounded arm and the other picking himself up off the sand as his mount cantered riderless toward the trees. The valiant champion pulled his spirited black horse to a prancing stop, wheeled and set off in pursuit of the lone Roundhead following Alysa and her father.