Jack Whyte - Order in Chaos

Will frowned and glanced down at himself, then saw immediately what she was talking about, acknowledging himself, uncharacteristically and perhaps for the first time ever, as being out of place in this comfortably appointed, unmistakably feminine room. He was, in fact, fully armored, save only for his helmet, and suddenly, unaccountably to him, he became aware of the odor of his own sweat mixed with that of his hardridden horse, and the weight of his heavily booted and armor-reinforced feet seemed leaden as he shifted them uncomfortably. He wore a full suit of mail—a hooded coat of heavy, burnished links that hung open to his heels and was fastened in front with leather thongs and a stout leather sword belt worn over a full cuirass of steel, while at the back it hung divided from the waist down, to permit him to ride comfortably. Beneath the cuirass he wore a thick leather jerkin lined with padded fustian, and beneath that an undershirt of finely woven wool, his single concession to his own comfort, worn solely because he found the contact of the itchy fustian intolerable on his bare skin. He wore light Saxon-styled trews beneath his heavy mailed leggings, the ends of them stuffed into his high, thick leather boots. For the first time in his adult life, he felt clumsy and faintly ridiculous, grotesquely out of place.

Jessie was still smiling at him. “I hope you will not be offended, but knowing that you carry little in the way of clothing while traveling, I took the liberty of laying out some of my late husband’s clothes on the cot in the chamber above this, next to the room you occupied when you were here previously. Etienne, God rest him, was of a size with you, I think—perhaps a little narrower across the chest and shoulders. You should find that they will fit you easily, and I promise you, you will find them far softer and warmer than that coat of mail.” She waited for a reaction, and when none came she added, grinning in pure mischief, “I swear to you, you may walk about unarmored here with confidence. There is little likelihood of our being attacked again. Twice in one day would be inconsiderate and unacceptable.”

Will was completely at a loss for words. He knew she was twitting him, but he was still too unsure of himself in this suddenly new relationship and incapable of forming an adequate response, fearing he might make a fool of himself by saying something inane, or yet again give the wrong impression by blurting out something that sounded curt and humorless. And yet the laughter dancing in her eyes was unmistakable, and he found himself aching to respond in kind. And so he forced himself to try to smile.

“You are toying with me again, I see, madam,” he managed to say finally, keeping his voice gentle. “But I sense you mean no harm by it, and so in token of that, I will accept your kindness and make an attempt to fit into the clothes you have laid out for me. You say they are in the chamber next to the one I used before?”

“They are,” she said, and now the raillery had vanished from her voice and eyes, replaced only with a warm smile. “And there are three sets from which to choose. Should I send one of your men up to assist you?”

He managed to raise one eyebrow in selfdisparagement. “No, madam,” he said formally. “In my years as both monk and knight, I have learned adequately well to robe and disrobe, and even to arm and disarm myself, without assistance. So if you will excuse me?”

“Wait, you will need a light. It will be dark up there. Take one of the candles there … And try the green pile. I think the color will suit you.”

He bowed to her without another word and went to where a single, tall taper burned beside a box of candles on the table. He selected one and lit it, then sheltered it with a cupped palm as he made his way out of the room, conscious at every step of her eyes on him.

Great God in Heaven , Jessie thought as he went out. Here is change indeed. Who would ever have believed it, and where did it spring from? To see the great William Sinclair blushing and gawking like a chastened altar boy. It is almost too much to be believed, but I thank Heaven it is so and pray God he does not have a change of heart and mood. Hurry back, Will Sinclair, hurry back.

UPSTAIRS, WILL STRIPPED OFF his armor and his padded tunic and leggings until he was left wearing nothing but his white lambskin apron, and then he spent what seemed like an unseemly long time bending over the bed, peering closely by the light of his single candle at the three separate piles of clothing that lay there, and fingering the fabric of the various garments. They were fine and soft and sensually wondrous, and he finally decided in favor of the greens, simply because the hue seemed somehow brighter, even in the candle’s light, and he felt an inchoate urge to wear something bright.

It was only as he lifted the delicate, square-necked undershirt of fine pale green wool, wondering if it would in fact fit him, that he noticed the washing bowl and the ewer of clean water on a narrow table or wash stand at the foot of the bed. He approached it cautiously and saw that it was flanked by a hanging towel of flocked material that he knew to be called Egyptian cotton, and a smaller, folded square of the same material, similar to one he had seen his sister Peggy use for washing her face, and a small bar of rich, wondrously scented soap that he knew had not been made in Scotland. He fingered the soap tentatively, marveling at its creamy texture, and on the spur of the moment decided to use it. He splashed water into the bowl, soaked the washing cloth, and then rubbed it with the soap, inhaling deeply as the scent of the moistened substance was released and threatened to set him reeling with the pleasure of it. Once committed, he wasted no time but washed his entire upper body, scrubbing the cloth beneath his armpits and reveling in the coldness of the water against his heated torso. He then dried himself with the rich toweling and splashed more water over his head, rubbing it into his scalp and then toweling his hair until it was almost dry, after which he combed it into some semblance of order with his clawed fingers. And afterwards, refreshed and invigorated almost beyond belief, he set about making sense of the clothing he must don.

He pulled on the softest pair of loose breeches he had ever worn, settling them almost comfortably over his lambskin apron, aware that even loose as they were, they stretched taut over his muscular thighs and calves. He tied them securely with the drawstring attached to the waist, after which he shrugged into the matching undershirt, feeling it hug him and then stretch easily across his chest. As he laced up the single fastening at the neck, he gazed down at the remaining garments on the bed beside him. There were hose, with knee ties, and he knew as soon as he looked at them that he should have put them on before pulling on the breeches, so he removed those and pulled on the pale green hose, stretching them over his bulging calves so that there was no need to tie them in place. He then donned the breeches again, snuggling them over the hose below his knees before retying them at the waist. Next he pulled on the softest pair of calf-high boots that he had ever handled. They were of supple dark green leather that he knew to be chamois, parchment thin and brushed to a silken softness, and they fitted him to perfection. Encouraged then by his success with the boots, he shrugged quickly into a loose shirt with a wide, deep vee in front, several shades darker than the square-necked undershirt that showed beneath it, and finished his transformation by donning the knee-length, open-fronted outer garment, like an open surcoat with sleeves, that he folded across his chest and tied with a long, woven belt of the same material. He had no means of seeing his reflection, but he felt more at ease and more unconfined than he could ever remember. He gathered up his clothing and armor carefully, slinging his buckled sword belt over one shoulder, and carried the heavy and ungainly pile awkwardly under one arm into the neighboring chamber, where he dropped it on the cot there, acutely aware all the while of how strangely shy and diffident he felt in his borrowed finery.