Jack Whyte - Order in Chaos

The big man frowned and his lips parted but nothing emerged, and so he tried again, in Scots. “She was but a lassie then, and silly.”

That earned him a swift, tart rejoinder, in French: “Is silliness always the way of lassies, Sir William? Peggy is a woman now, and I would wager her opinion of you has not changed. Would you still deem her silly?”

“I would not know.” He cursed himself for the transparent lie, for he had already admitted his admiration of his sister to the admiral, but he charged ahead, compounding his folly, incapable of doing otherwise and sounding more hostile than ever. “I know nothing of women, Lady.”

“That is plain to see, Sir William.” Jessie’s voice was noticeably cooler.

“Aye, well. I am a simple soldier—”

“Aye, and a humble monk. Quite so. I have heard that before, Master Sinclair. But it seems to me there is little of the simpleton about you, and far less of the humility you claim.” There, now chew upon that, Sir Churlish.

She turned away from the white-mantled knight, dismissing him coolly as she directed her attention back to the admiral, who was staring in consternation at what he had heard. She laid her fingertips on his arm, smiling at him as she indicated the other two men in the room. “I thought Commander de Thierry might be here. Am I to see him?”

St. Valéry cleared his throat, and when he spoke, he was careful not to look at anyone else. “Sir Arnold, I fear, is no longer among us, Sister. He died but a short time ago.” He paused, allowing her to express her grief and concern, but made no attempt to explain how short the time had, in fact, been. Little benefit, he thought, in upsetting the woman needlessly. He forced a smile onto his lips, and continued smoothly. “I am sure he would wish me, however, to apologize for his failure to be here to welcome you.” He paused again, clearly struggling with something, then continued. “May I present you to his successor, Sir Richard de Montrichard, and to my own vice-admiral, Sir Edward de Berenger?”

Both men bowed, and Jessie gave them her most winning smile, unaware that William Sinclair stood stupefied with anger, glaring wildly at her, his skin crawling with embarrassment at the way she had dismissed him, while his mind grappled with an acute and frightening awareness, as he took in every line and movement of her lithe and supple body, that he was looking at Temptation herself, the Devil’s work personified. The woman was simply more beautiful and far more disturbing than any other single person he had met in his thirtyodd years of existence.

Even as he looked and fumed, however, he saw how the woman was demonstrating her mastery over mere men. De Berenger, hard-bitten knight that he was, appeared to be besotted with her smiling radiance and her conversation, hanging on her every word and grinning like a fool who ought not to be loose without a keeper to watch over him. And even the dour deputy preceptor, Richard de Montrichard, was smiling and nodding at her every word, his eyes moving from her to de Berenger as he followed their conversation avidly. Will felt Tam’s eyes on him and turned towards the other man, scowling, but Tam refused to meet his gaze, looking away quickly before Will could read the expression in his eyes.

And still Will wanted to say something, to step forward, albeit too late, and put the woman firmly in her place with a few appropriately chosen words, letting her know that her wiles and guiles, no matter how indirect or how cloaked in sweetness, would be wasted in the present company. But nothing came to him—no barbed comment, no inspired witticisms, nothing at all that he could articulate—and he was reduced to standing impotently, shamed and humiliated yet knowing neither how nor why, staring at the back of her neck and shoulders and at the way her clothing clung to her caressingly and adjusted to her body’s slightest movement.

It was the admiral who rescued him from his agonizing immobility by calling all of them to come and sit by the fire. He held Lady Jessica’s chair for her and then sat on her right, waving to Sir William to take the chair on her other side as the other men took their seats. Sinclair moved forward reluctantly to sit where the admiral had indicated, in the only chair left vacant, and close enough to the woman to be able to smell her presence as the faintest suggestion of something warm and sweet and delightfully aromatic. Having spent his boyhood in Scotland and the remainder of his life in monastic garrisons throughout Christendom and the Holy Lands, Sinclair had never encountered perfume before, and so he had no suspicion that he was smelling anything other than Jessie Randolph’s natural scent. Despite his disapproval of the woman, he found himself perversely enjoying the tumult the subtle aroma caused in his breast.

Jessie Randolph betrayed absolutely no sign that she was aware of his presence, keeping her shoulder turned against him as she spoke softly to her brother-in-law. St. Valéry finally nodded and patted her hand reassuringly before clearing his throat and calling all of them to attention. But they were immediately interrupted by a loud knocking at the door, which opened to reveal an apprehensive guard.

Two women, the fellow explained falteringly, almost cringing in the face of the admiral’s angry frown, had come to the gates some time soon after dark, seeking the Baroness St. Valéry.

Jessie leapt to her feet. Marie and Janette! Thank you, dear Jesus, for this deliverance.

The guard said they had been lodged in the guardhouse, in one of the cells, because Sergeant Tescar had been ordered to permit no one to enter or leave the Commandery. But the two women had grown increasingly insistent that they must be permitted to see the Baroness, and so the Sergeant of the Guard had sent to ask for guidance.

Jessie swung to face St. Valéry, grasping his arm. “These are my women, Charles. My servants, Marie and Janette. We had to part on the road when we were warned that de Nogaret’s soldiers were looking for three women. I sent them on ahead, to await my arrival here and then come to me when we were all safe. I must go to them. Will you pardon me?”

Sir William had noted her obvious elation on hearing this news, and he had been warmed, in spite of himself, by the gladness in her eyes and the flush on her high cheekbones that signaled genuine concern for the women, so he was surprised when St. Valéry shook his head.

“No, my dear, I cannot release you.” He looked about at the other men, and waved his hand in frustration. “I have urgent information that you must hear now … information that even my deputies here know nothing of. Much has happened this day, and much more is about to take place, and we are running out of time, so I cannot afford to tell this sorry tale twice.” He glanced at de Berenger and Montrichard, seeing the incomprehension in their faces. “Your women are safe, Lady Jessica. They are in good hands and will not suffer by remaining where they are for a little longer. We will make them warmer and more comfortable now that we know who they are, but I cannot permit them to enter the Commandery without your presence. This is a monastery. We have no place to put them, and the mere presence of two unattended women might cause some consternation among our brethren. I beg you, send word to them to await your coming.”

Jessie was glaring at him through narrowed eyes, but she pursed her lips and nodded her head. “These tidings must be grave indeed, Brother, to cause you all to seal your gates and miss Vespers. I can scarce wait to hear them.” She turned to the guard. “Have my women eaten anything tonight?”

The fellow shrugged. “I don’t know, my lady. They were there when I came on watch. They may have eaten earlier.”