Jack Whyte - Order in Chaos

Will felt his chest constrict in dismay, thinking about the slightly built chieftain of Menteith, whom he had found to be pleasant and unassuming. If that innocuous little man could be a traitor, he realized, then anyone could. He grunted. “So where is Menteith now? What have you done with him?”

“Nothing. He still sits in Brodick, unknowing that his bolt is shot before ever he had a chance to raise a hand. I told you, I came straight here from the north. There was a MacDonald galley in the bay beneath the western moor, and we were able to use it, since its captain was already on his way here to Brodick. We came around the north coast of the island, checking for skulking MacDougalls among the bays and inlets, then made our way directly here. Our next move will be to put into Brodick, where we’ll arrest Menteith and keep him under guard until the King can deal with him. That is why I travel with an escort this day. We did not know where we might find Menteith, nor did we know who might attempt to defend him when we arrest him. Thus my men-at-arms, and thus, too, my gift to you, well earned.”

“What gift to me?”

“Lochranza, man! Menteith’s stronghold. Did you not say you would need a solid base here on the island? Well, now you have one. Lochranza is yours, from this time on, to use as you see fit. God knows Menteith will have no further use for it. Its castle is solid stone, easily defended, and it has the best sheltered harbor on the entire island, apart from this bay. Your galleys will be able to lie there unseen from any but the closest approaches, and there’s ample room in the castle and the land beyond it for your men. More than that, there is probably ample grazing for half of your horses, too, in the glens between the mountains—they’re lush and well watered. You’ll have the high mountains at your back and the sea lanes at your feet. You could do far worse. And from my point of view, of course, the castle could be in far worse hands than yours. Sitting empty, in fact, it could be a drain and a curse. But now you will use it for your Order’s purposes, and while you are about that, you will defend it for me and the King, thereby relieving me of the need to worry over it. Quid pro quo. It’s perfect.”

Will, open mouthed with astonishment, was thinking exactly the same thing, but he never had the chance to say so, for there came the sound of female voices approaching outside the pavilion, followed by male voices raised in challenge and response. And then the secondary, curtained entrance to the body of the tent was pulled open and Tam Sinclair stepped in, looking decidedly put out.

“Sir William,” he growled, making no attempt to be polite or amiable. “The Baroness St. Valéry wants to speak to you, and she winna take no for an answer, so I have brought her.” And with that, he turned on his heel and stalked away, letting the curtain fall behind him.

Will and Douglas stood staring at each other as a silence fell abruptly beyond the curtained doorway. Neither man made any attempt to move, each of them wondering, for different reasons, what would happen next, and then came a discreet cough and the fabric of the heavy curtain swayed as someone groped at it, then pulled it aside. Jessica Randolph, Baroness St. Valéry, stood there alone, staring at the two knights who stood watching her warily.

“My lady Baroness,” Will greeted her, after what felt to him like an age of gawping at her like some foolish boy. He pulled himself up straighter until he began to feel ridiculous, then waved a hand limply towards the young man across the fire from him. “You will not yet have met Sir James Douglas, I think …”

Douglas’s face broke into a delighted smile as he swept off his bonnet with a flourish and bowed deeply from the waist in the grand manner he had learned during his boyhood sojourn in Paris, and because of that he failed to see the astonished widening of Jessie Randolph’s eyes as she heard the flawless French of his greeting.

“Madame la Baronne de St. Valéry,” he said, head down, pointing his toe and sweeping the blackcock feather in his cap along the floor at arm’s length. “I am honored and delighted to meet you, for I have heard much of you and yours.” He straightened up and looked her straight in the eye. “I knew your brother Sir Thomas, by repute, as did all of Scotland. I never had the honor of meeting him, but my father held him always in the highest regard. I am familiar, too, with the name of your late husband, the Baron St. Valéry, for he ranked high in the esteem of Master William Lamberton, my Lord Archbishop of St. Andrews, who was my patron and protector during my stay in France. I have heard the Archbishop speak admiringly, on several occasions, of your late husband’s exploits and achievements as agent general of King Philip to the court of England.”

Jessie merely nodded in response to that, acknowledging his courtesy and marveling at the self-possession he displayed for one so young, but she continued to study him, trying to take his true measure as he continued. “I understand from Sir William that you have not set foot in Scotland for some time, so may I say that I am delighted that you should be guided to this isle of Arran as your landing place, and use my status as its guardian to extend the warm and willing welcome of my liege lord Robert, King of Scots?”

God’s blood, did he say guardian? The legal King’s Guardian of this isle? He’s but a laddie.

Jessie felt herself frowning severely, the wind of her self-righteousness snatched completely from her sails. She had practically forced her way into this pavilion, bullying Tam Sinclair mercilessly until he threw up his hands and yielded to her determination, and she had hesitated only once, very briefly, before pulling back the shielding curtain between the entranceway and the interior of the great tent, prepared to confront the redoubtable and intolerant Sir William Sinclair and to demand the recognition and the consideration that she believed her sumptuous and voluntary gift to the King of Scots had earned for her. She had entered the arena fully prepared for battle, her mind filled with imaginings and visions of what she would say to him, and he to her, when she vented her righteous anger at him over his treatment of her and her women. The very last thing she had expected was the sheepish, guilt-tinged, almost shame-faced diffidence of Sinclair’s greeting, and the unforeseen presence of the very young and distinguished-looking nobleman now addressing her merely added to her confusion and rendered her speechless.

Who was this popinjay, she wondered now, and whence had he sprung? Douglas was a common enough name in southern Scotland, but it held no great resonance for her. There had been a notorious Douglas in southern parts when she was first married, she remembered, a hothead and a rebel who had been imprisoned in England for his crimes. Could this man be a relative? Certainly, if the young fellow was as important as he clearly appeared to be, and judging by Sinclair’s deference to him she was prepared to accept that he was, then it would not do to offend him. And so Jessie bit back the snappish retort that had sprung to her lips and instead inclined her head graciously, summoning a smile, though a small one, from somewhere deep inside her and speaking gently and decorously.

“Thank you, my lord … Douglas, is it? You are most civil.”

“Some people attract civility without effort, my lady.” The young man smiled and bowed again, less deeply this time. “James Douglas of Douglasdale, but no lord. The lordship was held by my late father, Sir William Douglas, and is now gripped jealously by the English, who maintain that my father died a rebel and a traitor. My opinion differs from theirs, as does all of Scotland’s, but Castle Douglas, my family home, with all its people, now lies in the hands of Sir William Clifford, one of England’s so-called governors in Scotland.” He shrugged, still smiling faintly. “It will not always be thus, but for the time being it is and there is nothing to be done for it.”