Jack Whyte - Order in Chaos

Jessie had been watching him closely as he spoke, her eyes absorbing every nuance she could discern of his character and personality. Her initial anger and irritation now abated, she could see that he had much, on the surface at least, to recommend him, beginning with the cleanly brushed tumble of glossy black hair that hung, unusually long, to his wide shoulders. His face, long and wide jawed, clean shaven and angular, could not, she thought, be called handsome in the classical sense, because his eyes, deep set beneath black brows, were slightly too close together. But they were large and wide nonetheless, the irises dark enough to appear black, and the whites were clear and healthy, almost blue tinged in their purity. They would, she decided, have been perfectly beautiful had it not been for that single, discernible lack of space, a mere hair’s breadth, on either side of the long, bony nose that dominated the rest of his face. His mouth was wide and mobile, and his teeth, thanks to his youth and good health, were even and brilliantly white, showing up starkly against the naturally saturnine color of his skin. He wore a blue tunic over blue trews of a different hue, and a long, heavy blue and white cloak, thrown back from his shoulders, hung to his ankles. His feet and lower legs were sturdily booted, and a long, serviceable sword hung from a belt across his chest. All in all, she decided, he looked ingratiating: young and vibrantly pleasant and enthusiastic; fit, friendly, open countenanced, self-confident and well put together … he would make a fine and worthwhile mate for some enterprising young woman in the not too distant future.

Having catalogued the young man in the space of a few heartbeats, Jessie now favored him with her most charming smile. “Plain knight or belted lord, Sir James, you are clearly a man of distinction, and I thank you for your courtesy.” She then turned her attention to Will Sinclair, who had been hovering uncomfortably at the edge of her vision.

“Forgive me for interrupting you in conference, Sir William, but since I have heard nothing from you for several days on the matter of the gift I bear for the King of Scots—you have clearly had other matters on your mind since arriving here in Arran—I thought it might be to the benefit of everyone concerned were I to press my own urgencies and make arrangements to have myself and my women, along with the King’s gift, transferred from here to the mainland, where I will doubtless have a far greater chance of finding King Robert than seems possible here on this island.”

Will stood bemused for a few moments, gazing blankly back at her, but then his eyes widened and he stood up straighter, stung by her air of haughtiness. “Really, madam,” he answered, his voice devoid of any attempt at pleasantness. “Instruct me then, if you will. How, precisely, would you achieve that, on this island, and what steps would you take to protect yourself and your women, not to mention the treasure you carry? Where would you find trustworthy men to accompany you from here, knowing that all my men are bound by sacred oath to the service of the Temple and may not leave without permission?”

Jessie was incensed by his careless mention of the treasure when she had been at pains to speak of it only as a gift, and her anger came through in her reply.

“It was in my mind that you might see fit to provide a suitable escort for us from among your men, sir.” Her voice, too, was cold, her tone contemptuous, and that fanned the flames of Will’s own irritation.

“As it was in mine, madam,” he snapped. “And ever has been, since the day we left La Rochelle. But the choice of time and suitability is also mine, and dependent upon the conclusion of my duties and responsibilities to the Temple. Those criteria are not to be abandoned at the whim of anyone outside the Temple Order.”

Douglas was standing open mouthed, dismayed by Will’s hostility and searching for a cause. This was the first time in his dealings with the Templar knight that he had perceived him as being anything less than utterly self-possessed and amiable, although he did not doubt that Sir William Sinclair could be a martinet when that was called for. On this occasion, however, Sinclair was being rude and boorish to the St. Valéry woman without provocation. Douglas could see no reason for such truculence, and he looked from one to the other of them as they spoke. It took him some time, nevertheless, to realize that it was Sinclair who was losing this confrontation, despite all his hectoring and his offended dignity.

“If I may make a suggestion,” Douglas said, smiling, “I may have the perfect solution to both your problems.” Both of them turned to glare at him, and he broadened his smile and waved towards a nearby table. “Come,” he said. “It is a cold November evening, growing colder by the minute, and this has been a long day, for me at least. My lady, I am about to set sail—tomorrow, in fact—to join King Robert, and he has already expressed a wish to greet you and express his gratitude for your timely and much-needed gift. Nothing would be more simple than for me to take you, your ladies, and your treasure with me. So why should we not sit down here by the fire in friendship—I will pull up some chairs—and discuss how and when this arrangement may be made?”

Jessie barely heard his last words, all her attention focused upon what he had said about the King’s gratitude. Her brow wrinkled, but as the only explanation of what he had said became clear to her she nodded, grim faced. Slowly then, her entire body stiff with outrage, she looked across at Sinclair and spoke in words that dripped withering sarcasm. “The King has expressed a wish to meet me and thank me for my gift? How can this be possible, sir? I am but newly arrived, so how can the King already know of my coming and the gift I bring? Who might have told him? Can you tell me that?”

A deep red flush suffused Sir William’s cheeks as he realized how he had been made to look. His hand fluttered and he attempted to speak but nothing came out, and the look of sheer gratitude on his face when James Douglas intervened again might have been laughable at another time.

“My lady,” Douglas interjected, reclaiming Jessie’s attention, albeit unwillingly. “My lady, forgive me, but King Robert was already here on Arran when Sir William arrived. His Grace remained for less than a day, having pressing matters of state that demanded his royal presence elsewhere, but while he was here, he took time to meet with Sir William on the matters underlying the arrival of the Temple fleet here in Scotland. I was present at that meeting, and in the course of it, the matter of your presence among the fleet, your escape from France, and your generous gift emerged. Sir William spoke of it in good faith, unaware that by the time you arrived in person from your anchorage off Kintyre, His Grace must be gone, about the business of the realm.

“King Robert left last night, and you arrived this morning. But in the here and now I am to follow him immediately, as I have said, though by another route, and I will be happy to escort you to wherever you might wish to go.” He laughed, waving one hand airily. “So be it, of course, that we remain well clear of any Englishry who might seek to throw me into a dungeon for my sins. But steer you safely home we will, and with great pleasure. In the meantime, though, my lady, you must not be angry at Sir William. I see your displeasure clearly, but William Sinclair did not betray your trust, nor did he demean your gift. He had no choice in this matter, and he acted honorably, as ever, with great care for your name and reputation.”

Jessie could not but be mollified by such an explanation, and she looked from Douglas to Sinclair, standing close beside her. She tilted her head to one side, well aware that he was waiting for her response although he could not bring himself to look at her, and she nodded once, and then again more slowly.