Jack Whyte - Order in Chaos

Will stood blinking at her for several more moments, and then she watched as he moved into the dimness at the rear of the great tent, where he stopped by a table of some kind against the rear wall. She thought she saw him open the lid of a small chest, and then he bent over, rummaging inside it. He came back to them, and she knew he had something clutched in his hand and her curiosity was difficult to control, but she willed herself to stand still and wait for him to approach. When he reached them, he kept his eyes fixed on Jessie as he reached out awkwardly and opened his hand to show her what he held. It was a small amulet, looking as though it might be made of gold and very old, buttery ivory, and it lay atop a long curl of gold chain, part of which was looped around one finger.

“You are for Scotland, Baroness, to see your own people, and it came to me that you might see your good-sister—my own sister, Peggy—while you are there. I have no wish to impose upon you, but this is … I bought this bauble for her some years ago in Navarre. She had recently written to me, and when I saw this I thought she might enjoy it … but then we became involved in campaigning against the Moors there, and I neglected to send it to her when I returned to France. It is but a trinket, purchased upon a whim, and in truth I had forgotten it until I found it recently, when preparing to leave on this journey. It is Arabian, I believe, but it is well made, and the colors are those Peggy has ever loved. If you would take it to her as a gift from me, I would be greatly obliged.”

Now Jessie smiled. “I will be happy to do so, Sir William. That is no imposition at all. And Peggy will love it.” She held out her hand.

On the point of dropping the pendant into her open palm, he hesitated, frowning, then quickly reached deep into his tunic and pulled out a folded square of cloth. It was a simple kerchief, clean and white, and he shook it open in his left hand, then dropped the pendant into the center of it and folded the thing into a compact package that he passed to Jessie, who took it from him without touching his fingers. It was warm with his body heat and she closed her fingers over it tightly, feeling his warmth. She was about to tuck it demurely into a concealed pocket in her bodice, but on the spur of a sudden thought she moved to lodge the little packet securely between her breasts, highly aware that both men followed the movements of her hand beneath the fabric of her shawl.

There now, Master St. Clair! I have you close to my breast. And see how you flush with the mere knowledge! Remember it, poor monk man, though it stir the need in you to seek confession. She smiled at him again, knowing he was seeing the narrow dimple in her left cheek, and then dipped her head in salute and left him there.

Douglas moved quickly to escort her again, and when they reached the main entrance he dispatched two of his own guards to escort the lady and her two companions back to the beach, to where they could find a boat to take them back to the admiral’s galley for the night.

When he returned, and saw Will standing forlornly by the fire, he grinned.

“She’s a well-made woman, that one, eh? A fine lady. More French than Scots, though … probably because she has spent so much time in France, married to a Frenchman. Don’t you think?”

Will Sinclair, as was usual in his happenchance dealings with Baroness St. Valéry, did not know what to think, so he merely nodded and sank back into his chair, feeling slightly deprived, although he could not have said why.

“So you’ll sail tomorrow?”

“Aye, on the high tide,” Douglas answered. “But tonight I have to take Menteith into custody, and it’s already dark. So, if you’ll forgive my discourtesy I think I’ll go now, and strike overland with my small band of guards. It’s only two miles, and the men I have with me will suffice for the task at hand. I can be there and have Menteith in chains before he has time to finish dining.” He adjusted his sword belt before tugging his cap with its blackcock feather back into place on his brow and adjusting the hang of his cloak, shaking out its thick folds in anticipation of the chill of the evening. Then he nodded in salute and turned to leave, but stopped before reaching the flap to the outer door.

“The Baroness was right,” he said over his shoulder. “You do have a wealth of matters to keep you busy here. You will no’ be bored. A good night to you, Sir William, and I’ll return for my galley in the morning.”

Those parting words came back to Will the following afternoon, as he watched the vice-admiral’s galley bearing Douglas and the Randolph woman eastwards across the narrow waters of the Firth of Clyde towards the Scottish mainland and the Bruce lands of Ayr and Carrick: You do have a wealth of matters to keep you busy here. You will no’ be bored .

Will knew Douglas was right. He would have no time to be bored; no time to waste at all; and certainly no time to waste in thinking about that Randolph woman, who was now safely, and definitively, gone from his life.

OBEDIENCE

ONE

The upheaval took Will Sinclair completely by surprise, although, looking back on it, he could see that all the signs of its imminence had been there and he had merely chosen not to see them. Some of the brethren muttered about it afterwards as a revolt, or a mutiny, but Will himself was never sure what to call it. If revolt it actually was, it was not widespread, and it was quickly quelled, but its ramifications were profound because it ran counter to the Temple’s centuries-old traditions of brotherhood, tolerance, and obedience to authority within the Order, and it demonstrated the extent to which discipline had declined in the preceding years. Those truths alone made the events of that day, the Eve of the Feast of the Epiphany, significant enough to trigger an explosion of displeasure from Sir William Sinclair the likes of which none of his chapter had ever seen.

He literally walked into the fight that began and ended the affair, and for several moments he stood blinking, unable to come to terms with what he was seeing. But then, as awareness swept over him, so too did anger, and the unexpectedness of both combined to propel him instantly from deep concentration into cold and implacable fury.

He had been awake since the wee hours of that cold January morning, roused long before Vespers with the news that Sir James Douglas, newly arrived from the mainland in pitch darkness and a raging storm, sought urgent audience with him. Those words had banished all sleepiness from his mind, and within the quarter hour he had created a stir that had serving brothers bustling everywhere—lighting fresh fires and refueling old ones against the bitter winter chill; preparing tables, chairs, candles, and tapers for instant use; and arranging for hot food and dry clothing to be provided for the famished newcomers. Douglas’s visit would be brief, Will had learned, for his ship had not come to Arran apurpose. He and his men were on their way to Ireland, carrying messages for King Robert’s brother Edward Bruce, who was there attempting to raise mercenaries and create alliances on his brother’s behalf with some of the Irish kings. But they had run afoul of a squadron of English ships soon after leaving the sea arm of Loch Awe, and although they had evaded them with relative ease, the maneuvers of the night chase had left them at the mercy of the storm in the Firth of Clyde, with little option but to run for Arran, which they had expected to visit only on their return journey.

By and large, though, the tidings that Douglas brought with him were good: Bruce’s progress through the Highlands of his realm was going well and, as Douglas gleefully declared in the course of the short time he was able to spend with Will, the house of Comyn had fallen upon ill times long overdue. The proud Earls of Buchan and Ross had surrendered and bowed the knee to Bruce, he reported, almost crowing with satisfaction, and the seething Comyn brood, including the contentious MacDougalls of Lorn and Argyll, would never again pose a danger to King Robert.