Order in Chaos

A GATHERING ON ARRAN

ONE

Will Sinclair was sitting on the edge of his cot, rubbing his eyes, when Tam came to rouse him the next morning. Tam carried a lit candle in a sconce in one hand and a ewer of warm water in the other, a towel folded over the arm holding the candle. He grunted a greeting, used the candle to light another on the room’s single table, and set the ewer inside the earthen bowl on the tabletop before arranging the candles one on either side of the bowl and dropping the towel beside one of them. Then, his duty done, he turned and left the room again, well aware of the folly of attempting to talk about anything with Will before his friend had had time to collect himself and wash the sleep from his eyes.

On this particular morning, however, Will was wide awake and preparing to meet a very busy day. He had met the MacDonald leader, Angus Og, aboard his galley the previous afternoon and had made the necessary arrangements to secure permission for his vessels to sail unchallenged in these waters, in return for the loan, ostensibly through the medium of King Robert, of five of his galleys. He had then borrowed writing materials from Bishop de Moray before making his farewells to the King of Scots and returning ashore. There he had met with the dour Lowlander who was Douglas’s quartermaster and made arrangements with him for a group of cooks to travel to Lamlash the following morning, to cook a simple hot meal for the incoming Temple fleet. After that, he had returned to the upper room assigned to him and worked alone late into the night, acting as his own scribe and making list after list of things that needed to be done this day. When he was satisfied that he had forgotten nothing, he had rolled into bed and slept soundly and peacefully, recouping all the losses of the night before.

Downstairs now in the anteroom of the main hall, surrounded by sleepy men who paid no attention at all to his knight’s mantle or the heavy silver chain he wore beneath it, he poured goat’s milk over a bowl of the daily porridge made by the garrison’s cooks and ate it in silence at a table shared by a group of Highlanders as quiet as himself. When he was done, he crossed to the serving table again, where he cut a slice from a cold joint of meat, sprinkled it with salt from a jar, and wrapped it in a slab of bread that was still warm from the ovens.

“That looks good,” Tam said from behind him. “I’ll have some o’ that, too. Here, I’ve brought your things.”

Will nodded his thanks and bit off a mouthful of the bread and meat before setting it down and taking the sword and shield Tam was holding. He shrugged out of his mantle and settled the sword belt across his shoulders, adjusting the hang of the long, sheathed weapon, then replacing the mantle over it while Tam looked to his own feeding.

“Did you sleep well?” he asked as they headed for the main doors.

“Aye, well enough. I’m still enjoying having a bed that doesna move under me. We’ll ha’e much to do this day, I’m thinking?”

“More than enough. Sir Edward should be here waiting for us by the time we reach the water. He was to come in last night, under cover of the dark.”

It was still dark when they reached the beach, but the admiral’s longboat was waiting for them, its prow drawn up on the pebbles, and the two men barely had time to seat themselves before four of the rowers jumped into the waves and hauled the boat out into deeper water again. Ten minutes later, Sir Edward de Berenger himself welcomed them as they climbed aboard his galley, then issued orders to get under way as soon as the longboat had been hauled aboard. Once the rhythmic sweep of the oars had settled into a steady beat, Will finally saw the admiral relax.

“Well, Commander,” de Berenger said eventually. “How was your visit with the King of Scots?”

“Good enough. We have permission to stay here, with certain provisos. What about you? Any difficulties, going or coming?”

The light was strengthening now, and De Berenger was clearly visible as he turned to face Will, twisting his mouth into an expression that brought a swift frown to Will’s face. “No difficulties going either way,” the admiral said. “But there were difficulties nonetheless. They were brought to my attention, and I was very glad that I could leave them for yours.”

“What happened?”

“Some of your garrison knights decided that they wished to go ashore, on the peninsula behind the island. They overrode the opposition of the ship’s captain, a good man but a mere sergeant, awed by four bullying knights. Fortunately he had the sense to send word by boat to de Narremat, who sent de l’Armentière after them at once. He caught them in the channel between Sanda and the peninsula and threatened to run them down if they did not turn back upon his order. When they defied him, he sank their boat with that wicked ram of his. None of them were lost, for they were in the shallows at the time and de l’Armentière was very skillful, but they were four very wet and angry ranting knights when they were hauled aboard and taken straight to de Narremat’s galley. He confined them belowdecks, in chains, and they are still there, rusting in their hauberks.”

“Damnation. Who are they, do you know?”

“No, I did not think to ask their names. But they are Temple knights, cooped up too long at sea and little liking having no voice in their own affairs. It is fortunate, perhaps, that there were only the four of them aboard that ship. There were no other incidents among the knights aboard the remaining vessels.”

“Nor will there be from this time on, for I intend to bring all of them to heel again and remind them of who they are and the vows they took.” Will reached into his scrip and pulled out the folded sheet of vellum that he had written his lists on the night before, and held it up for de Berenger to see. “This arrogant nonsense of your four knights was foreseen yesterday, or some version of it was, by Bishop Moray, and I set myself to thinking how to deal with it before anything serious can develop. How long to reach the others from here?”

De Berenger looked forward, to where the Temple fleet could already be seen crowding the waters of the bay of Lamlash, which were motionless as a sheet of glass in the still morning light. “We are almost there now … a quarter of an hour.”

“And you bade them wait for our arrival before starting to disembark?”

“I did. Look! What’s that over there on the island? There are people there. Who in blazes are they?”

Will picked out the small procession wending its way across the hills towards Lamlash Bay, perhaps forty men in all, pulling an assortment of lurching, high-wheeled handcarts loaded with cargo.

“Cooks and workmen,” he said. “Douglas’s men, courtesy of his quartermaster. They’ll set up fires and prepare food for us to eat later, after the ceremonies.” De Berenger raised an eyebrow at Will’s mention of ceremonies, but said nothing. “Before we do anything else, we need to find the ship my brother is on and summon him to join me here. I’m going to need his hundred men ashore before anyone else moves towards land. Can you take us within hailing distance?”

The admiral smiled. “I can do better than that. With the water as still as it is, I can lay us alongside and he can jump down to us. I know his ship. In fact, I can see it from here.” He turned to the shipmaster behind him and issued quiet instructions, pointing out the vessel that held Kenneth Sinclair, and the man moved quickly away and began issuing orders.

“My thanks, Edward,” Will said. “Now, look at this.” He bowed his head to the parchment and began to run a finger down his long list of things to do, directing de Berenger’s attention to the items that concerned him and explaining what he needed to have done and in what order, and as they drew steadily closer to the waiting fleet, Sir Edward, too, became absorbed in the importance of the day that stretched ahead. Before he did anything else, however, de Berenger had one question to ask, and it was one Will had been anticipating with some discomfort.

“What will you do with the Baroness while all this is going on?”

“Do with her? I shall do nothing with her, or to her. She will remain aboard her ship with her women until our business ashore is complete. After that, I care not what she may do … she may disembark, if she so wishes.”

“You would deny her the privilege of attending Mass?”

“Aye, I would, in this instance. The lady lives surrounded by priests and may have any one of them celebrate Mass for her at any time, in her own quarters, if she wishes. But today’s Mass on the island will be a chapter Mass, the first such event celebrated by the brethren since we left La Rochelle. It will be a solemn ritual, its content dictated by the Rule of the Order, and you and I both know there is no place for women in any element of the Rule’s applications. Her ladyship may be displeased, but there is no alternative open to any of us. She remains on board ship until we are done, and there’s an end to it. Now, let’s go and find my brother.”

TWO

Sir Kenneth Sinclair clung grimly to a rope on the bulging side of the ship that lay alongside the galley, face taut as he gauged the timing of his leap, and then he launched himself outwards, between the vertical sweeps of the galley’s port-side oarsmen, the fingers of both hands spread wide in the hope of catching something—anything—to break his fall. There were willing hands aplenty to catch him, and he landed gently, his knees bent and his shoulders sagging with relief. He let out his breath with a great whoosh and stood upright, bracing himself for a moment before stepping forward to embrace his brother and pay his respects to Admiral de Berenger. As soon as the greetings were over, he swung back to Will.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing is wrong. Why would you think otherwise?”

Kenneth’s eyebrows rose up in mock delight. “You mean you came all this way just to wish me well, and tied your ship to ours with grappling hooks only to make me risk my life leaping down here for an embrace?” He sobered and his voice dropped to a lower register. “There’s something happening—something in the wind, Brother—and I suspect that I’m a part of it.”

Will nodded. “Right. You are. But nothing is wrong. I merely need you to do some things for me. Important things.”

“I’m your man, then. What d’you need?”

Will glanced at de Berenger, then looked around to see if anyone else was listening. No one was close enough to hear, and he took his brother by the elbow and turned him to face the land above Lamlash Bay. “I want your men ashore within the hour, Kenneth, every one of them, in full mail and surcoats. Sir Edward will see that you have everything you need in order to do that. You see that shelf of land there, just above the bay? It stretches back for almost half a mile and most of it is level, and there’s a knoll in the middle of it, a round-topped outcrop of rock, not high, but high enough to serve our purposes. Can you see it?”

Kenneth nodded.

“Good. That knoll will hold our altar. By the time you arrive on the beach, there will be a work party there from Brodick—that’s where I have been staying, in the next bay to the north. The head man’s name is Harkin and he is expecting you. He has an extra table for you, with trestles, for an altar. Set it up on the knoll there. All the altar cloths and vessels are aboard one of the other ships, and Bishop Formadieu will see to their disposal. But you’ll need to find a site close behind the altar to hold the tocsin—” He turned to de Berenger. “Admiral, can you supply a party of ships’ carpenters with rope and spars to erect a tripod for the tocsin? It might tax their skills, but we’ll need the bell in place before noon.”

De Berenger nodded, and Will continued his instructions to Kenneth. “I’ll want your men in a perimeter around a space that’s large enough to hold all our people in an orderly assembly, with room enough to stand comfortably but not to encourage movement or commingling. Define the area yourself, then mark it, sides and rear. Leave the beach end open. Post twenty of your four score sergeants on each of three sides—rear, right, and left. The score remaining, plus your score of knights, will serve as ushers. I will permit no one else to go ashore until you have marked the bounds and posted your men, but waste no time. Mass will begin as close to noon as may be. Have your people marshal the others as they come ashore.” He told his brother how he wanted the men arranged in front of the altar.

“What then?”

“Then we will celebrate our first Mass as an assembled community in weeks, and I will address the brethren.”

Kenneth was looking down at the massive medallion on his brother’s chest, smiling again. “I’ve never seen one of those before, though I know what it is. But aren’t you supposed to wear it over your mantle?”

“I am, and I will, and after today you may never see it again. Now, away with you and do what I’ve told you. Some of the admiral’s lads will hoist you back up to your ship, and as soon as you get there your every minute will be precious.”

Ropes and grappling hooks were being cast loose even before Kenneth was hauled back aboard his ship, and the forward oarsmen of the right banks were straining to push the galley’s bow around and away from the other vessel, a widening gap spreading between the two craft. Normally, Will would have been watching the operations avidly, for he was endlessly fascinated by the skills of the Temple’s seamen, but on this occasion he had neither time nor interest and was already scanning his lists again, allocating a degree of importance to each item and deciding upon how to proceed.

He eventually became aware of the sound of the oars pulling in unison again and looked up briefly to find himself already among the fleet, ships and galleys ranged in disciplined lines on both sides of him. The sound of ropes squealing through a pulley attracted his eye, and he watched the admiral’s rigidly framed standard, the naval baucent with its skull and crossed bones on a black field, being hauled to the top of the mast. Its sighting was a signal to all ships’ captains to assemble, and it had clearly been awaited, for within minutes boats were pulling towards the galley from all directions.

By the time all the captains were assembled, the stern deck was crammed with men, and de Berenger swung himself up onto the deck’s rail to address them, bracing himself easily against the rigging. He waited until he had all their attention and then launched into a crisp series of succinct orders, consulting Will’s list from time to time and missing nothing. He named each captain and listed his individual requirements from each one: personnel and equipment to be unloaded and shipped ashore, and the precise order, ship by ship, in which the business was to proceed. He named several senior officers from each of his galleys, none of them present there, to be delegated by their captains as quartermasters for the disembarkation, to handle the logistics of the landward exodus, and he emphasized that only a minimal crew should remain aboard each vessel when the landing was complete. When he was finished, he asked for questions and was grimly pleased when none materialized. He dismissed them all to return to their ships, then made his way, accompanied by Will, to his own cabin.

As Will followed him he saw several boatloads of Sir Kenneth’s men already close to the beach, while above their heads, clearly visible on the hillside leading down towards the plateau, the contingent of cooks and workmen was struggling with the weight of the laden carts they had brought with them from Douglas’s place at Brodick.

THREE

Noon came and went without the Mass being celebrated, but arrangements were well enough in hand by then that Will was content simply to wait in the concealment and privacy of his massive pavilion, paying close attention to the proceedings by looking through small observation slits in the pavilion’s walls.

The lay brothers from the preceptory of La Rochelle had been the second party to land, following Sir Kenneth Sinclair’s group, and had been working hard since they arrived. They had begun by setting up two large pavilions behind the central square, one facing the beach on the right of the altar, for use by the bishops who would conduct the ceremonies, and the other on the left, where Will now stood, for Sir William Sinclair himself as senior officer of the Order in attendance. That done, they had then erected the altar on the knoll above the beach and were still fussing around it so that now its gold and silver vessels and candlesticks stood out against the snowy white cloths and napery and the surrounding natural colors of the grassy bench above the beach, while above and behind the altar the looming shape of the tocsin, suspended from a tripod of ships’ spars, added an air of even greater solemnity for the participants.

The tocsin was a symbol of the Temple that was almost as old as the Order itself, a great bronze bell taken in battle against the Seljuk Turks almost two centuries earlier and used ever since to summon the brotherhood to assemble. Its last use in battle had been at the siege of Acre, more than two decades earlier, when it had roused the rapidly dwindling garrison of the doomed fortress to face the relentless attacks of the Muslim hordes each day. It had been shipped out of the fortress to safety along with the Temple Treasure mere days before the final collapse of the stronghold and the loss of the Templars’ last presence in the Holy Lands. It had lain concealed and almost forgotten since then, until it came to light in the activities surrounding the removal of the Temple Treasure from the forest of Fontainebleau before the events of October thirteenth. Now it sat high above the waters of a Scottish island, ready again to stir the hearts of the Temple brethren.

Sixty of Kenneth’s people, knights and sergeants, now lined three sides of the venue; the remaining forty were meeting the incoming brethren as they came ashore and directing them to their assigned positions around the altar. The ships and galleys had almost finished disgorging their personnel now and the assembly was close to being complete. Knights from the various ships stood shoulder to shoulder in four ranks, facing the altar with their backs to the sea, and behind them were ranged the remaining members of the garrison of La Rochelle. On the left side, ranked laterally behind the cordon of Sir Kenneth’s men and facing inward, stood the crews of the fleet’s trading vessels, the nonmilitary mariners, while opposite them on the other side of the central space, the crews of the naval galleys stood easily, waiting for whatever might develop. The lay brethren of the former garrison of La Rochelle were formed up in a black-robed block to the right of and slightly behind the altar on the knoll.

“They’re coming, Will.”

Will grunted in acknowledgment, the opening chord of plainsong from the lay brothers almost drowning out Tam’s comment and rendering it unnecessary. It signaled the departure of the last longboat from the fleet, with a full cargo of robed churchmen, and the chanting would continue until the three green-robed Templar bishops, Bishop Formadieu of La Rochelle senior among them, had disembarked and made their way in procession, accompanied by their cadre of canons, deacons, and subdeacons, to the altar.

He turned away and stood in silence for a spell, his chin sunk on his breast as he reviewed what he would say to the assembly when his turn came. The Mass would take precedence, as it must, and the churchmen would, as always, have the ordering of the rites, but when it came time to address the urgencies and realities of what faced the displaced community beyond this tent as a whole, Will knew that his would be the words most closely heeded, and his the voice that would be either obeyed or ignored. He pursed his lips, absently rehearsing what he would say, and his fingers toyed idly with the heavy pendant hanging at his breast, supported by the massive chain of silver links. He had laid aside his white knight’s mantle for this rigidly formal occasion and now stood vested in the stark regalia of the Governing Council of his Order: black chain-mail armor surmounted and covered by a formal garment of incalculable value, an elaborately embroidered heraldic surcoat known as a tabard. It was fashioned of multiple hand-worked, coruscating layers of black upon black—beadwork and shell work of contrasting hues and textures; beadwork upon shaved sable fleece and blackened silver wire—its dark magnificence illumined by a single equal-armed cross pattée appliquéd in tiny white seashells upon the left breast, and by the heavy silver chain about Will’s neck and shoulders, with its thumb-thick lozenge of red and white enameled metal. A massive shield hung from his left arm, black with a blazoned cross pattée in white at its center, and his long two-handed sword hung at his side from the blackbuckled, polished leather belt slung across his chest.

He stood patiently throughout the events that followed, unseen in his pavilion and unaware that he was frowning, and remained practically motionless as the bishops and their acolytes landed on the beach and made their way in procession to the altar knoll. There they launched immediately into the celebration of the High Mass, concelebrated by the three bishops and supported by the massed voices of the choir of lay brothers, assisted by the congregation of monks. He was unaware that he stirred only three times during the entire ceremony, flexing the fingers of his right hand each time as he changed his grip upon the enormous black war helm that rested against his hip bone.

Eventually the ceremonies at the altar ended, and as the bishops and their acolytes filed off, Admiral de Berenger stepped forward to address the assembled company. As he did so, Will raised his arms and lowered the great war helmet into place on his head. The silence that greeted de Berenger’s arrival was absolute and respectful, and he stood silently for several moments as his eyes roamed across the assembled throng. Finally he nodded and raised his right hand, palm forward.

“Brethren,” he said, “I know you have been awaiting this moment, so I will make no attempt to delay it. Pray silence for our superior and sole representative of the Grand Master and the Governing Council of the Order of the Temple of Solomon.”

He stepped back and gestured towards the large tent where Will stood waiting, and as he did so, Tam Sinclair pulled strongly on the cords that controlled the tent flaps, and Will strode through the opening to mount the knoll and stand in front of the altar, flanked on either side by the two senior knights of the chapter of La Rochelle in their formal regalia. The sound that greeted Will’s appearance was more a sigh than anything else, for few among the assembly had ever actually seen the ceremonial garb worn by the members of the Governing Council, and this richly black and glossy apparition was more than most of them could have visualized. Its mere presence before them emphasized, more than anything any of them had seen before, the power represented by and vested in the organization that controlled their entire lives. The great crested helmet of shiny black steel with its towering black and white plumes concealed the identity of the man beneath the costume, but in these opening moments of the drama that was to unfold, the man within was unimportant; the embodiment of power that was the black apparition with its crested shield, its heavy chain of office, and elaborate enameled medallion was paramount.

Will waited patiently until the silence of the crowd was absolute, and then, feeling every eye focused upon him, he lowered his shield and raised his clenched fist to his left breast in a formal salute, and the entire assembly snapped to attention and returned it in a rattling roll of sound as metal struck upon metal. The senior knight on Will’s left, the veteran Reynald de Pairaud, stepped forward one pace and relieved him of the heavy shield, while his companion on the right, an equally grizzled elder called Raphael de Vitune, reached out to take possession of Will’s sword belt and weapons as Will released the heavy black buckles. Then, free of encumbrances, Will reached up slowly and undid the clasps securing his helm before lifting it slowly from his head and settling it in the crook of his right elbow, its rim against his hip bone once again.

“Hail, Brethren,” he intoned, and “Hail, Brother,” came the response. Will raised his voice. “In the name of Master de Molay, I summon you to chapter here in this fair place.”

“So mote it be!”

The response was deep and sustained, and when it faded away, Will turned and waved his hand to indicate the great bronze bell that hung behind the altar. “You all know the tocsin, though few of you have ever seen it before now. For nigh on two hundred years its tone has called our brotherhood to assemble in times of dire need. Now it will sound again, here in this new land, for the first time since it left the fortress of Acre, for once again our Order’s need is dire.” He nodded to his brother Kenneth, who had been waiting for the signal, and two men swung a heavy log between them until its end struck the tocsin and a thunderous bronze tone crashed out and echoed across the waters of the bay, sending birds flying in fright. No one moved or spoke until its echoes had died away.

“This island is called Arran, and it will be our new home for the next while, a temporary base for our operations, extended through the good graces of Robert Bruce, King of Scots. Here we will establish ourselves as a community again, for as long as may be required of us, while we do all that we must do to discover what is happening to our Order and its brethren in France and elsewhere. Until such times as we discover the truth and the effect it will have upon our future, we will conduct ourselves here exactly as though we were in our community in La Rochelle … save that we will have to build ourselves a home before we can enjoy it.”

He swept his eyes from side to side, watching the reactions among his listeners and gauging their temper. Most, he could see, were calm, almost fatalistic, waiting to see what would come next, but there were others who looked angry and others yet who looked merely perplexed. He raised his hand high and waited for silence again.

“I know that most of you know little of what happened back in La Rochelle on the day we left, and while we have been at sea there has been no opportunity to tell you what occurred or why. And thus you have been unable to distinguish truth from rumor or from wild imaginings. I intend now to tell you what we know, though even we, your senior officers, have had to bolster the little knowledge we have with intelligently formed opinions and theories. For the time being, here is the gist of what we know …”

For the quarter hour that followed, Will held his audience rapt as he related everything he knew of the events of Friday, October thirteenth, including his summons to Paris by Master de Molay, the Master’s doubts about the veracity of the warnings he had received, and the struggle de Molay had had with his own conscience in deliberating whether to break his solemn vow of loyalty to the Pope for the future welfare of the Order. He spoke, too, with clarity and openness about his own reactions to de Molay’s tidings, and about the uncertainties he had experienced thereafter, despite knowing that the Master himself was acting against his own instincts and solely in the best interests of the Order. He also told them about his brother’s mission to assemble one hundred men in secrecy and then lead them, in great secrecy, to collect the Order’s Treasure from its hiding place in the caverns of the great forest of Fontainebleau and transport it to the coast.

His listeners knew of the success of that venture, of course, for they themselves had picked the Treasure up and stowed it safely aboard their ships, but Will saw the benefit of permitting them to tie themselves into the arrangements that had been made to survive in the face of the French King’s duplicity; it would do no harm, he knew, to encourage them to believe that, even unwittingly, they had each been a part of the operation to ensure their Order’s survival.

When he had finished, he stood facing them for several moments, half expecting that someone would dare to ask a question, but the discipline of two centuries held strong and no man spoke. Finally Will nodded and took one step back, extending an arm to where Tam Sinclair stood behind his left shoulder, a package ready in his hand. Will hefted it twice before tightening his grip and raising it in both hands. It was a large wallet of leather, evidently of solid weight, its bulk approaching a foot in length and breadth, by half as much in depth, and he brandished it high, turning from side to side so that everyone could see its solid substance.

“What happens now?” His voice rang out clearly. “Every man of you out there is asking yourself the same question, are you not? What happens now? What do we do next? Where do we go from this point forward?” He turned again as he shouted out each question, shaking the wallet above his head so that every eye in the assembly was fixed on it, and when he had finished asking, he lowered his arms and tucked the package beneath his left arm.

“Well, now I will make a start on answering those questions for you, and the answer to the first question, What happens now? is that we eat!” He waited for the storm of cheering to subside. “The cooks whose work you smell now behind us are sent to feed us by Sir James Douglas, guardian of this island and deputy of Robert, King of Scots, our host in days ahead.”

The men cheered again, for they had been aboard ship for weeks and the prospect of fresh-cooked meat must have been the stuff of fantasy to them since they left France. As the noise began to subside Will raised his arm again, the wallet firmly clutched in his hand. He had judged his timing perfectly and the crowd fell silent again, poised for his next words.

“As to what happens next, we have guidance here, inside this wallet. Look you now.” He lowered his arm and loosened the buckled straps binding the pouch, extracting a heavy bundle as large as the container itself. “I have here a package of documents sent under the seal of our Grand Master himself, Sir Jacques de Molay. Inside it are Master de Molay’s instructions for our conduct from this time forth, entrusted to me, on your behalf, on the occasion when I saw him last. I call now upon the senior knight here, Sir Reynald de Pairaud of the former garrison of La Rochelle, to examine the seal and to attest that it is, in fact, the seal of our Grand Master and that it is intact and undisturbed.”

He stood with his arms extended, holding the bundle in both hands until the veteran knight had turned and examined the seal on the documents, nodding his head profoundly and bowing from the waist, pronouncing himself satisfied that the seal was intact. Only then did Will return the package to Tam Sinclair and raise his voice to the assembly again.

“And so for the remainder of this day we will feast and give thanks for our deliverance, and tomorrow our senior brethren will convene for their first chapter meeting here in our new home. Therein, they will examine the instructions from our Master and will decide, in commune, what must be done henceforth to concur with the wishes of the Council as expressed therein.

“In the meantime, there will be much to do for all the rest of us, I promise you, for we are greatly exposed and at risk here on this open beach, and we shall remain so until we have secured our foothold. Go then in peace, all of you, and set about the task of becoming a devout community again after so long a disruption of our way of life. Our friends from Brodick will summon you to the tables when it comes time to eat, and I suspect you might be ready to attend when that occurs. Go with God.”

As the assembly began to break up, Will nodded his thanks to the two veteran knights who had assisted him and turned back to his pavilion, aware that Tam Sinclair, who still clutched the wallet with its sealed package, was watching him closely.

“What is it?” he asked as soon as they were inside and the tent flaps were closed behind them. “Did I forget something?”

“No,” Tam growled. “Nothing except the women. You’ve left them stuck aboard ship all day while everyone else was allowed to go ashore. Can I invite them to come ashore now and eat on land, or will I have something sent to them?”

“Damnation, I had forgotten about them.” Will frowned, quickly rejecting the possibility, tempting as it was, of keeping the three women aboard ship. He made a grunting sound, part disgust and part denial. “Aye, go ahead and bring them ashore. Our business for the day is largely done. But see you set them well apart from the brethren. I have enough difficulties to face in dealing with men too long away from the discipline of the Rule. I see no point in adding to them by parading women where they can be seen and talked about. Keep them hidden, Tam.”

FOUR

While all the knightly Templar rigmarole had been going on ashore, Jessie Randolph had been far from unhappy. She had, in fact, been rejoicing in the freedom to set aside her role as Baroness St. Valéry for the first time since leaving La Rochelle, and to make and enjoy a more thorough and extensive toilette than she would formerly have believed possible aboard a Temple galley. That she could do so at all, of course, was the result of the complete absence of Templar personnel aboard the ship for the duration of the shore-based ceremonies. Every man in the expedition, it appeared, was crowding onto the beach in front of the rows of ships anchored in the bay, and all of them had their backs to her, their entire attention taken up by whatever was unfolding in front of them. Jessie could hear the massed voices of the Temple monks raised in ritualistic chant, and she knew that there would be no swift return to the ships for anyone on the beach that day. And as that awareness dawned on her, she recognized her opportunity and made a decision that would have greatly shocked the brethren assembled ashore, could any of them have known of it.

Calling her two women to attend on her, she ordered them to have the few crew members remaining on the galley start heating water for a bath for her, using the craft’s cooking fires. And then, glorying in the almost total absence of men, she took possession of the great cabin for her own needs, laying out her entire wardrobe, scant though it was, for examination and repairs. Thereafter, while the solemn and secretive rituals of the Temple were carried out on the beach, the far less solemn but no less secretive rituals of womanhood were observed and celebrated by Jessie and her two women, Marie and Janette, so that by the time the solemnities on land were concluded and the first men began to head for the cooking fires in search of food, the three women were ready to join them, newly bathed, coiffed, groomed, and attired, and feeling cleaner, fresher, and more attractive than they had since the beginnings of this venture.

“Wait!” she called to Tam mere moments after landing from the boat.

Tam stopped and looked back at her, waiting. Accompanied by two of the oarsmen from the boat who were now carrying the women’s baggage, he had been leading them obliquely towards the far edge of the main assembly.

“So, we women are to sit farthest from everything, behind the clowns and jesters, behind the harpists and jongleurs, even behind the camp followers and mendicants, were any such here? We are to be fed last, with cold food? Where is Sir William? I really must offer him my thanks and appreciation for such consideration.”

Tam knew Jessie well enough by then to ignore her tone of voice, and he responded as though she had merely made a passing comment. “Your food will no’ be cold, my lady. I’ll see to it mysel’. I made arrangements for it to be served and covered and set aside before I left to fetch you. And before you say anything more, I told them to wait an hour before doing anything, so they should just be about ready to look to it now.” He pointed off in the direction they were heading. “See, Mungo’s ower there, waiting for us. I don’t think you’ll ha’e met him yet, but he’s a good man, born and bred in these parts. He’s dour, and he doesna say much, but ye’ll like him. He’ll have a fire built by now, and fresh wood to hand to keep it going. We’ll get you seated and comfortable, wi’ a good fire, and then I’ll go and bring your food back … with wine, the yellow kind you like, from Anjou. Now come away and let’s get you settled, or none of us will ever get to eat. And when you’ve finished dining, why then ye may go and find Will Sinclair and thank him yourself … as long as I’m no’ there.”

A short time later, he had made them as comfortable as they could be on an open heath above a beach, and the taciturn Mungo was piling the fire high with wellseasoned driftwood. When both men were ready to leave, Jessie thanked them courteously, then watched them as they quickly vanished among the crowds of men up ahead.

Before Tam returned, she became aware of a commotion among the crowd and stood up to see what was happening, but even on tiptoe, standing on the highest stone around, she could see nothing beyond the packed mass of men ahead of her. She dispatched Janette to find out what was happening, and the servant soon returned, shaking her head.

“I do not know what has happened, madam. A ship arrived, it seems, from the north, but no one knows whence it came or to whom it belongs.”

Moments later, against the darkening skies of the late-November afternoon, Jessie saw Tam, Mungo, and another man returning towards them, each carrying a covered, flat-bottomed bundle that proved to be boards holding food and drink in sufficient amounts to feed all six of them, men and women. There were platters of succulent, thickly sliced lamb and goat, bowls of diced savory turnip, and dishes of boiled green leafy vegetables, along with fresh-baked crusty bread served with wild honey and unsweetened oat cakes with hard, tangy goat cheese. After weeks at sea and the scant, uninspiring food associated with long sea journeys, this was a royal feast, and Jessie and her women paid it the homage it merited, matching even Tam and Mungo in their voracity and making no attempt to speak until their appetites had been sated. Eventually, however, Jessie pushed a rind of cheese away with her fingertips and held her hands up in front of her, fingers spread.

“That was sinfully good, Tam. Well done.”

Tam grunted, then used a fingernail to pick a morsel from between his teeth before he answered. “Don’t thank me, my lady. I but brought it here. It came wi’ the blessings o’ the island’s quartermaster, who takes his instructions from the Douglas. Sir William made the arrangements for it last night, while he was with the garrison at Brodick, whence he came this morning.”

“Then I shall thank the quartermaster if I ever meet him. But speaking of garrisons, someone said a new ship had arrived. Do you know anything of that?”

“Aye.” Tam swept some scraps from his wooden platter into the fire, then placed the platter by his feet. “It was a galley. Highlanders from the north. Mungo said it bore the standard of MacDonald. I didna see it myself. But whoever landed from it came ashore wi’ banners flying … blue and white banners, so it might have been the Douglas himself.”

“Might have been? Are you not sure?”

Tam looked at her reproachfully. “No, Lady, I am not sure. I can think of five noble houses whose colors are blue and white, or white and blue. Douglas is but one of those, though he’s the likeliest to be here in person, seeing that he holds the island at the King’s pleasure.”

“What does that mean?”

“He is in charge here in Arran.” “Who is this man?”

“A personal friend of the King. The two are close, I’m told.”

“Then I must meet him, as soon as may be. He is the one will know where to find King Robert.”

Tam hesitated, on the point of telling the Baroness that King Robert already knew about her gift, but then he decided to hold his tongue. This was none of his affair, he knew, and he would earn no gratitude from either Will or her ladyship by admitting any knowledge of what was going on. He merely dipped his head. “Of course, my lady,” he said. “That should present ye with no difficulty, providing that this was the Douglas who sailed in … As I said, I didna see him. But if he’s here, you’ll doubtless find him wi’ Sir William.”

“So be it. Let us find him with Sir William, then.” Jessie rose to her feet, gazing with narrowed eyes towards the spot where she imagined Sir William Sinclair and his noble guest might be found.

FIVE

Will Sinclair, stripped of his ceremonial finery and wearing his white knight’s mantle again, had finished his dinner and was deep in conversation with Sir Reynald de Pairaud, a personality with whom Will knew he would have to deal very carefully during these first days on Arran. De Pairaud was widely known—although assumed would probably have been more accurate, Will decided—to have powerful connections within the Order’s hierarchy. His brother, the redoubtable Sir Hugh de Pairaud, had been one of the highest-ranked members of the Governing Council, holding the positions of both Treasurer of the Temple and Visitor of the Priory of France, and had presumably been arrested with his fellow Council members in October.

Will knew, and presumed that de Pairaud must know, too, that any influence the veteran knight might once have had was now moot, set at naught by the removal of his brother. But he knew, too, that among the other knights the perception of de Pairaud’s influence remained, and might conceivably be used to channel resistance to the changes Will would suggest in the coming days. It was in de Pairaud’s nature to resist change of any kind, to maintain with stubborn, mindless ferocity that continuity equated to tradition and inherent rightness. It went without saying that he would be loud and self-righteous in his condemnation of the changes that Will was about to implement, involving, as they did, some of the most cherished shibboleths of the ultra-conservative group known as the Temple Boars, which included de Pairaud among its stubborn, headstrong number. Will was determined nonetheless to attempt to lessen the older man’s resistance through simple courtesy, and he was trying hard to remain amiable in the face of the other’s humorlessness.

He had just fallen silent, having failed to engage Sir Reynald in a discussion of new beginnings and the opportunity for change, when he looked up to see men standing on their toes all about him, straining to see towards the bay beyond the beach. He heard raised voices, too, loudly wondering what they were looking at and who this newcomer might be. He rose quickly and easily to his feet. Even standing, though, he could see nothing, and so he made his way through the crowd to the top of the gradient on his left, growling to the people there ahead of him to make way and give him room.

Below him, its mast and rigging limned by the fastsetting sun, and rapidly approaching the shelving shoreline, a great galley was hurtling forward, plainly about to drive itself ashore, but even as he saw it and began to marvel at its suicidal speed, its rowers shipped oars as one, raising their long sweeps vertically in a concerted movement that demonstrated long and uncountable hours of practice. Then, under the propulsion of that last, hard, precisely executed stroke, the ship glided forward, its speed bleeding away rapidly as it nosed towards the shingled strand and came to rest exactly where its captain had wished to place it—far enough on land for its passengers to leap down safely and dry shod from the prow, yet sufficiently afloat for its rowers to be able to pull it free again without great difficulty. It was a superbly executed maneuver, and Will responded to it as he did to any example of demonstrated excellence, fighting the urge to applaud.

He had already recognized the slim figure of Sir James Douglas by then, clearly identifiable by the bright blue, white-striped sash that crossed his breast beneath the paler blue covering of his cloak. Douglas was helmed and armored, standing alone in the prow of the grounded vessel despite being surrounded by others, and as Will watched, the first members of the incoming group leapt out and down, to land softly and dry shod as expected before stepping out of the way of those who followed. Will counted three men dressed in white tunics bearing the device of a black galley on their chests, and two of those carried the bagpipes so beloved of the Highland Gaels, while the third held a long pole bearing a banner with the same emblem, the black galley on a field of white that he knew to be the standard of MacDonald. The two pipers inflated their bags immediately and began to play, sustaining their melody as the remainder of the landing party jumped down after them. Two of the last ones bore the standard of the house of Douglas, in blue and white, while the remaining eight, plain men-at-arms, wore simple chain mail over padded leather tunics. Douglas himself jumped down last, and the MacDonald standard-bearer began leading him up from the beach, followed by the two pipers, to where Sir William Sinclair, having climbed down from his high viewpoint and away from the crowd, awaited them.

Since they had no hope of making themselves heard over the noise of the pipes, both men exchanged nods when they met, then stood smiling and waited for the tune to end. When it did, the strange, wailing music falling away with unexpected swiftness into a final, dying bleat, both were aware of the silent throng surrounding them, waiting for them to speak. Will moved first, nodding to the younger man and greeting him quietly in the Scots tongue.

“Good day to you, Sir James, although the day appears to have gone already. Welcome to our camp, temporary as it is.”

“Aye, my thanks.” Douglas nodded in return, grinning slightly, then lifted the heavy metal helmet from his head and tossed it to one of his men, before pulling a soft cloth cap with an affixed blackcock feather from under his cloak where it had been folded over his shoulder. He tugged it onto his head, adjusting it until it felt comfortable, then swung away to look back over his left shoulder at the fleet ranged in the bay. “I am impressed, I must say. You told us you had a fleet with you, but I had pictured nothing this grand. It gives you … a certain presence, shall we say?” He turned back, his eyes scanning the crowd around them. “The admiral is not here?”

“Oh, he is here … simply not here, if you take my meaning. He ate with me, but left some time ago to speak with some of his captains, now that they have all filled their bellies and are capable of speaking without pleading to be fed. Do you require to speak with him?”

“No, I was merely curious. And what of my people from Brodick? Are any of them here in your camp?”

Will shook his head, surprised by the question. “No, none at all. We have been about our own affairs all day, coming ashore and finding our land legs, then rededicating ourselves to our Order and our way of life.” He shrugged his shoulders. “Knowing it would be thus, therefore, I invited no one from among your captains. Of course, the exceptions are the men you can see behind the fires—the cooks and scullions who prepared the food—and incidentally on that matter, our thanks to you for that service are heartfelt.”

He switched smoothly into French and raised his voice for the benefit of the Templars standing all around them.

“Brethren, my friend here is Sir James Douglas, Guardian of this Island of Arran in the name of Robert, King of Scots. Sir James is the man responsible for providing the food on which we have just dined this day, and the cooks who prepared it for us, so it would be meet to offer him thanks.” His last words were drowned out by a concerted roar, and when it died away Will raised a hand to recapture their attention. “If any of you speak the Scots tongue, you will already have heard me welcome Sir James to our temporary encampment. I would like to promise him now that by the time he visits us again, he will not have to sit on the rocks of the beach to talk with me.” That earned a shout of laughter. “In the meantime, though, he and I have matters of some delicacy to discuss, so if you will permit us, I should like to take him up to my pavilion and speak with him there. Remain you where you are and continue to enjoy yourselves for a while. But get you then to your beds. Our new lives will begin right here on this beach tomorrow with Matins, hours before the sun rolls around to shine on us again. Come, Sir James.”

He ignored the chorus of groans stirred up by his last announcement and led the Douglas chief away, followed by his escorting party. He took them along the shelf above the beach, to where his large pavilion had been erected earlier that day. They walked in silence, because of the need to watch their footing in the dark on the uneven ground, and as they went Will wondered what had brought the Douglas here at this particular time, and aboard a galley.

Even in his absence, it was clear that someone had plainly had an eye to his welfare for the evening, for Will could see the glow of a bright fire inside the pavilion from a long way distant, and the intensity of the light told him it was burning in a brazier on the stone slab at the center of the tent.

“That fire is going to feel good,” Douglas remarked, but Will stumbled then, misjudging a step, and the jarring impact drove the breath from his lungs, so that he made no further attempt to speak until he and Douglas were safely inside the pavilion. They handed their heavy cloaks to a waiting lay brother and made their way directly to stand on either side of the blazing brazier, hands outstretched to the heat. Douglas’s men-at-arms had melted away silently as they approached the great tent, distributed themselves around the outside of it, and although Will had said nothing at that time, he was curious enough to speak of it now.

“Why the escort, today of all days, and here in front of all my men?” He grinned, taking the sting out of what he was saying. “I warrant you, if we wished to harm you or molest you, there are sufficient of us to overcome your eight guards without a deal of trouble.”

“You think so? There’s only a few hundred of you, and you’re all French at that, so don’t be too cocksure.” He paused then, and when he spoke again all humor had been set aside. “The guards are an official escort, Will, just in case of need, and nothing to do with you or yours. I came to bring you a gift.”

Will looked at the young Scots chief in surprise. “Gifts are always welcome, my friend, but what kind of need would require you to keep guards at hand here, among your own folk?”

Douglas shrugged. “Dire need, if only on occasion, and always unpredictable. I have come here directly from the north end of the island. I remembered that your fleet was to put in today and so I thought to find you among them. I was right, and I am glad.”

“You came seeking me directly? Why?”

“To offer thanks for your keen sight.”

Will shook his head. “I have no idea what you are talking about.”

“Your keen insight, perhaps I should say. Remember the long-eared fellow with the need to eavesdrop on French conversations? Well, I set two of my men to watching him and he left here that same night, in something of a hurry, but fortunately unaware that he was being watched. One of my men followed him while the other waited for me. He headed northeast, across the hills and through the mountain glens, clearly headed for Lochranza, since there is nowhere else up there. It was difficult to follow him though, without being seen—that is empty country up there—but we had ample grounds for suspecting him of deviltry and so we picked him up that afternoon and asked him a few questions.”

Will was well aware of the euphemism, but when Douglas showed no signs of continuing, Will asked him outright. “And what did you discover from your … questions?”

“That you had detected a plot … against the King, as all such plottings are.”

“And this fellow was the ringleader?”

“God’s blood no! He was but a messenger—an observer and a spy. He was on his way to his master with tidings of the arrival of a large body of French soldiery in Arran.”

“So who was his master, did you find out?”

“MacDougall of Lorn. The old chief’s son, Lame John himself. Nothing surprising there, the dastard being who and what he is, but what was surprising was the next piece of information our songbird spat out, concerning his most recent employer. It transpires that Menteith himself, our beloved and much-trusted hereditary chieftain of Arran, has made alliance with MacDougall, upon the understanding that he will be given the rule of both Arran and Kintyre once the Bruce is dead and the MacDonald upstarts crushed. More fool him for believing any word from Lame John’s mouth, but the deed was done, the alliance made, and now he himself has been betrayed and his fate is sealed. Menteith will see no mercy from our King for this piece of treachery, I’ll warrant you. There have been too many like matters, and far too many foresworn traitors set free to rebel again.”

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.”

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.

“So be it, then. I accept your explanation, Sir James, and I thank you for it. Sir William Sinclair, I fear I may have wronged you, in this at least.” Then, accepting that he might be absolutely incapable of looking at her, she reached out and prodded his forearm gently with the tip of one finger. “Will you forgive me, Sir William?”

Will stood stock-still, fighting an overwhelming urge to lean towards her, more aware of her proximity than he had ever been of anything else he could remember in his life. The warmth of her physical closeness in the radiant glow of the fire’s light was a palpable thing, making him want to reach out and touch her, and the sweetness of her body’s haunting perfume filled his nostrils and even his mouth, making his head swim. He knew he had to answer her, and he wanted to respond graciously, but his senses were awash with sensuous and guilty pleasure and he could not collect himself sufficiently to answer her directly. And presently the silence, brief as it was, had stretched to the point where even young Douglas became aware of it.

“Sir William?” he inquired, and Will drew himself erect, forcing himself to address the moment.

“Forgive me, Baroness,” he muttered, in what amounted to a growl, glancing sideways at Jessie and hearing the slurred quality of his own words, “I was … woolgathering, my thoughts far from here … I beg your pardon. Something you said … I know not what now, reminded me of my sister Peggy …” He drew in a great breath and spoke again with more strength and conviction. “As for what you may have thought about my conduct, think no more on it, for it was understandable, given what happened. I merely regret that I could not bring you to the presence of King Robert, to make your own presentation to him.” Somehow, he found the strength to enable him to turn his head and look her straight in the eye, and he spoke now with absolute conviction. “I swear, though, that had you been here to witness his receipt of your tidings, you would have been much gratified. He was deeply moved and greatly honored by the substance of your decision to do what you have done, and by your devotion and loyalty, supporting him so openly and generously. That much I heard him say, and in those words, and I had no doubt of his sincerity.”

Jessie was gazing at him in surprise, for this was the most she had heard him say in one breath since the occasion of their first meeting in La Rochelle, when he had been talking to his equals in the Order. But even in her astonishment, she saw that he was on the point of swinging away from her again, impatient with her scrutiny, and so she spun quickly, before he could move, and spoke again to Sir James Douglas.

“In that case, Sir James, I will accept both of your offers … a seat by the fire and safe transport. Pull up those chairs, if you will, and let us talk of what must be done and how it can be achieved.”

WITHIN THE FOLLOWING QUARTER HOUR, everything needful had been arranged to the satisfaction of all three participants. Will would arrange for the Baroness’s belongings, including the chests destined for the royal treasury, to be transferred the next day from Admiral de Berenger’s galley to the craft now commanded by Vice-Admiral de Narremat, which would be placed at the disposal of Sir James for the month to come. The procedure would be both straightforward and complicated, Douglas suspected, requiring each of the two great galleys to be warped, in its turn, close up to the single small quay in the bay below the castle at Brodick, the first to unload its valuable cargo from its holds onto the wharf, and the second to reload it safely in its own hold. When the Baroness asked why it should be so difficult, it was Will who answered her, pointing out that the sheer weight of the bullion chests made it too dangerous to attempt the transfer from hold to hold on open water using ropes and pulleys. A single slip, he pointed out, could lose a chest forever and might easily damage, or even maim, a ship.

While the transfer was taking place, Douglas, for his part, would delegate a handpicked crew of his most capable and trustworthy men to act as escorts and bodyguards to Jessie and her women until they were safely lodged within the security of her own family lands, for he and they would probably have to part company as soon as they made landfall on the mainland of Scotland, dependent, of course, upon whatever concentration of English soldiery and military readiness they found nearby upon landing.

Will had made but little contribution to this discussion aside from his comments on the weight of the treasure. He was content to leave it to the other two, who were more closely involved than he, to work out the details. He merely listened and nodded his agreement from time to time, staring steadily into the fire for the most part in order to avoid looking at Jessie Randolph, for although he had grown inured, to a minor degree, to dealing with Baroness St. Valéry on a surface level, it was her disconcerting alter ego, the mercurial Jessie, who confounded him and set his pulse racing while his chest constricted and butterflies of tension fluttered beneath his ribs.

When their conversation lapsed eventually, all arrangements concluded, they sat silent for a while, enjoying the soporific heat of the fire in the brazier, until Jessie turned slightly sideways and spoke to Sinclair in what he thought of as her “baroness” tone.

“And you, Sir William, what will you find to occupy your time here in this lonely place once we are gone and you are alone and fancy-free at last?” The question was so ludicrous in its banality that Will was shocked into responding openly. “My time? You ask me how I will spend my time? I have no time, madam. No time to spare, I mean, for any other purpose than that to which I stand committed—the care and sustenance of our Order in these difficult times.”

“Ah! Of course. I should have known that without asking.” Jessie was almost smiling at him, her lips barely quivering at the edges, her eyes alight with mischief. “The great and massy responsibilities to which you are forever tied. But surely, after several hundreds of years, your men and your people are sufficiently set in their ways that they are able to function successfully under any circumstances? I should have thought that, once safely delivered here to their new premises, they would be able to set themselves up and establish their disciplines afresh without the need for direct supervision. Am I to understand that this is not so, that they require your stern and guiding eye at every stage?”

Will knew she was trying to goad him into anger, and so he bit down the retort that first sprang to his lips and forced himself to sit silently as he shaped an appropriate response, one that she would not be able to rip apart and ridicule at first exposure. Douglas sat silent, too, watching both of them and awaiting developments.

Will finally nodded. “You are partially correct, Baroness,” he said, still stiffly. “Under normal circumstances, matters would proceed as you describe. But the circumstances in effect today are most unusual, and I may speak of them to you because you are already aware of what I mean. The recent events in France have created havoc among our normal means of doing things, and I am faced with a situation that has no precedent … to call it novel would be gross understatement. And I am the one who must adapt to it and deal with the outcome, since I appear to be the highest-ranking member of the Order here. King Robert and Sir James have both informed me that there is no Master in Scotland today, and no official Temple outpost, since most of the knights of the Scottish Temple were in fact English, adherents of the former king, Edward, and withdrew to London during the wars. Thus, it appears that I am in sole charge of our Temple affairs here.”

You poor man, can you not see how hopeless your case is? What will you do when you discover that you are not merely the sole commander but the last? Where will you turn? Jessie allowed nothing of her concern to show on her face as she continued, solicitously, “And what will that involve? I know there are many things of which you cannot speak, but there are other matters that are more open … things that even I can see. What are the tasks that face you here on Arran, to demand all your time?”

“Housing and feeding my men and livestock, first and foremost, madam, although, thanks to Sir James, that will be much easier than it might have been.”

Jessie turned to Douglas. “What does that mean? What did you do?”

The young nobleman smiled, showing his strong white teeth. “I merely gave Sir William the use of a place here on the island, one forfeited this very day by its owner, who has plotted against King Robert and been caught. It is the other castle, Lochranza, on the northern coast, and it will suit Sir William’s needs. It has a fine harbor, deep and safe, and ample grazing for his beasts in the mountain valleys.”

If it is so fine, then why are you giving it to a stranger? She turned back to Sinclair. “And what will you eat there?”

“We can survive for the coming month on the rations we brought with us, and there are fish in the sea, wildfowl in profusion, and plenty of fresh water. After that we will be supplied regularly by our own trading ships. We will send a number of them out at once, with gold and silver coin, to purchase supplies for the short term in Ireland and in England and explore opportunities for future trade. Others we will send farther afield, to purchase trade goods in the English ports, and then to go and trade legitimately elsewhere.”

“Elsewhere?”

“In France, most particularly, where their primary task will be to bring back information on what is happening to our Order there.”

“But surely they will be denounced and thrown into prison as soon as they start asking questions.”

For the first time since she had met Sinclair a month earlier, Jessie saw him smile easily and spontaneously, sure of himself and full of confidence in what he was saying to her, and the transformation in him that the smile generated almost made her exclaim aloud, for his entire being seemed illuminated by its radiance and his habitual sternness vanished instantly, making him look ten years younger. “Who will denounce them, Baroness? And for what, curiosity? How will their questions stand out, when the entire country will be abuzz with talk of what is happening? Bear in mind that our people will not be recognizable as Templars. Nor as anything else, for that matter, other than mariners new into port and hungry for gossip and the latest news.”

“But … months will have passed by then. The story will be old. Surely, then, to bring it up again will attract attention?”

Sinclair’s smile remained in place as he glanced at Douglas and then shook his head. “Bring it up again? Baroness, the Order of the Temple has been a pillar in France, supporting and strengthening it for nearly two hundred years. Next to the Church, and the monarchy, of course, it is the most prominent institution in the country. The Temple and its influence—in land holdings, trading centers, buildings, estates, manufactories, farms, orchards, equipment, and livestock—are everywhere, flourishing throughout the countryside in every duchy, county, and region. I can imagine no circumstance under which the Order’s demise—even should it amount to total dissolution or annihilation—could be brought about, let alone that the Order be forgotten from human memory, within a matter of mere months. It is simply inconceivable.”

He waited for a comment of some kind, but when Jessie remained silent he continued in the same matter-of-fact, confident voice. “Which means that, no matter what has happened to our Order, no matter what fate might have befallen our brethren in France, the scope of the events of October thirteenth and the period that followed must be sufficiently significant to remain uppermost in the minds of Frenchmen and most worthy of discussion for a long, long time to come. Our mariners will land in ports around the coast, on both littorals, the Atlantic and the Mediterranean, and they will be perceived solely as mariners, behaving as mariners always do, and avid for information on what has been happening ashore while they were at sea.”

He said nothing of his plans to send envoys and messengers to make contact with the Brotherhood of the Order of Sion, but he had already discussed that matter with de Berenger and the few other members of that Order who had accompanied him here. The ancient Order would continue to function as it had for fourteen centuries, sacrosanct in its secrecy, and no more than slightly inconvenienced by the vicissitudes of the Temple and its adherents. Indeed it would already have begun to adjust to the loss of the public interface provided by the far younger Order of the Temple, and to revert to its time-proven system of functioning smoothly beyond the ken of ordinary men. It was guidance from the Sion fraternity that Will required most urgently.

Jessie had been observing him closely, watching the play of emotions on his face, and now she nodded slowly. In the face of his earnest sincerity she found she had lost all desire to bait him. Instead, and to her own great surprise, she found herself gazing at him with a new stirring of interest, a pleasing sensation of warmth and affection akin to her feelings towards her brother-in-law Charles. She was honest enough, however, to admit even in that moment that the affection was bolstered by a considerable attraction of the kind Charles would never inspire, and she took hold of herself sharply, shying away from the thought, vestigial though it was.

“I see you have thought this matter through. And it is plain that you will have much to occupy your mind and hands here in Arran, so I will wish you well with all of it, Sir William, and remove myself from your affairs.” She rose smoothly to her feet and nodded first to Will, then to Douglas. “Sir James, I thank you for your courtesy and consideration. If you will send a man in search of me tomorrow morning, I shall have my belongings brought ashore and will place myself at your disposal while you make the arrangements for our journey to the mainland. And now I will bid you both a good night.”

Will stood up wordlessly, feeling once again like an awkward, tongue-tied boy. But as James Douglas began to walk with her towards the entrance of the tent—a courtesy Will recognized as one he should have tendered—he pulled himself together.

“Wait!”

She stopped at once and turned back to him, one eyebrow slightly raised and an unreadable expression on her face, and he felt his own face suffuse with blood, appalled by the madness that had induced him to call out to her so brusquely. But he had done it, and now she was waiting, the woman and Douglas both unaware that his tongue had turned to dry wood. And then a memory stirred and inspiration touched him and he gestured vaguely towards the depths of the pavilion at his back, using the movement to counteract the urge to sway on his feet.

“There is …” He cleared his throat, willing his voice to steady itself. “I have a … a kindness I would … would ask of you, if you would honor me with your favor.”

Jessie had to stifle the unkind urge to grin at him and so increase his difficulties, for she had no doubt of what an unexpected smile from her would do to his stern demeanor. Instead, she inclined her head demurely. “It would be my pleasure to grant any favor you might ask of me, Sir William.” There, and think upon the subtleties of that, if you will, Will St. Clair, while you lie on your hardwood cot tonight.

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.