Order in Chaos

THE WOMAN IN THE BYRE

ONE

Jessie Randolph was flustered. She had fallen asleep on the couch in her own room in the middle of the afternoon, a rarity in itself brought on by the fact that she had been up and laboring since dawn in her garden, attacking the weeds that were threatening to overcome her carefully nurtured little crop of hand-set herbs and vegetables. She had neglected the garden badly in previous weeks, driven to ignore her own concerns by the urgency of an outbreak of fever that had swept the district, threatening the lives of the elderly and the very young. The sickness had not been virulent enough to earn the name of pestilence, but it had nonetheless proved to be a potent and dangerous threat to the welfare of many of her tenants, and it had kept her traveling the countryside with her two women, Marie and Janette, doing what she could for the families under her care, most of whom had lost their menfolk to the King’s last, urgent summons to gather for the invasion of England’s northern counties.

The sickness had died off in the previous ten days, having taken the life of only one elderly woman for whom nothing could be done, and Jessie had been able, finally, to return to her own home, where she had spent a day resting and recouping her strength before yielding to the urge to go outside and begin inspecting her properties. The morning’s work on her garden had stretched long beyond noon, and Jessie had been exhausted to the point where, having sat down on her couch and then lain back to close her eyes for a few moments’ rest, she had fallen deeply asleep.

Almost immediately, it seemed to her, she was awoken by her ward, Marjorie, now grown into a strikingly beautiful young woman of almost sixteen, with word that people were approaching from the south. Startled awake, Jessie was at first surprised and then appalled to realize that her hair was unkempt, her hands dirty and her fingernails black with soil, but she quickly stifled the urge to flee and make herself presentable and went instead directly with Marjorie to the roof, where several of the household retainers had already gathered on the fortified central tower to watch the approaching strangers.

She recognized Will Sinclair at once, even from the distance of a mile. His party, and she counted six including himself, was moving slowly, at a walk, accompanying a low-slung wagon pulled by a pair of stocky lowland horses. Jessie quickly estimated that she had time enough, if she made haste, to prepare for their arrival, but just as she was on the point of hurrying back inside the house, she realized that there was something odd about the small group, an air of dejection that she would never have associated with the Will Sinclair she had come to know.

She went inside quickly, down from the tower and through the house to the great wooden entrance doors, which she threw wide before crossing the entrance yard to the high gates in the curtain wall, all thoughts of her appearance banished by her concern over what could be wrong. The gates were open, and she marched out onto the road, where she stood, hands on hips, waiting for the newcomers to reach her. Only then did she realize that young Marjorie had followed her. She sent the girl back inside, telling her she wished to be alone, and although it was obvious that the girl was disappointed, she obeyed meekly enough as Jessie turned her eyes back to the road.

Will Sinclair saw her before any of the others did, and she saw him turn in his saddle and say something to his kinsman Tam, whom she now recognized. He then set the spurs to his horse and came galloping towards her, reining to a halt right in front of her. She said nothing, merely gazing up at him, and he nodded and doffed the plain black cap he was wearing.

“Lady Baroness,” he said, frowning, but she knew him well enough by this time to know that this particular frown was not his usual expression of disapproval. “Your pardon, I beg, for disturbing your peace thus unannounced. I would not have done so without great need.”

“Sir William. I know that. What is the matter?”

“My squire, my lady. Henry Sinclair, my nephew. He is sore wounded and in need of care. We were in England with King Robert, close by Carlisle, when the lad was almost killed … through my fault, my carelessness. The King himself sent me to find you here and to entreat your aid.”

“You did not need the King’s backing to enlist my aid, Will Sinclair. How badly is the boy hurt?”

Will did not react to her use of his informal first name and simply waved back over his shoulder. “Badly enough. He needs rest and shelter and is in great pain. We made a bed for him in the wagon, but every movement jars him into crying out, no matter how bravely he fights against it. He has a physician attending him, Brother Matthew, lent to us by the King himself, but even so, the physician’s remedies are useless against the roughness of the roads.”

“Enough. When they get here, bid them inside and bring the wagon as close to the door as it will go. I see Tam is with you. Have him and his fellows ready to lift the boy out. We have a litter just inside the door. I will send Hector out with it, and then have them load him carefully onto it. By the time they are ready I will have a bed prepared on the ground floor.”

She left him standing there and made her way back into the house, where she sent two servants running to bring down a cot from the floor above. She then ordered her two women to fetch clean bedding and bring it into the main room of the house, where they would set up a bed for the young man in one corner, between the enormous fireplace and a shuttered window in the wall. In the meantime, she and Marjorie began clearing space for the bed, a temporary sickroom, separated from the main part of the long, low-ceilinged room by an arrangement of brightly painted folding screens made from hinged frames with reeds woven between top, bottom, and sides.

Within the quarter hour everything was ready, and Tam, Mungo MacDowal, and two other men carried young Henry in, unconscious, and transferred him to the cot. The physician, a kindly eyed young-looking monk, saw to the lad’s comfort and then asked Jessie for hot water and clean cloths with which to wash and bind the boy’s wounds, and Jessie dispatched Marjorie to the kitchen. She then reached out and touched the monk’s shoulder.

“Brother Matthew, I would speak with you.” She turned then to where Will and his men stood watching, attended by her steward Hector. “My friends,” she said quietly, “I can see you have been at great pains to see to this young man’s welfare, but he is here now and will be safe. If you will follow Hector, he will show you where you may refresh yourselves after your journey, and will give you to eat and drink. Sir William, you and I will talk more hereafter … Hector, will you see to our guests?”

As soon as the men had left, Jessie turned back to the monk. “Now, Brother Matthew, tell me what happened and how bad the wound truly is. Will he survive, or have you brought him here to die?”

The monk, who was yet young enough to be awed in the presence of a baroness, shook his head in protest. “No, no, my lady. He should do well now that he is here and may rest. The wound was not fatal, although it should have been. He was stabbed by a dirk, thrust down at him by a man kneeling over him. But the thrust was hasty—I believe the killer was aware of Sir William bearing down on him—and the blade glanced off the bone here.” He touched his own collarbone, then dug one finger down behind it. “The blade, deflected, slid down and backward, slicing through the shoulder muscles and scraping along the lad’s shoulder blade before emerging again. It made a nasty cut, deep and ragged, and it bled copiously, but it was never life-threatening, thanks be to God.” He smiled, uncertainly. “The greatest danger to the lad’s life lay in transporting him here in the wagon, for every bump of each wheel on every stone and unevenness between Lanercost and here cost him dearly, opening his wounds painfully before they could begin to heal.”

“But why did they not tend to him in Lanercost?”

“We did, as best we could, but there was no time, my lady. The King’s army was raiding, striking for Durham, and he dared not wait, lest word of his arrival came before he did. And they had no wish to leave the lad behind, among the English.”

“Hmm. I can understand that … So you came directly here?”

“Aye, my lady. At the King’s bidding. His Grace said this was the safest, closest place. It was hard going, even when we reached the road north, and took us three days. Thus the young man is exhausted and harrowed, and he has lost much blood. But with good food and a sound, stable bed, he should recover quickly enough.”

“How long, think you?”

Brother Matthew made a moue. “I cannot answer that, my lady. It is in God’s hands. A month, perhaps? Perhaps even more. I simply do not know. But he will recover. His wounds appear to be merely superficial but only time will demonstrate the truth or falsity of that. He should regain full use of his arm and shoulder … but he might not. In God’s hands, as I said, though I believe he should do well. My own teacher studied the methods of the ancients, and most particularly of the great healer Galen, who believed that the prime threat to life in such cases lies not in the wounds themselves—unless of course they be fatally inflicted—but in the inflammation and putrefaction that all too often follow afterwards. He therefore urged the wholesomeness of keeping wounds well drained and clean, in order to avoid the dangers of purulence and contamination from ill humors.” He looked down at the squire with a gentle smile. “He must think he is in Heaven now, warm in a soft, unmoving bed after such a long and painful journey. Sleep is God’s own blessed cure for many ailments. Let us pray that this is one of those. Leave him to sleep on.”

“Thank you, Brother Matthew. Marjorie, would you conduct Brother Matthew to where the others are and then come back to me?”

Jessie stood looking down at the sleeping youth for some time after Marjorie and the monk left. Well, young man, another Sinclair? You have your uncle’s look about you, I think, although it’s hard to tell, truly, beneath all that grime. But you have his shoulders, and his hair. Mayhap his eyes will be there, too, once you open them, but they are sunken deep and black with shadows now, and your face is far too white, and gaunt … pain-graven lines already, where none should be in one so young …

She was interrupted by the return of her niece, and waved her to a chair by the fireplace. “I want you to stay here and watch over the young man while I am gone. He is not likely to awaken, but if he does, bid him lie still, tell him where he is, and then come for me at once. Look at me.” She held out her hands, fingers spread to show the black dirt caked beneath her nails. “I must go and make myself presentable to our guests. It will not take me long, but in the meantime I need you to remain here.”

“Of course, Auntie.” The girl did not look at her; her entire attention was taken up by the pallid young man asleep on the cot.

TWO

As she swept back into the main room, refreshed and renewed and looking every inch the chatelaine of a fine house, Jessie Randolph found herself smiling inwardly at the thought that neither of her guests—for only Will Sinclair and Tam were there—even appeared to be aware of her transformation. The stained, much-worn green gown she had been wearing in the garden had been replaced with her finest, of soft, rich handwoven wool in a shade of blue that was almost the color of the night sky, more blue than black, and her hair had been carefully brushed and pinned up, allowing only a few errant curls to fall in ringlets by her ears. Her hands, wrists, and forearms, scrubbed clean to the point of rawness, had been softened and smoothed with a sweet-smelling unguent brought with her from France, and she could still detect a lingering trace of the fragrant oil of cloves and cinnamon that she had dabbed into the hollow of her throat before leaving her chambers.

She greeted both men brightly before going directly to look behind the screen that shielded young Henry’s cot. There was no sign of Marjorie, which surprised her slightly, for the girl had not come seeking her. The boy was still asleep, his face peaceful and the deep-graven lines of pain already lessened in repose. She pulled the wicker screen back into place and turned to the two men, who were still in quiet but intense conversation, standing with their heads almost together.

“I expected my niece Marjorie to be here. Have either of you seen her?”

Tam answered. “Aye, my lady, she was here when we came in not five minutes ago. She went to find us some ale, for the jug on the table was empty when we arrived.”

“Ah, that explains it. Thank you, Tam.” She smiled at him. “Will you not sit down? It is drawing on to evening and will soon be cool in here. I will have Hector light the fire for us.”

“Thank ye, my lady, but I canna stay. A drink o’ ale to wet my throat, and I’m away.”

“At this time of day? Where will you go?” She saw the rising of Sir William’s eyebrows and spoke on before either man could respond. “Forgive me, I know that is none of my affair. ’Twas but idle curiosity that prompted me.” Oh, Will, still as fierce and disapproving as ever. I had hoped you cured of some of that at least. “Gone within the hour, you will yet have a good three hours of daylight in which to travel.”

“Aye, my lady. I can reach where I’m going within an hour after dark.”

And where are you going? Why such a rush?

Will surprised her by speaking into the silence. “He rides on an errand for me, Baroness … and for the King’s grace. King Robert has instructed me …”

He fell silent as young Marjorie came into the room, clutching a heavy wooden jug of beer in both hands and clearly threatened by the weight of it.

Tam went quickly towards her. “Here, lass, let me take that, and our thanks for your kindness.” He grinned. “You could ha’e brought a smaller jug, or carried less in this one … it would ha’e been less taxing.”

The girl smiled back at him and dipped into a curtsey, holding her skirts daintily. “I wouldna ha’e dared, sir,” she answered in Scots. “But I couldna carry more. Guests in this house never go thirsty.”

“Aye, nor hungry, either.” Tam took the heavy jug to the table and busied himself pouring the ale into clay cups, one for Will and one for himself, before he turned to Jessie. “My lady, will you ha’e a cup?”

She glanced at Will. “Have you two finished what you were discussing, or should we leave you to conclude your affairs without interruption?”

Will shook his head and his expression was pleasant and open. “No, madam, our business is concluded.”

“Excellent. Then gratefully, Tam, I will have some ale.” She turned to Marjorie, who was standing watching her, a tiny smile tugging at her mouth. “But you, young lady, have matters to attend to. We will have Sir William at table tonight, and I would like you to appear as what you are, a proper young woman. Marie is waiting for you upstairs and will help you to prepare, so off with you now, and on your way send Hector to me.”

Marjorie curtseyed again, managing to address a smile to all three of them as she did so, and let herself out without word.

Will looked inquiringly at Jessie. “This is the child about whom you wrote? The niece?” Jessie nodded. “I am impressed. She is a young woman. I had expected more of a child.”

“She was a child when first she came to me, but that was five years ago, and years have an aging effect on all of us as they pass. Come, sirs, sit ye down.” She stopped, struck by a sudden thought. “What became of Brother Matthew, do you know?”

Will Sinclair actually smiled, and Jessie had to will herself to make no remark on it as he waved a hand towards the screens behind her. “I have no idea, but I presume he is in there, asleep, like his charge, exhausted by his journey. He slept even less than the lad did, all the way from Lanercost, so he has earned his rest. But permit me to finish what I was saying when your niece came in.” He glanced at Tam, who kept his eyes studiously on the rim of his cup as he raised it again to his lips. “King Robert has requested that I visit St. Andrews, to talk with his friend and adviser Master Nicholas Balmyle.”

“Oh, I know Master Nicholas well. We are friends, he and I. Have you met him before?” Will shook his head. “Well, you will like him, I think. He is very old, and very dignified and highly regarded, but he has a wondrous warmth and sense of humor, and I found him unusually pleasing, for a cleric. A man unafraid to speak his own mind. The King sets great store by his advice.”

“Aye, so His Grace told me. But the trouble is that Master Nicholas will not remain long in St. Andrews. He is bound from there to Arbroath, and under a certain urgency, to meet with the Abbot there. Therefore I am dispatching Tam and Mungo MacDowal to ride on ahead of me and alert him to my coming and to the King’s wishes. They will leave immediately …” He broke off, frowning.

“You appear unsure of something.”

“Aye, madam, I am. I must ask you if you object to being saddled with my young squire while I ride on. It strikes me as a great imposition.”

“The alternative does not bear thinking about. You will leave him here and we shall tend to him happily, as part of our duty to King Robert, if for no other reason. You may return for him when he is healed, or when your business is concluded with Master Balmyle. There, the matter is closed.”

The door opened quietly after a discreet knock, and Hector the steward thrust his head inside. “You sent for me, my lady. Should I light the fire?” Jessie nodded mutely, and the steward threw wide the doors to admit two men behind him, one of whom carried a thick, burning candle in a sconce while the other lugged a heavy bellows.

Tam Sinclair quaffed off his ale and rose to his feet before asking Will’s permission to depart. It was given, and Tam bowed deeply to Jessie, thanked her for her hospitality, and expressed the hope that he would see her again soon. He then nodded cordially to Will and made his way in search of his traveling companion, Mungo.

Neither Jessie nor Will rose as Tam left, and both of them sat watching in silence as Hector’s men attended to the fire. The two had crossed rapidly to the big stone fireplace where the first of them had already lit a long, thin wooden taper from his candle and was using it to set light to the fine kindling piled in the grate, stooping to blow gently into the nest of tiny, glowing sticks until they burst gently into flame. The other man had laid down his bellows by the fireplace and stood idly by in the meantime, his fists filled with larger sticks, watching closely and waiting for the flames to catch sufficiently to permit him to add his larger pieces of dried and seasoned firewood, stacking them carefully to allow the air to circulate between them, and when those caught fire he began to use his bellows with great skill, blowing air into and among the burning fuel in just sufficient quantity to feed the hungry flames without blasting sparks and ashes into the air.

“That will do it,” Hector said when he was convinced that the fire would no longer be in danger of dying out. “Well done. Now add logs and then be out of here. Will there be anything else, my lady?”

Jessie shook her head and then watched as the two firelighters made their way back towards the bowels of the house, followed by the steward. When the door closed behind them she turned to look again at Will.

“Come, it grows cool in here. Pull a chair close to the fire and I will join you. We have matters to discuss.” She half expected him to react angrily to that, but again he surprised her by simply doing as she had asked, rising to pull a heavy chair to the front of the hearth and then bringing a second one for her, and while he was doing so she brought the ale jug and filled his cup again, adding a little to her own as well before returning the jug to the table. He took the cup from her and nodded courteously before sitting down and swallowing a mouthful of the beer.

“This is good. You have a brewer among your tenants?”

“Aye, my steward Hector. It is but one of his talents. But in truth he is the steward here, not mine at all. He serves my nephew Sir Thomas Randolph, whose house this is. I live here and care for the place on my nephew’s sufferance.”

He nodded, amiably. For a fraction of a moment she thought he was going to smile again, but the tic at the corner of his mouth faded before it could grow, although his eyes remained more tolerant than she had ever seen them in regard to her.

“Tell me then, if you will, what matters have we to discuss?”

She turned sideways in her chair to look at him, taking in his entire appearance before she responded. “Several,” she said, her voice soft. “And not the least of them your own condition. You look gaunt, Will Sinclair—gaunt and haggard and careworn. When first we met today you told me the boy was injured through your fault, and it is clear, from the look of you, that you believe it to be true. Sh!”

She stood up quickly, setting her ale cup on the seat of her chair, then almost bending to one side as she listened to the silence behind the woven screens. Will had heard nothing, but he had not been listening. She flicked a warning finger at him before gliding out of sight behind the nearest screen. Moments later she emerged again, closing the flap of the screen carefully.

“He sleeps soundly. I thought I heard him move, but if he did, it was unconsciously.” She collected her cup and sat back down, cradling it between her hands. “Tell me then, what did you do to endanger the lad and almost get him killed?”

He inhaled sharply, and without preamble told her the whole tale. When he fell silent again, clearly having no more to add, she cocked her head in an unconscious gesture of puzzlement.

“Why should you have thought to search the woods there? You said they were sparse.”

“And they were, but not too sparse. And they were hostile territory. They concealed men, enemies.”

“But not soldiers.”

“No, they were farmers. But they wished us ill.”

“And why would they wish to attack an unarmed boy?”

“They did not. It was me they wanted. A single knight, lightly armed. Well worth killing and robbing.”

“And had you gone looking, do you think you would have found them?”

He jerked his head in a negative. “Perhaps not. They were afoot, and would have hidden when they saw me coming.”

“So then, not having seen them, might they have killed you from concealment?”

“They might.”

“And had they done so, they would have killed the boy, too, no? Especially since he was unarmed.”

“Probably.”

“Then why do you berate yourself? You are both here, alive, because you did not search those woods. And Henry lives because you were able to rescue him, after he rescued you. Therefore, it seems to me, as a mere woman, that each of you has great cause to be grateful to the other for the way this thing transpired, and no reason at all to be sitting around moping and feeling guilty. The boy is strong, and you are in good health, save for your appearance, which cries out for sleep.” She paused, waiting, and then added, “Have I convinced you yet that this guilt you feel is foolish?”

Sweet Jesus, the man is smiling. He is smiling! The first real smile I have ever seen in him … And what a wondrous change it brings about in him, even with his paleness and those bitter worry lines etched into his face. Why, oh why, dear God, do you not permit this man to smile more often? He could banish storms—expel the clouds and bring the sun back into view.

He shook his head gently. “Perhaps you have,” he said. “We shall see … Now, what else must we discuss?”

“Nothing too grave. I have some questions I would like to ask. Would that vex you?”

His smile grew even wider. “Today, no. I doubt you could ask me anything today that might vex me. The willingness with which you undertook the care of my nephew without question has seen to that. Ask away.”

Jessie pursed her lips, another unconscious gesture, and nibbled on the inside of the lower one, thinking carefully before beginning. “Very well then … I have been told—it matters not by whom and I will not divulge his name—that you released your brethren from their vow of chastity.” She saw his eyebrow quirk and prepared herself for a brusque dismissal of her unformed question, but he merely glanced sidelong at her and nodded.

“And so I did. Some of my brethren. Many of them, mainly the older men, had no wish to be released, and so they remain as they were. Others availed themselves of the dispensation.”

She looked at him in surprise and spread her hands palms upward. “Why? Why would you do such a thing, you, of all men the most devout and duty bound? Why did you do it, after a lifetime of single-minded obedience to duty and to God?”

“Perhaps because my God is not the same as yours.” The words were pitched so low and were so indistinct that she was sure she had misheard them, for they made no sense to her. But she had sufficient wit to say nothing, inexplicably aware that William Sinclair might be about to say more, and of more substance, than she had ever heard him say before without hostility. Instead of continuing, however, he sat staring at her, his eyes strangely distant, as though he were unaware of her, gazing at other things.

Oh, Will Sinclair, I have no idea what is in your mind, but I’ll give thanks to God tonight for the absence of scowls on your face and for the smiles you’ve shown me and for the brightness of those eyes. For only He can know whence that brightness comes, or where and why those scowls lie banished. I would not care were you to say no other word from now until bedtime, if your face remained as open and free of arrogance and disapproval as it is now.

He continued to stare at her, and through her, for so long that she began to suspect he might, in fact, not say another word, but just as she began to draw breath to speak, he broke suddenly into the French tongue of Anjou, his eyes now focused upon hers.

“You know, when first we met I distrusted you.” He jerked one hand in the air to cut her off before she could react. “No, pardon me. That is untrue. I never did distrust you. That is the wrong word … and an evasion. I believe … I believe I feared you. That is the truth, and now that it is spoken, I recognize the verity of it. Yes, I feared you. Feared you for what you were and what you represented in my eyes … the undoing of my sacred vows … And even in that I was deluding myself, though I may not tell you how or why. I know both how and why, but it is something I cannot explain without jeopardizing matters sacrosanct to me. Be that as it may, you frightened me because I found you … attractive … And that was contrary, and threatening, to all the things to which I had dedicated my life.”

There’s that smile again, but stifled quickly, as though you thought to laugh at yourself. Ah, Will Sinclair, I can’t believe I’m hearing this. You thought me attractive! Do you still think that way of me?

“And do you not fear me now, Sir William?”

There was sly humor in her tone, but Will ignored it and answered forthrightly. “No, Jessie, I do not, not even slightly. Nor did I ever, if the truth be told. It was myself I feared … myself and my own weaknesses that I thought might lead me into sin.”

“Sin over me?”

Jessie was scarcely conscious of what she was saying now, as her shock at his confession was amplified by the delighted surprise of hearing him call her by her given name for the first time. But her pleasure increased tenfold when he looked at her, cocking an eyebrow.

“Sin over you … Aye, why not? I am a man, after all, and you are … yourself. The mere contemplation of you stirs temptation, and the sins of the mind are as potent and destructive, we are told, as sins of the flesh.”

His admission stunned her, leaving her speechless.

“You once called yourself my friend, in the first letter I received from you. And I am honored by your friendship, undeserved as it was at first. But I was a Temple knight at that time, living within and dedicated to a brotherhood I thought to be immutable and sacrosanct—that is the second time I have used that word within this hour, though I have come to see it nowadays as undeserving of the breath most men require to utter it.

“Still, that was what I believed when you and I first met, and I believed it deeply and sincerely. The knights of the Temple, as all the world once knew, were forbidden to consort with women, even their mothers and sisters, for they were monks, sworn to the cloister albeit they might seldom live there. And so I was outraged—” He snorted, a smothered laugh of scorn, shaking his head at his own remembered folly. “I was outraged and offended at having your company thrust upon me, no matter your peril or your family connection to Admiral de St. Valéry, so I decided to safeguard my own convictions by avoiding and ignoring you as much as possible. I never thought of it as cowardice—not at that time, although I see it as such now—but I soon discovered the impossibility of what I was attempting to achieve.”

“Ignoring and avoiding me?” Jessie was smiling gently, and he returned her smile wryly.

“Aye. You are not easy to ignore, and the way things transpired, you were equally difficult to avoid. But I fear I treated you ill, for all that you were guiltless in being who you were.”

“And what changed that? May I ask?”

“Time. Time and the aspirations of godless men of God … And that latter led to my decision, as Master of the Temple in Scotland, to release those of my men who wished it so from the constraints of the oath of chastity.”

Jessie sat gazing at him for a long time before she said, “That is … that is an astonishing leap. I have never heard the like.”

“There has never been the like since the foundation of our Order. But it was necessary.”

“To what, Will? I am trying to understand what you are saying, but I do not even know where to begin. What brought this to your mind? It cannot have been a swift decision.”

“No, it was not. Nor was it reached without much searching of my soul and my conscience. But it was the right decision, and events of the past few weeks have proved it so. Jessie … your husband’s brother, Admiral de St. Valéry, is dead.”

“I know that. I have known for years. Dear Charles. I hoped, for a year or so, that he might return from wherever he sailed off to, but when that year became two, then three, it became obvious that he had perished somewhere—” She stopped short, her forehead wrinkling. “But how can you know that with such certainty as I heard in your voice now? You do know it beyond doubt, do you not?” He nodded, and she stared at him in perplexity. “The only way would be—”

“If some other man whose word could not be doubted brought home the news.” He hesitated, frowning slightly, then made up his mind and spoke more forcefully. “Jessie, I spoke earlier of trusting you. Now I will trust you further, with a secret known to very few … a secret that could be very dangerous were it to be uncovered. Do you remember why the admiral left?”

“Of course. He went in search of some legendary land beyond the Western Sea, some place called …” She frowned.

“Its name matters not,” Will said quietly. “But the place is there. The admiral found it. And he died there last year. Most of his people remain there now, living among the native inhabitants, but some sailed back in search of men to join them. Their ship arrived in Arran less than three weeks ago.”

“It came back …” She heard the dull incomprehension in her own voice, but the notion he had put into her head defied sane, logical thought. She cleared her throat, suddenly tentative. “This land … it is unknown to Christendom?” She watched him nod his head. “Where is it, then?”

“Where it was said to be, beyond the Western Sea.”

She shook her head, trying to comprehend the possibility of such a thing. “Is it large, this land?”

“According to what I have been told, it is enormous. It could be an entire new world, as big as Christendom.”

“But that is … That would be … That is why you say the secret of it is so dangerous. Who knows of this?”

“I know. You know. The crew who returned know. And my community in Arran knows. No one else.”

“And thus you believe your secret safe? Your community is large.”

“Aye, but it is secretive, too. We are all Templars, bound to secrecy and silence and obedience—and to our own survival. Were word of what we know to spread, Christendom, with all its persecution and its follies, would flock to the new shore.”

“And would deprive you of the hope of finding a new life in this new land.”

“You have the truth of it. A sanctuary unknown to any soul in Christendom save us, who have great need of it.”

“The oath of chastity. That is why you did it … to have your brethren breed sons.”

“Sons and daughters, yes.”

“Because monks, such monks as yours, can have no women and thus must perish and their Order vanish from the world.”

“That has been happening, everywhere but here. There is no Temple left in France, and now the other kings of Christendom are playing Philip’s game, exactly as Master de Molay feared they would. Our community in Arran appears to be the last Templar outpost remaining. That is why I released the brethren from the oath. I set them free to wed and to have families, upon their oath that they would bring those families back to live on Arran.”

“But is that not …” Jessica could say no more, still grappling with the idea, and they sat in silence for a while. When Jessie spoke again, a half smile tugged at her mouth. “And you, Will Sinclair, have you renounced your oath?”

He looked directly at her and his face was as unreadable as the tone of voice in which he answered. “No, I have not. I am too … too set in my lifetime’s ways.” His right cheek quirked in what might have been the start of a smile. “Not that it would bother me in the least to do so, for those reasons I have named. But I have another oath to plague me in the eyes of other men, and it is far more troublesome than my chastity.”

“And what is that?”

“Obedience. When I joined the Temple I swore an oath of obedience to the Pope, and through him to Holy Church. But to whom should I be obedient now? The Pope, and with him Holy Church, have disowned and demeaned our Order, for no other purpose than their own gain, and at the urgings of a greedy despot who now calls himself Philip of France. What an arrogant nonsense! What is this France he speaks of? It is a tiny territory in the north of what was Gaul. But in his delusion he sees it as something vast, and he seeks to authenticate his mad ideas by laying claim to Flanders, Normandy, Brittany, Anjou, Poitou, Burgundy, and Aquitaine. And with his vaunting claims of vastness he has suborned a pope and warped the will of Holy Church to his twisted ambitions. Now”—he held up one hand, as if to emphasize what would come next—“an oath, the priests will tell you, is an oath. Thus, in obedience, I should submit myself and all my brethren to the mercies of the Inquisition …

“Jessie, I swear to you upon my love of life that I will gladly burn in Hell for what they deem my sinful pride before I will submit to such obscenities as those people are now to me. Thus I stand damned by my own pride and obstinacy, alone with my own honor. A loss of chastity would cause me not a moment of concern, were I but interested.”

Jessie had heard his last reference to chastity, but startling and cynical as it had seemed in the utterance, she realized that it held little significance by comparison with the other, far more fundamental changes she was discerning in the man beside her.

“You are greatly changed since last we spoke, Sir William.” She herself heard the formality of the address, but he seemed unaware of it, gazing now with narrowed eyes into the leaping heart of the fire. “I can scarce bel—”

“Greatly changed?” He made a sound deep in his throat, a stifled sound of bitter, repressed self-mockery. “Greatly changed … Aye, I suppose it must seem that way to you, after so long a lapse of time. The years pass more quickly nowadays, it seems, but the effects they wreak in passing remain with us.” He stood up abruptly and stepped towards the fire, leaning against the mantel with one outstretched hand as he spoke down into the flames. “I have not changed at all, Jessie, not one whit, but all the world in which I used to live has changed around me, and I am dispossessed. I have responsibilities and I discharge them to the best of my abilities. I have my honor and my beliefs, and I am true to those. But all the duties I once owned are shrunk to one small sphere—the duty of protecting the community of the brotherhood on Arran.”

He turned back to face her again, a lopsided, reluctant grin on his face, although she saw at once how sad his eyes were. “Those changes you referred to are changes forced upon me by the world and its treatment of me and mine. Changes in the way I think, and in the way I perceive the things I may not ignore. Changes in the way I look at grasping kings and venal priests and what they will do in their never-ending greed and lust for power, whether it be power over men’s souls or over men themselves and their possessions. But greater than these, I think, are the changes I have accepted in the way men dictate morals and morality and govern them with the threat of God’s displeasure to suit their own vicious whims … and with never a thought of the God in whose name they disgrace themselves. And so I have abjured them all, and all they represent.” He shrugged then, twisting his mouth. “If that is what the ancients called hubris, the sin of pride, then so be it. But I know what I believe, and I cannot accept that God will see much that is wrong in my beliefs or my behavior. As for the rest … no sinful priest can ever again claim the right to define sin in my eyes.” He grinned. “The sole exception I will make is for your priests in Scotland, hovering on the edge of damnation with their King. People like Davie Moray, whom I cannot see as priest, for all his rank.”

Jessie made no response, sunk deep in thought with her head bowed. Will watched her, seeing the straight slash of white scalp that divided the tresses of her hair, and when she made no move to look at him again he cleared his throat.

“What are you thinking about?”

She sighed and straightened. “About your strange new land. When will you go?”

He inhaled deeply. “Not soon enough to suit me. There is much work to do first.”

Now she looked at him. “What kind of work?”

“Ship building and repairs. The ship that returned was battered beyond endurance. It had been repaired before setting out to return here, and when it sailed it was as strong as they could make it, lacking the proper tools. The native people who live there have no skills in building ships. They fear the sea. The only craft they have are hollowed logs, for use in inland waterways. Clumsy things they are, and dangerous to those who ride in them. Without steel, iron, skills in working metal they cannot cut trees properly but must wait until they fall naturally. They cannot split logs with care, or make planks. Therefore they have no ships. Our men had shipwrights with them, but no means of making new tools and therefore no means of teaching others how to use the few they had. So they turned all their efforts to the repair of the single ship they had that was still seaworthy, in the hope of sailing it home. It survived, but barely. The tales I heard of the storms they met at sea seemed scarce believable, except that I saw the damage they suffered.” He shook his head, remembering. “So we need new ships, built strong enough to withstand the ocean storms. That will take years, and more resources than we have in hand. There are no oak trees on Arran.”

“So what will you do?”

Will smiled without humor. “Find them elsewhere, I suppose. I have not yet thought this thing through … In truth, I have not yet had time to absorb the immensity of the thought.”

“And if you find such trees, do you have men with the ability to build these ships?”

“Aye, we have those, enough of them, at least, and they will train others. But it will be slow and will take long.”

“How long?”

“As long as a piece of rope.” He smiled at her puzzled frown. “I cannot tell you how long, my lady … three years, perhaps four if we are lucky.”

“Jessie. Call me Jessie. I am your friend, Will, not your lady. Can you not simply buy new ships? You do not lack for money, do you?”

“No, we do not. But that is not—” He stopped, tipping his head to one side as he thought about what she had said, and she saw a change come over his face. “I was about to scoff at you, but that is a fine idea. It had not yet occurred to me. To buy new ships … We would have to go to Genoa.”

“To Genoa! Why there?”

Will smiled again, animated now, and she took pleasure in the novelty of seeing it. “Because they build the finest ships in all the world and have been doing it since Roman times. Until recently, they built all our Temple ships, galleys as well as trading vessels. They may even have some now, waiting to be sold again, now that the Temple no longer requires them … save that it does, here and now.” His face darkened. “But that might require all the gold we have, and more. I have no idea how much a strong ship costs, but it must be a massive sum.”

“Who would know that?”

“Hmm. The seneschal of the Order would, or the draper. All such outgoing expenses must be directed through their offices and are—were—subject to their approval. But the seneschal is entombed in one of Philip’s jails, and I have heard the draper, Sir Philip Estinguay, died of the tortures inflicted upon him by the priests. Their people might, the underlings who worked for them, but they are all dispersed and vanished as smoke in a high wind. Thus, no one knows, and I would—I will—have to find out for myself.” He smiled again. “One thing is certain. If we can afford the cost, we will meet it though it beggar us, for we will have no need of gold in the new land.”

Someone knocked on the door, and Will jerked his hand for silence as it opened to admit Brother Matthew, his face puffy with sleep. He blinked owlishly at Will and then addressed Jessie.

“My lady? Is the boy yet asleep?”

As if in answer to his question there came a stifled groan behind the woven screens, announcing that young Henry was awake, and for a time the former stillness of the room was banished as everyone went to see to him.

THREE

The following morning, before the sun had risen, and for want of anything better to do to take his mind off the condition of young Henry, Will took his bow, a spear, and a quiver of arrows and went hunting, accompanied by his two remaining sergeants. He had dined with Jessie the night before, but they had had no further chance to speak in private, surrounded as they were by other people. And so they had talked of normal things, sharing the laughter and the conversation of those around them. Only once, at the beginning of their dinner, had she leaned close to him to tell him that she regretted the interruption of their talk earlier, and that she wanted to speak further on the matters they had been discussing.

Will had been surprised, and pleased, to discover that he enjoyed the evening and, to some extent, the novelty of being in the company of so many women—there had been eight of them in all—after so many years of exclusively masculine companionship. Four of the women had been the wives of Jessie’s tenants, plain but pleasant farm women whom she had invited to the house, along with their goodmen, on a mischievous whim. Will had caught Jessie watching him and smiling slyly on several occasions when one or the other of the women had engaged him in conversation, and at some point he had begun to suspect what she was watching for. The awareness, instead of annoying him as it would have a mere few months earlier, now simply amused him, and he had entered into the spirit of the enjoyment she was obviously taking from observing him. In spite of his determination to be less rigid, however, a lifetime of training was hard to relinquish, and his disapproval of female company was too deeply ingrained to be so easily set aside. He found the women’s conversation inane, trivial, and often unpleasantly inquisitive and personal, punctuated with rather alarming, spontaneous laughter, but he persevered, although his cheeks sometimes ached from smiling and being pleasant, and when it was over he had been glad to have Hector show him to his bed for the night.

He had slept well, but had awakened in full darkness with the memory of Jessie telling him that her people had been unable to hunt recently, thanks to the sickness that had stalked their valleys, and in consequence they were almost bereft of fresh meat. And so he had decided to make it a hunting day.

By mid-morning one of the two sergeants, a taciturn Burgundian called Bernét, had killed a fine young buck with a long crossbow shot that Will knew he himself could never have equaled, and soon after that, carrying the butchered animal back to where they had tethered their horses, they happened upon a rooting boar that promptly charged at them with none of the groundscraping preliminaries they might have expected. Bernét and his companion were carrying the deer carcass between them and had no time to react, apart from dropping the meat and attempting to draw their blades, and the angry animal was upon them before either man was ready.

Will had been carrying all three hunting spears and barely had the time or the presence of mind to drop two of them and grasp the third firmly in both hands before falling to one knee and thrusting the butt of the weapon hard against the ground, holding it there with one straight arm while he used the other to aim the point at the charging beast, shouting to attract its attention. The boar ignored him, driving straight for Bernét and remaining well out of range of the spear’s point, but for some imponderable reason it paused to savage the bloodied carcass of the deer in passing, giving Bernét time to leap away and free his sword while Will leapt to his feet and hurled the heavy spear. He had no time to aim with care, but the boar was large enough, and Will was close enough, for his target to be unmissable. The spear’s barbed point plunged deeply into the creature’s flank, knocking the thing off balance for the space of a heartbeat before its swinish eyes fastened upon Will as the originator of its new torment, and it lunged towards him, dragging the heavy spear as though it were weightless.

By then, though, Will had snatched up a second spear and set it properly, and the enraged animal ran right onto it, snapping at the wide spearhead and transfixing itself with open mouth, swallowing the metal head with all its charging weight and driving the broad, sharp-edged blade through its own spine.

When their breathing returned to normal, the three men decided they had had enough of hunting for one day, and the two sergeants set about butchering the boar while Will went to collect the horses and bring them back to be loaded with the fresh meat.

They were back at the house by midday and took the meat directly to the kitchens, where they found a visiting priest sitting by the fire in the hearth, wolfing down a bowl of stew left over from the previous night. On seeing Will, the priest set down his bowl and rose to his feet, asking if Will might be the knight Sir William Sinclair. Will admitted that he was, and the priest told him that Master Balmyle awaited him at St. Andrews but requested that Sir William proceed there without delay, since the urgency of the King’s business was great and Balmyle must leave to meet with the Abbot of Arbroath as soon as possible.

Will grimaced as he listened, thinking that he could have kept Tam and Mungo close, had he but known this fellow was coming. They must have passed one another along the way. Now he would have to ride through unknown lands with an escort of but two men, when they would have been much safer as a band of five. He thanked the priest for delivering his summons and quickly ate a small bowl of stew himself, not having eaten anything for hours, then left the two sergeants with the grateful cook, warning them to have his horse ready and be prepared to ride out within the hour. He went to look for Jessie and a report on the progress of young Henry.

Henry Sinclair was doing well, he was told by the solicitous Brother Matthew, whom he found in the sickroom after a brief, unsuccessful search for Jessie. The monk motioned him aside and, in a low voice clearly meant to avoid disturbing his sleeping charge, told him that the lad had slept soundly throughout the night. His wounds had been washed and his dressings changed the previous night, and again when he awoke in the morning, and Brother Matthew had been happy with the pus-free condition of the soiled cloths. The wound was still bleeding, but no more than a slight seepage now, and the inflammation around the entrance and exit points of the stabbing blade had subsided visibly, indicating that the danger of putrefaction and disease had been greatly reduced.

“He sleeps soundly after a night of solid rest,” Will murmured to the monk. “Is that not unusual?”

“Not in this case. It means he is healing. Were it otherwise, it would mean he is in pain, still suffering and not yet doing well.” The monk smiled crookedly. “As I said to the Baroness last night, sleep is the greatest healer of all.”

Will nodded. “So be it, then. I will take your word for it and offer you my gratitude in return.” He pulled a small bag of coins from his scrip and lobbed it towards the monk, who caught it deftly and hefted its weight without appearing to, and smiling his thanks. “And now I must away. Do you know, perhaps, where I might find the Baroness?”

Brother Matthew raised his eyebrows high and shook his head. “No, Sir William, I do not. I saw her earlier. She, too, came to look at the boy and ask after his health, but I have no idea where she went after that.”

“Well, I must bid her farewell. Tell the boy, if he ever wakes, that he is to stay here and grow strong again. I will return for him when he is healed. Adieu, mon frère.”

He heard Jessie hailing him as soon as he stepped out into the courtyard and saw her watching him from close by the gates, accompanied by her two women and her niece. Like them, she held a large wicker basket propped against her hip and supported by a straight arm.

“I am told I owe you deeply, Sir William,” she called out, “for replenishing my larder. Will you walk with us?”

He crossed quickly to where she waited and bowed to all four women before addressing her. “I fear I may not, my lady. I have been summoned to make haste to St. Andrews, where Master Balmyle awaits me urgently.

Thus I must be on the road within this hour.”

“So soon? That is a pity.” She cocked her head. “I presume you have been in to see young Henry? He is well, Brother Matthew says.”

“Aye, thanks be to God, it appears he is.”

“I have something I wish to show you. Can you take the time? It will be no more than a few minutes.” He bowed again, and she set down her basket, heaving it out with her hip and letting it drop heavily to the ground before she turned to the others. “Go on without me and make a start. I will come soon.”

She beckoned to Will with one crooked finger, and he followed her to a long, low, thick-walled stone building that looked and smelled like what it was, a cattle shed. As he stepped inside, he had to duck his head to avoid the low lintel, but he found plenty of room to stand erect beyond the doorway. The stalls were empty, the kine long since turned out into the fields, and the narrow central waste gutter had been recently mucked out. On either side of the scoured channel, the flagstone floor had also been swept clean and covered with fresh straw, and in the far right corner of the byre, raised above the floor itself, he saw a sturdy wooden platform, piled to the rafters with well-made bales of hay. The door at the byre’s far end stood open, allowing the brilliant late-July sunlight to glare in, casting the side stalls into darkness. Will blinked his eyes until they adjusted to the shimmering, mote-filled light and darkness, then looked sideways at Jessie.

“You brought me to show me this?” There was a smile in his tone. “It is a byre, a cowshed. We have them in Anjou, too.”

“Come.” She did not even react to his jibe but led the way towards the hay bales piled in the corner, and he followed dutifully, hoisting himself up easily onto the wooden platform. She pointed to the bales. “Can you move those? Not all of them. The middle ones. There’s a fork there.”

Curious, but saying nothing, he picked up the heavy hay fork and dug it into the top bale. “Where will I put it?”

“Pile them on the floor. We’ll put them back afterwards.”

He worked hard and silently for several minutes, then saw what they were searching for. Buried beneath the bales was a long, narrow wooden chest that he recognized immediately.

“Pull it out, but be careful. It took four of us to push it in there.”

Will squatted carefully and grasped the thick rope handle on one end of the chest with both hands. He took a few deep breaths, then lifted steadily, pushing upwards with his thighs and keeping his spine straight as he took the weight of the thing. He raised the front edge from the floor and dragged it towards him, and it scraped loudly as it came, resisting him every inch of the way until he was able to lower it to the floor again.

He straightened slowly, breathing heavily and wiping the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. “That, madam,” he drawled, “is heavy. I don’t even have to ask what it contains … Part of the treasure that you brought King Robert?”

“Yes, but my part. I thought to keep it safe, against sudden need. The King has all the rest. Open it.”

“I do not need to. It holds bags of gold coins. The weight makes that obvious.”

“How many bags, think you?”

He looked down at the box, prodding it with his boot. It was a hand’s span wide, approximately nine inches, and he gauged the sides to be a half-inch thick apiece, reducing the interior width to eight inches. In height, it was half as much again, and its length was double that. He stood scratching his chin, trying to picture the size and bulk of the stuffed bags it would contain. Finally he nodded. “Four bags, each half a foot across … Four heavy bags.”

“Open it, then. Here is the key.”

The oiled padlock opened easily, but as he raised the lid Will sucked in his breath sharply and crouched motionless, awestruck.

“You see? You were wrong by four.”

“Great God! No wonder the thing is so heavy.”

There were no bags in the chest. Instead, it was packed solid with layers of cloth-covered tubes, each carefully wrapped and sealed at both ends with a wafer of wax. One tube on the top had been sliced along its length with a sharp blade, and the dull gleam of gold showed through the cut. Will squatted beside it, holding the lid open and trying to estimate the chest’s contents.

“Gold bezants,” Jessie whispered, leaning close to look down with him. “Fifty bezants in each roll, fifteen rolls in each layer, and five layers deep. I didn’t count them, but I have the accounting rendered in writing by the Jew Yeshua Bar Simeon of Béziers. He was an honest man, and scrupulous. Etienne could not have found a better or more trustworthy associate. And to think no one knew anything of their affairs, their being so prosperous …”

Will was still staring down into the chest. “I heard those numbers, but what do they amount to? It’s too much for my simple knowledge.”

“Three thousand seven hundred and fifty bezants.”

“Three thou … Great God in Heaven … Worth what? Five Scots silver marks to one, at least.”

“Closer to ten and perhaps more.”

“And there were five more chests like this. Those you gave to the King. And five of silver.”

“True, but those five were not all packed like this one and they were not all gold. Some were mixed with silver.”

He had turned to stare at her. “Why did you keep this one? This particular one, I mean?”

She raised her hands, a gesture almost of helplessness. “Because it was Bar Simeon’s. His own, unconnected to his venture with Etienne. He had no family, and knowing he was dying, he tidied his affairs and left this single chest to Etienne, in whom he had great trust. I have the letter that he sent with it, contained among the documents Sir Charles passed on to me.

Thus, I suppose it seemed more personal, somehow—the old man’s dying gift to poor Etienne, who was already dead … And so I kept it. I thought that, given ten parts of the treasure, the King would not begrudge me the eleventh, and if it weighed more than the others, that was happenstance … I had no knowledge at that time of what it contained. That I discovered only later, when I had read all the documents. Besides, I had no thought then of what to do with it, other than to hold it in reserve against another day of need … the King’s, I mean. Money in hand has a way of being spent out of hand. I thought there might come a time when an extra fund might be welcome.”

“Welcome?” He shook his head in wonder. “Jessie, this single chest could ransom a kingdom. It contains more wealth than all the specie I brought out of our commandery in La Rochelle … far more.”

She grinned, a quick flash of strong white teeth. “Perhaps so. It might indeed, if you say so, ransom a kingdom. But with the King himself in England, raising ransom from the English towns and abbeys, this kingdom should have no need of it. Whereas I do.”

He blinked. “You do? What need is that?” He grinned back at her, lowering one knee to the floor to ease his crouched position. “Do you intend to purchase a kingdom for yourself, then? Be a queen?”

“No, not a kingdom. We have enough of kingdoms here in Christendom. But mayhap I could buy a ship like those you spoke of yesterday, from Genoa. Or even two of them, depending on the cost.”

“You could buy a fleet with this small chest … but from Genoa? What would you do with a Genoese ship?”

She grinned again, a glint of purest mischief in her eyes. “I might do as my dead husband did and go a-trading. Or I could even sail in search of some new land beyond the Western Sea.” She saw the sudden consternation in his eyes, the quick stiffening of his posture, and laughed loud. “Oh, Will, Will Sinclair, you can be thick in the head sometimes and easy to predict. I meant the ship for you … or the fleet, if it can be had.”

His mouth dropped open and his slackened fingers lost their hold on the chest’s lid, which fell shut with a heavy, solid thunk.

“You are too kind, Baroness. I could not accept such a gift. It is too much.”

“Nonsense. Of course you could, and you will. You said yourself last night that you will not need money where you are going. Therefore this chest is worthless, save as a means of reaching the place … And besides, it is not a gift. It is a payment.”

He frowned slightly, suddenly cautious. “In return for what?”

“For taking me with you to your wild new land—me and mine.”

His jaw dropped yet again. “You’re mad,” he whispered.

“How so? I believe I am being rational.”

“That is no place for women, and by God’s holy elbow it is no place for a well-born lady.”

“Will Sinclair, that might be the stupidest thing I have ever heard from your mouth. You will be taking women with you, the wives of your followers. Is that not the point of this whole expedition?”

“Yes, but—”

“But nothing, Will. I want to go with you. I lay awake for hours last night, thinking the whole thing through, and I have decided. I will buy your fleet, or some of it, if this is not enough. In return you will take me to this Merica. I remembered the name.”

Will’s mouth worked, but no words emerged for a while until, frustrated beyond bearing, he burst from French into Scots. “But … but, Jessie, how could you even think o’ such a thing, to go alone into an unkent world? The folk o’er there are savage … wild. They dinna even wear clothes, or no’ the kind o’ clothes you wear. They wear nothin’ but the skins and furs o’ animals.”

“So did the Danes and the very English, no’ so long syne. And have you visited the Highlands here? Folk run naked there at times—much o’ the time in fact, or so I’m told. Men fight naked, and they take no ill o’ it.”

“But these folk o’er there across the sea are primitive, did ye no’ hear me? They’re barbarians—godless.”

“Godless barbarians? Would ye mean like the noble King of France, who killed my husband out o’ plain greed, then sent de Nogaret to hunt and kill me, too, for the same reason? The same King who claims to be God’s anointed, yet drove you and yours out of your homeland to sate his own lust for power, and whose people now torture and maim and kill your own brethren? Or mayhap you mean the English King, the old one who hung highborn women naked in open cages from town walls, just to vent his spleen? Is that no’ barbaric?” She added with finality, “Besides I’ll no’ be on my own.”

“Among your women, you mean. Aye, that’s what I meant, too. Who would protect you there, you and your womenfolk? Ye have no man, Jessie, and ye’d need a strong one, and fell.”

“I’ll ha’e a man, and a strong one, Will Sinclair. You’ll be my man.”

He flinched as though she had slapped him, then glared at her wild eyed for the space of several heartbeats, before clamping his hands on each side of his forehead and rising to his feet, spinning away from her.

“In Christ’s name, woman!” he roared. “Have you lost your wits altogether?”

But then he stopped, the heels of his hands still pressed against his temples, and she saw the tension drain away from him as he turned back to face her. She waited, saying nothing, and he shook his head and slowly lowered his hands. “I shouted at you, in the name of Christ.”

“I know.” She was almost smiling. “I heard. Was that a special kind of sin for you?”

“No … no, it wasna, but … it makes me see how rash and false to himself a man can be when he is vexed.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I know ye don’t. Ye couldna. But it means much to me. D’ ye think anyone heard us?” He looked around him, as though expecting to see people listening everywhere, and then he shook his head again. “I hinna time for this. I should be far frae here by now.” He drew a great sigh, then looked back at her and lowered his voice. “Look, lassie, I would look after ye. I ha’e nae doubts o’ that, forbye my oath. But it is just too dangerous, the whole o’ it unknown. I would never forgive myself were ye to come to ill …”

When she spoke again, she spoke in French. “And what of here, Will?” Her voice was calm to match his own now. “How would you feel if ill befell me here? We are at war, and this house built on the high road from England into Scotland. I could be murdered in my bed, right here, at any time, murdered and raped by passing soldiery of either side. Think you to leave me safe behind, when you sail off without me?”

“Without you? I never thought of you and me that way at all until you spoke the words!”

“If that is true, then you are a fool, Will Sinclair. A fine one, but a fool nonetheless. Look at yourself. You had become a ship without a sail, a vessel without purpose, betrayed and deceived on every side by men unfit to look you in the eye. But you released your brethren from their oath after you thought the matter through and decided it was justified. That took leadership, determination. And now you will lead them to another land, another life, in search of a new destiny. And so you now have renewed purpose. But incomplete, until you change yourself … Look, and listen to me, for I know you must go now.”

She drew a deep breath and stood upright, looking him in the eye. “We have said much here today, perhaps too much, though I doubt that. But the gist of it is this—I want to help you buy a fleet, and the means is there, at your feet. Think upon that … the how and why and wherefore of it all. It will take much time and long planning. You will need an agent for the dealings in Genoa. Moray may help you in that. He has many contacts everywhere. In the meantime, think on this … I will pay for the ships, as many as this chest will provide. You then will use your own funds to lade and equip them with everything you will need in your new land … including cloth for clothing. And think, too, upon my offer, Will—the offer of myself, my companionship, my loyalty. I do not make it lightly. I know it will be hard for you even to think about it, being who you are. But try, Will. Try to see what could be …” She smiled again, gently. “Will you do that for me, sir knight?”

He stood staring at her, his right hand grasping the hilt of his long sword, his lips pursed. And then he nodded. “Aye, I will think on it. And we will talk again … But now I had better hide this chest again and go. Is it safe here?”

“As safe as it would be anywhere, save in your vaults on Arran. It will be safe until you come back for it. Now hurry, and be gone.” She turned to leave, then hesitated and looked back at him. “And when you think of all of this, think, too, of me … and kindly, Will Sinclair.”

He growled in his throat, unable to find words to reply to that, and she left him there to bury the chest beneath the bales again.