Order in Chaos

A COLLOQUY IN NITHSDALE

ONE

They rode back along the River Nith a few days later, and Will felt surprisingly carefree, considering all that he had to do in the weeks that lay ahead. The journey south from St. Andrews, far more leisurely and a full day longer than their outgoing drive, had been uneventful, which was no great surprise; five mounted, armored men, with the air of confidence these five projected, could expect to go unchallenged on the open road. Now, under a sunny, late-July afternoon sky with birds singing all around them, they rode easily along the riverbank, through grass as high as their horses’ fetlocks, talking idly and glancing from time to time at the western edge of the great Forest of Ettrick that began on the other bank and stretched from there for scores of miles. The trees they could see from where they rode on the river’s west bank were small, mainly alder and hawthorn and elm saplings, for the forest was still expanding and the mighty forest giants, most of them oak and elm, lay farther to the east. They followed a tight right-hand bend in the river, and the grass-covered hillside on their right rose abruptly, thrusting out a rocky fist directly ahead of them that pinched the steeply rising path into little more than a goat track, forcing them to ride in single file. Will rode at the head, alone and deep in his own thoughts, with Tam Sinclair and the two sergeants following him, and Mungo MacDowal bringing up the rear.

Minutes later, close to the summit of the path, Will twisted in his saddle to look back the way they had come. He remembered it well, because it was here, less than two miles from their starting point, as they reached the beginning of the long descent on their outward journey, that the first heavy drops of rain had fallen from the clouds that had blown in that morning. From then on, it had stormed incessantly, so that they had ridden drenched and chilled for four miserable days, their clothing sodden from the wind-driven rain, their armor and mail and even the padded tunics beneath them chafing miserably wherever their edges touched bare skin. It had been a form of Purgatory, and they had fallen asleep each night, numb, exhausted, and close to freezing, wherever they could find a spot that offered the slightest shelter.

Now, approaching the summit of the rise and aware that their destination was close, Will felt a tiny shiver of pleasure and kicked his horse to a canter, uncaring whether the men behind followed him or not. Beyond the crest of the hillside the land rose up again ahead of him, starting with a gentle dip before resuming its upward climb, though nothing like as steeply as before, for another mile towards a second crest, from which he knew he would be able to see the Randolph house of Nithsdale. He was careful not to allow himself to think of Jessie specifically, for the thought of what he would say to her made his chest flutter in panic, but the feelings of anticipation did not abate and he made no effort to rein in his horse, permitting it to start down into the dip immediately.

On his left, barely a yard from the path, the grassy hillside fell away steeply to where the River Nith now ran swiftly between deep- cut banks, some forty to fifty feet below. They reached the bottom of the dip and started climbing again, and he nudged the animal with his spurs, aware that he had opened a gap between himself and the others, but assuming that they would keep up with him. He became conscious of another strange feeling in his breast and recognized that it was something akin to gaiety and that he felt like shouting out loud to release the pressure of it.

The feeling was short lived, though, for as soon as his horse breasted the crest of the rise, he saw black smoke in the distance, where the Randolph house was, and he had been a soldier for long enough to know at a glance that what he was seeing had no peaceful source.

“Tam, to me!” He turned in the saddle in time to see Tam Sinclair’s head snap up, and moments later the others arrived in a clatter of hooves.

Without another word being spoken, they launched themselves forward again, the path widening out ahead of them as it dropped down into the valley of the Nith. Will kept the lead, but now the others rode in a tight knot at his back, fanning out slightly as the road widened until they could ride down the hill at the full gallop, the distance between them and the Randolph house dwindling rapidly until they could see the activity around the house itself.

The fire seemed to be in one of the outhouses, and Will thought it would probably be the stables with their hayloft, but the frantic activity in front of the house had nothing to do with firefighting. Will saw the sun glint on a swung blade, or perhaps an axehead, and at the same moment he heard the first faint, distant shouts of angry men.

“The gates are still open. Straight in?” Tam was riding knee to knee with Will now, looking at his face for instructions, and Will nodded, raising his voice so that they could all hear him.

“Aye, straight in through the main gates! They haven’t seen us yet, so we might be able to get in before they can shut the gates. How many d’you count?”

“Less than a score, as far as I can tell—three or four apiece.”

“Then let’s take them.” He lifted his voice again. “Spread out as soon as we go through the gates! Mungo, go with Tam to the right. You others come with me, to my left. Don’t be gentle with them. Sinclair!” The last shout was a battle cry as they thundered through the gates and found the enemy with their backs to them.

No one had seen them coming, and the closest of the raiders went down before anyone knew what was happening. The men attacking the house were all on foot, and from their rough and ragged appearance Will instantly assumed them to be bandits, but they were well armed and they showed no fear, despite being surprised. They were more numerous than Will’s group, but Will’s force was mounted, with weight and speed on their side.

Will rode down two men directly ahead of him, hacking one dead with a chop of his sword to the neck, then leaning forward to stab his point into the second man’s mouth with the full momentum of his galloping horse behind the thrust. Then, with no one else within reach, he reined in his horse, taking stock. At the top of the stone steps to the iron-studded main door, several of the raiders were busily piling brush against the door itself, and already smoke was curling from the bottom of the pile as the flames took hold. There were three of them, and they were so intent on what they were about that the noise of the attack behind them was only now sinking home to them.

Will spurred his horse hard from a standing start, swung his left leg up and over the saddle horn and braced his right foot in the stirrup before launching himself onto the steps, landing among them before they could even snatch up their weapons. He pulled the first man off balance and kicked him hard behind the right knee, using the fellow’s own falling weight to propel him sideways off the steps and crashing head first onto the cobblestones, where he landed almost beneath the hooves of Will’s horse. He cut the second man down with a backhanded slash across the throat, and turned to stab the third, but the fellow jumped from the top stair, barely avoiding the lunge of the long blade, and scurried away to safety.

Will let him go, then sheathed his sword and set about hauling the burning brush pile away from the door, shouting for the defenders inside to open the door and let him in. He heard his name being called and looked over his shoulder to see Mungo waving urgently from the right corner of the building. He saw another of the attackers rushing on Mungo from behind, but before he could even start to shout a warning, the running man was hammered backwards to land sprawling on his backside, the white fletching of a crossbow bolt protruding like a sudden flowering from his breastbone.

Will knew the bolt could only have come from the roof, and so he jumped down from the steps and ran to where he could look up to the top of the small tower at the corner of the house. Jessie Randolph was there, with a cluster of four men, all armed with crossbows and sniping at the few remaining bandits in the yard, and even as Will looked up and saw them, he heard the clang of steel on stone as first one and then others of the attackers threw down their weapons. He turned away from the sight of Jessie and waved to Tam, who stood somewhere on his right, bidding him round up the surviving bandits, and then he looked back to the tower.

“Welcome, Sir William!” Jessie Randolph called down to him. “You could not have timed your arrival more perfectly.”

“I am glad to see you well, my lady!” he shouted back. “Unharmed, I hope?”

“Aye, safe enough now, thanks to you.”

“Is the rest of the house safe?”

“Aye. We saw them coming, thanks be to God, and got all the folk inside. They tried to force entry at the rear, but the door there is the equal of the one below.” She looked beyond Will to where Tam and the others were herding the prisoners. “Tam! There’s a byre at the back, with a stout door and a lock and chain. Put them in there for now. Sir William, come you inside. Hector should be there now.”

As she shouted the words, Will saw the heavy front door swing open and the steward of the household stuck his head outside, sweeping his eyes about the yard and taking note of the scatter of bodies.

“Away you go in,” Tam told Will. “I’ll see to these creatures and make sure they move the bodies afore I lock them up, for we’re no’ carryin’ them. Ye’ll want them tied up?”

Will found it easy to grin now that the danger was past. “Just the living ones, Tam. The others will not go far, though. They’ll have to be buried, so make sure you don’t cripple the prisoners with tight bonds. They’ll need to be able to dig.”

He left the others to their work and removed his heavy helmet and mailed gloves, dropping the gloves into the upended helm and then carrying it in the crook of his elbow as he entered the house, addressing a word of greeting to Hector as he passed. He was just in time to meet Jessie Randolph as she swept into the hallway at the bottom of the stairs from the roof, and he noticed approvingly, almost absently, that apart from the high flush on her cheeks, she showed little sign of the excitement of the past hour. Notice it he did, however, and his heartbeat increased as she smiled at him and beckoned him to follow her into the main room.

The first thing he noticed was the absence of the cot bed that had been young Henry’s. The space it had occupied against the wall by the big fireplace was empty, and the partitioning screens had been returned to their original position in the far corner of the long chamber. There was fresh kindling laid in the large grate and two piles of logs flanking the fireplace. Jessie, still without speaking, waved him towards one of the big upholstered chairs, and he hesitated before sitting, placing his gloves and helmet carefully on a side table before glancing back towards the empty fireplace wall.

“Where have you put the boy?” He had spoken in French, without thinking, but she answered him in the tongue of the Scots.

“Och, he is much better, so we moved him into one of the small sleeping chambers upstairs. He’s comfortable there now. Still abed, but able to sit up and look about him. He is a fine young man.”

“Young man?” The idea seemed strange to Will. “Aye, I suppose he is. Man enough.”

“Aye, man enough, as you say … and fortunate. Brother Matthew thinks now that he will recover the full use of his arm and shoulder. Not today, mind you, and not tomorrow, but the wound is healing cleanly and as soon as it is closed and sound he will be able to start strengthening the muscles again.”

Will was barely listening, gazing up at the high, narrow windows on the side wall, and now he dragged a high wooden chair under one so he could climb up onto it and look down into the courtyard below, where Mungo and another man he did not recognize were hauling a dead man away by the ankles.

“We have bodies to dispose of,” he said over his shoulder. “Where would you have them buried?”

“Buried?” It was clear that she had not thought at all about that, but she was resolute nonetheless. “As far from the house as possible, I suppose, but I’ll have to think on that. It’s not something we are called upon to do every week.”

“No, I suppose not. But these are not the first such, surely?”

“The first since I’ve been here, most certainly. But there might have been others. Before I came here, I mean. This road is much traveled by warlike men, I fear. But Hector will know where they should go, if they’re not the first to be buried here. There must be such a place. I’ll ask him.”

He turned around and looked down at her, seeing the wide, white sweep of her shoulders above the scooped neckline of her gown and the way the light, from this angle, caught the high planes of her prominent cheekbones and emphasized the startling brightness of her eyes. Then, before she could notice him staring, he stepped off the chair and landed lightly on the balls of his feet.

“Who were they, these people? Do you know?”

“I have no idea. But they’re no threat now, and we have no cause to mourn them or to grieve for them, for they brought their deaths upon themselves, threatening honest folk. So sit you down and be comfortable. I’ll have the fire lit, if you like.”

Will ignored the suggestion. “So they are not from these parts? You recognized none of them?”

“No, and I know every man for miles around here by sight by now. These ones are from beyond these vales, but from which direction, your guess would be as valid as mine. All I could tell, from the roof, was that they were hungry and desperate, and too many for us to fend off. They must have been spying on us, for they crept up on us. We saw nothing until one of them showed himself by accident and one of our people happened to see him. Otherwise they would have caught us unawares and taken us without any trouble … As it was, the alarm was raised and we had time to bring everyone inside the house and bar the doors, but there was little else we could do. And so we are all in your debt for our lives. Had you not come back when you did, you might have found nothing and no one here when you returned.”

“Aye, well, we did come back, so thanks be to God. I am the grateful one. Will you not sit down?”

She cocked her head to one side, smiling at him. “I will sit if you will. But you have not even asked me if your treasure is safe.”

Will smiled. “Your treasure, and there is no need. It must be safe, else you would not have told Tam to lodge the prisoners in the byre.”

“They are not in that byre. There is another at the back.”

“But still, the gold is safe enough, I’m sure. Your guests had not had time to break in here, let alone go prowling through the byres looking for hidden hoards, so your coffer will be where we left it.” He lowered himself into the big, soft chair, and Jessie sat in the one opposite, tucking her legs up demurely beneath her although the voluminous skirts of her gown offered only the merest suggestion of what she had done. He gazed at the slight tautening of the fabric where her knees were, and then realized what he was doing and felt the color heightening in his cheeks as he raised his eyes to hers.

“So,” she said, appearing not to have noticed, “was your journey worthwhile? I must admit I am curious, for Master Nicholas Balmyle is a man of great renown, and I suspect he summons few folk in person, save on the King’s own business. Can you tell me anything about your visit?”

Will was mildly surprised to discover that he could, and without hesitation, where only a short time before he would have balked and felt resentment at having to admit anything about the Temple to Jessie Randolph or any other woman. Now he found himself answering without demur, and told her what he had learned at St. Andrews about the vacillations of the Pope in signing and then revoking his pardon, and about the loyalty of the Scots Templars.

“So what does Master Balmyle wish you to do?”

It was not Nicholas Balmyle’s face Will saw in his mind but William Lamberton’s, but he answered her directly, attributing the Archbishop’s wishes to the former chancellor. “He wants me to strengthen and encourage the Scots brethren.”

“And can you do that? I mean, I know you can, but how will you do it without breaking your own given word to keep your presence here a secret?”

Will explained then the plan to convene the Scots Templars in Arran, to release them from their vows of chastity and poverty, and to remove all outward evidence of their identity as Templars, as he had done with his own men.

“But what then?” Jessie asked. “When you and the others have gone to Merica … how will they be able to continue their rituals? Or will they not do that any longer?”

“They will return to the mainland and we will set up a new chapter for Scotland … perhaps more than one. I will know the answer to that riddle once I have discovered the makeup and distribution of the brotherhood. So, one chapter and one meeting lodge at first. More if required.”

Her frown deepened. “But how will you do that without betraying their existence? Why change them outwardly, to be invisible, if you convene them openly as Temple knights?”

“And sergeants. Don’t forget the sergeants. But I said nothing about openness. Ours is a closed and secretive Order. No one will ever know it is there, though it will operate almost in full sight. People see what they expect to see, my lady.”

“Jessie. Please don’t ‘my lady’ me.”

“Jessie, then. If folk see men with forked beards and equal-armed crosses assembling, then they conclude that it is a Templar gathering. If they see farmers, they see a market gathering. In our case, they will see only knights and soldiers gathering openly for whatever purposes soldiers gather … and this country is at war, so no one will think further on that. And under that cloak of ordinariness, Scotland’s new Templars will conduct their business, in secrecy as always, but free of the recognition as being Templars. It will work, believe me.”

She sat silent for a while absorbing that, then nodded. “I do believe it. And if anyone can achieve what needs to be done to enable that, it is you. So you will hold this gathering within the month?”

“We will.”

“And after that? Did you ask about finding an agent in Genoa?”

“I did, and received an unexpected answer.” She frowned again and he smiled. “I was advised to take Admiral de Berenger and go to Genoa myself, to do my own negotiating and make my own purchases, with the benefit of Edward’s profound knowledge.”

Jessie’s eyebrows shot up. “That is a wonderful idea. Balmyle advises that?”

“Well, Bishop Moray mentioned it first, and everybody agreed it was the most sensible thing to do. I will carry letters of introduction to Cardinal Archbishop Bellini in Genoa, who is a lifelong friend of Archbishop Lamberton and a firm supporter of Scotland’s cause in the papal court, and his support should win me access to the best people for my purposes.”

“When will you go?”

“As soon as I can. Immediately after the Arran gathering, I expect.”

“And how long will you be gone?”

Will twisted his mouth down at the corners. “As long as I have to be, or am made to be, but I doubt it will be much more than a month … certainly not as long as two, unless something goes far wrong. We might find what we are looking for immediately, ready and waiting to be purchased, but that may well be wishful thinking. More likely we will have to commission a vessel—or more than one, depending upon what we can afford—to be built from the keel up. If that is the case, I’ll leave de Berenger there to oversee the building and equipping of whatever we end up buying, while I return to Arran and dispatch more crewmen to handle the new craft on sailing trials. That way, they will be accustomed to the new ships before they reach home again. There is a multitude of details to be considered before ever we leave Arran, but thank God, most of those arrangements will fall into de Berenger’s arena. I’ll have much to do on my own behalf, too, of course.”

“Of course.” She was almost smiling. “So you will leave sometime during the month after next, and you will be gone for several months thereafter. Leaving in September, perhaps returning in November.”

“Correct. Why are you so curious?”

“Because November is a sullen month and you will be crossing the North Sea, the stormiest in all of Christendom. You might not even be able to get back at all by then.”

“I will, somehow. Believe me. But if it truly is impossible, why then I will remain in Genoa for the winter, to return in the spring. Young Henry would enjoy winter in Genoa, I think.”

“Henry? Henry is not going with you.”

Will cocked his head. “He is not? That surprises me—he is my squire, after all. Why, then, is he not coming with me?”

She flapped her hands at him as if he were a chicken pestering her peace. “Tut, man! Because he is not yet fit to travel—nowhere near fit enough. I will not hear of it.”

“But … but I canna just leave him here with you, Jessie. That would be unseemly—”

“Unseemly?” The look she threw him from beneath one arched eyebrow was filled with withering scorn. “Why should it be unseemly, Will Sinclair? You said yourself he is yet but a boy. I assume you mean he is not yet a rutting bull. Think you I might debauch him in your absence?”

“Jessie!”

She flung her head high, looking down her nose at him. “Jessie!” she mimicked. “What do you take me for, sir?”

Will, who had never flinched from an armed assailant, quailed at her scorn, and she immediately took pity on him, her voice sinking back into its husky gentleness.

“Will, the boy is too weak to travel, so he will stay here and there’s an end of it. You have too much on your mind, too many other things to see to and arrange, for me to be encouraged to entrust you with his well-being atop all else. He will be safe enough. Today’s attack was the first such we have known since I arrived here, and I will put out the word among the other folk in the dales, and we will be ready if the like occurs again. Believe me in that.”

“I do believe you. What I cannot believe is that it will not happen again. The English at least will be back, and sooner now, rather than later. Their barons’ greed will see to that, even had Edward Bruce not set a direct challenge for their King.”

“What do you mean? I know nothing of any challenge to the English King, and Robert keeps his headstrong brother under tight rein.”

“Not tight enough,” Will growled. “I heard about it in Arbroath. It is the talk of the taverns there. The King set Edward to the siege of Stirling, months ago, thinking to keep him safely occupied in taking one of the only two Scots castles still in English hands. But instead of doing as he was bidden and tightening the siege, the gallant Earl of Carrick grew bored and played the headstrong, thoughtless fool, as usual. He chose the route of chivalry, ignoring the fact that his brother has fought a war of brigandage these past eight years, scorning English chivalry and chivalrous battles in favor of the savage and effective style of the late William Wallace.”

“In God’s name, what did he do?”

“He negotiated a truce with Moubray, the English governor of Stirling Castle, the terms of which will be an iron gauntlet flung in England’s face. Robert is furious, but helpless. The damage is done.”

“What were his terms, in God’s name?”

“A year’s truce, to be concluded by the surrender of the castle next Midsummer Day in the event it is not relieved.”

“In the—? Dear God in Heaven! The man must be mad.”

“Mad as a rabid stoat.”

“He has given England a year to raise an army.”

“Worse than that. He has given Edward of England a cause to rally his mutinous barons and end the civil war that has kept him useless. He has caused affront to the very honor of every Englishman who thinks himself superior to the Scots. Edward Bruce has guaranteed a new invasion, and this house of yours sits squarely on the only route to Scotland’s west.”

Jessie said nothing more for a long time, but as Will watched her, she squared her shoulders and finally tossed her head. “Aye, well, perhaps it does,” she said defiantly. “But that’s another perfectly sound reason for taking me with you when you sail away to your new land.”

There was the merest hint of humor in her gaze, despite the gravity of threat he had outlined, but the unapologetic bluntness of her effrontery took his breath away again, making nonsense of his resolve to accept her forthrightness in future. He could only gape at her, aware his mouth was hanging open but unable to do anything about it, so that she snorted with inelegant laughter. “Your wits, Will Sinclair! Gather them up, for I fear you’re in danger of losing them. That was a jest. I was but toying with you.”

He swallowed hard. “A strange time to jest,” he muttered. “And a stranger topic on which to do it. Forgive me, my lady, I am ill accustomed to women and their humor, as you know, so you have me at a disadvantage … So much so, in fact, that I find myself wondering how often you have toyed with me before, without my knowledge or suspicion.”

“So I am to be ‘my lady’ again, am I?” She shook her head, exasperated. “Och, Will, I wouldna toy with you unkindly, and sure, the tidings here are dire, but sometimes we have to laugh at ourselves and at the Fates or go mad altogether. Forgive me. It’s simply that you can be so … so predictable at times that I canna resist the urge to make your eyes go wide like that.” She rose to her feet and looked towards the door. “I wonder if the house is settling back to normal yet. If ye’ll permit me a moment, I’ll return directly.”

He stood and pushed back his shoulders while she was gone, and looked about the room, and he became aware all at once of how dark it had grown and how cool the air was, even though the outside of the house yet basked in warm, late-July afternoon sunshine.

Jessie came back into the room and returned to her chair, waving Will down into his own as she did so. “Hector will send food in a little while, but in the meantime you are still wearing your armor.” She smiled at him. “I know you are accustomed to wearing it at all times, but it makes me feel confined merely to look at you.”

Will frowned and glanced down at himself, then saw immediately what she was talking about, acknowledging himself, uncharacteristically and perhaps for the first time ever, as being out of place in this comfortably appointed, unmistakably feminine room. He was, in fact, fully armored, save only for his helmet, and suddenly, unaccountably to him, he became aware of the odor of his own sweat mixed with that of his hardridden horse, and the weight of his heavily booted and armor-reinforced feet seemed leaden as he shifted them uncomfortably. He wore a full suit of mail—a hooded coat of heavy, burnished links that hung open to his heels and was fastened in front with leather thongs and a stout leather sword belt worn over a full cuirass of steel, while at the back it hung divided from the waist down, to permit him to ride comfortably. Beneath the cuirass he wore a thick leather jerkin lined with padded fustian, and beneath that an undershirt of finely woven wool, his single concession to his own comfort, worn solely because he found the contact of the itchy fustian intolerable on his bare skin. He wore light Saxon-styled trews beneath his heavy mailed leggings, the ends of them stuffed into his high, thick leather boots. For the first time in his adult life, he felt clumsy and faintly ridiculous, grotesquely out of place.

Jessie was still smiling at him. “I hope you will not be offended, but knowing that you carry little in the way of clothing while traveling, I took the liberty of laying out some of my late husband’s clothes on the cot in the chamber above this, next to the room you occupied when you were here previously. Etienne, God rest him, was of a size with you, I think—perhaps a little narrower across the chest and shoulders. You should find that they will fit you easily, and I promise you, you will find them far softer and warmer than that coat of mail.” She waited for a reaction, and when none came she added, grinning in pure mischief, “I swear to you, you may walk about unarmored here with confidence. There is little likelihood of our being attacked again. Twice in one day would be inconsiderate and unacceptable.”

Will was completely at a loss for words. He knew she was twitting him, but he was still too unsure of himself in this suddenly new relationship and incapable of forming an adequate response, fearing he might make a fool of himself by saying something inane, or yet again give the wrong impression by blurting out something that sounded curt and humorless. And yet the laughter dancing in her eyes was unmistakable, and he found himself aching to respond in kind. And so he forced himself to try to smile.

“You are toying with me again, I see, madam,” he managed to say finally, keeping his voice gentle. “But I sense you mean no harm by it, and so in token of that, I will accept your kindness and make an attempt to fit into the clothes you have laid out for me. You say they are in the chamber next to the one I used before?”

“They are,” she said, and now the raillery had vanished from her voice and eyes, replaced only with a warm smile. “And there are three sets from which to choose. Should I send one of your men up to assist you?”

He managed to raise one eyebrow in selfdisparagement. “No, madam,” he said formally. “In my years as both monk and knight, I have learned adequately well to robe and disrobe, and even to arm and disarm myself, without assistance. So if you will excuse me?”

“Wait, you will need a light. It will be dark up there. Take one of the candles there … And try the green pile. I think the color will suit you.”

He bowed to her without another word and went to where a single, tall taper burned beside a box of candles on the table. He selected one and lit it, then sheltered it with a cupped palm as he made his way out of the room, conscious at every step of her eyes on him.

Great God in Heaven, Jessie thought as he went out. Here is change indeed. Who would ever have believed it, and where did it spring from? To see the great William Sinclair blushing and gawking like a chastened altar boy. It is almost too much to be believed, but I thank Heaven it is so and pray God he does not have a change of heart and mood. Hurry back, Will Sinclair, hurry back.

UPSTAIRS, WILL STRIPPED OFF his armor and his padded tunic and leggings until he was left wearing nothing but his white lambskin apron, and then he spent what seemed like an unseemly long time bending over the bed, peering closely by the light of his single candle at the three separate piles of clothing that lay there, and fingering the fabric of the various garments. They were fine and soft and sensually wondrous, and he finally decided in favor of the greens, simply because the hue seemed somehow brighter, even in the candle’s light, and he felt an inchoate urge to wear something bright.

It was only as he lifted the delicate, square-necked undershirt of fine pale green wool, wondering if it would in fact fit him, that he noticed the washing bowl and the ewer of clean water on a narrow table or wash stand at the foot of the bed. He approached it cautiously and saw that it was flanked by a hanging towel of flocked material that he knew to be called Egyptian cotton, and a smaller, folded square of the same material, similar to one he had seen his sister Peggy use for washing her face, and a small bar of rich, wondrously scented soap that he knew had not been made in Scotland. He fingered the soap tentatively, marveling at its creamy texture, and on the spur of the moment decided to use it. He splashed water into the bowl, soaked the washing cloth, and then rubbed it with the soap, inhaling deeply as the scent of the moistened substance was released and threatened to set him reeling with the pleasure of it. Once committed, he wasted no time but washed his entire upper body, scrubbing the cloth beneath his armpits and reveling in the coldness of the water against his heated torso. He then dried himself with the rich toweling and splashed more water over his head, rubbing it into his scalp and then toweling his hair until it was almost dry, after which he combed it into some semblance of order with his clawed fingers. And afterwards, refreshed and invigorated almost beyond belief, he set about making sense of the clothing he must don.

He pulled on the softest pair of loose breeches he had ever worn, settling them almost comfortably over his lambskin apron, aware that even loose as they were, they stretched taut over his muscular thighs and calves. He tied them securely with the drawstring attached to the waist, after which he shrugged into the matching undershirt, feeling it hug him and then stretch easily across his chest. As he laced up the single fastening at the neck, he gazed down at the remaining garments on the bed beside him. There were hose, with knee ties, and he knew as soon as he looked at them that he should have put them on before pulling on the breeches, so he removed those and pulled on the pale green hose, stretching them over his bulging calves so that there was no need to tie them in place. He then donned the breeches again, snuggling them over the hose below his knees before retying them at the waist. Next he pulled on the softest pair of calf-high boots that he had ever handled. They were of supple dark green leather that he knew to be chamois, parchment thin and brushed to a silken softness, and they fitted him to perfection. Encouraged then by his success with the boots, he shrugged quickly into a loose shirt with a wide, deep vee in front, several shades darker than the square-necked undershirt that showed beneath it, and finished his transformation by donning the knee-length, open-fronted outer garment, like an open surcoat with sleeves, that he folded across his chest and tied with a long, woven belt of the same material. He had no means of seeing his reflection, but he felt more at ease and more unconfined than he could ever remember. He gathered up his clothing and armor carefully, slinging his buckled sword belt over one shoulder, and carried the heavy and ungainly pile awkwardly under one arm into the neighboring chamber, where he dropped it on the cot there, acutely aware all the while of how strangely shy and diffident he felt in his borrowed finery.

At the top of the stairs, he heard laughter from an open door nearby, at the far end of the passage, and he went and stuck his head into a well-lit chamber to find the boy Henry, propped up in bed and being spoon-fed from a bowl of soup held by one of Jessie’s women, the one called Marie. Beside her, on a chair nearer the foot of the bed, the girl Marjorie sat chattering gaily, her eyes on the bright embroidery on which she appeared to be working industriously. As Will entered, she looked up at young Henry, her eyes dancing with mirth, and added some quip that made the boy laugh, even as he caught sight of his lord and mentor. The laughter vanished quickly and he sought to push himself up farther, wincing as his shoulder tensed, but Will stopped him with an upraised hand and told him to stay where he was. The sudden quiet in the room had a strange quality, as though all three occupants had been frozen in mid-motion, the woman Marie caught with the hand that held the spoon upraised, the girl Marjorie suspended in bewildered surprise, her smile fixed in place, and young Henry himself poised as though about to fall over on one side. Will nodded cordially and greeted each of the ladies in turn, then spoke briefly to the boy, asking him how he felt and embarrassing him by asking whether he was happy with the quality of attention being paid to him.

The boy was looking well, he thought; still pale and waxen looking, with deep purplish rings under his eyes, but the eyes themselves were bright and the lad’s hair was clean and shone with health. Although he was still heavily bandaged, his injured shoulder appeared to be normally positioned, and his arms lay easily upon the bed’s surface. Will spoke for a little longer, attempting to put them all at ease, though with little success, he felt, and then he took his leave, heading resolutely down the stairs with a profound sense of relief that his squire was thriving.

TWO

Seated in front of the fire that now roared in the open grate, Jessie Randolph kept her head lowered and pretended to be engrossed in mending the piece of fabric she held on her knees, but she had to fight against the impulse to look up eagerly when Will knocked and entered.

Now, come inside, Will Sinclair, and take your proper place without stopping to question every impulse that occurs to you. In God’s name, play the man and not the monk, the champion but not the knight. Summon up that famous bravery of yours and let it strengthen you to see me as a woman and a friend and not as Threatening Woman. And when I do look up at you, God help me, let me see a change in the man to match the change in what he is wearing now.

Will stood silently just inside the threshold and stared at her, holding his breath and waiting for her to look up.

“Come and sit,” she said quietly, without looking up. “If you will be patient with me, I will be no more than a few moments in finishing what I am doing.”

He crossed silently to the chair opposite her, then stood there, feeling strangely shy and illogically awkward without the protection of his armor, but when she showed no reaction to his closeness he sat down slowly, watching her fingers at her needlework. Eventually he began to relax, lulled by her air of calm concentration, and he found himself enjoying the heat from the fire as it washed over him. She kept sewing, betraying no awareness of his presence. She was bareheaded, her hair parted straight down the middle of her bowed head and worked into two flawless plaits that were twisted into perfect spirals and pinned so that they covered her ears. In the stillness of the room, broken only by the fluttering of flames and shadows and the swift, deft movements of her busy fingers, he imagined that he could smell the scent of her, a wafting awareness of warmth and sweet-smelling cleanliness, and as he watched, moment by moment, he became aware that the stiffness and tension that had held him in suspense was bleeding out of him with each breath.

Jessie had to fight hard to keep her eyes on the sewing in her lap, but from the corner of one eye she could see his feet and ankles in their rich green boots and was aware when they crossed and uncrossed and finally rested comfortably, one flat on the floor, the other lolling sideways, resting easily on its heel. From that point onward, she could almost feel the strain easing in him, and as the awareness of that grew in her, the fiercely held joy in her burned brighter. Yet still she kept her head bent to her sewing, hoping he knew sufficiently little of needlecraft to be unaware that what she was doing there was nonsense.

Will, fortunately, knew nothing of sewing. But something strange was happening here, he knew, and he knew, too, that whatever it was, he was at ease with it, for reasons that he made no effort to define. As he gazed at Jessie’s bowed head he was dimly aware of a tiny, tenuous stirring somewhere at the back of his mind that tugged at deep-seated ideas of loyalties and conflict, but he ignored it deliberately, content for the time being to trust his instincts as he always had before, to enjoy looking at what lay before his eyes and to believe that all was as it should be.

It was only when Jessie raised her head suddenly and smiled at him that he snapped to attention, startled that he had come close to dozing off, lulled by the fire’s warmth and his feelings of well-being. He straightened guiltily, glancing about him and realizing for the first time that the two of them were alone in a comfortable firelit room, in a situation that could only be described as intimate. Embarrassed to be caught thus off-guard, and acutely ill at ease, he found himself almost glaring at his hostess.

“Where is everyone?”

Jessie merely blinked at him, her expression demure and slightly puzzled. “Everyone? Oh, you mean Tam. I told him to spend a night at leisure.”

She stood up, her sewing still clutched in one hand, and moved towards a large side table that stood against the wall to one side of the fireplace, and as he saw the way in which her clothing shifted around her he was surprised to realize that, for all his sudden discomfort, he had been unaware of her body until that moment.

Jessie, unable to see his face, was still talking, speaking to him over her shoulder as she scanned the tabletop in front of her.

“That poor man has no life of his own at all, you know. He spends far too much time with you, waiting upon your every wish and whim. And so I set him free for the night, to thank him for rescuing us today. He is probably enjoying himself now with Mungo and the others, for I am sure Hector will have left them well supplied with drink and food, if he has not joined them himself.”

Will cleared his throat, then blurted out what was in his mind. “I was not thinking of Tam, Lady Jessica. I was wondering about your … companions, your ward and your two women. Should they not be with us?”

“And why should they be here, my women?” She turned to face him, holding up her sewing in both hands, and he could not read the expression on her face or in her eyes, though she gave him no time for either. “To ensure propriety? Are you concerned for your safety here, alone with me?”

“No, that is not what I meant at all.” He threw up his hands, then let them fall to his sides and shook his head. “Of course I meant no such thing. But I have never known you be without them for so long. The child Marjorie rarely leaves your side, and the two women are ever in the background, one of them or the other if not both.”

“Things have changed here since the arrival of your young squire, and I have grown accustomed to being neglected, taking second place to his needs. He has bewitched my ward, you know. She has appointed herself his guardian, and she rules all of us like a tyrant in seeing to his every need. And so the women of this household wait upon Henry, and entertain Henry, and hover around Henry constantly—myself included, most of the time.” The fondness in her eyes removed any possible sting from the words she uttered. “So that is where everyone is … seeing to Henry, while I have supposedly been seeing to you. But I have been neglecting you, I fear.”

She turned away, set down her sewing, and removed the cloth that had covered the offerings laid out on the side table. “You must be hungry.” She waved a hand over the items on display, and he felt the saliva welling in his mouth as she continued. “This is cold venison in a wondrous crust made by Hector, and the salmon here, baked and skinned for your pleasure, was also cooked by Hector, without whom I should starve in squalor. But if neither of those please you, this dish holds roasted piglet, still hot, and there beside it, its skin, intact and succulent, coated with flour and salt and broiled to a crisp perfection that I heard Hector say would make a dead man drool.” She turned back the edges of a snowy white cloth that covered a trio of small clay serving vessels. “Cheese of our own making, sweet apples from our own trees, and fresh bread, crusty and warm from the oven. And to drink, we have the last of the shipment of wine delivered two years ago from Bordeaux, both the red and the gold.”

Will stood up, blinking, dazzled by the variety of the offerings and completely disarmed by her pleasure in his presence. He nodded slowly, then went towards the display, where she stood holding out a wooden platter for him to use.

“The pig is wonderful. I tasted some of the crackling when Hector brought it in and you were upstairs.” She was grinning, obviously greatly pleased with something, although he had no idea what it might be. He merely nodded and took the platter from her hand.

“Here. Let me cut some for you.” She rapped the brittle crust of crackling sharply with a heavy-bladed knife, shattering it into several pieces, and lifted two of them onto his platter, then cut a thick slab off the bread and loaded it with twin finger-thick slices of succulentlooking meat before chopping a bright red apple into eight segments and piling half of them beside the crackling. Still slightly overwhelmed, he waved aside her offer of anything else, then stood looking around him.

“Sit at the table there. It is set for two, with knives and spoons and salt. Which kind of wine would you prefer?”

He opted for the golden color, then moved to take a seat while she poured and brought wine to him in a magnificent stemmed glass goblet. She returned then to help herself to a wedge of the cold venison pie and another of the salmon, onto which she spooned a generous portion of clotted, creamy golden sauce that she told him was another of Hector’s secrets, made from eggs, cream, and herbs. She came and sat across from him at last and invoked a blessing on their meal before starting to eat with the appetite of a twelve-year-old boy. Watching her set about it, Will realized that he was ravenous, having eaten nothing all day other than the handful of dried oats and fruit with which he had broken his fast that morning. They ate in companionable silence, almost reverentially paying tribute to the excellence of Hector’s cooking, until both their platters were bare and their goblets empty.

When Will sat back and pushed away his platter she cocked her head, smiling at him again, and it was a measure of how much his trust in her, and in himself, had grown that he merely looked at her with mild curiosity, one eyebrow rising in a wordless query.

“It pleases me that you chose the green,” she said. “I was right, the color suits you well. And the clothes themselves might have been made for you.”

He felt his face flush, but it was with pleasure, and he managed to respond gracefully. “I am in your debt—” He caught himself before the words “my lady” could spill out, wondering what to substitute and finding himself still uneasy with using her given name. But then, before she could interject, the words came to him and he smiled with relief. “You have introduced me here, this night, to the world of ordinary, well-contented men who live their daily lives unfettered by the constant demands of duty and a rigid Rule of conduct.”

She dipped her head in a tiny gesture of acknowledgment. “Ordinary, well-contented men … I wonder if such creatures truly exist in this world of ours. Ordinariness is less ordinary than it may at first appear, and you yourself are far from ordinary … You have changed greatly, you know, since first we two met. A year ago, you would never have said such a thing, would never have thought of it. But to be truthful, I myself would not have believed, as recently as one month ago, that you and I could sit for so long together at ease like this. The grim Templar Sir William Sinclair would never have permitted it, lest he find pleasure in it.” She grinned suddenly, her eyes alight with mischief. “I am glad my friend Will came here today in his place. Will is far more … human … far less predictable and humorless.” Her grin faded as she sat straighter and glanced up at the windows high on the wall. “I have lost track of time, but I see blue sky up there, so the sun has not set, or if it has, the dusk is not yet full.” She rose to her feet. “Come, then. If you have had your fill of eating, walk with me to the byre to check the safety of our treasure chest, for I confess I have not thought of it since your arrival, even to verify that it was undisturbed by our visitors. I will have someone clear away the food while we are gone.”

“But not the wine.”

She glanced at him in surprise, caught by the hint of levity. “No, not the wine. That we will keep. I will have the fire rebuilt, too.”

THREE

They stood together in the gathering darkness of the byre, in front of the bundles of feed that covered the chest of gold coins, eyeing the undisturbed symmetry of the pile. Outside, in the gathering dusk, the returning cattle were clattering into the cobbled yard at the back of the cowshed. The mangers in the stalls on either side of where Will and Jessie stood were filled with fresh fodder for the coming night, but the hay on the shelf that held the treasure appeared untouched.

“Is it safe enough, think you, or should we unearth it to be sure?”

Will responded with the merest shake of his head, for his thoughts were elsewhere. He and Jessie had been seen by several people inside the house and on their way here, and although no one had seemed to take any special notice of them, the nagging notion had arisen in his mind that, in being seen abroad like this, they could be suspected of improper behavior. The thought of impropriety had stirred vague feelings in him of both disloyalty and dismay, since his hostess had given him no slightest cause for concern over propriety and it seemed to him the merest thought of such a thing was demeaning to both of them. He had tried to thrust it aside, but the harder he tried, the more stubbornly the notion held, so that now his mind was filled with wonderings about what Jessie’s people might be thinking of her, spending so much time alone and unattended in the company of a man who was not related to her.

“What are you thinking about there, sir knight, with such a glowering frown upon your face?”

He pulled himself together with an effort and waved off her question, muttering something unintelligible in reply as he stepped forward to lay his hands on the undisturbed pile of fodder, but as he did, he became aware of his clean green boots and the building within which they stood. The central channel had been swept out long since and its surface was dry underfoot, but he saw the looming bulk of approaching beasts beyond the low doorway, and at once his nostrils seemed filled with the acrid, pungent stink of liquid dung mixed with urine. An image flashed into his mind of what the floor of this place would look like moments after its occupants returned, and he backed away quickly, lifting each foot with exaggerated care. By the time he turned back to face Jessie, however, he had regained his voice.

“Forgive me, Baroness, I was woolgathering. It’s plain to see, even in the dark, that nothing here has been disturbed, save by our own presence, and now your tenants have come home. Shall we go on?”

The sky had faded to a dark, purplish hue, and the last lingering rays of the vanished sun were firing the low western clouds with brilliantly glowing, flaming tints of orange and gold and red. Jessie stopped walking and gazed up at the display.

“How can one look at that and not believe in God? It is different every night, never the same from day to day nor even from hour to hour, and it is never ugly. Even at its worst, the sky is always wondrously beautiful. But everything changes constantly, everywhere we look.” She glanced sideways at him, standing quietly beside her as he, too, stared out at the panorama in the west. “I will admit, though, sir knight, that the changes I have seen in you these past few weeks have amazed me. I expect change, as a part of life, inevitable as night after day, but still you astound me.”

“Astound you? How so, madam?”

“Let me see … you astound me in a host of ways, and I have to say that I would be hard put to name but one … But no, that is untrue. I have one. You have learned to listen.”

His mouth widened slowly into a grin. “I assure you, Baroness—”

“Jessie.”

“Jessie, aye … I assure you, Jessie, that I have never had the slightest trouble with my hearing.”

“Nor did I say you had. I said you have learned to listen, not to hear. Hearing is an ability, but listening is an accomplishment. I know few men who really listen to anyone or anything, let alone to women. Your friend Tam is one of them.”

“Tam …? You will explain that to me, I hope.”

It was Jessie’s turn to grin, and he felt his spirits lift with the quick merriness of it.

“I will, and I’ll do it slowly, for the sake of your masculine ears. But may we walk while I do so? It’s growing cool.”

She fell silent as they began to walk again, and before she could resume, Will turned his head towards the gates, attracted by the sound of voices.

“Did you not say you had given Tam the night to himself?”

She glanced up at him quickly and he laughed aloud and turned away again, failing to notice the look on her face as he crowed, “Well then, it would appear he didna listen to you. Tam! Sergeant Sinclair! Here, to me!”

A large group of men had just entered the enclosure, indistinct in the rapidly growing darkness, a mere block of black male shapes, some of them carrying longhandled shovels, but there was no mistaking Tam’s upright form at their head or the massive bulk of Mungo MacDowal by his side. They stopped as one, and Will heard Tam say something to the others. He weaved slightly as he approached, but Tam Sinclair was a long way from being the worse for drink. When he was close enough to see them clearly he stopped short, his eyes widening and his jaw dropping as he looked at the spectacle of his kinsman dressed in the sumptuous garb of a French nobleman.

“Name o’ God,” he muttered, more to himself that anyone. “What in—?”

“Good evening, Tam.” Jessie cut him short before he could blurt out anything else, and he turned to her, blinking owlishly.

“And a guid e’en to you, Baroness,” he growled, his Scots burr thickened by drink. “A braw night.” He swung his head back truculently to look again at Will, but Will was ready for him.

“What have you been doing out there, so late in the day?”

“Late in the day? We’ve been there a’ day lang. What d’ ye think we’d be doin’? We’ve been buryin’ bodies. Ye may mind there wis a wheen o’ them lyin’ about the place.”

“I do.” Will looked towards where the last of the distant group was vanishing around the corner of the main house. “How many were you?”

“Six to dig—the prisoners—and eight o’ us to guard them. The four o’ us, and four o’ Lady Jessie’s men.”

“And how many bodies?”

“Nine, and every one o’ them a heavy whore to shift—Your pardon, Baroness.”

Will nodded. “Well done. But the Baroness has just been telling me she set you free and at leisure today.”

“So she did.” Tam frowned. “Are you telling me I’m no’?”

“No, not at all. I merely wondered why you did not take her at her word.”

“I did, and I thanked her for it. Did I no’, Baroness? Aye. This night, I intend to get very drunk. We ha’e the drink in the bothy, and food to soak it up, thanks to the stewart, Hector McBean. So, ’gin ye’ll let me, I’ll—” He stopped again, scanning his kinsman slowly from head to foot, missing no slightest detail, and then turned to Jessie, pointing a thumb towards Will. “This is your work, I jalouse?” Jessie smiled, rather tenuously, but said nothing, and he shook his head. “I ha’e never seen the like. An’ I wouldna ha’e believed it wi’out seein’ it for mysel’.” He looked Will up and down again, slowly. “Green boots! Green boots an’ nae armor … No’ even a dirk.” He glanced again at Jessie and then drew himself up to his full height, clearing his throat loudly. “Well, ye look grand, Will Sinclair. Grand and braw and … no’ just different, but … right, ye ken? Ye should aey wear green.” He grinned wickedly. “It suits ye.” And with that he turned and walked away.

How long Will might have stood there speechless he would never know, but beside him he heard Jessie stifle a sudden shudder and saw her clasp her elbows, hugging her breast. “It’s cold,” she murmured. “I want to go back inside now.”

They crossed the courtyard quickly this time, striding towards the house, and both of them were shivering as they entered the main room and moved directly to stand as close as possible to the roaring fire. They stood side by side, gazing into the flames, each of them lost in thought until Jessie broke the silence, giggling gently.

“You see? Tam approved my choice. Did that surprise you?”

“I’ve been speechless ever since.”

They both turned to say something else, and suddenly they were face to face, no more than a hand’s breadth between them. Neither said a word for some moments, until Jessie raised a hand wonderingly to her mouth.

“I had never heard you laugh before tonight. Did you know that?”

Will stepped away, lowering himself into one of the two large chairs that had been repositioned during their absence to face the fire, and Jessie sat down in the other. “Never? That is hard to believe,” he said, resisting the urge to call her by name. “How long have we known each other now? You must have heard me laugh at one time or another.”

“Six years since we first met, that night in La Rochelle. And you have never laughed. Not in my presence. Until tonight.”

“That is ridiculous,” he blustered. “You make me sound like … you make me sound as though … Bah!” He threw up his hands.

“I make you sound like a grim and intolerant knight I once knew, a Templar knight called Guillaume de St. Clair … a man who never smiled, as far as I could see, let alone laughed. Come now, be serious. When do you last remember laughing, really laughing so that it hurt your ribs? Can you recall?”

He sat still, thinking, his face growing sober as the moments stretched, and then his eyes lit up and he smacked the arm of his chair. “I can! It was the time when Tam fell in a river, fully armed, and couldn’t climb out. I fell out of my saddle laughing, and the angrier he grew, the funnier it seemed.” He laughed again, gently, recalling the scene. “It had been raining hard that day … straight down, relentless, and the riverbank was sodden. Tam slipped and dropped his sword in the mud—I can’t recall why he had drawn it or why he was afoot—but he was angry at himself and went to wash it clean in the river. He stooped and stretched until his feet went out from under him and he landed on his backside. Then he spun around until he was looking up at me, his face wild with outrage … and he slid slowly backwards, scrabbling at the mud, his legs in the air, all the way down and off the bank, into the water. And once in, fully armored, he could not climb out.” Will was really laughing now, pinching the bridge of his nose between finger and thumb and snorting with mirth, his eyes tearing over. “It wasn’t deep, but it was slippery. I tell you, Jessie, he was howling, baying with anger, and it was the funniest thing I had ever seen.” He pulled himself together then, shaking his head and blinking the tears from his eyes. “It took him a long time to forgive us, but he did, eventually. Sweet Jesus, that was funny.”

Jessie was smiling with him, and as his laughter died away, she said, “I’m glad I asked you that. When did it happen? Was this on Arran?”

His face grew somber and his voice changed, becoming quieter. “No. It was in the Languedoc, close to the Pyrenees, on the way to Navarre to fight the Moors. It was … fifteen years ago.”

Jessie sat stunned, for there was nothing she could say, she thought, that would not sound petty, but after a few moments she drew in a breath and spoke brightly. “Well! We may be glad it happened, for it has brought laughter back to you, for my pleasure, after all this time.”

“Aye, mayhap, Jessie.” His voice was barely audible. “But you were right. I doubt I have really laughed since that afternoon, for we lost more than half our number in the fighting that followed hard on that day. Fifteen years!”

A silence stretched after that, and she watched him. Ah, Will Sinclair, you dear, dear man, how I wish I could show you what laughter does to your face, to all of you … It strips years away from you, years and years and years, and shows the boy in you …

A log spat and cracked in the fireplace and the blaze subsided, throwing sparks and whirling smoke up into the canopied flue.

“What were you thinking there?”

The question caught her by surprise and she answered unthinkingly. “I was watching you, thinking you should laugh more often … all the time … and wishing I could show you how you change when you do …”

He sat gazing at her, and then a tiny smile tugged at his mouth. “That would be a clever—”

A shriek of female laughter rang out somewhere beyond the door and snapped them both out of the mood they had been sharing.

“Marjorie! That child is …” Jessie was on her feet, unaware of having moved, and now she stood glaring down at him as they listened to the clatter of running feet, her eyes sparkling with an emotion he could not define. “I swear, since that boy entered this household all sense of decorum has been tossed aside. And Marie and Janette are no better than my ward. Wait for me here, if you will. I have to go and assert some authority.”

Wide eyed, Will watched her go, her skirts swirling about her, and he was still unsure whether the look in her eyes had been one of anger or of perplexed amusement. She left the door open as she went, and he heard her going up the stairs, her voice raised in exasperation until it dwindled beyond hearing. Only then, when he could hear nothing but stillness, did he settle back in his chair, gripping the arms and looking absently about him as he began to take stock of this unusual day. Unusual was not the word for it, he thought; this had been a day beyond imagining. This was her room, Jessie Randolph’s room, despite whatever claims her nephew might hold to it. Her influence, the signs of her presence, her dominance of this household, were visible everywhere: they shone in the colors of the room, the banks of candles cunningly arranged, the shawls and cushions on the furnishings, and the jugs and pots of living flowers on practically every level surface. And in the middle of it all, he sat wondering what he was doing there … How had he come to this, and what was happening to him?

There was a time, he thought, when he might have believed the woman had bewitched him, and as the thought occurred to him, he acknowledged that she had, in fact, bewitched him, slowly and surely. But where years earlier he might have run in confusion to some priest, seeking absolution, he was now content to sit and await the next developments. He had become a different man today from the one he had been the previous year, or even the previous month, and he was well aware that the rigorous, unyielding Temple knight of a decade earlier was long since dead. But the process of that particular knightly death had been assiduously executed by men, by those same men to whom he had dedicated his life, swearing to serve, to honor, and to obey. No witchcraft there … Exorcism, perhaps, in that the spirit that possessed him as a younger knight had been expelled, cast out forever. But that had happened through no fault or influence of Jessie Randolph’s. All she had done was frighten him with unchaste thoughts and lustful dreams, phenomena that, in his single-minded dedication to doing his duty by and for the Temple, he had forgotten were harmless in the eyes of his true Order, the Brotherhood of Sion. And in the past few weeks, all that he had learned had combined with all he had decided in recent years to generate a new Sir William Sinclair, another man altogether; a man mature in years and battle-hardened, but owning all the terrors of an unworldly, virgin boy.

IN THE STILLNESS, the long howl of a distant wolf came clearly through the unglazed window high above his head, followed by the sound of marching boots and a loud challenge that marked the changing of the night watch. The fire settled again, and he noticed that several of the banked candles on the table and sideboard were guttering, close to burning out. He had lost track of how long Jessie had been gone, but he felt utterly at ease as he pushed himself to his feet and went to snuff the dying candles, pinching them out between a moistened finger and thumb and smelling the odor of smoldering wick as he scratched congealed wax from his thumb afterwards. Only a few had burned out, and he left the others as he went to rebuild the fire, settling new logs in place and only remembering at the last moment not to push them down with his bright new spotless boots. He stood for a few moments gazing down into the fire and frowning slightly, and then he sat down again, plucking at his lower lip, and let his thoughts run free, aware only that he had never been indecisive, and that he needed to be constructively decisive now.

He was deep in thought when Jessie stepped back into the room and stopped near the door, observing him. But when she spoke he turned to her immediately, showing no sign of surprise.

“You are still here! I thought you would have tired of being alone and be abed.”

“Not at all. I have been sitting here thinking, of many things—things to be done, decisions to be made. Are you for bed yourself?”

“No, not yet, unless you wish to be alone.”

“No, I am content. Come and sit then, if you have a mind to share the fire.” He watched her as she came to sit across from him again, and when she was settled, stretching out her hands towards the flames, he smiled. “You have quelled the mutiny up there?”

“Oh aye, long since. High spirits are a blessing from God, but they need to be curtailed from time to time. Now Marjorie and Henry are abed, lights out, and Marie and Janette are at their chores, preparing for the morrow, spinning yarn for the loom. Am I permitted to ask what you were thinking about?”

“In your own house you may ask anything you wish, Jessie …” He hesitated, then plunged ahead. “I’ve been thinking about myself, in the main—about my life and what’s to be done with it. I’ve never had to do that before, can you imagine that? Here I am, growing old already, and I have spent my life being told what to do and when to do it, so thinking about what I ought to do is a new concern for me … very new … and strange … But you spoke of changes earlier tonight, and that set me off. My entire world has changed in the six years since I left Master de Molay in Paris. I still have duties, God knows—tasks to do and decisions to make that will influence far more lives than my own. But now I am thinking for myself, commanding others to obey my wishes and decisions.”

He chewed on the inside of his cheek, frowning, and then he looked directly at her. “I have been thinking about you, too. About this wish of yours to sail with us when we leave. How did you come to that?”

She stared at him for a long moment. “Not with us, Will. With you.”

He blinked. “You need to move away from here, I ha’e no doubt of that, but coming with us is nonsense. The place where we are heading is unknown, Jessie, it is—”

“What, dangerous? Savage? Wild? Filled with perils and uncertainty, with savage, brutal men on every hand looking to ravage, steal, despoil, kill, and destroy? It will be nothing at all like the douce and placid land we live in now, will it? Nothing like this civilized Scotland. Is that what you were going to say?”

“No, it wasna that—”

“Good then, for I would rather live in the uncertainty of your unknown Merica than live here in the sure and certain knowledge of being killed and in the foolish, hopeless hope that my death, when it does come, will be swift and painless.” She inhaled sharply. “In God’s name, Will Sinclair, where will I go if I leave here and do not go with you to your Merica?”

“To Arran. We have room for you there. You will be safe in Lochranza Castle, and all your people.”

“Lochranza Castle.” She almost spat the words. “And when you sail away, what then? The lord there is Menteith.”

“Not now. He is disgraced.”

“He may be, but the place is a Menteith fief and I will have no safety there. Take me with you, Will.”

“I cannot.”

“Why not, in God’s name? Will you be taking priests with you?”

His eyes widened. “I hadna thought to. That will be no place for clerics. Even then, all our surviving clerics stand excommunicate, like the rest of us. But then again … a few good men, sound of wind and limb and trusted by the brethren. Aye, we’ll take a few who once were priests.”

“Good. Then one of them can marry us.”

“Marry us? I—” He stared at her, then drew his hand down his face, pressing hard as though smoothing out the wrinkles.

She watched him tensely as he turned his face away from her, his eyes screwed shut, his wide shoulders stiffening as though in outrage. But then his shoulders slumped and he turned back to her.

“I was on the point of telling you I am a monk,” he said calmly, “but that’s another nonsense. I am not a monk, not now. They stole that from me when they took my life and spat on it. Now I am a man—no more, no less.”

“You are a knight. No one can take that from you.”

“True, lass, and I am well aware of it. But I remain a man. And a man, after all is said and done, with little to offer anyone, God knows. But as for being goodman, husband …” He sucked in a great breath. “Would you … Are you truly offering to wed me … be my wife?”

He saw the flush rise in her face before she answered. “Wife, helpmeet, companion, concubine—whatever God sends us. Aye, Will Sinclair, and gladly.” She held up one hand and grinned. “Even adviser, should the need for such arrive in your new land, and should you require a woman’s common sense.”

A solemn stillness settled as they sat back in their two chairs, gazing at each other in the glow of the embers that had flared and crackled such a short time before.

“Adviser …” Will smiled more easily than she could ever recall. “Now there is a new idea. A woman advising a Templar knight, and through him a Templar community. Changes, indeed!”

“But only should you see such a need arise, in a new world.”

“Of course … But let me test you, as both woman and adviser. Give me some advice.”

“Now? On what?”

“You said tonight I have learned to listen. Well, I am listening now, and I have sufficient respect for you that I have no doubt you hold opinions on some things that I should do. Therefore I am asking you, sincerely, for your advice.”

Again they sat quiet, eyeing each other.

The man has just spoken to me openly of marriage. I would be a fool to risk that gain by saying something he might gauge as foolish for any of a score of reasons. And what could I tell him, anyway?

He was waiting patiently, and she noted that as another significant change in him. But when he raised a questioning eyebrow she spoke, surprising herself.

“The matter of Genoa. You intend to go, but do you need to?”

He pulled back his head and drew in his chin, and she was distracted for a moment by the columnar strength of his neck, and by the time she looked at his eyes he was already frowning.

“Do I need to go? Of course I do. I have business there, purchases to make.”

“I know the purchases have to be made, but must you be the one to make them? Could not Sir Edward make them on his own? The Archbishop’s letter of introduction could as easily be made for him as for you, could it not?”

“Aye, it could, but—”

“Tell me this, then. In the buying of these ships, however many there may be, will you make the decisions on design, size, and construction, or will you seek Sir Edward’s advice?”

“I would seek his advice, of course.”

“Of course you would, so let me ask you this. Would you trust this man with your life?”

“De Berenger? Wholeheartedly. I already have, with all our lives, your own included. He is my admiral.”

“The guardian, keeper, shepherd, and captain of your fleet. Then why would you not entrust him with the mission to Genoa? You have overmuch to occupy you at home on Arran, and ships are Edward’s life. He knows seagoing vessels and all their requirements the way you know and love the things you do that make you what you are—leading your squadrons of horse, training your men, administering your community, planning campaigns. And by your own admission, this journey to Genoa will take months, perhaps even half a year, depending on the weather. What will you do if Edward of England invades before you can finish what you hope to achieve on Arran?”

She fell silent, and he slouched sideways in his chair, one elbow on the arm in a position she had long since come to recognize as signaling consideration of a problem, his thumb hooked beneath his chin and the knuckle of his first finger pressed against his upper lip. His eyes were steadfast, drilling into her. She began to count silently, gazing back at him and schooling her face to be as unreadable as his own, but she lost her count in the second hundred, distracted by some random thought, and still he stared at her. She had never realized how big he was. He had always seemed enormous, bulked and bound in heavy metal that provided its own size, but now that he was unharnessed and wearing her late husband’s clothes, she could see the depth and breadth of chest, the width of shoulders, and the thick column of his neck, with an errant wisp of hair curling at the neck of his shirt. She kept her eyes unwaveringly on his upper body, daring not to look at his thighs.

“I should have started listening to you years ago, Jess.”

A rush of gooseflesh made her shudder when he used that name, and she felt her heart bound.

“You’re right,” he continued, more to himself than to her, she supposed. “It is foolish for me even to think about going to Genoa when de Berenger can do everything by himself. He has no need of me. My place is in Arran. No doubt of that. I must get back there, quickly. De Berenger knows what we need better than I do. And he may know better than either you or me the value of your hoard of gold.” He looked straight at her now. “And that’s another thing. That chest is too awkward for easy concealment. It’s too conspicuous and far too heavy. It would draw other people’s interest the way a rose draws bees, and that’s the last thing we need. So tomorrow we will split the gold into smaller parts, easier to carry, easier to hide. Do you have leather bags?”

“Small ones, suitable for coins? No …” She shook her head, then brightened. “But we have three old leather tents, in one of the sheds. We used to use them to cover the threshing floor, and they are old and moldy, but they are sound enough to be cut up into pieces, to make strong drawstring bags. I can set someone to that task tomorrow.”

“Someone you trust, and have them do it where no one can see. Be careful, Jessie. A sudden flurry of making leather bags—small leather bags—will draw attention, for there’s naught you can do with such things but use them for holding coin.”

“Hector will do it.”

“You trust him that far?”

“And further. How do you think the chest ended up where it is? Hector helped me move it and conceal it there.”

“Good. So be it.” He stood up suddenly and began to pace the room, rubbing his hands together, then stopped and stood with his back to the fire, facing her. “About this marriage thing. Your mind is set?”

“Completely.”

“Hmm.” His lips quirked. “And if I were to ask you for advice on that, which I do not, you would advise me to proceed with it?”

She smiled. “I would.”

“Aye, well, I will think on it, although I think you mad. But I will think on it. I have a condition, though, to be agreed to here and now. The boy cannot travel yet. We are agreed on that. But he was the sole reason for my returning here this day, to pick him up and take him back. How much longer, think you, before he can return to Arran?”

“A month at least, three at the most.”

“Three is too long, too long and too dangerous. I will send for you in two months’ time, in the third week of September—you, the boy, and your two women, and whomever else you wish to bring with you.”

“What about Marjorie?”

He looked at her in surprise. “Your ward is the King’s niece, Jessie.”

“But she is illegitimate.”

“Legitimate or no’, her name is Bruce and she was sired by Robert’s favorite brother. You canna simply whisk her off without the King’s permission. That would be abduction. And a king’s niece has no will of her own in such matters. She belongs to the kingdom, a chattel to be married off, if need be, for the good of the realm. That is beyond my ability or yours to influence.”

Jessie wasted no time in protest. She knew he was right, and merely nodded. “Then I must seek out the King himself, between now and then, and obtain his blessing.”

“To take the child away, perhaps to die, in some unknown land? He will never agree to such a thing.”

“Perhaps not. But I must try.”

“Fine. But you’ll be ready to embark for Arran by September?”

“I will be ready, and more ready still to embark for Merica. Send out your traders to buy cloth.”

“Cloth? What kind of cloth?”

“Any kind, and as much as they can buy. There will be no clothiers in Merica, but all who go there will need covering against the weather.”

He stood blinking at her. “I will see to it. Is there anything else you can think of?”

“No, but I might as time goes by. Wait! Spinning wheels and looms. How many women will go with us?”

“I have no idea.”

“Then you had best find out and let me know as soon as you can. We will need to plan for them, and if I know the numbers, I can be ready to start organizing them by the time I come to Arran.”

“You are very sure I’ll wed you, woman.” His smile was small but ungrudging. “But I have not yet agreed.”

She gazed at him and met him smile for smile. “You will. Now, when will you leave here?”

He shrugged. “The day after tomorrow. One of our galleys will be waiting off the Galloway coast. I have no time to waste.”

“Then you had better get some sleep, for we have talked the day and half the night away. Go you upstairs, then, and get you to bed. I’ll put out these candles and bank the fire before I go to mine.”

“Aye …” He stood for a moment, nibbling at his upper lip. “This has been a strange and wondrous day, Jessie, filled with things I could not have imagined when I left here last week to ride to Arbroath. We have achieved much, between the two of us … Are you sure we are in agreement on it all?”

She stepped quickly towards him and lifted up her hand, laying her palm along his cheek, touching him openly for the first time, and he raised his own to hold it there, cradling it. “I am sure, Will, even if you are not.”

He swayed towards her, his lips slightly parted, and she knew what would happen if he kissed her here, so she drew a deep, swift breath and patted him firmly on the cheek.

“Now go to bed,” she told him softly. “You have much to do tomorrow.”

FOUR

He came awake slowly and with great reluctance, loath to quit the voluptuous enjoyment of the dream that had been enfolding him and the dream woman whose mouth had covered his own, drawing the soul from him with an agonizing pleasure. But when he opened his eyes at last and found the mouth still there, still kissing him, and raised a hand to touch bare, warm skin, he started awake, jerking upright, and would have shouted had not a hand clamped firmly over his mouth and a voice hissed sharply in his ear, “Shush, Will, shush! Be still. You’ll wake the house and betray us both.”

He froze, half raised on his elbows, blinking wildly in the pitch darkness and aware of the other body leaning over him on the narrow cot, and his skin rose up in superstitious terror, until he heard her giggle and felt her breath against his ear.

“It’s me, it’s me, and I didna mean to startle you. I only came to kiss you goodnight. Hutch you over and let me in.”

Still befuddled, but beginning now to grasp something of what was happening, he pushed himself higher up. “Jessie? What is it? Is something wrong?”

She giggled again, quietly and close to his ear, bringing him out in renewed gooseflesh. “Of course there’s something wrong, you great, dense lump. It’s freezing cold and your bed’s already warm. Lift up the clothes and let me in. Move! Move over!”

He did as he was bidden, shifting his weight onto one elbow and raising the covers, and he felt the smooth, warm rush of her climbing in beside him and then hugging him close, pulling him to her soft nakedness as her fingers twined in the hair at his nape and pulled his face down to her own. And for a long time after that, he lived in a maelstrom of taste and touch and smells the like of which he had never known, until he froze again, finding himself somehow leaning on straight arms and aware of the forked shape of her beneath him, her fingers clutching him.

“Do you not want me, Will Sinclair? Come, man, and be my husband.”

The fingers tugged at him, insistent, guiding, and Will closed his eyes and sighed, shuddering, and entered his new world.