Douglas shrugged. “Dire need, if only on occasion, and always unpredictable. I have come here directly from the north end of the island. I remembered that your fleet was to put in today and so I thought to find you among them. I was right, and I am glad.”
“You came seeking me directly? Why?”
“To offer thanks for your keen sight.”
Will shook his head. “I have no idea what you are talking about.”
“Your keen insight, perhaps I should say. Remember the long-eared fellow with the need to eavesdrop on French conversations? Well, I set two of my men to watching him and he left here that same night, in something of a hurry, but fortunately unaware that he was being watched. One of my men followed him while the other waited for me. He headed northeast, across the hills and through the mountain glens, clearly headed for Lochranza, since there is nowhere else up there. It was difficult to follow him though, without being seen—that is empty country up there—but we had ample grounds for suspecting him of deviltry and so we picked him up that afternoon and asked him a few questions.”
Will was well aware of the euphemism, but when Douglas showed no signs of continuing, Will asked him outright. “And what did you discover from your … questions?”
“That you had detected a plot … against the King, as all such plottings are.”
“And this fellow was the ringleader?”
“God’s blood no! He was but a messenger—an observer and a spy. He was on his way to his master with tidings of the arrival of a large body of French soldiery in Arran.”
“So who was his master, did you find out?”
“MacDougall of Lorn. The old chief’s son, Lame John himself. Nothing surprising there, the dastard being who and what he is, but what was surprising was the next piece of information our songbird spat out, concerning his most recent employer. It transpires that Menteith himself, our beloved and much-trusted hereditary chieftain of Arran, has made alliance with MacDougall, upon the understanding that he will be given the rule of both Arran and Kintyre once the Bruce is dead and the MacDonald upstarts crushed. More fool him for believing any word from Lame John’s mouth, but the deed was done, the alliance made, and now he himself has been betrayed and his fate is sealed. Menteith will see no mercy from our King for this piece of treachery, I’ll warrant you. There have been too many like matters, and far too many foresworn traitors set free to rebel again.”
Will felt his chest constrict in dismay, thinking about the slightly built chieftain of Menteith, whom he had found to be pleasant and unassuming. If that innocuous little man could be a traitor, he realized, then anyone could. He grunted. “So where is Menteith now? What have you done with him?”
“Nothing. He still sits in Brodick, unknowing that his bolt is shot before ever he had a chance to raise a hand. I told you, I came straight here from the north. There was a MacDonald galley in the bay beneath the western moor, and we were able to use it, since its captain was already on his way here to Brodick. We came around the north coast of the island, checking for skulking MacDougalls among the bays and inlets, then made our way directly here. Our next move will be to put into Brodick, where we’ll arrest Menteith and keep him under guard until the King can deal with him. That is why I travel with an escort this day. We did not know where we might find Menteith, nor did we know who might attempt to defend him when we arrest him. Thus my men-at-arms, and thus, too, my gift to you, well earned.”
“What gift to me?”
“Lochranza, man! Menteith’s stronghold. Did you not say you would need a solid base here on the island? Well, now you have one. Lochranza is yours, from this time on, to use as you see fit. God knows Menteith will have no further use for it. Its castle is solid stone, easily defended, and it has the best sheltered harbor on the entire island, apart from this bay. Your galleys will be able to lie there unseen from any but the closest approaches, and there’s ample room in the castle and the land beyond it for your men. More than that, there is probably ample grazing for half of your horses, too, in the glens between the mountains—they’re lush and well watered. You’ll have the high mountains at your back and the sea lanes at your feet. You could do far worse. And from my point of view, of course, the castle could be in far worse hands than yours. Sitting empty, in fact, it could be a drain and a curse. But now you will use it for your Order’s purposes, and while you are about that, you will defend it for me and the King, thereby relieving me of the need to worry over it. Quid pro quo. It’s perfect.”
Will, open mouthed with astonishment, was thinking exactly the same thing, but he never had the chance to say so, for there came the sound of female voices approaching outside the pavilion, followed by male voices raised in challenge and response. And then the secondary, curtained entrance to the body of the tent was pulled open and Tam Sinclair stepped in, looking decidedly put out.
“Sir William,” he growled, making no attempt to be polite or amiable. “The Baroness St. Valéry wants to speak to you, and she winna take no for an answer, so I have brought her.” And with that, he turned on his heel and stalked away, letting the curtain fall behind him.
Will and Douglas stood staring at each other as a silence fell abruptly beyond the curtained doorway. Neither man made any attempt to move, each of them wondering, for different reasons, what would happen next, and then came a discreet cough and the fabric of the heavy curtain swayed as someone groped at it, then pulled it aside. Jessica Randolph, Baroness St. Valéry, stood there alone, staring at the two knights who stood watching her warily.
“My lady Baroness,” Will greeted her, after what felt to him like an age of gawping at her like some foolish boy. He pulled himself up straighter until he began to feel ridiculous, then waved a hand limply towards the young man across the fire from him. “You will not yet have met Sir James Douglas, I think …”
Douglas’s face broke into a delighted smile as he swept off his bonnet with a flourish and bowed deeply from the waist in the grand manner he had learned during his boyhood sojourn in Paris, and because of that he failed to see the astonished widening of Jessie Randolph’s eyes as she heard the flawless French of his greeting.
“Madame la Baronne de St. Valéry,” he said, head down, pointing his toe and sweeping the blackcock feather in his cap along the floor at arm’s length. “I am honored and delighted to meet you, for I have heard much of you and yours.” He straightened up and looked her straight in the eye. “I knew your brother Sir Thomas, by repute, as did all of Scotland. I never had the honor of meeting him, but my father held him always in the highest regard. I am familiar, too, with the name of your late husband, the Baron St. Valéry, for he ranked high in the esteem of Master William Lamberton, my Lord Archbishop of St. Andrews, who was my patron and protector during my stay in France. I have heard the Archbishop speak admiringly, on several occasions, of your late husband’s exploits and achievements as agent general of King Philip to the court of England.”
Jessie merely nodded in response to that, acknowledging his courtesy and marveling at the self-possession he displayed for one so young, but she continued to study him, trying to take his true measure as he continued. “I understand from Sir William that you have not set foot in Scotland for some time, so may I say that I am delighted that you should be guided to this isle of Arran as your landing place, and use my status as its guardian to extend the warm and willing welcome of my liege lord Robert, King of Scots?”
God’s blood, did he say guardian? The legal King’s Guardian of this isle? He’s but a laddie.
Jessie felt herself frowning severely, the wind of her self-righteousness snatched completely from her sails. She had practically forced her way into this pavilion, bullying Tam Sinclair mercilessly until he threw up his hands and yielded to her determination, and she had hesitated only once, very briefly, before pulling back the shielding curtain between the entranceway and the interior of the great tent, prepared to confront the redoubtable and intolerant Sir William Sinclair and to demand th
e recognition and the consideration that she believed her sumptuous and voluntary gift to the King of Scots had earned for her. She had entered the arena fully prepared for battle, her mind filled with imaginings and visions of what she would say to him, and he to her, when she vented her righteous anger at him over his treatment of her and her women. The very last thing she had expected was the sheepish, guilt-tinged, almost shame-faced diffidence of Sinclair’s greeting, and the unforeseen presence of the very young and distinguished-looking nobleman now addressing her merely added to her confusion and rendered her speechless.
Who was this popinjay, she wondered now, and whence had he sprung? Douglas was a common enough name in southern Scotland, but it held no great resonance for her. There had been a notorious Douglas in southern parts when she was first married, she remembered, a hothead and a rebel who had been imprisoned in England for his crimes. Could this man be a relative? Certainly, if the young fellow was as important as he clearly appeared to be, and judging by Sinclair’s deference to him she was prepared to accept that he was, then it would not do to offend him. And so Jessie bit back the snappish retort that had sprung to her lips and instead inclined her head graciously, summoning a smile, though a small one, from somewhere deep inside her and speaking gently and decorously.
“Thank you, my lord … Douglas, is it? You are most civil.”
“Some people attract civility without effort, my lady.” The young man smiled and bowed again, less deeply this time. “James Douglas of Douglasdale, but no lord. The lordship was held by my late father, Sir William Douglas, and is now gripped jealously by the English, who maintain that my father died a rebel and a traitor. My opinion differs from theirs, as does all of Scotland’s, but Castle Douglas, my family home, with all its people, now lies in the hands of Sir William Clifford, one of England’s so-called governors in Scotland.” He shrugged, still smiling faintly. “It will not always be thus, but for the time being it is and there is nothing to be done for it.”
Jessie had been watching him closely as he spoke, her eyes absorbing every nuance she could discern of his character and personality. Her initial anger and irritation now abated, she could see that he had much, on the surface at least, to recommend him, beginning with the cleanly brushed tumble of glossy black hair that hung, unusually long, to his wide shoulders. His face, long and wide jawed, clean shaven and angular, could not, she thought, be called handsome in the classical sense, because his eyes, deep set beneath black brows, were slightly too close together. But they were large and wide nonetheless, the irises dark enough to appear black, and the whites were clear and healthy, almost blue tinged in their purity. They would, she decided, have been perfectly beautiful had it not been for that single, discernible lack of space, a mere hair’s breadth, on either side of the long, bony nose that dominated the rest of his face. His mouth was wide and mobile, and his teeth, thanks to his youth and good health, were even and brilliantly white, showing up starkly against the naturally saturnine color of his skin. He wore a blue tunic over blue trews of a different hue, and a long, heavy blue and white cloak, thrown back from his shoulders, hung to his ankles. His feet and lower legs were sturdily booted, and a long, serviceable sword hung from a belt across his chest. All in all, she decided, he looked ingratiating: young and vibrantly pleasant and enthusiastic; fit, friendly, open countenanced, self-confident and well put together … he would make a fine and worthwhile mate for some enterprising young woman in the not too distant future.
Having catalogued the young man in the space of a few heartbeats, Jessie now favored him with her most charming smile. “Plain knight or belted lord, Sir James, you are clearly a man of distinction, and I thank you for your courtesy.” She then turned her attention to Will Sinclair, who had been hovering uncomfortably at the edge of her vision.
“Forgive me for interrupting you in conference, Sir William, but since I have heard nothing from you for several days on the matter of the gift I bear for the King of Scots—you have clearly had other matters on your mind since arriving here in Arran—I thought it might be to the benefit of everyone concerned were I to press my own urgencies and make arrangements to have myself and my women, along with the King’s gift, transferred from here to the mainland, where I will doubtless have a far greater chance of finding King Robert than seems possible here on this island.”
Will stood bemused for a few moments, gazing blankly back at her, but then his eyes widened and he stood up straighter, stung by her air of haughtiness. “Really, madam,” he answered, his voice devoid of any attempt at pleasantness. “Instruct me then, if you will. How, precisely, would you achieve that, on this island, and what steps would you take to protect yourself and your women, not to mention the treasure you carry? Where would you find trustworthy men to accompany you from here, knowing that all my men are bound by sacred oath to the service of the Temple and may not leave without permission?”
Jessie was incensed by his careless mention of the treasure when she had been at pains to speak of it only as a gift, and her anger came through in her reply.
“It was in my mind that you might see fit to provide a suitable escort for us from among your men, sir.” Her voice, too, was cold, her tone contemptuous, and that fanned the flames of Will’s own irritation.
“As it was in mine, madam,” he snapped. “And ever has been, since the day we left La Rochelle. But the choice of time and suitability is also mine, and dependent upon the conclusion of my duties and responsibilities to the Temple. Those criteria are not to be abandoned at the whim of anyone outside the Temple Order.”
Douglas was standing open mouthed, dismayed by Will’s hostility and searching for a cause. This was the first time in his dealings with the Templar knight that he had perceived him as being anything less than utterly self-possessed and amiable, although he did not doubt that Sir William Sinclair could be a martinet when that was called for. On this occasion, however, Sinclair was being rude and boorish to the St. Valéry woman without provocation. Douglas could see no reason for such truculence, and he looked from one to the other of them as they spoke. It took him some time, nevertheless, to realize that it was Sinclair who was losing this confrontation, despite all his hectoring and his offended dignity.
“If I may make a suggestion,” Douglas said, smiling, “I may have the perfect solution to both your problems.” Both of them turned to glare at him, and he broadened his smile and waved towards a nearby table. “Come,” he said. “It is a cold November evening, growing colder by the minute, and this has been a long day, for me at least. My lady, I am about to set sail—tomorrow, in fact—to join King Robert, and he has already expressed a wish to greet you and express his gratitude for your timely and much-needed gift. Nothing would be more simple than for me to take you, your ladies, and your treasure with me. So why should we not sit down here by the fire in friendship—I will pull up some chairs—and discuss how and when this arrangement may be made?”
Jessie barely heard his last words, all her attention focused upon what he had said about the King’s gratitude. Her brow wrinkled, but as the only explanation of what he had said became clear to her she nodded, grim faced. Slowly then, her entire body stiff with outrage, she looked across at Sinclair and spoke in words that dripped withering sarcasm. “The King has expressed a wish to meet me and thank me for my gift? How can this be possible, sir? I am but newly arrived, so how can the King already know of my coming and the gift I bring? Who might have told him? Can you tell me that?”
A deep red flush suffused Sir William’s cheeks as he realized how he had been made to look. His hand fluttered and he attempted to speak but nothing came out, and the look of sheer gratitude on his face when James Douglas intervened again might have been laughable at another time.
“My lady,” Douglas interjected, reclaiming Jessie’s attention, albeit unwillingly. “My lady, forgive me, but King Robert was already here on Arran when Sir William arrived. His Grace remained for less than a day, having pressing matters of
state that demanded his royal presence elsewhere, but while he was here, he took time to meet with Sir William on the matters underlying the arrival of the Temple fleet here in Scotland. I was present at that meeting, and in the course of it, the matter of your presence among the fleet, your escape from France, and your generous gift emerged. Sir William spoke of it in good faith, unaware that by the time you arrived in person from your anchorage off Kintyre, His Grace must be gone, about the business of the realm.
“King Robert left last night, and you arrived this morning. But in the here and now I am to follow him immediately, as I have said, though by another route, and I will be happy to escort you to wherever you might wish to go.” He laughed, waving one hand airily. “So be it, of course, that we remain well clear of any Englishry who might seek to throw me into a dungeon for my sins. But steer you safely home we will, and with great pleasure. In the meantime, though, my lady, you must not be angry at Sir William. I see your displeasure clearly, but William Sinclair did not betray your trust, nor did he demean your gift. He had no choice in this matter, and he acted honorably, as ever, with great care for your name and reputation.”
Jessie could not but be mollified by such an explanation, and she looked from Douglas to Sinclair, standing close beside her. She tilted her head to one side, well aware that he was waiting for her response although he could not bring himself to look at her, and she nodded once, and then again more slowly.
“So be it, then. I accept your explanation, Sir James, and I thank you for it. Sir William Sinclair, I fear I may have wronged you, in this at least.” Then, accepting that he might be absolutely incapable of looking at her, she reached out and prodded his forearm gently with the tip of one finger. “Will you forgive me, Sir William?”
Will stood stock-still, fighting an overwhelming urge to lean towards her, more aware of her proximity than he had ever been of anything else he could remember in his life. The warmth of her physical closeness in the radiant glow of the fire’s light was a palpable thing, making him want to reach out and touch her, and the sweetness of her body’s haunting perfume filled his nostrils and even his mouth, making his head swim. He knew he had to answer her, and he wanted to respond graciously, but his senses were awash with sensuous and guilty pleasure and he could not collect himself sufficiently to answer her directly. And presently the silence, brief as it was, had stretched to the point where even young Douglas became aware of it.