Order In Chaos. Jack Whyte

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СКАЧАТЬ stopped walking, right at the top of the stairs, and looked at him, her face full of concern. “Oh! Then I must beg your pardon for delaying you. Will you be punished for not being at your post?”

      He half smiled again and shook his head. “Not tonight, my lady. The admiral himself sent me to see to you. It has been a most pleasant task.”

      “Thank you once again, Brother Giles, that is a lovely compliment. But I wonder still about those candles. Could you leave them in the other room for me, and one of them alight? I fear I may have to return at some point, before the day breaks.”

      A look of concern flickered on the young monk’s face. “There really is no need of that, my lady. No one will disturb them.” He started down the stairs ahead of her, speaking back over his shoulder as she followed him. “The preceptor will not be seeking rest tonight. Too many untoward things are happening. Do you know that we missed Vespers tonight? That has never happened before.”

      “All of you, the entire fraternity? That is most unusual. What is going on, do you know?”

      “No, my lady. I am a simple brother, privy to nothing of import. There is talk, and I have heard some of it, but nothing that is believable or worthy of repeating.” They had reached the bottom of the stairs. “Here we are. I will ask you to wait here, if it pleases you, while I announce you.”

      He left Jessie standing at the foot of the long flight of stairs, in a high and narrow hallway that stretched off on both sides of her, lit with flickering wall-mounted torches. He knocked at a set of high double doors in the opposite wall and stepped inside.

      Jessie stood very straight and tugged at her clothing, making sure once more that she was decently arrayed, and then raised her hands to pat her hair beneath its golden net. She felt nervous, for some inexplicable reason, and attributed it to the concern stirred in her by Brother Giles’s tale of missing Vespers. This was a monastic order, and the lives of its members were governed absolutely by the Templars’ Rule, which specified prayers at regular and immutable hours, except in times of war. Nothing but war and the need to fight could ever disrupt the schedule of daily prayers, and yet tonight they had missed Vespers. Something grave must be afoot.

      2

      Charles St. Valéry himself came through the doors to welcome her.

      “Jessica, my dear sister, please, come in, come in. I trust you slept well?” He took her fingertips between his own thumb and forefingers and bowed her into the room, and she swept through the doorway, smiling widely as she crossed the threshold, then stopped abruptly as she saw there were a number of men already there. She counted three white robes, besides the admiral’s, and one brown-clad sergeant. She knew none of them.

       Oh, dear God, a gathering of knights. Rigid pomposity, unwashed bodies, and reeking sanctimony. And what is that awful smell? Not sanctimony, certes. My God, they must have painted the entire room with lye soap! I have no need of this, at midnight.

      She pivoted to face the admiral. “Forgive me, Charles, I did not know you were in conference. I understood that you had called for me, but I fear I should have waited before disturbing you.”

      She had no way of knowing it, but the sound of her voice suggested broad, deep, gently vibrating silver Saracen cymbals to one of the room’s occupants, who shivered and was startled at the thought, and could think of no reason why it should have occurred to him.

      Admiral St. Valéry laughed. “Not at all, dear sister.” He continued to hold her hand gently in his as he stepped gracefully by her on the right, turning her with him, and waved with his other hand to indicate the other men in the room. “Permit me to introduce my fellows. Two of them are the reason for my need to disturb your rest.”

      Jessie scanned the assembled men. She glanced at Sir William cursorily before her eyes moved on to the brown-coated sergeant beside him. Her eyes narrowed briefly, and then flared with recognition.

      “Tam Sinclair!” Her face lit up with the radiance of her smile. “This is the man I told you about, Charles—” But then she broke off and turned back to Tam, her brow wrinkling as she took in his surcoat with its Templar blazon. “But you were a carter…I had no idea you were of the Temple.”

      “Nor had anyone else, my dear,” her brother-in-law said. “Tam came to us in secrecy, escorting Sir William here, with tidings from our Grand Master in Paris. Brothers, this is my brother’s widow, Lady Jessica Randolph, the Baroness St. Valéry.”

      The woman nodded pleasantly to the assembly and then looked more closely at Sir William.

       Great Heavens, he is big. Such shoulders. And he has no beard. I thought every Templar must wear a beard. They consider it a sin to go unshaven, though God Himself might wonder why. A good face, strong and clean, square jawline and a cleft chin. And wondrous eyes, so bright and yet so pale. And angry. Is he angry at me?

      “I have never seen a Templar’s chin before,” she said, and watched his eyes flare. Someone laughed and quickly turned the sound into a cough. “Forgive me for being blunt,” she continued, “but it is the truth. Every Templar I have ever seen has been bearded.” She glanced again at Tam. “Tam there is Sinclair,” she said, pronouncing it the Scots way, and then looked back at the knight. “And therefore you must be his kinsman, the formidable Sir William Sinclair, Knight of the Temple of Solomon.”

      Sir William continued to glare at her, but he was completely lost in the certain and unwelcome knowledge that the eyes in his mind would never change color again, and that the formless features he had grappled with were now etched into his soul.

       What have I done to deserve his anger? Or is it merely that he is one of those woman haters?

      “You know Sir William, my dear?” St. Valéry sounded astonished.

      “No, brother dear, but I know of him. Sir William’s exploits are legendary.” She was smiling, and there was a hint of mockery in her disturbing blue-gray eyes as she turned her gaze back to Sir William and saw the hot blood of confusion and humiliation flushing his cheeks and spreading to the very tips of his ears.

       In God’s holy name, he is not angry at me at all. The man is afraid of me. But for what? Because I am a woman? Can it be that simple and that sad? He can’t even find words. No, it must be something deeper than mere fear.

      For his part, Sir William was cursing himself for blushing like a tongue-tied farm boy, and fighting to find suitable words with which to reply to her mockery, but all he could achieve was a single short sentence that almost choked him as it stumbled, stiff and surly, from his lips.

      “You mock me, Lady.”

      Jessie felt her eyes widening, but her smile remained in place. “No, sir, upon my word I do not.” I truly do not, I swear. But then she smoothed her face so that both her smile and the hint of raillery were gone and she looked him straight in the eye and spoke in the tongue of their native Scotland.

      “I knew your sister Peggy, Sir William, when I was a wee girl, living at home. We spent much time together and were very close, she and I, and she regaled me all the time with stories about you: the things you did, the deeds that you performed.” She switched effortlessly back to French. “Peggy sang your praises constantly. You were her paragon, her shimmering, mail-clad brother, Soldier of the Temple СКАЧАТЬ