the lines around his mouth were less evident than they had been a short time earlier.
St. Valéry cleared his throat, feeling the taste of the liquor on the back of his tongue. “It is on this matter of Scotland. How long has it been since you were last there?”
Sinclair emptied his cup, then placed it on the floor and stood up. He leaned his ever-present sword against the back of his chair, then cupped his hands over his face, dragging his fingertips down his cheeks as though wiping away fatigue. “Too long, I fear, Admiral. I have not set foot in Scotland these twelve years and more. Why do you ask?”
“I expected your answer must be something of that nature, and yet you are remarkably aware of what is happening there, and your tidings are recent. How does that come about?”
“I have a sister there, Admiral. A younger sister, Margaret, who insists, in spite of not knowing her elder brother well, upon keeping him informed of all that is happening to his family. She sees it as her God-given duty to instruct me in the fortunes of all my clan, and I have been grateful for it these past five years, for she is clever and witty, her letters easy to read and filled with welcome and humorous tales of life at home.”
“I see. And how do you receive these letters?”
“Through our Order. She has them sent regularly from the Temple in Edinburgh to the Temple here in Paris. I received the latest bundle, eleven letters, when Master de Molay summoned me to Paris to instruct me in this current matter. The newest of them was less than three months old.”
“And this is your source of knowledge about the King of Scots? Is your sister privy to such matters?”
“Aye, she is, to a degree. In some of the letters, Peggy—we call her Peggy—spoke of King Robert and his troubles, and how they were affecting her and Edward. That is how I know of the events and the rumors surrounding the King’s accession to the throne last year.”
“Is this Edward, then, your brother?”
“No, Admiral, he is my good-brother, wed to my sister. His name is Edward Randolph. Sir Edward Randolph.”
St. Valéry raised his chin, startled. “Sir Edward Randolph? Is he kin in any way to Sir Thomas Randolph?”
“Aye. His brother.”
“Good God! Then your…your sister…”
“My sister is Lady Margaret Randolph. What of her?”
“She must then be a sister by marriage to Lady Jessica Randolph.”
Sinclair shrugged. “I know of no Lady Jessica Randolph. Peggy has never mentioned the name. But then, I don’t know Sir Edward, either. His elder brother Tom and I were boyhood friends—childhood friends would be more accurate—and the second brother, James, was a mere tad then, no more than seven or eight. Edward was born after I left home, so I suppose there may also have been a sister or two I never met.”
“No, you would not have met Lady Jessica, nor might your sister, I suspect, although each of them would certainly know of the other.” St. Valéry had spoken quietly and was frowning strangely. “The Lady Jessica is, as you say, much younger, and she seldom visits Scotland. She is a widow who has lived much of her life here in France and then in England, where her husband was an agent of King Philip. His name was Etienne de St. Valéry—Baron Etienne de St. Valéry. He was my younger brother. The Lady Jessica is la baronne Jessica de St. Valéry. Thus it would seem we are related through some complexity of marriages, you and I.”
Sir William blinked in surprise, not knowing how to respond to this. “Then I rejoice in calling you cousin, Admiral. It sometimes seems God placed us in a tiny world, for all its size. So I will be unlikely to encounter this Lady Jessica in Scotland?”
“No. She is here.”
“What do you mean, sir, she is here?”
“What I said. Lady Jessica Randolph is here.”
“Here in France?”
“Here in La Rochelle, in this commandery, and she is in grave peril. She has claimed sanctuary from William de Nogaret. Tam Sinclair saved her life this day.”
Seeing the utter incomprehension on his companion’s face, St. Valéry nodded. “Aye, you heard me rightly. The woman Tam brought through the city gates this afternoon is my brother’s wife…My brother’s widow. She has been asleep upstairs since just before you arrived. She had been on the road, hunted, for days, and she was exhausted. I decided that she would be better off asleep than awake this night. But everything has changed since then, and I wanted to tell you that she was here, and why. What is the hour?”
Sinclair shrugged. “Nigh on midnight by now, I’d think.”
“Aye, it must be. And thus today has been the first time in the history of this preceptory that Vespers has gone unsung beneath its roof. As I said, this news you brought us has changed everything. And Lady Jessica has no idea of it.”
“Why should she have any idea of it, Admiral? She is a woman, and we are speaking of Temple matters. Since when has any of that had significance for any woman?”
The admiral glanced at him sharply, as though on the point of rebuking him. “That particular aspect of our situation has no relevance for her, obviously, but there are other aspects of our circumstances here that do concern her, and directly so. She has placed her trust, her mission, and her very self in our hands, in the hands of the Temple, which has been protecting her interests for a long time now.” He glanced towards the door to the passageway outside, and the gesture reminded Sinclair that the two deputies would soon be coming to join them.
The admiral tilted his cup to drain the last precious drops, then peered into it through narrowed eyes, licking his lips fastidiously before he continued. “Jessica’s is a long story, but not directly concerned with our current plight, although there is some overlap…” Again he glanced at the door, then turned back, dismissing for a second time whatever had sprung into his mind. “She must be rested now. She has been sleeping for hours. Would you like another small dram before de Berenger and Montrichard come?”
“Aye, I would.”
“Excellent. And so would I. But just a small one. The beverage, delicious though it is, is potent beyond belief.” He returned to the table and poured a small amount more of the amber liquid into each of their cups. Then he sealed the bottle carefully before returning and touching his cup to Sinclair’s. “Since I first discovered this potion, Sir William, I have come to appreciate that we no longer tip in libation from our cups. That would truly be a waste of Heaven’s nectar. Let us drink to tomorrow and damnation to de Nogaret.”
“Gladly. Damnation to de Nogaret. But tell me more about your good-sister, for her situation intrigues me. Why is she here at all, and why is de Nogaret hunting her? Did you not say she lives in England?”
“She did. And as her story involves William de Nogaret, if this warning you have brought to us proves valid, her life will be in grave danger, for that devil will put her to the torture to gain what he is after.”
Sinclair had no illusions about de Nogaret’s malevolence. “He will indeed, if he catches her. No doubt of that. But what is he after? And why is she even here in France if she is on de Nogaret’s black list?”
“Money, Sir William. The King’s minister smells money. What else ever motivates that man, other than hatred?” St. Valéry sighed. “I told you my brother Etienne was an agent of the King, sent to live in England to administer Philip’s affairs there at the English court of Edward Plantagenet.” He sat down in the nearest chair and leaned back, his fingers laced over his midriff. “He found opportunities for himself, there in England, opportunities for trade, all of them legitimate and of the kind he judged would hold no interest for his master. And on an early return visit to France, he traveled south into the Languedoc before returning to England, specifically, as I have discovered, to set up a trading