In the Kingdom's Name (Guardian of Scotland Book 2) (26 page)

William stared at the man, his eyes dark, his lips in a hard, thin line. Though he was not allowed to speak in his defense, Eva doubted he would.
Someone must stand up for him
.

“Forgetful
of his fealty and allegiance, Wallace unlawfully raised up all he could by felony and premeditated sedition against our lord and King. Having united and joined to himself an immense number of felons, he invaded and attacked the guardians and ministers of the same King. He insulted, wounded and killed William de Heselrig, Sheriff of Lanark, without reason or provocation.”

After panning a scowling gaze around the courtroom, the Lord Justice continued reading the scroll. “Thenceforth he invaded the towns, the cities and the castles of that land and sent his orders through the whole of Scotland as if they were the letters of the superior of that land. He held and appointed parliaments after the guardians and ministers appointed by the aforesaid lord, the King of the land of Scotland, had been evicted by William himself. He decreed to all prelates, earls and barons they were to press for the destruction of the Kingdom of England. William Wallace then proceeded to invade the Kingdom of England, laying to fire and sword the counties of Northumberland, Cumberland and Westmorland. All whom he found who were in fealty to the King of England, he feloniously put to death in various ways. He seditiously slaughtered religious men and monks dedicated to God. He burned and laid waste to churches constructed for the honor of God. And it is clear that after such outrageous and horrible deeds, the aforesaid lord, the King, together with his great army, invaded the land of Scotland and defeated the aforesaid William who bore his standard against King Edward in mortal warfare.”

Lord Justice made a verbose gesture, swinging his arm over his head. “William Wallace seditiously and feloniously, whole-heartedly and undauntedly preserving his above noted
wickedness
, disdained to submit himself to the King’s peace. He was publicly outlawed as a traitor, robber and felon according to the laws and customs of England.”

The man paused, deepening his scowl. “On these charges the accused stands guilty without recourse and will hereby be sentenced.”

Again, the crowd’s angry voice rose with dissention, feet stomping the floorboards.

“Silence,” bellowed the bailiff, pounding his staff on the floorboards.

“For the inarguable sedition which William committed against our lord and King and trying to bring about His Grace’s death, the attempted destruction and weakening of the crown of its royal authority by bringing his standard against his liege lord in war to the death, William Wallace will be tied to a horse and dragged from the palace of Westminster as far as the Tower of London, and from the Tower as far as Aldegate, and thus through the middle of the city as far as Elmes, and for the robberies, murders and felonies which he carried out in the Kingdom of England and Scotland, he shall be hanged there and afterwards drawn. Furthermore, for the measureless wickedness which he did to God and the most Holy Church by burning churches, vassals and shires, the heart, liver, lung and all the internal parts of the same William by which such evil thoughts proceeded should be dispatched to the fire and burned. And because he had been outlawed and not restored to the King’s peace, he will be beheaded. And also because he had committed both murders and felonies to not only the King but to the entire people of England and Scotland, the body of said William Wallace will be cut up and divided into four quarters. The head shall be affixed upon London Bridge in the sight of those crossing both by land and water. One quarter should be hung on the gibbet at Newcastle Upon Tyne, another quarter at Berwick, a third quarter at Stirling and a fourth quarter at Perth as a cause of fear and chastisement in all who pass by.
[1]
”

When Lord Justice stopped and gazed out over the crowd, not a soul uttered a word.

Breaking away from Blair, Eva pushed through the gallery—her eyes streaming with tears, her head spinning so fast the chamber spun. “No! William is a patriot,” she screamed at the top of her lungs. “Scotland is oppressed by Edward’s sadistic tyranny!
You
are the murderers—”

As the words escaped her mouth, the medallion burned a hole in her chest, earsplitting screeches deafened her ears. Her entire body ripped apart in a spiral of agonizing darkness.

William ~ The Calm of the Condemned

When Eva’s voice rose over the roar of the crowd, I glanced her way for the first time. Though I’d asked her to leave, I kent she’d come. If I have any regrets from my decision, it is saying adieu to my sweet Eva and seeing her bereft with grief. But Scotland needs me more—needs my end.

Heaven help me, I loved that woman more than any earthly being.

As the bailiffs tugged my arms, her tall figure was soon swallowed by Blair and Little while guardsmen pushed their way toward her. But I knew she was gone. I felt it. A wee puff of air skimmed my face, and I kent she’d vanished—returned to her time. Why the magic allowed her to remain for so long, I could not fathom.

Mercifully, the medallion’s powers swept her away, just as they had done the day Andrew died. With that silent wisp of air, my wife went to a better life—one in which I pray she will live fully, peacefully.

Lord Clifford held my psalter high as the bailiffs marshalled me out of the courtroom and into the street. I didn’t fight. There was no sense in doing so. My actions this day were for my beloved Scotland. I gladly gave of myself for the Kingdom. Praise God a new king will rise. I will not see her restored to greatness, but I go to my death knowing my sacrifice will be a catalyst for change.

Eva was right about Lord Bruce. I, too, felt his greatness in my bones more than once.

The angry jeers from the crowd met me like a wall of soaring arrows. My heart thundered in my chest, betraying me. I did not allow fear to creep into my consciousness often, but her evilness seized me in her hands and a cold sweat covered my skin.

I harbored no illusions. I would endure horrendous pain—pain I had inflicted on others during this war. I’d watched men die at the point of my sword. Their faces stunned at first, followed by listlessness.

I would meet those men by this day’s end.

There would be no turning back. I’d made my decision. I caught sight of my psalter in Lord Clifford’s hands as the bailiffs bound me upside down to the hurdle, then lashed a hog’s skin around my arms and body to ensure I survived the four-mile journey to my death.

Death
.

My Judgement Day had come at last.

Closing my eyes, I forced myself to overcome my fear, to reach for joy. I would stand before God this day and atone for my sins. The proceedings at heaven’s gates would not be a trial like Longshanks’ crookedness I’d just endured. It would be a discussion of my errs. A chance to face them with honesty and to kneel before my maker. Aye, God will judge me harshly, but not unfairly.

Rotten food slapped my face when, at a slow walk, the horse dragged me through the mire. Taunts from the crowd followed me. People opened their shutters and threw the contents of their chamber pots upon me—rocks pummeled my body and the horseman ensured I hit every bump in the road. Humanity at its worst, I felt no contempt for these misled vassals of King Edward. I had fought their sons. I had invaded their country, and in their eyes, I was guilty of every charge read by the justice—except sedition. In their eyes, I deserved every ounce of indignity, brutality and revenge imposed by their dragon-hearted sovereign.

How could a man commit treason against a country to which he’d pledged no fealty? Edward came to Scotland, humiliating our king and murdering men, women and children. The King of England was as guilty as I.
Guiltier.
My actions were all carried out as an act of war to protect and liberate the oppressed. Longshanks’ motives were to gain more lands, more riches for himself, and he turned butcher to do it.

At least I can go to my death knowing liberty isn’t lost. My respect for Robert Bruce grew as I sailed south to Glasgow with him. During that journey he unveiled his vision for the Kingdom—one not unlike my own. He is my choice to accede to the throne and Eva’s unerring predictions of the future cemented my conviction that I am doing the right thing.

Would I like to grow old and die in my bed with Lady Eva in my arms? Had I not been born in a time of turmoil, I would give my eyeteeth to do so.

The horse rounded the bend and my body slammed into the corner of a stone building. A man kicked my side. A pot smashed into my face. Aside from a grunt, I forced myself not to bellow with the throbbing pain of my broken nose. My eyes watered. I clenched my teeth as well as my fists. I’d suffered as much on the battlefield. Except this time, the taunts hurt worse than the blows.

If only I could hold a sword in my hand during these my last hours. To die with a weapon in my hand—that is the wish of every warrior.

When the horse finally stopped, they cut me from the hurdle, my body bruised and bleeding. At Smithfield, a vast concourse of onlookers jeered as the hangman tied a rope around my neck and by the point of a sword forced me to climb a ladder.

I stood there teetering on the fourth rung whilst he paraded around the gallows, holding a headman’s axe above his coif. “The traitor William Wallace has been drawn through the streets of London. I see by the state of his face you good people have shown him what we think of traitors and felons.”

“He’s not fit to eat with the swine,” screeched an old hag while I teetered on an unstable rung.

A shove came from behind. My feet slipped from beneath me. I instantly gagged. Swinging, kicking, my eyes bulged from my face as I wheezed and coughed. Stars darted through my vision as I tried to gasp, but my airways were choked.

Taunts of “justly deserved”, “he’s more hardened in cruelty than Herod”, and “make him suffer” piqued my ears. Yet still, the good Lord Clifford held my psalter high.

My body shuddered as I lost all control.

I shall fear no evil.

Blissful words of faith gave me solace as the rope strangled the life from my throat.

Just as my mind went blank, my body crashed to the wooden gallows. Aye, it would have been too easy to expire in the hangman’s noose.

“This is far from over,” said the headsman, waving an axe in front of my face.

Sputtering against my crushed voice box, they forced me to my feet and again lashed my neck and ankles to a hurdle to keep me upright. No one need warn me what was next. I’d run many a man through on the battlefield. My throat dry and ruined from the hanging, my mouth didn’t seem to work. A stream of drool bled from my lips, the pain from my broken nose throbbed clear to the back of my head.

I didn’t give the bastard the satisfaction of watching my eyes as he took a dagger and cut off my clothes. All I could see was my psalter.

Lord Jesus, I am coming to you soon
.

Chilled by the wind, my naked skin quivered with gooseflesh. Still I stared at the black book that had brought me solace throughout my life.

The jesters danced around me, pointing to my genitals, pretending to cut me.

If only I had use of my hands, I’d bat them senseless. These sadistic vassals of an insane king wanted to draw out my death, to mock me and to be entertained by my humiliation.

They might break the flesh, but they could never shame the man. I go to my maker without regret.

Emitting a cackling laugh, the executioner stepped up to me, his head covered with a black hood—the coward. He held a dagger to my eyes, sharp as any blade I’d seen. “You will watch whilst I carve out your bowels and burn them to atone for your evil deeds.”

My stomach squeezed with the chills running up my spine.

Clifford held the psalter higher.

Thy rod and thy staff they comfort me
.

My gut seized with the first thrust of the blade. Bile spewed from my trembling mouth. My eyes crossed. My hands and legs shook uncontrollably. Blinking to focus on my psalter, sickly tasting water dribbled from my lips. My breath came in short gasps. Agony consumed my mind. This was nothing like being cut on the battlefield with the lust for a fight rushing through my veins.

As the murderer carved out my innards, the pain grew duller. Darkness encroached as my vision faded. My head dropped sideways but I could still see my psalter.

The crowd heckled as the stench of my own entrails sizzled on the fire.

My life’s blood oozed hot down my quivering thighs.

With a long release of air, my vision failed before I heard another taunt and the pain mercifully ebbed into oblivion.

Crouched in a fetal position, Eva wailed, her throat burning from endless hysterical screams. Curling into something soft, she rocked back and forth while staccato breaths cramped her sides. After all that time, the force behind the medallion ignored her until the critical moment when she could have done something to stop the course of history.

It wasn’t fair. She hadn’t asked to be sent back to William. The whole time she’d dreaded what would happen, begged to be sent home, but no. Whatever sordid mystical powers sent her to William wanted her to suffer.

Aye, she’d been given her six months. God damn them.

The single rule could not be changed.

Jesus, she’d never be the same again. The pain shredded her heart into a million pieces. How could she go on? Yes, after Steven’s death she’d wept, wandered the halls of her New York flat aimlessly, but that grief was nothing compared to the sickly horror of this loss—and William’s brutal end.

Eva bawled until no more tears would come. Realizing she’d landed on her bed at Torwood Castle, she pulled the comforter over her shoulders and hid in the darkness.

Why did she give her heart when she knew the ending?

Why didn’t she push him away from the beginning?

The damned medallion didn’t send her home because it knew she could do nothing to affect the past.

Hiding alone in a modern century, she felt like a stranger. She didn’t want to put the pieces of her life together. Not again.

Eva must have fallen asleep because she awoke to a ray of light streaming in the window, a lark singing beyond.

Feeling like she’d been pushed through a set of iron rollers, she took in a deep breath and sat up. Stretching her arms did nothing to allay the pounding of her head.

Taking her weight on her feet, she started for the ensuite. She’d been wearing the same gown for weeks—something that would be disgusting in her time. Was disgusting when she thought about how badly she would smell to modern folks.

Turning the dial on the water heater, she stood under the stream of soothing warmth and closed her eyes while her tears began anew. Out of necessity, she went through the motions of washing her hair and scrubbing the dirt and sweat from every inch of her body. Scrubbing the brutality of the fourteenth century from her every pore. Washing away the whole sordid, sickening mess.

If only she could have brought William back. Hot showers could have soothed the tears in his muscles, the scars riddling his flesh. But she would never know the joy of being in her lover’s arms again.

After toweling off, dressing in a pair of jeans and an old sweatshirt, she dried her hair and stared in the mirror while trying to bring some life to her miserable face with a tad of makeup. Then she picked up her gown and gave it a good shake.

A slip of vellum cascaded to the floor. With a quivering hand, she stooped to pick it up and took it to the padded chair in front of the hearth.

Her throat closed while trembling fingers opened the letter.

My dearest Eva,

As I take up my quill, I am in Robroyston awaiting my betrayal. Ye are most likely already aware that I have agreed to play into Longshanks’ hands to bring about a new era for Scotland. Ye were right about Lord Bruce. He is a steadfast warrior. A man of decision. A leader who the people will follow.

My time here is done. My role played out on the battlefield long ago, and I must take steps necessary to help the Kingdom gain its freedom from a monster. Ye understand the cause of a rebel. Ye understand my heart, perhaps even better than I.

I, however, harbor no illusions that this “betrayal” and my death will be difficult for ye, my dearest wife. Ye are the most loving and giving person I ken. Please remember ye are the only woman I have ever loved. Our bond transcends the ages. Our bond will again join us when we both stand together in heaven.

Lead a full life, my love. Ye once said people in your time enjoy long and healthy lives. Pour your passion into your castle, for ye are a woman who can do anything once your mind is set.

Eva, mon amour, ye will always be the keeper of my heart.

Your loving husband,

William

The walls closed around her. How could she pick up and go on with life? Pretend all this hadn’t happened? Eyes blurred by tears, mucus streamed from her nose and over her lips as she clutched the missive to her bosom.

Staggering into the passageway, Eva raced down the stairwell. When the steps opened to the great hall, she broke into a run.

The enormous door opened.

Through her tears, a ray of light illuminated the tall form stepping inside.

“Hello,” said an imposing voice in a deep lilting burr. “Is the castle closed to visitors?”

In a blink, Eva had no idea what day it was. She dabbed the tears beneath her eyes and forced herself to gain control. “I-I’m afraid we’re only open on weekends at the moment.”

Her vision cleared. Her heart raced and goosebumps spread across her skin. “It’s
you
.”

“Pardon?”

“William?” The man surely looked like William—aside from the shorter hair, the shaved face and dress officer’s uniform, complete with three lines of impressive medals, sporran and kilt.

“Do I know you?” His eyebrows pinched together just like William’s, then he stepped closer.

“Not sure.” Her breath caught in her throat. What in God’s name was happening? “Y-y-you look surprisingly similar to someone who was very dear to me.” Should she run? What kind of sick game was the medallion playing now? Lord, just looking at this man crushed her heart.

He reached out his hand, but stopped midair and pulled it behind him. “I’m sorry to have bothered you. I wanted to organize a tour for my regiment.”

“I can help with that,” she heard herself say.
God, Eva. What the hell are you doing?
“Have you been to Torwood before?” Jeez, if she’d only keep her mouth shut.

“No.” He turned full circle, looking up. “Though it seems oddly familiar.”

She gestured inside with a shaking palm. “Shall I give you the five-cent-piece tour?”

“That would be lovely—ah—if I’m not imposing, of course.”

“Not at all.” She held out a trembling palm. “I’m Eva MacKay.”

“Bill Wallace.” Warm fingers encircled her hand and gave a firm but gentle shake.

Completely dazed, she stared mouth agape.

He held up a copy of her book. “I just realized, you’re the author. My, this story is fascinating—so much detail.”

It
was
William—his mannerisms, his presence, the scent that lingered on her palm as she moved her hand to her chin. “Thank you. I learned from the best, and Torwood is my ah…project.”

“Your legacy?” he asked.

“No, these halls will always herald William’s epitaph—the greatest hero Scotland has ever known.” Regaining her composure, she gestured to his uniform. “You are a military man, I see?”

“Aye.” His cheeks flushed. “A colonel, Special Ops, stationed in Stirling on a top-secret mission about which I cannot discuss.”

Crossing her arms tightly, Eva stifled her shudder. “I hope it doesn’t have anything to do with putting your life in danger.”

“I can assure you, it does not—at least not any more than the job of a banker or shipbuilder.”

“Safer than a policeman?”

His eyebrows arched with intelligence. “I believe I can admit to that.”

“Well then.” She opened her arms wide taking in a deep breath. “We are standing in the great hall…”

Stepping into her executive roll as if she’d never left, Eva gave him the tour, omitting her private quarters. She wasn’t ready to show anyone her hiding place, especially a stranger impersonating William Wallace. Oh no, she wouldn’t give her heart to anyone—not for a very long time—even if he did look like William in a modern kilted uniform.

His military, horsehair sporran swung to and fro with his every step.

“Would your men like a private weekday tour?” she asked when they returned to the hall, keeping her distance.

He gave a nod. “That would be verra nice, if it wouldn’t be too much of an inconvenience to arrange.”

She patted her chest, unable to stop staring at him. “I’m so sorry, but I’ve been a bit out of sorts. Can you tell me what day it is?”

“Why, it’s Monday.” A look of concern darkened his features. “Are you unwell?”

“No.” Snapping her fingers to her lips, she closed her eyes. “I-I’ve suffered the death of someone very close and have been wallowing in self-pity.”

“I am sorry for your loss. Truly.” He rubbed his clean-shaven chin while his crystal blue eyes glanced away. “I was hoping you’d join me for dinner this evening. Perhaps another time?”

Eva shook her head and stepped back while her empty stomach rumbled. Was it time for dinner? “Forgive me, I’m afraid I wouldn’t make good company. Besides, I don’t think I could hold up in a crowd.”

“Unfortunate. You do look like you could use a good meal.” The corner of his mouth ticked up just like William’s often did. “I ken just the place—a table for two separated from the other diners by an old fashioned screen.”

Her gaze drifted aside as she ran her fingers over the medallion. “I don’t know...”

“Are you certain? Everyone needs to eat—even when in mourning.” He moved his palm over his heart. “Let’s share a simple meal. No strings. Just food between two hungry acquaintances.”

Her stomach growled so loudly, the noise echoed off the rafters. She glanced down as her face grew hot.

He chuckled. “See? Even your stomach agrees with me.”

Biting her bottom lip, she dared meet his crystal blue-eyed stare. “Perhaps a quiet dinner would help these awful tremors.”

“Excellent.”

Good God, did he have to grin? Eva’s knees buckled as she fell into him. Enormous hands encircled her waist and helped her steady. Lordy, he smelled better than a vat of simmering cloves.

“Come,” he said. “Let me feed you before you succumb to hunger, then we can discuss that private tour.”