In the Kingdom's Name (Guardian of Scotland Book 2) (8 page)

Over her shoulder, Eva met his pointed stare. She hated secrets. They felt too much like lies. “Honestly, you have very few allies among the nobles. I’ve been around you long enough to know you are right to limit confidences to your inner circle.” Thank God the medallion didn’t get any hotter. “Be watchful at every turn. The coming years will challenge you like no others.”

“Years?” His voice sounded too hopeful.

She slipped her shoulder from under his grasp and reached for the latch. “Forgive me. I don’t dare say another word.”

***

Though thoroughly chapped that the knighting was for men only, Eva pinched herself.
At least I’m able to celebrate with him. And I want this to be a night William will remember forever.

With her adjustment in attitude, Eva applied herself to organizing the evening’s events. Fortunately, the menu had already been established and the food preparation was under way—with Eva adding William’s favorite plum pudding to the menu. Finding musicians was another matter. Tucked away deep in the woods, Torphichen was more of a hamlet—an escape for the monks with one narrow road and an inn that was too small for such a great gathering of important men. Fortunately, most of them were given accommodations behind the forbidden walls of the preceptory. Only a handful had brought their spouses.

After making inquiries, Eva and Lady Christina were able to hire a lute and drum for music.

But the lady didn’t seem at all happy. “What do you mean no one plays the flute? Is this village not filled with knights? Surely there are a host of musicians behind the preceptory walls.”

“Aye, but none on this side, m’lady,” said the man with the lute.

“I’m sure it will be fine,” Eva said. “We only want a bit of music to entertain whilst we sup.”

“Pardon me?” Christina moved her hands to her hips. “This is a momentous occasion. There should be dancing and making merry.”

“Dancing?” Eva cringed. “Oh no, it will be far too crowded to dance.”

“Once the meal is over, we’ll have the servants move the tables aside. ’Tis how it’s done.” Taking Eva by the elbow, Christina pulled her aside. “Besides, ye’ve made great progress since we started practicing with young Robert.”

Eva had hoped to have a few more lessons with Robbie before trying to impress William, but he did like to dance after all. She bit her bottom lip. “Do you think so?”

“Unquestionably.”

“All right. If there is time and William is amenable to it, we shall dance.”

Lady Christina clapped her hands. “We most certainly shall.”

Eva regarded the lady’s belly. “I’ll bet the wee one enjoys music and dancing as well.”

The woman’s face lit up like a beacon—a delightful combination of pride and embarrassment. “Indeed.”

The women didn’t have long to wait.

True to William’s word, the knighting ceremony didn’t take long, and soon the noblemen filed into the inn, calling for ale and whisky. First through the door, William strode straight to Eva. She dipped into a deep curtsey. “Sir William. May I be the first to congratulate you?”

He grasped her fingers and pulled her up, brushing feathery lips across the back of her hand. His breath tickled the fine hairs while shivers ran up her arm. The look in his eyes darkened. Lord, how the man could make her feel desired. “I am ever so glad to have ye with me to share this eve.”

“Ahem, I do believe there is a feast to be had,” said Lord Stewart, brushing past them.

Regardless of whether she wanted to lead William above stairs and enjoy a private celebration of their own, since there was no dais, she gestured toward the head table. “A feast awaits.”

“And dancing,” Lady Christina said as Sir Andrew escorted the noblewoman to her seat.

William placed his palm in the small of Eva’s back and smiled. “It seems her ladyship has a yen to pick up her feet.”

“Indeed she does.”

“And ye?” he led her to a chair and held it for her. “There’ll be no waltzing this eve.”

She slid into the seat trying to be as graceful as her ladyship. “I am yours to command, oh knight.”

“Aye?” His eyebrows shot up. “So all I needed to do to hear ye say that was gain a knighthood?” Cupping his hands around his mouth, he hollered. “Lord Stewart, ye should have knighted me afore we marched on Scone. ’Twould have made my life a fair bit easier, I’d reckon.”

The High Steward raised his tankard. “We’ve set ye to rights now, Wallace.”

“Och aye.” Andrew lifted his cup in kind. “I wouldna put it past him to sprit into England and bring King John home.”

Nodding to his friend, William took his seat and raised his tankard. “To King John.”

“Here, here!” At least everyone was inclined to toast the deposed king when the ale was flowing aplenty.

Eva’s insides bubbled as they dined. William was in high spirits, talking about the future of Scotland and sharing some of what he had planned for the army. He mentioned not a word about his unquenchable desire to invade England. Such bravado could very well end up in the wrong hands.

Eva regarded the faces and drummed her fingers against her tankard. “Where is Lord Comyn?”

“Made his apologies and left after this session.” William took a long pull on his ale. “I expect, with his absence, parliament may come to close a day sooner.”

Laughing, she thwacked his arm. “You are awful.”

“I am nothing but honest.”

The minstrels hovered in a corner, hopelessly failing to serenade the meal. They played their instruments as if in pantomime. Too many voices drowned them out.

“Oh dear,” Eva said, leaning into William. “I’m afraid we needed more musicians.”

“Bah.” He batted his hand through the air. “They’re fine.”

After William had two gargantuan servings of plum pudding, he patted his stomach and looked to Andrew. “Sir Murray, I believe your wife has a yen to dance this night.”

The knight regarded his wife, wiping his brow with his sleeve. “Then I canna sit idle when I have a duty to attend to my fair lady.”

“Clear the floor,” he shouted. Standing, William offered his hand to Eva. “Please do me the honor, m’lady.”

She loved it when he referred to her as his lady—though her proper title was miss, or missus since she was a widow. Though she hadn’t been bothered by it, William had never referred to her as missus. He’d assumed she was a miss when they first met—her mistake, really. Eva hadn’t been predisposed to talking much about her past. She’d been with him for about two months before Steve’s murder in a New York subway came up—and then they’d never spoken about it again.

Some of the other noblemen escorted their wives into the space hastily cleared by the servants. Eva stood across from William.

“Dunna be nervous,” he jested.

She winked. “Easy for you to say.”

The boisterous voices died down enough to hear the music. Lady Christina gave Eva a reassuring nod and all launched into a stately line dance that was ever so proper for a bawdy inn in the midst of a dense forest.

Eva followed along, only missing a step or two.

William grasped her hand for the circle and inclined his lips toward her ear. “Ye’ve had a wee bit of practice.”

“Thank you. Robbie and I’ve been taking lessons from Lady Christina.”

“And where have I been whilst ye’ve been kicking up your heels?”

“Chasing after the Earl of March among other things.”

“Well, I’m glad ye’ve been keeping yourself occupied.”

She laughed. “And out of trouble?”

“Aye.”

With a clatter of chairs, Eva and William stopped. Sir Andrew lay on his back, sprawled across the floorboards.

William rushed to lend him a hand. The proud knight brushed it away. “I’m dunna need mollycoddling.”

“He’s a wee bit tired,” said Lady Christina.

“I’m not bloody tired.” Andrew leaned heavily on a chair and pulled himself up, wincing all the while. “’Tis my battle wound that ails me.”

“Of course,” said William. “Mayhap an early night would benefit us all.”

“Och, enjoy yourselves.” The knight swayed until his wife slipped under his arm and helped him balance. “The ale must be potent.”

“That it is,” William said, sober as a judge.

Eva chewed the inside of her cheek. Andrew Murray grew weaker by the day and there wasn’t a damned thing she could do about it.

As Christina helped her husband to the stairwell, William frowned. “He needs a cure.”

“Aye,” Eva whispered, unable to watch the couple any longer. The lady’s pregnancy had started to show and the sadness of their plight twisted Eva’s stomach into a million knots. If only she could do something. Watching Andrew’s health gradually decline was agonizing for everyone.

After his fall at the inn, Andrew had accompanied Lady Christina to Dirleton, leaving William to finish the session of parliament. He and Eva had returned only last eve and this morn, seated upon the dais in Dirleton’s great hall, it pleased William to see Andrew exit the stairwell…until he started walking. Wallace chewed a bite of sausage while he watched the man who had grown to become a dear friend stumble and sluggishly approach the dais. Resisting the urge to lend a hand, William washed down his mouthful with a swig of cider.

At the top step, Andrew leaned on the rail, breathing deeply as if he’d just run a footrace. “Good…morrow.”

William gestured to the chair closest to the knight. “Good morrow.”

Andrew smiled, a sheen of sweat glistening across his sallow face. “How fared the remaining sessions?”

“Well enough. Once the Earl of Badenoch was off home, things proceeded more quickly at least. What’s better is we can now proceed with our plans to ride south.”

“Good to hear.” Andrew’s hand shook as he poured himself a tankard of cider. “Regardless, ’tis a shame I missed out on the fun.”

“By the looks of your coloring, ye’d best continue to convalesce during the next sortie.” William furrowed his brow and looked to ensure no one was near enough to overhear him. “Now tell me true, how is your shoulder? Any better?”

“Worse.” Andrew gestured to his arm hanging in a sling. “Canna even move my fingers now.”

Wallace knit his brows. “’Tis puzzling for certain. And ye look as if ye’re still fevered.”

“Have the chills, mostly. Canna eat much either.” Andrew shook his head and sipped the cider, then coughed. “What—ahem—news?”

It twisted William’s gut to see such a braw warrior knocked down by injury and illness. If only he knew a cure. Hiding his concern, he scooped a spoon of apricot conserve from the pot at the center of the table. “Received a missive from St. Andrews. It has become imperative to appoint a bishop to oversee the completion of the new nave at the cathedral.”

Andrew leaned his forearms on the table and bowed his head. “’Tis of grave importance for certain.”

“William Lamberton has provided noteworthy service filling in at Glasgow in Bishop Wishart’s absence.” Wallace spread the conserve on a bit of bread. “And he supports the Patriotic Party.”

“Aye, there are not many holy men either side of the border who would oversee our consecration to Guardians.” Andrew’s tongue moistened his chapped lips. “Agreed. Lamberton would be an excellent choice, and God knows we need an ally in St. Andrews.”

“Then I shall offer him a provisional appointment whilst I scribe a missive to the Pope and pray for a swift agreement.”

Andrew nodded and again drank.

William held up a trencher of sausages. “Ye should break your fast. A bit of cider willna heal what ails ye.”

Andrew rubbed his stomach and grimaced. “I’ve no appetite. Merely smelling food makes me green.”

“Has Lady Christina consulted with a physician?”

“Aye. If anything, they’ve made me worse. Bled me till I couldna see straight.”

William cringed. He’d do anything to avoid a physician’s lancet. “There must be something we’re overlooking. Ye’re young—strong.”

Lifting the tankard to his lips, Andrew nodded. “Did ye hear about Lamberton being appointed the Bishop of St. Andrews?”

William stopped mid chew and stared. For the love of God, they’d just decided to send a missive to the Pope to request Lamberton’s appointment. Was Murray losing his mind? William pondered his reply for a moment, then opted to play along. “Ah…I believe there is no better suited candidate in all of Scotland.”

“Hmm?” Seeming disoriented, Andrew placed his palms on the table. “I’d best attend my mother.”

Now William
knew
something was terribly amiss. Andrew’s mother had been dead for years. The knight pushed back his chair. Just as he stood, he tumbled to the floor with a clatter of furniture. Dashing around the table, William stopped short. Andrew’s eyes clamped shut as if completely unconscious, his body lurched and jerked, then stilled.

William dropped to his knees and grasped Andrew’s shoulders, giving him a firm shake. “Guards, Fetch Brother Bartholomew!”

A group of soldiers hastened to the dais.

“I’m afraid the monk has gone to Edinburgh to collect supplies,” said Graham.

“When?” William barked, then pointed to the big double doors. “Have a rider go after him.”

“He left at first light. I doubt anyone would be able to catch him afore he reaches the city.”

“Send a cohort out at once to bring him back.” Reaching for Andrew’s uninjured arm, William bent down and hefted the big man over his shoulder. “I’ll carry Sir Andrew above stairs. Inform Lady Christina she is needed in his chamber straight away.”

William huffed under the strain of lugging a good eighteen stone as he climbed the stairwell, bellowing for everything he could think of—bandages, water, fresh linens and more. He pushed through the door, then carefully unfolded Andrew onto the bed.

Lady Christina hastened in behind him. “Oh my Lord in heaven,” she gasped. “What happened?”

“God only kens.” William’s heart filled his throat like a pounding lump. “One minute we were talking, then he said something that made no sense at all, and the next thing I kent, he was sprawled on the floorboards.”

She pressed praying hands to her lips. “Heaven help us, and Brother Bartholomew left this morning to consult with the Council of Physicians in Edinburgh to see if there was anything else that could be done.”

“God’s teeth, I’ve just ordered the guard to stop him and bring him back.”
Damnation, if things couldn’t grow worse
.

“But he must go,” Lady Christina deplored. “We’re down to our last resorts.”

Bloody hell
. “I’ll send word to the guard to wait.” William quickly ran his hand over Andrew’s burning forehead. “How long has he been fevered like this?”

She wrung her hands. “A fortnight or more. Well before we traveled to Torphichen.”

Wiping his hand on a cloth, William shook his head. “I fear he is far worse now than he was a sennight ago.” He headed toward the door. “There’s but one person I ken who might be able to set him to rights.”

Christina pattered after him. “Anything to help him, Sir William. Please.”

“Guards,” William shouted loudly enough to be heard in the passageway. “Stop the retinue from leaving for Edinburgh.” Grasping the latch, he glanced over his shoulder and regarded Lady Christina. “I’ll return anon.”

***

Eva’s eyes flew open when someone burst into her chamber.

“Get up!” William slammed the door and marched to the bed. “Ye’re needed and I’ll not listen to a word of excuse this time.”

“For Christ’s sake, what the hell are you talking about?” Eva jolted up and flung the covers aside. “What do you think you’re doing, storming in here like a freight train?”

“I’ve had enough of your newfangled phrases.” William marched across the floor, scowling like a mad bull. “Sir Andrew collapsed in the hall.”

Springing from the bed, Eva covered her mouth with her hand. “Oh my God. Is Brother Bartholomew with him?”

William threw his hands to his sides and huffed. “The bloody monk left for Edinburgh at first light.”

With her head whirling from the news, Eva dashed to the garderobe. “Oh for heaven’s sake, that’s horrible.” She grabbed her kirtle and slipped it over her head. “Have you sent for a physician?”

William strode in behind her. “Ye have been here at the castle all along. Did ye not ken the physician bled him to within an inch of his life?”

She yanked the laces on her kirtle. Jeez, William resembled an angry bear. He acted like Andrew’s illness was her fault. “Lady Christina oversaw his care—same with Brother Bartholomew. I only lent a hand when asked.”

“Damn it, woman!” William grasped her shoulders and shook. “Ye claim ye are from the future. I’ve seen your newfangled treasure. I ken ye know more than ye let on. Ye canna say with advancements like telephones and trains there has been no development of the healing arts in seven hundred years.”

Her teeth rattling, Eva twisted from William’s iron grip and rubbed her shoulders. “First of all, I will not tolerate your bullying.” Her entire body trembled. How dare he storm into her chamber and treat her like a liar. “I don’t care if you’re a hundred times stronger than me, I will not be treated like a doormat—I-I mean thresh on the floor.”

“Jesu.” He dropped his hands to his sides. “Ye push me to the brink.”

“Me?” She stamped her foot. “It’s you who are acting like a
hothead
.”

He looked to the ceiling and groaned. “For all that is holy, I need ye to heal him, damnation!”

Eva stared at him in disbelief. He expected her to heal Sir Andrew? How on earth could she do that?

I can’t. First of all, I’m completely unqualified, and secondly…I just bloody can’t
.

But she needed to make him understand. “You’re right. There have been huge advancements.” She’d explained a gazillion times. “It’s just I’m not a doctor. I’m a
journalist
for Chrissake. I don’t know what to do to make him better.”

“Och.” He shook a defiant finger. “Ye always say ye canna heal him, yet ye ken what’s ailing the poor blighter. I see it in your eyes every time we speak of Andrew—and I ken ye’re holding back from me.”

“I have a suspicion. I cannot say I know for sure what is wrong.” Eva folded her arms and hugged them tight to her trembling body. “I think aside from an infection, he has lead poisoning.”

“What? He’s been poisoned?”

“It’s not quite what you think.” She held up her palms. “At Abbey Wood after the Battle of Stirling Bridge, I found the arrow Brother Bartholomew removed from Sir Andrew’s shoulder. It was made of lead and had a broken tip. I’m afraid a bit of it might still be lodged inside the wound.”

Knitting his brows, William leaned into her. “Ye mean ye’ve known this all along, and ye’ve kept it to yourself?”

“No!” Eva stepped backward as the medallion heated against her skin. “Brother Bartholomew said there was nothing more he could do. I’m not even sure the piece is still in his shoulder.”

“Christ, woman. Do ye think ye are God Almighty? This is
Andrew Murray
of whom we are speaking. The man who took the north from the English—the only man in the resistance who can bridge the gap between commoner and noble. Did ye not consider that?”

Eva’s face grew hot and she clenched her fists against the urge to slap him. Jeez, she loved William, but at the moment, she’d taken just about enough of his medieval hot temper. “Of course I’ve thought about it. Every time I see his face I—”

“Ye shirk away,” he accused. “I’ve seen it.”

“I do not.” She stamped her bare foot so hard, shooting pain spiked up her leg. “I wish I could take him back to my time so he could be cared for in a proper hospital and receive antibiotics—I
told
you about antibiotics.”

“Aaaaye, but still I’ve not seen ye lift a finger to help him.” William pointed to the door. “Finish tying your bodice and haste ye to Andrew’s bed. I’ll not hear another word about what ye ken and what ye canna do. Ye’ll help him so help me God.”

Eva pulled her laces taut, then shoved her feet into her boots. It was no use reminding him that she had no ability to change the outcome of Andrew’s illness. That fact had been shredding her insides to pieces since the knight was injured at Stirling Bridge. And dammit, she hadn’t hidden anything. She’d told Brother Bartholomew to use boiled salt water, clean bandages, and to ensure there was nothing of the arrow remaining in Andrew’s shoulder. Hell, she wasn’t a goddamned doctor. She hardly knew how to apply a Band Aid back home. The little monk had taught her everything she knew about medieval healing and herbalism and now William assumed she was some sort of miracle worker.

She grabbed her healer’s basket—the one she’d put together under the tutelage of Brother Bartholomew. With a huff, she barged past William and out the door.

Of course the man plodded after her, his anger radiating through the passageway as if a fire blazed around him.

Eva stopped before entering Sir Andrew’s chamber. “I have no idea what I’m doing.”

“Ye may not, but my wager is on your knowledge. Ye dunna give yourself credit for the things ye ken. Bartholomew never cleansed the bandages afore ye set him straight.”

Eva met William’s stare. “Then I’ll need your help, dammit. You’re not going to mosey out to the courtyard and spend the day sparring with your men.”

He gave her a narrow-eyed nod. “I’ll hold vigil beside his bed for a fortnight if that’s what’s needed for his recovery.”

When they entered, Lady Christina stood and faced them. Wringing her hands, worry and fear pinched her ladyship’s features. Eva glanced back to William, wishing she could run, but he wore that expression on his face—the same determined stare he assumed before he rode into battle.

Planting her fists on her hips bolstered her utter ineptitude. “I need boiling water. The sharpest knife available, pure alcohol—uh—whisky, and piles of clean cloths.”