Rise of a Legend (Guardian of Scotland Book 1) (7 page)

But now the English dog had dealt a blow directly to family. William stopped and glared down into his uncle’s face. “I will not kiss an English king’s arse. ’Tis time to make a stand.”

The rain pelted harder.

Uncle Reginald affected a cautionary arch to his brow. “Be mindful of your words. Men—Scottish lads have been hung for treason speaking as ye do.”

“How can it be treason to speak out against a foreign king?” William’s stomach clamped into a knot. “Do ye intend to turn your back to the tyranny spreading around us?”

Uncle’s eyes shifted. “A man must ken when to pick his battles, lad.”

William leaned in. “A man must also ken when ’tis time to strap on his sword and fight for freedom.”

“With talk like that...” Uncle held up a finger. “I’m afraid ye will end up in a grave beside your da.”

Wallace narrowed his gaze. “My death is an absolute certainty. The only question is when.” It was all William could do not to wrap his fingers around the sheriff’s neck—even if he was kin.

“But—”

“No. There will be no more talk. Now is a time for action.” William turned to leave, but first regarded his uncle over his shoulder. “Do what ye must to protect your lands. I’ll not take an honest living away from any man.” Then he strode away.

By the time William made it down the hill, the squall had passed, dusk had settled and his men had set to turning a pig on a spit.

Blair handed him a tankard. “A bit of whisky ought to take that scowl off your face.”

Grasping the handle, William held it up, the amber liquid sloshing in the bottom of the cup. “My thanks, though I doubt my spirits would rise even if I drowned myself in a barrel full.”

Together they sat against a log near the fire—something they’d done often in happier times.

“Ye’ll feel a bit better once we’ve found the culprits who did this.” Blair sipped from his own tankard. “I ken
I
will.”

William joined him, the fiery spirit warming his insides. When he looked up, he met Eva’s stare from across the fire. The burning from whisky on an empty stomach kindled a raging fire that spread through his chest. Now she’d donned a proper dress, she looked ever so bonny.

“I kent that lad was a lass,” Blair said.

Willy took a longer draw from his cup. “’Tis a shame ye’ve taken up the cloth and I’ve this miserable band of patriots to lead. Someone should court such a delectable morsel.”

“Bah.” Blair swiped his hand through the air. “Women only bring misery. We’re both better off without them—or her, bonny or nay.”

William licked lips and smirked. “Ever the practical one.”

“Ye’d best believe it. I wouldna have taken my sacred vows had I wanted a wife. And after we’ve driven the English out of Scotland, I suggest ye return to Dundee and take yours.”

“Perhaps I will.” William sipped, watching Eva over the rim of his tankard.
But this bloody war may never end
.

Sitting beside Robbie Boyd, Eva easily chatted with the lad. Robbie’s face was aglow as he spread his arms wide, spinning some ridiculous yarn, no doubt. How a lad of two and ten could enrapture a grown woman, William had no idea. He himself had never been particularly comfortable around lassies. They were inordinately frail creatures and always looked at him as if he were some sort of monstrous Goliath.

Eva listened to the lad intently like she set his every word to memory. William picked up a stick and threw it into the fire.
Ballocks, the wet-eared lad will be proposing marriage by the eve’s end
.

Having the woman consorting with his men went against William’s every grain. He hadn’t ruled out the possibility that she could be a spy. Bloody oath, in the blink of an eye, she could turn backstabber.

Narrowing his eyes, William studied her. How could a woman concoct such an outlandish tale as hers? And her speech was nothing like he’d ever heard.

William was a stalwart representative of the common good. He may not have taken up the cloth like Blair, but he would protect every living Scottish soul and fight for their liberty. Born to hearty, common stock, God had given William gifts most men only hoped for. Educated in languages and the art of war, he aimed to use everything in his power to help unshackle the commoners—the people who comprised the heartbeat of a nation.

If Eva, with her broad tongue, truly was Scottish born, then he would care for her just as he would any other subject of the Scottish crown. That she honored William’s father by attending the funeral and remained prayerful whilst standing at a respectful distance spoke volumes about her character.

I doubt she’s a spy
.

Perhaps she could remain at Ellerslie whilst she awaited suitable employment? He might even see the lass from time to time. She certainly was pleasant to look upon. With Ellerslie under Uncle Reginald’s watch, she would be as safe there as anywhere.

Robbie draped his arm around Eva’s shoulders and leaned in to her with a hearty laugh.

William sprang to his feet, marched around the fire pit and glared at the lad. “Go fashion a pallet in a horse stall for Miss Eva and find her some bedclothes.” He panned his gaze across the faces of his men. “The lass is under my protection. If anyone dare lay a hand on her, he’ll answer to me.”

She looked up at him, her eyes sparkling with firelight—yet they expressed undue sadness—the same grief clamping his heart like a vise. “Thank you.”

Blast it.
Why does she have to be so damned bonny?
“Ye should have gone on posing as a lad. Now ye’ll have half the men wanting to court ye.”

She brushed her hands over her skirts. “As I recall, it was you who insisted I don a gown.”

“Aye, but ye didna tell me how fetching ye’d look.”

She drew a hand over her mouth as if stifling a grin. “I could use a bath, a comb and something with which to clean my teeth. Only then will I be somewhat presentable.”

“Bah.” William sat in Robbie’s place. “I’ve been thinking.”

“Oh?” Those damnable red eyebrows arched.

He’d started, so he might as well blurt out what he’d come over to say. “Ye should remain at Ellerslie until I can find a place for ye. Ye’ll have Uncle Reginald’s protection—and ye’ll not starve.”

She looked at him with a pointed stare. “Are you staying?”

“Nay, lass. Not while my father’s murderer runs free.”

“But I’m here to write your story.” She crossed her defiant arms—far too self-assured for a woman. “I’m certain of it. How can I observe if I am tucked away on a croft?”

Oh no, he wasn’t about to let a wench gain the upper hand. “As I said afore, no woman should be riding with a mob of rebels.”

She had the gall to raise her chin and look him in the eye. “What about a lad?”

“Och, ye dunna make a convincing lad, especially with the way ye squeal.” He leaned in to her and lowered his voice. “If the times were different, I’d court ye myself.”

Eva’s gaze softened and drifted down his body, the tip of her tongue moistening the corner of her mouth. “If only we weren’t worlds apart.”

Eva awoke with a start. Chilled to the bone, her hip had pushed a hole through the straw and ground into the packed earth beneath the pallet Robbie had fashioned. Positive she had a bruise, she rubbed the sore spot and sat up. Shrouded in midnight hues, she could barely see the stall gate. Of all the conveniences in the modern world, she missed electricity the most—then running water, a mattress, her car, men without knives and swords strapped to their bodies…the list went on.

The blanket dropped to her waist and she added central heating to the litany.

She pulled a bit of straw from her hair and stifled a sneeze. Lord, she thought she’d had it rough living in a caravan at the dig site? What she wouldn’t give for a night on that foam mattress without barn smells tickling her nose.

She startled when a lamenting noise came from near the stall’s gate. Initially, it didn’t sound human. But gradually the deep wail grew louder. Eva leaned toward it.
Someone’s trying not to cry
.

Crawling to the gate, she unfastened the hook. The blasted thing swung back. Before she could skitter aside, a man fell into her, so large Eva crashed to her back, sprawling on the dirt floor.

“Jeez.”

An eerie ray of light shone into the stall.

“William?”

He quickly sat up and swiped his hand across his eyes. “Forgive me. I did not intend to wake ye.” Ever the guardian, he’d been watching her door.

“No, I was awake.” Eva kneeled beside him. “I have nightmares and wake up in a sweat nearly every night.” Rocking forward, she peered down the corridor. Good, no one had seen them.

He squared his shoulders. “Ye as well?”

“Aye,” she said, settling more into her native brogue, which was still a far cry from Auld Scots. “I’m haunted by knives and swords.”

He dragged his fingers through his hair. “And I am haunted by all the faces of the weak and dying.”

She shuddered. “I don’t know which is worse.”

He took in a breath and scrubbed his hands over face. “I’m so driven to fight. ’Tis as if Longshanks himself is calling me out. And now the bastard has struck my own kin.”

Her heart twisting into a knot, Eva slid an arm around his shoulder. “I’m so sorry your father fell victim to this mess.”

“Too many Scotsmen and women have lost their lives for naught.” He leaned away from her and glanced over his shoulder. “Ye should go back to your pallet.”

“I will,” she whispered, resting her head against him and smoothing her hand over his back. The loneliness night brought was palpable. No one knew that better than Eva—and all too often there was nowhere to turn for comfort. “But not yet.”

William didn’t respond—only bowed his head and coughed.

She swirled her fingers into the muscular bands in his shoulder. “I know what you’re going through. It’s as if there’s a chasm spreading so wide in your chest, you feel like it’s about to burst. The pain hurts so badly, you want to score your palms to ease the burden on your heart.”

William shook his head. “’Tis my burden to bear. I should have been with him.”

At the campfire, Eva had learned from Robbie that Wallace and his men were on the borders defending villagers’ homes from an English raid. They couldn’t have known about his father’s meeting with knights loyal to the Earl of Carrick at Lochmaben. “You cannot blame yourself. You would have been with him had you received word sooner.”

His head dropped a bit further. “Every time Scottish blood is spilled, I feel responsible, as if God put me on this earth to defend those who are too weak to fight for themselves.”

Eva sidled behind William and sunk her fingers into muscles made tense by too much anguish. If nothing else, she could help relieve his burden with a massage. A man who wore a heavy hauberk, the sinews supporting his neck felt rock solid. Mercy, it would take a month at a spa in the Bahamas to relieve such tension.

He stretched his head from side to side. “I ken in my soul I must carry the sword and face our oppressors, but how do I ken if I’m doing the right things?”

A man like William Wallace had doubts? In awe, Eva plied his flesh with deep kneading fingers. “You are following your heart and you cannot walk away.”

“I wouldna be able to live with myself if I turned my back on my people.” His muscles stiffened. “Edward Plantagenet humiliated King John and forced the nobles of this great kingdom to pledge fealty to him as suzerain.” He spat. “The Bastard. I refuse to sit idle and stomach the crimes he has committed against my countrymen.”

“I know.” Eva rubbed in a circular pattern and his tension eased ever so slightly.

“The nobles are afraid. One misstep and they can lose their lands and their titles, but I have no lands and no title to lose. I am a vassal of the people.”

“You are and you must continue to be.” Eva moved to his outer shoulders, using the heels of her hands to loosen the taut sinews. “God gave you the mind of a great general—a man who can strategize and lead an army.”

“I dunna ken about that.” William harrumphed. “If only I had the numbers.”

“You will.”

He drew his head up. “How can ye possibly ken what the future brings?”

“I just do.” She used her thumbs to coax the muscles in his lower back to relax. “You are charismatic. Men are drawn to you.
I
am drawn to you. And by your size, let alone your skill with weapons, they will be in awe of you.”

He chuckled. “Ye are whimsical. I only desire to see my country as she once was—to have the rightful king returned to the throne.”

Eva’s nerves grated. If only she could tell William how wrong he was about John Balliol, but Walter Tennant’s voice rang in her head—she must do nothing that might change the past. And at this point in history, Balliol was still the King of Scotland.

She mightn’t be able to argue the future with William, but she could offer a man mourning the loss of his father a few words to bolster his spirits. “Scotland’s people need someone to follow. A man of the masses. You have the heart.”

She placed her lips beside his ear. “Be. That. Man.”

William sucked in a sharp breath.

Eva slid her fingers to his neck and up through his hair. The medallion warmed against her chest, as if providing another reminder not to reveal too much. But she didn’t need to tell William how he would rise to become a great man. On his own, he’d proved the strength of his character to the world and became a legend. In this moment, he merely needed a soothing touch in a time of sadness.

“I will,” he whispered and leaned into her hands with a rumbling moan.

Eva massaged until her fingers ached and William’s chin dropped to his chest. She finished with soft outward strokes, then studied his face. His eyes closed, she gently coaxed him down to the bed of straw. Though doing so was inordinately presumptuous, in the dead of night, shrouded by darkness in a barn, she’d never felt so connected with another living soul. No words were necessary to share their pain, and the comfort of an unconditional touch was something she’d longed for on many a lonely night.

Eva slid down beside him and spooned her body into his.

***

Awakened by the crow of a rooster, Eva opened her eyes. Someone had covered her with a blanket, but William was no longer beside her.

She rubbed a hand over her caffeine-starved head.
What the hell happened last night? Nothing. I did nothing but give a grieving man comfort. Yeah right, and you’d better not let things go any further than that.

Shaking her head, she focused on her mission—to get her story and find a way home. Before setting out, she jotted a few notes, and then left to find Wallace.

Plopped on a stack of hay near the barn’s entrance, Robbie Boyd sat alone. He hopped up with his bonnet in hand. “Good morrow, Miss Eva.”

“Good morrow,” she replied, figuring it would be easier to communicate if she adopted some of their archaic words. Turning full circle, there wasn’t another soul in sight. “Where are William and the men?”

The lad kicked at a bit of straw. “Left me behind to watch ye. Bloody hell, they always leave me behind to clean up their messes.”

“I’m sorry.” Eva bit her bottom lip. “I didn’t mean to be a burden.”

“Och, ’tis not ye that angers me.” He shook his fist. “’Tis just that I’m a man. I should be fighting alongside Willy and the rest of them, not staying here playing nursemaid to a lost lassie.”

“Don’t feel like you have to stay here for my sake.” She craned her neck, looking for spare horses. “Where did they go?”

Robbie’s lips thinned. “They’ve ridden after the man who killed Willy’s da.”

“Heselrig?”

He studied his boots, his shoulders shrugging so high they nearly touching his ears. “Aye.”

Eva’s heart lurched. “Then they’re heading to Lanark.”

“Nay.” Robbie shook his mop of sandy hair. “They’re setting an ambush.”

“Ambush? Where?”

The lad scooted backward. “I shouldna tell ye.”

But she could guess. The corner of her eye twitched. “Loudoun Hill.”

“Boar’s ballocks.” Robbie threw up his hands. “Are ye a soothsayer?”

I knew it.
Eva could have jumped out of her skin. “No, I’m just smarter than I look.” She tugged his arm. “Come. I need to watch the battle.”

“Oh no.” Robbie’s head shook like he had palsy. “I never should have opened my mouth. If we show our faces at the hill, Willy will whip my hide for certain.”

“I’m not suggesting we ride close enough to join in the fight. But I cannot possibly write William Wallace’s story without witnessing the man in action.” She gripped the lad’s elbow. “Just take me close enough to watch.”

Robbie yanked his arm away and rubbed it. “Ye can write?”

“Aye, I can do a great many things that would surprise you.” She pulled a bridle from a nail on the wall. “Now help me saddle a couple of horses.”

“Och, no, Miss Eva. I’ll face a month of mucking out the pig sties, I will.”

“Robbie Boyd.” She fisted her hips and shot him a challenging stare. “If you’re not man enough to help me, I’ll go alone.”