In the Kingdom's Name (Guardian of Scotland Book 2) (13 page)

Modern day. Eight years later.

Eva sat at the back of Torwood Castle’s renovated great hall. The rows of chairs filled with people all faced the newly constructed dais. Everything was perfect—just like it would have appeared in the late medieval era—William’s time. Rubbing her outer arms, even she was impressed at the work the restoration crew had accomplished since she’d hiked back through the wood to find the crumbling ruin eight years ago. She couldn’t believe the time had passed so quickly.

After failing to time travel at Dirleton Castle, she’d gone everywhere she and William had been together, all the while experiencing snippets of psychic traveling as she grasped fleeting bits of conversation with him. Their last communication had been right after the disastrous Battle of Falkirk—a devastating loss for Scotland and for William.

If only she could have been there while he suffered. He’d blamed himself for Scotland’s failure, though betrayed by a band of noblemen.

Taking refuge at Torwood Castle, William had expressed his grave remorse and horror at watching so many of his countrymen butchered on the battlefield. The Scots had been decimated by Longshanks’ Welsh archers sporting new-fashioned bows with a longer range than those of the Scots.

William’s remorse had been palpable—even across time. The depths of his depression—desperate and dire. Had Eva not known his future, she would have been terrified that he’d do something…something
unthinkable
.

But the strength of his character prevailed, just as it always had.

The aftermath of Falkirk led her to Torwood Castle—the modern-day ruin anyway. The record showed he’d fled there, and that’s where Eva raced to attempt to travel back to the thirteenth century, this time frantic, painfully aware of how desperately he needed her. As they both huddled behind the walls of Torwood in the wee hours of 23
rd
July—albeit in two different centuries, William had cried out for her, begged her to return and take the pain away.

But the powers behind the medallion had shut down for good.

That was the last time she’d had any contact. Not even the sensation of a puff of air on the back of her neck had heightened her senses since the frigid night she’d spent prostrate on the craggy, dust-covered floor of these ruins.

To her disgust, Torwood had been in abominable condition—she’d wandered through crumbling passageways covered with graffiti. Moreover, the historic site, overgrown with vine and moss, sat tucked away deep in the wood where it could not be admired by the public.

Not long after her visit, Eva contacted the Clan Forrester Society—caretakers of the castle—put up twelve million pounds of her own money and took on the project of seeing to Torwood’s restoration.

Her writing and this project were the only two things that had kept her sane in the past eight years—kept her so busy she scarcely had time to think. In fact, life had passed her by. All her college friends were settled and had children. Eva doubted kids would ever factor into her life. After all, she was thirty-five and didn’t even have a boyfriend. Jeez—
boyfriend
sounded so adolescent. Perhaps Torwood Castle became a sorry substitute for a lover?

Initially, Professor Tennant and his band of archaeologists had excavated the site, revealing all the old foundations and digging up relics for the museum. Eva then hired an archaeological architect to draw the blueprints. Modern stonemasons and carpenters were brought in and now the castle was complete—a monument to be revered through the ages. A four-story donjon connected by long passageways adjoined three other towers forming a square, guarded by a fortified gate, including a guardhouse and portcullis. Inside, Eva had seen to every detail of medieval decoration from the tapestries, to the furnishings, to the display of silver behind the high table on the dais. Even Eva marveled at the magnificence of the work done by the Scottish restoration team.

And today marked the end of the project.

She swallowed. Hard.

Endings are so bittersweet.

Laird Forrester, standing at the podium on the dais, gestured toward her. “I’d like to present the key to the castle to the woman who has made this all possible. Please join me in welcoming Miss Eva MacKay, bestselling author and renowned Pulitzer winner.”

The intro was her cue. Taking in a deep breath, she smiled as the crowd applauded and faces turned her way. The past eight years may have been lonely and frustrating, but she’d suppressed her depression with hard work. After she stood, with purpose she strode to the front of the great hall with its enormous exposed rafter beams, and climbed up the dais steps. Lord, it almost felt like she’d gone back in time—but that would never again happen. Eva had finally accepted it. Besides, she wore stockings, stilettoes and a navy pinstriped skirt-suit.

After shaking Laird Forrester’s hand, he placed the enormous key around her neck.

Clearing her throat, she stepped up to the podium and waited for the applause to abate. “As I gaze out over the faces of all present, I see so many who helped bring this project to fruition, and I thank each and every one of you. Due to your efforts, Torwood Castle is now a welcoming relic where anyone can step back in time…”

Eva had her speech memorized backward and forward, and delivered it flawlessly. If she left no other legacy in her lifetime, this was the grandest. Sure, she’d written an in-depth history about Wallace that had been a blockbuster—won her a Pulitzer—and, better yet, the film would be out next summer. Her success had enabled her to increase her personal wealth, to be a benefactor of substance, and that’s what she would be remembered for.

Later at the cocktail party, nearly everyone had gone by the time Walter Tennant approached her with his arms wide. “You’ve done a splendid job, my dear.”

Eva welcomed his embrace, but smirked. “I didn’t do much aside from consult and write checks.”

“I do not believe that for a minute. No one could have made this place look so authentic. The detail in every chamber could only have been conjured by someone who had actually spent time…” He glanced over his shoulder, then lowered his voice. “You ken as well as I, little of the authenticity in the renovations would have been accomplished without your
unique
perspective.” He grasped her shoulders and held her at arm’s length. “Do you remember what you said to me when I asked you what you wanted to do with your life—right before I gave you the medallion?”

A rueful chuckle rumbled from her throat. “Oh yes, I’ll never forget.” She’d said she wanted to find a story so intriguing, the whole world would say
wow
.

He grinned—his face even craggier after eight years. “I think you found your wow, my dear.”

Eva forced a smile. “I guess I did.” She should be ecstatic about her achievements—elated—ready for the next great adventure. But finishing the project at Torwood was akin to losing an old friend. It was almost as if she’d found a connection to William in the old castle. Renovating a thirteenth century relic at least made her feel like she’d kept one foot in William’s time.

“So what’s next?” Walter asked.

With a startled blink, she chewed her bottom lip. “Ah...” Returning to war-torn medieval Scotland was no longer a remote possibility.

The professor grinned. “I’m leading a dig this summer. Going to excavate Tappoch Broch. Would love to have you on the team.”

“I’d like that.” Indeed, Eva would need a new diversion. Seeing they were the last two remaining, she started toward the door.

“Can I pencil you in?” he asked, following.

“I don’t see why not.” She held the big oaken door with blackened iron nails. It might be new, but it looked as medieval as the doors had at Dirleton Castle when she’d been there with William.

He stepped over the threshold. “Can I escort you to your car?”

Eva held up her enormous key. “I think I’ll stay for a bit—do a final walk through before the place is opened to the public tomorrow.”

“Very well.” The professor gave her a nod. “I’ll e-mail you the paperwork for the dig.”

“I’d like that. Thank you.”

After closing the door, she locked it and placed the key inside her purse, right beside her first aid kit. Ever since she’d returned from the thirteenth century she’d kept a “healers” kit in her purse—containing plenty of antibiotic ointment and a ten-day supply of penicillin. Thank God the family doctor humored her and wrote a script. She still couldn’t lie and feign an illness. Besides, she had to replace the medicine every couple of years.

Pulling out her penlight, she climbed the stairwell to the east wing. That part of the castle had been renovated for Clan Forrester and wouldn’t be open to visitors, though they’d given Eva full access to every chamber. Her one caveat had been complete access for life. The foundation had been so overwhelmingly pleased to receive the funds for the restorations they’d been planning for years, her request had been granted without hesitation—they’d even given her an upper chamber of her own to do with what she would—she’d even spent a few nights alone locked within…secretly hoping to find William again. Alas, it wasn’t to be. And now? Well, now it was too late.

Opening the door and turning on the light, Eva stepped inside. A long sigh slipped through her lips. She’d almost asked them not to run electricity to the replica candelabra, but then decided it was time to stop pretending. Yes, perhaps the chamber was appointed with a four-poster bed with red silk curtains. The grillwork on the hearth, the round table and two matching wooden chairs were carved with lion’s feet—similar to those she’d seen at Lord Stewart’s castle in Renfrew. Regardless if nearly everything in the chamber breathed life into the medieval era, it was lit with the miracle of electricity.

***

After returning from five years traveling throughout Christendom trying to rally support for Scotland’s cause, William had come home to a Kingdom beaten and without hope. He’d never seen people so afraid to take up arms. His failure to free Scotland from tyranny hung around his neck like with the weight of an anvil.

Freezing beneath the bridge, William rubbed his right shoulder. The damned appendage had pained him since the king of France had forced him to fight the lion. Aye, he’d killed the ravenous beast in the end, but not before the back of his shoulder was shredded by claws sharper than iron nails. Worse, that had been five years ago. He doubted the wound would ever heal properly.

God’s teeth, I’ve fought in more battles than I can count, and a lion ends up being my downfall?

William groaned. Mayhap his trip to the continent had been a mistake.

So many things had fallen apart since Falkirk.

The horse beneath him snorted and sidestepped. William smoothed his hand along the gelding’s mane. “Wheesht.”

“Where are the bastards?” Blair grumbled in a whisper.

Upon his return to Scotland, William may have been forced back to raiding, but the few informers who remained were loyal. Regardless, fewer than ever could be counted on for certain. “They’ll be here. Mark me.”

“If they dunna come soon, the rumbling of my stomach will give away our hiding place,” said Robbie. If the young man would ever stop growing, his stomach might last more than an hour without food.

Bloody oath, looking at Boyd’s broad shoulders made William feel old. At five and thirty, he should be settled with a half-dozen bairns at his feet. And when did the cold start making everything hurt worse? Lord in heaven, eight years of battle had taken its toll.

The worst of it?

He hadn’t achieved a damned thing.

There were more Englishmen in Scotland now than when he’d left for the mainland after his tragic loss at Falkirk.

“Horses,” Eddy Little whispered.

A sharp stirring thrummed through William’s blood. He wrapped his fingers around his hilt and slowly drew the great sword from its scabbard. Making eye contact with each of his score of men, they all indicated their readiness with a nod.

He held up his hand, ready to give the signal.

The wooden planks on the bridge above thundered as the retinue began to cross.

Beneath his helm, his heart roared in his ears. This was another chance to stop English spies bearing missives and supplies from England.

Three and two score of footmen crossed with twelve horse. The odds had been worse. When the softer steps of the foot soldiers paraded onto the bridge, William dropped his hand and dug in his spurs. “Scotland until Judgement,” he growled under his breath as his mount lurched toward the unsuspecting horsemen. Racing against time to cut off the foot from the horse, William’s men rallied behind him.

Galloping out of the ravine, the first thing he saw was Comyn’s pennant. The earl had become the greatest turncoat in the history of the Kingdom. At the first sign of danger, the unsuspecting foe began drawing their swords and reining their horses.

William drove the gelding toward the head of the retinue. God’s teeth, Lord Comyn was in the lead. How tragic things had become. In the early days, the Lord of Badenoch had fought a few battles alongside William, but like many of the nobles, he’d turned at Falkirk—put his personal wealth ahead of honor and his duty to his countrymen.

Bought for lands and riches
.