In the Kingdom's Name (Guardian of Scotland Book 2) (15 page)

“All right. I’ll put that ale to use in the interim.” She waved him inside. “Did you know his shoulder was this bad?”

“I havena seen him since we slid Willy in the alcove.” Wariness filled his sideways stare as the lad handed her the pewter tankard then scratched his bearded chin. Lord, Robbie had grown up. “Och, he looks foul.”

“Wait until I pull the cloth away.” Eva drizzled the ale atop the linen, praying the alcohol in it wouldn’t provide too much of a shock to William’s already weakened body.

Robbie grimaced. “Do ye have to do it now?”

“If not, the wound will fester.”

After letting the ale seep in and moisten the cloth, Eva slowly tugged it away.

“Ssss,” Robbie hissed. “He still looks as if he lost the battle with the lion if ye ask me.”

Panning her gaze from the gnarled wound down the puckered scars across his chest, her gut turned over. “My God.” She glanced at the lad. “Lion?”

“Aye, King Philip wouldna give Willy a letter of passage until he fought the lion—with his bare hands. Killed the bastard, too.”

A cringe stretched the corners of her mouth while she examined William’s mangled flesh. “But not until the big cat got in a few nasty swipes of his own, I see.”

Robbie nodded, his gaze falling to her open first aid kit.

She snapped the plastic container closed. “Thanks for the ale. I’ll take it from here.”

He glanced up—his expression guarded as his teeth grazed his bottom lip. “Ye’ll help him will ye not?”

“I’ll do everything I can.”

Then his gaze swept to her legs. “Bloody hell. Is that your skin?”

She tugged the blanket over her stockings. “Do you think you can find me some suitable clothes?”

He knit his eyebrows as if considering.

“Please, everyone will be calling for me to be burned if they see me like this.”

His mouth twisted. “I’ll see what I can find—not too many tailors in the wood.”

“Thank you.”

He again looked to the kit. “What…?”

“Please, Robbie. Don’t ask.”

The lad shook his head. “’Tis probably best.”

No sooner had Robbie left when Father Blair showed up with a handful of chipped ice and a few rags—dirty ones at that.

With no time to haul them to the burn for a good scrub, she wrapped the ice in the cleanest and held it out. “This isn’t going to last. Can you fill a bowl with ice?”

“Bloody hell, woman. I’m not your squire to order about.”

She looked up with a pointed glare. “I’m sorry if I’ve offended you, father. Can
someone
fetch more ice? William could die…” But she knew he wouldn’t.
Right? Is this why I’m here? What if I refuse to help him?
The medallion warmed against her chest for the first time in eight years.

Except, this time it didn’t give her the same panicky effect. This time her throat thickened as she considered her options. Then the worthless lump cooled as fast as it had warmed.

Heal him and get the hell out of here.

God, yes.

The priest let out a noisy sigh and dropped the furs. “I’ll fetch more ice, but this is the last time. ’Tis colder than a year of Januaries out there.”

“Thank you,” she called after him.

Beside her, William moaned.

A gasp caught in her throat. Would he wake soon? How should she act when he did?

Holding the ice between her palms, she studied him. Lord, he might be weathered and worn, but even unconscious, he made her blood stir. The mere sight of him brought on every emotion she’d ever experienced from joy to terror.

For years Eva had pined for this man—hid from the world with her medieval castle project. Everything she had done was an attempt to be closer to him—closer to
them
. Through the ages their souls were irrevocably connected by love—a love more powerful than the medallion or Father Time himself.

But would William still feel the same?

All she wanted to do was throw her body atop her lover and bawl—tell him how much she’d tried to come back—yet tell him she couldn’t possibly stay. Regardless of the feelings she had for him, their love no longer mattered. Staying with William now would kill her—take her insides and rip them into tiny shreds.

No possible way. Not this time.

Nurse him back to health and get the hell out of here.

“William?” she whispered, applying the ice to his head. “Can you hear me?”

William shivered. Something hard and cold pressed against his throbbing head. Water trickled. A warm cloth swirled over his chest and under his arms. Lord, his shoulder punished him like someone had bludgeoned it with a pickaxe—mayhap someone had.

Heaven help him, the myriad of sensations addled a poor warrior’s mind. A miserable pounding in the head—a shoulder that felt like it had been run through with an iron spike…combined with the most soothing bath…

Mm.
Bless it, the gentle hands caressing him must be those of a woman. He inhaled. An unusual scent—strong but oddly clean.

A woman?

For eight bloody years one woman had consumed his thoughts. A woman lost to him.

His heart jolted.

Jesu, the scent. I’ll never forget.

He tried to open his eyes. “Eva?” The question sounded like a hoarse whisper. And why did her name have to always be on the tip of his tongue? Merciful madness, he was daft. He’d thought about the lass every waking moment since that dreadful day when he’d lost her
and
Andrew. God save his idle cock, he hadn’t looked at another woman in eight years. Hell, he should have taken his vows rather than accept the guardianship. He was more suited to life as a monk. Mayhap he’d be tending a garden at Melrose rather than hiding in miserable caves.

The swirling stopped with a feminine gasp. “William? Are you awake?”

In a rush, his heart well-nigh leapt out of his chest. His eyes flew open—Miserable hell, he couldn’t focus. “Eva? Is it ye?” Blinking rapidly, he tried to sit up.

“Shhhh. Easy,” she cooed with a soft, lulling voice. “I’m here. I’ve been sent to help you.”

Giving in to her gentle palm pressing against his chest, William lay back and slid his tongue over dry lips. “I never thought—”

“I know.” She smoothed lithe fingers over his forehead. “I’d given up hope—and then poof. Without warning, I awoke outside the cave in a snow drift.”

Chancing another peek, his vision grew clearer. Oh, and such a vision—one worth enduring a decade of hell. “God’s teeth, ye are more beautiful than ever.”

Leaning over him, long red tresses skimmed his chest. She smiled. William’s heart stuttered—could it really be her? “Eight years older,” she said. Aye, ’twas Eva’s voice for certain.

“Och, I’ve aged as well.” He reached up with a trembling finger, aching to touch her to see if she was real. “But ye—ye havena aged a day.”

A flicker from the fat-burning lamp danced in her green eyes. “I’ll say you’re still the most handsome man I’ve ever seen—even if your body is scarred beyond all imagination.”

He looked down and frowned. “I suppose the lion in France did the most damage.”

“Robbie told me.”

She pointed to his throbbing shoulder. “I think you must have been hit with a mace. Whatever it was turned your flesh into mincemeat.”

He looked—a pure white bandage covered the wound—it didn’t hurt too badly either. “I must be coming good.”

“Healing. Though I won’t say you’re out of the woods yet.” She adjusted the cold compress atop his head. “You have a severe concussion.”

“Och, there ye go, using your odd speech,” he teased. But he loved it, could listen to her twists of phrase for the rest of his days.

She pursed her lips looking like she was trying not to grin. “Are you thirsty?”

“More parched than salt in the sunshine.” Heaven help him, he wanted to pull her atop his body and smother the lass with kisses—but it had been so long. Though smiling, she seemed coolly distant. And what had she been doing the past eight years?

His gut twisted.

Had she married?

Eva reached for a tankard and spoon. “I have some watered wine. It’ll give you strength.”

He watched her ladle a wee bit. She
had
changed. Aside from growing her tresses down to her waist, she was more poised—mayhap less excitable. He blinked in succession. Without a doubt the years had increased the woman’s beauty.

Growing more beautiful with age is something only achieved by a sorceress for certain.
But Eva is no witch. She proved that to me a hundred times over.

The brew slid over his arid tongue and down his gullet. Lord, sipping made him even thirstier. “More.”

“Go easy.”

He gave a nod, wishing he could grab the tankard and guzzle it. But instead, he coughed like an invalid. “Bloody hell.”

She offered him another spoonful. “You had quite a blow to the head. Father Blair said it’s a good thing you were wearing your helm.”

Licking his lips, William closed his eyes. Ah yes, the raid at Johnstonebridge—and that bloody, backstabbing Earl of Badenoch.

“Do you remember what happened?” she asked.

William looked at Eva’s face. God’s teeth, she was fresh as a newborn lamb in spring—so full of life—yet something wizened her face—a tad thinner, perhaps? “Och, I dunna want to talk about that now.” He brushed a finger over the back of the hand holding the tankard. “What is it about ye? I see no lines etched around your mouth or at your eyes. Like I said—’tis as if time has stood still for ye.”

“Oh, I’ve definitely aged. It’s just…” Her gaze drifted sideways as she set the tankard and spoon down. “I’m not running for my life at every turn.”

He grasped her hand. How in God’s name did the woman manage to keep her fingers softer than rose petals? “Aye. Ye come from a time of peace?”

“Yes.”

“Then why did ye come back after all this time?”

Her feminine Adam’s apple bobbed. “I wish I could say I willed it to be so.” Then she let out a nervous chuckle. “But it just happened. Much like the first time—I had no idea that I would even drift off to sleep, let alone awake in—” Her mouth drew down in a grimace.

“Did ye see a ghost?”

She shook her head and blinked rapidly.

“Are ye unwell?” he asked.

“No.”

“But something is troubling ye.” He knew it.

She pursed her lips and stared at him as if she, indeed, had seen a ghost.

He grasped her wrist. “What is it?”

“I cannot say.”

His gut squeezed. Ah yes, the secrets. But forcing her to reveal them is what had ripped her from his arms so long ago. “By the look on your face, ’tis grave.”

She nodded and wiped a hand across her lips. “There’s so much we have to talk about, but you need to rest. It will take you a fortnight or more to regain your strength.”

He moved his shoulder. Och—that hurt like nails driving it into the cross. “How long have I been abed?”

“Two days.”

That wasn’t good. “I’d best be mounted by the morrow.”

“You cannot be serious,” she coughed out.

“Longshanks has a hefty price on my head. The bastard willna rest until he sees it on a spike atop the tower.”

Lord, Eva turned green. “But aren’t you safe here? The men don’t seem overly nervous.”

“I’m safe nowhere. Spies lurk in every corner of the Kingdom. I’ve scarcely had a wink of sleep in three years—the bastards.”

“Is there no one to whom you can turn?”

A smirk snorted through his nose as he slipped his finger under the medallion around her neck and flicked it. “Not unless ye can spirit me to your time.”

“If only—I’d do it in a heartbeat.” She bit her bottom lip and looked up. “What about the Steward?”

“Bought—just like all the nobles—sold out for a bit o’ land.”

“All of them?”

“Aye. Every last one—even those who rode with me when we invaded England. And the common men are all afeard; hiding in their cottages, praying their families will be spared from further cruelty by that
murderous
English king.”

“He’s still razing Scottish towns?”

“’Tis worse than before—’tis a reign of terror.”

“What about the Earl of Carrick?” she said with all the solemnity of Job.

Now that made William’s head throb all the more. “Och, no one ever kens what side the Bruce is on. His mind changes like a swinging pendulum.”

Eva dunked a cloth in a basin and wrung it out. “I believe he’s an ally.”

“Well then now I ken ye’ve been gone eight bloody years. The only ally Bruce has is himself. He owns enough land on both sides of the border to command an army of reckoning.”

She ran the cloth down his arm. “If you had to choose between Bruce and Comyn, which one would you pick?”

Eva made the question sound innocent, but it gave him pause—and he hadn’t a mind to answer such a pointless query. He snatched her wrist and held it firm. “Ye ken I met King John in France?”

She nodded. “I thought you may have—I knew he was exiled there after Edward released him from the Tower.”

“Aye.” William swallowed. “Ye ken he refused my plea to return?”

“I am only aware that after his abdication, John Balliol never again set foot in Scotland.”

William stared at the stony ceiling of the alcove and let out a long sigh. “’Twould have been good to ken afore I spent an entire year imprisoned in King Philip’s dungeon.”

She pulled her hand from his grasp. “It pains me to see the years have not been kind to you, William.”

Suddenly bereft of fight, he closed his eyes. The years had been anything but kind—and not only to him. All of the Kingdom had succumbed to oppression. “Is there nothing ye can do to ease the pounding in my head?”

Reaching into her shiny satchel, she pulled out a white vile. “That, I
can
help with.”

***

Though John Blair acted his usual gruff self, eyeing her with distrust, fortunately he did unroll a hide that had protected all the clothing she’d collected during her last stay. She even found her mail-piercing sword in the middle of the bundle along with two pairs of shoes and a fur-lined cloak. Thank God. If only the powers behind the medallion would see fit to provide her with proper attire before dumping her in the midst of winter, seven hundred years into the past.

Regardless, once again, Eva was clad in a shift and kirtle, and hiding out with a band of rebels in a cave.

Robbie walked past carrying two buckets. “I’m off to fetch some water.”

“Would you mind if I come along?” Eva asked. “I need a bit of fresh air.”

One side of his mouth ticked up. “Are ye daft? ’Tis cold as ice out there.”

“I know. It’s just I’ve been cooped up in this cave for three days and I’m going stir crazy.”

“Huh?”

“I’m going mad,” she corrected.

He shrugged. “Och, if ye want to come along, I’ll nay argue.”

Eva pulled her cloak tight about her shoulders and hurried after him. Since her arrival, no one had been overly welcoming—pretty much looked at her warily. She couldn’t blame them. How often does a scandalously dressed woman arrive in the middle of a forest in the midst of winter? The high heels and stockings had to be the icing on the cake. In the fourteenth century? It was a miracle no one had a heart attack.

Jeez, she was lucky John Blair didn’t tie her to a stake and set fire to rushes beneath her feet.

Fortunately, William had slept most of the time since her arrival. True, he wanted to ride, but he’d been in no shape to do so. Even Blair agreed—said they had plenty of sentries posted and Leglen Wood was still the safest hideaway in all of Scotland. As long as they lay low—no comings or goings beyond the confines of the forest—people in the surrounding villages would be none the wiser.

Eva followed the young man out the cave and along the narrow path. Of all William’s men, Robbie had changed the most. Of course that wouldn’t have been difficult to guess. As a lad, he’d just accepted her, quirks and all. But now, he looked at her with wariness that almost surpassed Blair’s distrust. Well, Eva needed more than one ally—especially since William was in no shape to defend himself, let alone her. Once they were well away from the camp, she ventured to strike up a conversation. “I can’t believe how much you’ve grown. What are you? Six-two? Six-three?”

He stopped and faced her, his eyes filled with ire. “Bloody hell, ye talk like nothing I’ve ever heard afore.”

“Do you not remember?” she affected her Auld Scots as best she could. “My speech has always been different.”

“Aye, but I thought ye cared for us—cared for me—cared for William at least.” He spun and trudged onward.

“Did I hurt you when I left?” Eva kept pace.

“Nay.” By the clipped edge to his voice, she didn’t believe him for a minute.

“Did William tell you I had no choice?”

Robbie stopped and threw the buckets into the bushes, snow shaking from their naked limbs. “Ye vanished without a word. Ye didna even see fit to say goodbye.”

“I—”

He sliced his hand through the air. “And then ye show up in our secret camp—the only place Willy can go where he has a wee chance to rest. Ye appear out of nowhere. Bless it, there were no tracks. I ken ’cause come the morn, I searched for them myself.”