In the Kingdom's Name (Guardian of Scotland Book 2) (22 page)

Hoofbeats boomed toward them from the flank.

With a hiss, William drew his sword.

Gasping, Eva tried to reach for her mail piercer with her free hand, but the relentless pounding gave her no chance. The horse beneath them lurched and spun. William’s enormous hand latched on to her bum while a bloodcurdling bellow ripped from his throat. “I’ll cut out your liver, ye mongrel dog!”

Iron screeched with a clash of swords.

Gritting her teeth, Eva held on, ducking her head as low as possible, praying for their lives. The horse jerked as it responded to William’s cues—a tap of his spur, a squeeze of his knee, the rocking of his seat. His expert horsemanship seemed effortless as he battled his opponent with broad, striking glances of his weapon.

Eva had never been so close to a swordfight. Her every heartbeat thundered in her ears. Time slowed.

She turned her head. William bared his teeth. His great sword cut through the air with a whoosh. A dull thud hit bone. The attacker’s eyes bulged beneath his helm. His mouth gaped. Momentum ripped him from his mount.

William didn’t hesitate. He slammed his heels against his horse’s barrel, hissing through his teeth.

Eva clutched William’s leg, squeezing tight in a desperate attempt to stay the pounding against her abdomen. Stars darted through her vision as she opened her eyes to glimpse the path ahead. Shrieking, a clump of broom slapped her cheek.

“Ow!”

With her next breath, William’s arm gripped around her waist and wrenched her up, settling her across his lap. Her head spun so fast, she toppled backward.

“Hold there, lassie,” he said, nudging her upright with his shoulder. Lord, the warhorse didn’t miss a step.

She glanced around his shoulder. “Are they after us?” she shouted over the rush of running horses and the wind howling in her ears.

William inclined his mouth toward her. “Ye can wager your life on it.”

“Can we outrun them?”

“Isna that what we’re doing?”

“Yes, but how do we know when we’ve lost them? Won’t the horses tire?”

“Theirs will tire sooner. They had to ride to Torwood afore they attacked.” William slapped the reins, demanding more speed.

“How long will you drive this pace?”

“Until we hit the Forth.”

“We’re sailing?”

“Aye.”

Eva crouched as they rode under the branches of an enormous sycamore, then dashed into the open lea. On and on the horses raced, snorting through their enormous nostrils. Ahead, a shimmer of blue flickered off the waves of the Firth of Forth. Behind, the enemy made chase, galloping into the sunlight.

“There they are!” Eva shouted.

“How many?”

She counted then searched beyond for more. “Only six.”

“Good. If they dunna turn back, they’ll meet their maker this day.”

Curling into the warmth of William’s chest, Eva sought the comfort of his brawny arms. With eight in their escort, their English pursuers didn’t stand a chance. She prayed they’d gain their senses and turn back. She hated fighting—hated blades even more. If she never saw another battle it would be too soon for her.

“Weigh anchor!” Blair shouted from the lead.

A sea galley bobbed in the water, its sail unfurled—looking like an ancient ship Eva had seen in a museum, eighteen oars and all. Was such a vessel seaworthy?

Queasiness twisted her gut at the mere thought of climbing up the narrow gangway.

“Orkney,” William said, answering Eva’s question as to their destination. Jesu, he would have fought a hundred men with one hand tied behind his back to see her face turn from seasick green and light up like a sunburst.

“You took my advice?”

He shrugged. After all, he couldn’t let the woman think it was all her idea. Her head might swell so large it mightn’t fit through the neck of her gowns. “It seemed a logical move. At least one worth trying. If reports of my whereabouts stop, there’s hope Longshanks will put an end to his mindless pillaging.”

A crease formed between her ginger eyebrows. “Who else knows where we’re headed?”

“The Bruce. Lord Forrester.” William flicked a lock of hair away from her cheek with his finger but the wind snapped it back with a vengeance. “Hell, the master of the ship didna ken where we were off to until Blair told him. Dunna worry, lass. The Orkneys are a part of Norway.” He thumped the missive tucked under his jerkin. “And I still have the letter from King Philip requesting safe passage—a kindness not extended to the English.”

“Aye.” Father Blair waddled toward them in concert with the rocking galley, then leaned against the hull between the pair. “Besides, ’tis too cold for Longshanks’ men to attempt to invade Norway.”

Eva pulled her cloak tighter around her shoulders. Indeed, white puffs of air escaped her nostrils. “I do believe you are right.”

Blair scoffed. “That’d be the first time.” He thwacked her shoulder. “Would ye mind saying that again just to appease an old friar’s ears?”

She gave him a solid punch in return. “You heard me, you turkey.”

He pulled back with a snort. “What is this? Turkey?”

“It’s a stout, gobbling bird they eat—uh.” Her eyes shifted to William.

He glanced at the others. The boat was too small for her to start spewing gibberish about the future. “Enough.”

Looking out to sea, she nodded. “How long will the passage take?”

“Depends on the wind and the sea.” He looked at the sail, filled with air. “Mayhap a day—especially if the breeze continues to favor us.”

A castle surrounded by stone bailey walls came into view, jutting into the Forth on a slip of a promontory. Eva gasped and drew her fingers to her lips. “Is that Blackness?”

“Aye.” It looked as menacing from the sea as it did from the shore.

“There’s only one tower.” She pointed. “I hardly recognized it but for the location.”

William looked over his shoulder. The others were tending oars or coiling ropes—having lost interest now that Blair had returned to the stern to take up the rudder with the master. William led her to the bow and kept his voice low. “What is the Forth like in your time?”

She grinned and scraped her teeth over her bottom lip. “It is so different. Towns and houses line the shore and ahead, two bridges cross the Forth at Queensferry.”

“Two? Span the entire body of water?”

“Yes, and they nearly have a third completed.” She spread her hands in front of her face then opened them wide, as if painting a scene. “The railway runs across Forth Bridge with its three expansive red arches giving it support.” She chuckled. “I can see it now in my mind’s eye.”

He wrapped his arms around her middle and pulled her back against his chest. “I wish I could see it just once.”

“Oh, that would be something. You’d hardly recognize it.” She pointed. “There’s no dim cloud of smoke hanging over Edinburgh like it’s doing today—and there’s so much more to the skyline—old and new.”

“Is the castle still presiding atop the hill?”

“Yes.” She offered a sheepish grin. “It’s a tourist attraction.”

“A what?”

“Oh dear, that must be another one of my modern words. People pay to go there and look at old relics—old construction—to find out how things used to be.”

“Ye mean to tell me people have time for such malarkey?” He gave her a playful squeeze.

She wiggled against him with a squeak. “It is not malarkey. It’s important to study the past—interesting, too.”

“More important than tilling a field or tending the sick?”

“Of course not, but everyone needs a vacation—ah—a bit of rest from time to time.”

I conjure up a mob of lazy laggards
. “It sounds like people from the future have too little to do if they pay good coin to climb around old relics.”

“You’re insufferable.”

“And ye’ve more tales than a long-toothed bard.”

“I’m not lying.”

“I didna say ye were.” He tickled her between the ribs with his pointer finger. “’Tis just I’m the only sop in all of Christendom who’s daft enough to believe ye, truth or nay.”

***

Their arrival in the Orkneys brought about more rough living and crude accommodations. But Eva held no illusions that she’d been brought back to the fourteenth century to live a life of a privileged noblewoman. She’d returned because of the deep love she harbored for William, and he for her. Eight years had done nothing to quell it. After they’d been separated, she’d only managed to mask her feelings, push them to the deep recesses of her mind so her heart didn’t hurt so badly.

Yes, she loved William with a fervent passion unsurpassed by anything she’d ever experienced or ever again would know. Their souls were entwined and woven together by a vine of impenetrable iron.

And that terrified her.

When they’d first arrived, Eva often experienced flashes of dread, covering her skin with a sheen of sweat. It took a few blinks and a bit of fist clenching to chase the fear back to the recesses of her mind. Fortunately, she kept herself busy tending to the needs of William’s small band of rebels. Simply existing in this era brought heavy labor. Nothing was easy—no taps to turn for instant, pure water, no light switches, no thermostat for heat, no grocery stores to buy food or refrigerators in which to store it.

Death and darkness lurked in every crevice. They’d even been met by an army of teeth-gnashing Norsemen when their galley ran aground on the Orkney beach.

Thankfully, William’s letter of passage from King Philip had been impressive enough to avoid a battle. And after making enquiries, they’d re-boarded the sea galley and sailed a wee bit south to the tiny isle of Eynhallow where smooth-tongued, multi-lingual William Wallace employed his Latin to convince a group of Monastic monks into giving them sanctuary.

In the past month, a handful of mercenaries had joined them from the mainland—sent by the Earl of Carrick. But it wasn’t enough and William had already grown restless.

By the time May rolled around, Eva had resumed her writing. While William and his men trained the new recruits who were trickling in, she also helped the monks tend the garden and went for long walks along the craggy shore of the islet. Accustomed to the city, it surprised her that she hadn’t grown a bit antsy as the months passed. The remoteness of Eynhallow gave her a sense of calm—a sense of being detached from the rest of the world.

She’d finally figured it out—and perhaps that’s why a calm sereneness filled her with contentment. She no longer had to push future dreads from her mind. Convinced the medallion had sent her back to change the horrific course of events, she fully intended to keep William on Eynhallow through summer at the very least.

Summer came late in the Orkneys and the weather still drizzled. The abbot had given the couple a chamber with a narrow window overlooking the sea and Eva had moved the table where she could look out when writing. In the mornings she took up the quill and recorded every detail about her time there.

She’d just dipped the tip in the inkwell when the door to the chamber opened.

“Och, Willy, I dunna need to be mollycoddled,” Robbie said as William ushered the young knight inside.

William thrust his finger in Eva’s direction. “Ye’ll have her look at ye and that’s the end of it.”

Groaning, the young man plopped into the chair opposite Eva. Blood soaked his sleeve.

She rested the quill in the holder as she hissed. “What happened?”

“The lad got a wee bit too close to my blade,” said William, then he pointed to young Boyd. “Take off your shirt so she can have a peek.”

Robbie knit his brows with an annoyed huff. “Bloody hell.” But he whipped the garment over his head. Indeed, he’d grown muscles as thick as a Brahman bull. But the laceration on his arm bled profusely.

Eva cringed and placed her fingers above the wound. “Oh dear, that’s quite a cut.”

“’Tis nothing,” said Robbie.

William bent down and gave the wound a once-over. “I reckon it needs to be stitched.”

“I agree.” The laceration had to be at least four inches long. Eva retrieved her basket from the bedside table. “We need to staunch the bleeding first.” She pulled out one of the cloths she’d sterilized with boiling water, rolled it and pressed against the wound.

Robbie winced. “It’ll come good in a day or two. ’Tis merely a scratch.”

William clapped him on the good shoulder. “Let Lady Eva tend ye, then I’ll see ye in the courtyard for another round.”

The lad grinned. “Ye’re on.”

Eva dabbed at the wound, regarding Robbie’s well-muscled bicep. “You’ve grown strong over the years.”

“Aye? Who wouldna? I’ve been watching Willy’s back since I was a lad of eleven. If I’d been a milksop, I couldna survived.”

“I admire you for standing by him through both the good and trying times. Not many have done so.” She fished in her basket for the tub of antiseptic ointment and squeezed a small dab onto her finger. She’d been using less, trying to make it last.

He smirked. “Ye had the good sense to leave him when times were at their best.”

Holding her finger still, she regarded the lad and frowned. “It wasn’t my choice to leave.”

“Then why did ye? And dunna lie. I was just a lad. Ye were the only mother I kent—ever, and ye just up and disappeared without so much as a goodbye.”

The lad’s words cut deep. He still resented her for her disappearance. She carefully applied the ointment, trying to think of something to say to make him understand she hadn’t abandoned him—at least not on purpose. “I wanted to stay. I wanted to say goodbye to you, to William. But I couldn’t.”

“Ye mean ye wouldna.”

“No.” Standing back, she pulled out the medallion. “Can you read Latin?”

“Willy taught me a bit.”

She handed it to him. “What does this say?”

“Truth is like a beacon.”

“Mm hmm.” Then she turned it over. “And on the other side?”

“But few choose to follow.”

“The magic—or whatever it is—behind this medallion chose me of all people to travel through seven hundred years to write William’s story. Do you know the only rule?”

He shook his head warily.

He seemed so reluctant to believe her, but Eva figured she might as well finish. “I cannot do anything to alter the past. I suspected Andrew Murray was suffering from lead poisoning caused by the arrow tip lodged in his shoulder—but I’m not a physician. I’m a chronicler, regardless, when William insisted that I try to help Sir Andrew, I was hurled back to my time before I made the first incision.”

His nose twitched. “It sent ye away ’cause ye were trying to help? But ye’re always trying to help.”

“Yes, but this time, evidently helping Sir Andrew would have altered history.” She threaded a bone needle.

He regarded his arm. “And ye’re not changing history by helping me now?”

“If I weren’t here, I imagine a monk would sew you up—regardless, I doubt you’d die from this cut, though without my ointment it might take a bit longer to heal.”

When she bent forward, he pointed to the medallion. “Why are ye wearing the blasted thing if it could spirit ye away? It would ruin Willy to lose ye again. Do ye ken what he went through after ye left?”

Eva made the first suture. “I can imagine—though I doubt his pain was worse than my own broken heart. At least I returned to a time of peace.”

“Aye, Willy hasna had a moment of respite since he took up the sword for King John.”

“I worry about him.”

“As do I—especially now ye’re here.”

She looked the lad in the eye. “You do not trust me, do you?”

He shrugged. “With that medallion around your neck, I fear ye may snap your fingers and be gone.”

She tied off another suture. “It isn’t that easy. I have absolutely no control over it whatsoever."

He jolted when she pushed in the needle for another stitch. “If ye are from the future, tell me what happens? I’ve been at war my entire life. I dunna have a home. I havena seen my own lands in years and now we’re hiding on this Godforsaken isle. When will it all end?”

She sucked in a sharp inhale before stepping back and regarding his face. “You know, I refuse to lie, but there are things better left unsaid?”

“Aye?” He batted his hand across his face. “Ye speak with a forked tongue if ye ask me.”

“Things will grow worse before they improve,” she said, wrapping her fingers around the medallion.

“Are ye planning to leave again—afore the bad comes? Abandon Willy when he needs ye most?”