In the Kingdom's Name (Guardian of Scotland Book 2) (4 page)

“So, do you think I should try to ride a pony that isn’t an old nag like the gelding?” Eva asked. “Robbie’s good with horses. He could give me a few pointers.”

William gave her a squeeze. “Dunna ye want me to teach ye?”

“You’d be my preference.” Twisting, she regarded his face. “But when would you find time?”

“Dunna ken.” His mouth quirked. “Robbie’s my squire and I’ll have plenty for him to do as well.”

Eva huffed. “He’s only a lad. Have him stay behind with me for a time. I worry about him being embroiled in the fighting.”

“Ye ken I wouldna let him near a battle.” William hummed in her ear. “Mayhap ye are right. The borders are no place for a lad of two and ten—and the older he grows, the more he needles me to let him fight.”

“I say wait for him to become a man first.” Eva raised her eyebrows and grinned. “What is it you say? Let his beard grow in?”

William affected a scowl. “He willna like it.”

“Who’s the boss of him? Hmm?”

“Och, ye ken he’ll do anything I say, but the lad’s got to learn to be a man one day.”

Eva crossed her arms. “And he cannot learn responsibility providing protection to me whilst you’re off invading England?”

“Let me think on it. But ye do need to learn better control of your mount. Had ye been faster, ye would have made it out of the skirmish right behind Sir Andrew.”

“Well then, it’s settled. I need speed-riding lessons.” Today’s brush with that vile beast pinning her to the ground and hiking up her skirts still rattled Eva’s nerves. She mightn’t be able to fight a man like that, but she certainly could learn to outrun him.

“Mark me, there’s nothing to replace instruction and practice.” With William’s slap of the reins, the horse transitioned to a trot. He always made it seem so easy.

“All right, so you’ll assign Robbie to the task as soon as we return?” Eva pressed.

William grumbled under his breath. “Ye have a way of bending my ear like no other woman I’ve ever met.”

“I’ll take that as agreement.” She smiled and allowed herself to relax against him. “How much further to Dirleton?”

“I reckon we’ll be there afore nightfall.”

“I think it’s safer to ride in small groups rather than in an army.”

“Oh do ye now?” His chest rumbled with another chuckle. “Next ye’ll be telling me how to stage my men on the battlefield.”

“I sincerely doubt that.”

“Good, then we ought to continue to be agreeable.”

“Oh, stop.” She tsked her tongue. “Do you know whose men attacked back there?”

“I have an inkling.”

“Aaaand?”

“They wore the crest of the Earl of March on their surcoats,” William growled.

“Cospatrick,” Eva whispered the earl’s surname.

“The bastard holds as much land south of the border as he does north. He’ll be kissing Edward’s arse until pigs sprout wings.”

Eva ran her fingers through the horse’s coarse mane. “What are you planning to do about him?”

“Mayhap I’ll pay the bastard a visit.”

Over her shoulder, she regarded the stubborn set to William’s jaw. “Just walk up to Dunbar Castle and request an audience?”

“And why not?” he asked, the glint in his eye growing more determined. “Parliament just voted me Guardian. ’Tis my duty to instill peace—at least on this side of the border.”

A fog rolled in with dusk, making Dirleton Castle but a colossal grey outline on the horizon. With the mist came a brisk wind. And as they rode double, William hovered over Eva to keep her warm. He hated that he’d brought her into this war, but now he couldn’t imagine himself ever letting her go. In this world of violence and death, Eva had become the one person who grounded him—served as a constant reminder of his deep moral character.

Still, even with their bodies touching, her teeth chattered. “D-do you think the others have arrived?”

“Most likely. We took quite a circuitous detour.” Moving the reins to one hand, he rubbed the outside of her arm. “I’ll have ye to warmth in no time,
mon amour
.”

Turning her head, she nuzzled against his shoulder. “I like it when you speak French. How did you learn?”

“All monks must learn languages. Latin first, then French.”

“Why did you not whisper your endearment in Latin?”

“Och, lassie, French is the language of love.” The true reason was almost embarrassing to admit—even to Eva. “Latin? Well the holy word is written in Latin—’tis just not as romantic.”

When the horse’s hooves clomped on the wooden bridge, a sentry on the wall-walk waved a pennant above his head. “’Tis Wallace. Open the gates.”

As they trotted into the courtyard, Father John Blair, who William dubbed the Archangel of War, hastened to meet them. “Praise the good Lord ye are unharmed. When we arrived and ye werena here, we feared the worst.”

William reined the horse to a stop. “Ye think I can be taken down by a mob of bedraggled wastrels?” He snorted for added effect, though no one need mention their attackers were trained soldiers. They came too damned close to capturing Eva.

Spreading his palms to his sides, Blair shrugged and played along with William’s show of disregard. “Well, I didna
want
to believe it.”

“Have a wee bit of faith, father.” William helped Eva slide to her feet before he dismounted. “Come, we must convene. Call Sir Andrew and my lieutenants to the hall. We’ll talk whilst we sup.”

No sooner had William started toward the keep, when a group of merchants hastened his way. “Lord Guardian, may we have a word?” asked a sizable man dressed in woolen chausses, shirt and a tanned leather doublet showing considerable wear. He removed his merchant’s cap and bowed deeply.

Blair stepped between them. “Mr. Wallace can spare no time for idle chat. Be gone—”

William gripped the priest’s shoulder firmly and ushered him aside. “Pardon my chaplain’s fervor. I was forced to take a detour to the castle and he feared the worst.” Wallace extended his hand. “Please, friend. What troubles ye?”

“’Tis grave.” The merchant beckoned a group of similarly dressed men who looked no better than tinkers, the lot of them. “We canna sell our goods. All routes of trade outside of Scotland have been closed to us.”

Squinting, William regarded the other’s haggard miens. “What is the nature of your trade, may I ask?”

“Woolens and woven cloth,” said one.

“Grain,” said another.

“I trade in livestock—horses.” The first merchant pointed. “I import impressive mounts like that destrier ye rode in on in exchange for all manner of goods, sir. But no longer—I canna even make a wager for a nag.” He shook his head. “Longshanks has control of the ports. Only English goods are allowed on the ships.”

“And he has poisoned our reputation throughout Christendom.”

“All of Christendom?” William asked.

“Aye, Norway, Spain, The Holy Roman Empire, even France willna buy our goods.”

“Our families are starving,” said another.

William thrust his finger northward. “But what of the port at Dundee? We captured the town and the castle. Can ye not sail your ships from her port?”

“Sail, aye, but not trade.” The merchant wrung the cap in his hands. “As I said, the English have pushed us out. Our goods are banned and no one seems to have any coin to purchase them in Scotland.”

“Please,” the thinnest man pleaded. “We’ve nowhere to turn.”

“Of course.” William grasped the man’s arm and looked him in the eye. “I intended to summon the nobles to parliament within the month, but I see the situation is dire. Mark me, Scotland is a force to be reckoned with. As long as I am Guardian, I will see that all men have means to earn an honest living.” He looked to Blair. “Send missives to the barons at once. We will convene in a sennight.”

“A sennight?” asked the priest. “That does not give their lordships much time to prepare and many are still traveling home from Selkirk. They willna appreciate a summons so soon.”

“When the Kingdom is in such dire need? Are they not suffering from Longshanks’ skullduggery as well?” William jammed his fists into his hips. “Haste ye—a sennight.”

“Verra well.” Blair inclined his head toward the keep. “But I’ll have a word with ye afore I put quill to vellum.”

Aye, the chaplain was a good man and confidant, but at times William wanted to give him a firm wallop upside the head. He bowed to the merchants. “I shall address this matter forthwith and will send emissaries abroad to reestablish routes of trade. Mark me.”

“Thank ye, m’lord,” they chorused, bowing deeply.

William hastened toward the keep with Blair on his heels. “Ye must not keep the people from me.”

“Aye? Ye thankless mule-brained hog. I was only looking after your welfare. When did ye last eat?” the chaplain demanded like an old hen.

William stopped and jabbed his finger into Blair’s shoulder. “My own comfort does not come before that of the sons and daughters of Scotland. Be ever mindful of that.”

Blair crossed his arms, his dark eyebrows slanting inward. “Believe me I am.”

“So why are ye standing here and not setting your quill to the missives I’ve prescribed?”

Blair glanced around them with a wary glint. “I didna want to ask in front of the crowd, for ye never ken what spies may be listening. But where do ye intend to hold your session of parliament?”

William pursed his lips. As always, his chaplain made a good point. ’Twas perilous to travel, even with a healthy retinue of armed men. Hell, they’d been ambushed this day, and by a Scottish nobleman’s army, no less. The situation was precarious, but one that must be dealt with firmly and soon. “We need a place of sanctuary. Not public. Where enemies canna dream of taking up their swords.”

“Hmm.” Blair scratched the shaved patch atop his head. “Perhaps a monastery. Melrose?”

William frowned. “Too big.”

“Fail?”

“Possibly.” With a squint of his eyes, William pondered. “The Trinitarian monks are too placid. We need a quiet fortress run by men who are bred to enforce order.”

“Aye,” Blair agreed. “The Templars?”

“Nay. Too many English in their ranks.” William would like nothing better than to align Scotland with the Templar Order, but that would take a great deal of time and negotiation—not to mention the risks of playing into Longshanks’ hands were too great.

Taking in a sharp inhale, Blair held up his finger. “Scotland’s Knights Hospitallers align themselves with France…and they’re nearby at Torphichen Preceptory.”

“Brilliant.” William grinned and clapped Blair’s back. “I can think of no better allies than the Order of St. John. Ye are a good man, father.”

“Sometimes I bloody wonder if ye appreciate it,” Blair said with a rueful grunt.

“Och, are ye now playing the bleeding heart?”

***

When the merchants approached William, Eva moved toward the keep and stood at a respectful distance, though not too far away to overhear the interchange. Then when William led Blair aside, they were out of earshot, but she opted to wait. History was in the making and she didn’t want to miss anything. Once they approached, she joined them, ignoring Father Blair’s disapproving frown. From the beginning the priest had made it clear he didn’t trust her, nor did he believe women had a place in the rebellion. But after her work helping Brother Bartholomew minister to the injured at Stirling Bridge, he’d at least curbed his acrid remarks. Eva even ventured as far as to think she might be wearing him down.

“Ye’re here!” Twelve-year-old Robbie Boyd dashed out of the thick double doors with Paden and Adam Wishart in his wake. The lads had grown inseparable in the past month, though Paden still had a chip on his shoulder from William’s rather abrupt removal of the boys from their home. When Bishop Wishart led a rebellion in Irvine and then tried to increase his personal wealth by negotiating with the English, William grew so enraged, he looted Wishart’s manor and took his sons—nephews as far as anyone else knew. William intended to instill honor in the boys whilst Wishart rotted in Roxburgh Castle’s gaol. Honestly, Eva thought William’s idea to enlist the lads as squires during their father’s incarceration would be a good education for them—as long as Wallace kept them from the battlefield.

Eva opened her arms. Robbie ran a few steps, but stopped and ticked up his chin before he reached her embrace. “I reckon I shouldna be mollycoddled, Miss Eva.”

Her bottom lip jutted out, but her frown turned to a grin when eleven-year-old Adam barreled in from the side and gave her a hug. “We’re happy to see ye, m’lady.”

Closing an arm around Adam, she reached out the other to muss Robbie’s hair. “You think you’re too grown up to give me a proper welcome?”

He glanced aside and twisted his mouth. A young serving girl hastened away carrying a basket. Eva clamped her lips against her urge to laugh and met Paden’s gaze. The older Wishart boy had never been one for affection. “Have Lady Christina and Sir Andrew arrived safely?” she asked.

“They’re waiting in the hall,” said Adam.

William gestured for them to follow. “Come. We’ve no time to waste.”

As usual, Eva sat at the first table beside the dais with Christina and the lads while William and his men discussed strategy on the dais. Eva didn’t mind this arrangement. She was close enough to hear and observe, but far enough away not to interfere—and that kept the medallion hidden beneath her shift cool. Whenever the blasted thing warmed against her skin, it warned her to proceed with utmost care, else she be hurled back to the twenty-first century without so much as a farewell.

She made eye contact with Christina while they both inclined their ears toward the dais.

“I cannot believe we were attacked by our own countrymen.” Sir Andrew dipped his spoon into his lamb pottage and stirred without taking a bite. “Any Scots baron in the north would sooner take a dirk to his throat than turn backstabber.”

“Aye, the nobles along the borders all hold lands in England.” William broke off a chunk of bread and dunked it. “But I’ll not tolerate insurrection against us. Any Scottish subject attacking Scotland’s army will be arrested and tried for treason. If a man desires to kiss Longshanks’ arse, he can do it on his Judgement Day.”

“Here, here,” boomed the deep voices around the table.

William looked Eva’s way and rolled his hand through the air. “Miss Eva, scribe a missive. I aim to send out criers to all corners of the Kingdom to ensure everyone kens the penalty.”

Her heart fluttered. “Me?”

“Ye write all day.” He waved her on. “Fetch your quill, woman.”

Eva retrieved her writing materials before William finished his piece of bread. She’d been practicing writing in Auld Scots, but this was the first time he’d ever openly recognized her as a chronicler. She might even be able to put her Latin to use.

The men shifted down the table and she took a seat beside Wallace. John Blair gave her one of his grumpy looks. With a grin, she shrugged. At least he hadn’t made a snide comment.

William dictated the first missive about severely punishing all treasonous acts. Then Andrew made a call for conscripts aged sixteen to sixty.

William gestured toward the two documents. “We’ll need a score of copies of each to be sent out on the morrow. Conclude each one with our names, underscored by ‘Commanders of the Army of Scotland and the Community of the same Kingdom’ then we’ll affix our seals.”

“Consider it done.” Eva pushed back her chair.

“A moment.” William held up his hand. “We will scribe missives granting safe passage to Scotland and announcing that by war the Kingdom of Scotland has been recovered from the tyranny of the English.”

The medallion warmed against her chest. “You wish for me to write these letters?”

“Ye and Blair.” William nodded to his personal chaplain. “There are many to scribe and they must be carried throughout Christendom forthwith.”

Blair reached for a piece of vellum. “I daresay, I’ll scribe these. They’d best be written in Latin.”

Eva cleared her throat. “I can write in Latin.”

“Such an education for a woman?” The priest gave her a pointed glare. “Your admission borders on heresy.”

Giving him a sober stare of her own, she raped her fist on the table. “Pardon me, but women have every ounce of intelligence as their male counterparts.”

Blair snatched the quill from her hand. “’Tis just not done.”

She grabbed it back. “You want to scribe the missives yourself? Then have at it, but I’ll not listen to another word of your hogwash.”