In the Kingdom's Name (Guardian of Scotland Book 2) (6 page)

“Things are not always as they seem.” The earl examined his goddamn fingernails. “King John, the puppet king to whom ye so loyally refer, joined with France. We could have remained at peace with the English, but no, Balliol refused to let things lie.”

“King John refused to grovel to Edward with further public humiliation. Ye ken the truth.” William leaned forward. “Dunna speak down to me because ye think I’m a lesser man. I’ve proved my worth on the battlefield and would be happy to meet ye there if ye should doubt my word.”

Cospatrick jutted out his chin and sneered. “So ye come into my castle and threaten me, an earl?”

“Nay. I come to tell ye I aim to unite the nobles and demand the release of King John from the Tower of London. And while I’m at it, I aim to see an end to English oppression against all Scotsmen, noble or nay. And I’ll let no man stand in my way…even if he is an earl.”

Cospatrick clutched his neck before gesturing toward the door. “I suggest ye take your leave,
Mr
. Wallace. I’ve many things to attend and I do believe we’ve nothing more of import to discuss.”

William stretched to his full height, towering above all men in the room. He made eye contact with each one, silently telling them they’d be the first to die should a one raise their arms against him. “Well then, I’ll see ye at the next meeting of Parliament.”

The earl narrowed his gaze and thinned his lips.

William beckoned Blair and Little. “Come, men. We’ve missives to deliver.”

Without a word, the guards released their hold as Wallace’s men followed. William led them back from whence they came, all the way through the long barracks and out Dunbar’s gates.

As soon as the man door slammed closed behind them, Blair spat on the ground. “We should have had Sir Andrew with us. That bastard earl will only pay heed to a member of the gentry.”

“Add Sir Andrew’s cure to the list of things we need to remedy.” William kicked a dried piece of horse dung. “Since when does ‘Commander of the Army’ mean nothing?”

***

It was dusk when they rode south from Dunbar Castle. William opted to set up camp in the wood near Innerwick. After a meal of bully beef and oatcakes, sleep was fleeting on the damp, mossy earth as rain drizzled from above. Aye, William and his men would need to wrap themselves in wool soon. With what he had planned, there would be many a cold night yet to come.

Restless, Wallace’s eyes flew open when he felt a faint tremor of the ground. More than once he’d sensed the approach of horses before hearing their hooves pummeling the earth. Jumping to his feet, he tapped Blair on the shoulder and held his finger to his lips. “Wake the others and keep it quiet.”

William strapped on his sword belt and drew his weapon. Creeping to a vantage point, he saw the advancing army but two furlongs away. Cospatrick for certain. Wallace ran to his horse. “Mount up and be ready to fight.”

Eddy climbed aboard his steed. “How many?”

“Three, mayhap five hundred.”

Blair threw his leg over his horse as well. “The odds are a bit steep.”

William grabbed Paden by the shoulders. “Haste ye south and fetch Sir Home—tell him we need reinforcements straight away.”

The lad glanced in the direction of the approaching army. “But—”

“Go. Now!”

After watching Paden mount up, William directed his attention to his men and pointed to the ridge. “We’ll have the ground advantage if we wait for them to come to us. Make haste, for the Earl of March has decided to play his hand.” He circled is hand above his head. “Archers, stand at the ready.”

Wallace led his garrison at a fast trot. He caught Eddy’s eye and pointed south. “Line up your archers along the ridge. Wait until Cospatrick’s forces are upon us afore ye give the command to fire.” He beckoned the others to follow while turning his attention to Blair. “We’ll hide in the gully yonder and let them pass. Once the archers let loose, the cavalry will hit them from behind.”

“May the Lord have mercy on their souls.” The priest made the sign of the cross. “At least we’ll not have long to wait.”

William crossed himself, repeating Blair’s motion. “Aye, now pass the word. Quickly.”

No sooner had Wallace and his men hid in the gully, the hoofbeats of the earl’s army thundered past. Though concealed from sight, he clamped his fingers around his reins and waited, ears piqued for the thud of the first arrow hitting its mark.

Though a seasoned warrior, the rush before battle always made his skin thrum with anticipation. The thunder of his heart beat so loudly in his helm, his every breath rushed like the rumble of the tide. If he’d been an inexperienced lad, he might have feared being caught by the deafening roar of his own lifeblood pulsing through his veins. Placing his hand atop the psalter at his hip, he closed his eyes and concentrated on clearing his mind. Then he offered a quick prayer for his men and for those wayward souls who followed the Earl of March.

A heinous howl screeched through the wind. Then another. Snapping up his head, William dug in his spurs and slapped his reins. “Scotland until Judgement!” he bellowed the Kingdom’s war cry.

Thundering the cry behind him, his men boldly repeated the cheer that bound them together as men driven in a united cause.

Ahead, mayhem erupted. Fallen soldiers writhed on the ground, clutching at arrows. The earl’s ranks forced out of step, they toiled to circle their horses and face the onslaught.

William drove his mount straight for Cospatrick. By God, he would cut any man down who turned traitor. Narrowing the distance, the direct path to the earl was blocked by a pair of henchmen flanking Wallace from both sides. He roared and swung, meeting each man’s sword with gnashing of teeth and a deafening clang of iron. Ears ringing from the booming clash of battle, William fought, hacking off limbs and deflecting blows from battleaxes and pikes while steering his horse with his knees.

Facing nearly twice their numbers, the fighting grew bloodier, but William wasn’t about to stop. Cospatrick cowered at the rear of the battlefield, surrounded by his guardsmen.

“I’ll carve out your heart and send it to Edward in a bejeweled box,” William roared as he fought wave after wave.

His muscles tortured him, burning like limbs being held to the fire as he inched toward the earl. With an upward swing of his great sword, a gap opened—straight to his target. “Scotland until Judgement,” he roared, spurring his mount into a gallop.

The stench of fear inflamed William’s nostrils before the earl’s party turned tail and raced south. Pointing his great sword forward, he dug in his spurs and urged his men to follow. “After them!”

On and on he drove his horse south, making chase toward the border. An uproarious cry came from the east as an army galloped into their ranks, bolstering Wallace’s numbers.

The Home pennant flew high, carried by young Paden.

“Good lad,” William bellowed, sure his shout was but a whisper on the howling wind.

His horse’s snorting breaths became more labored as they continued to make chase. Finally, white froth leeched from his steed’s neck as they approached the Whiteadder Water.

“Hold up.” Sir Geoffrey Home reined his horse beside William. “We’re growing dangerously close to Berwick and the Tweed. Word has it Lord Warenne has five thousand men lying in wait within the castle walls. They’d like nothing better than to sever your head and hang it from the town’s gable.”

William’s gut clenched as he watched Cospatrick gain distance. “Five thousand?”

“Aye, my spies reported as such, reliable men they are as well.”

Taking in a deep breath, Wallace lowered his reins. “Ye reckon the Earl of Surrey is ready to stage a revolt?”

“I reckon he’s still licking his wounds after ye kicked his arse at Stirling Bridge. But he still wouldna look a gift horse in the mouth.” Sir Home beckoned him. “Come, we’ve much to discuss and I’ve got a thirst.”

William glared across the burn while Cospatrick’s red surcoat disappeared into the wood. “First bring me one of the injured men of Dunbar. One who’s well enough to carry a missive to the Earl of March.” He beckoned Paden. “I need a slip of vellum, quill and a pot of ink.”

Not long and William had his missive written and sent the wounded man on his way with a scroll addressed to the Earl of March:

On this date, 25
th
October, the year of our Lord 1297, the Earl of March, is hereby stripped of his Scottish title. All holdings in Scotland are forfeit to the king. This decree by William Wallace, Guardian of Scotland.

Long live King John.

***

Sitting in the second floor solar of Cocksburnpath Tower, William sipped a tot of whisky. “After the backstabbing by Cospatrick, ’tis good to know we have allies among the eastern border clans.”

Sir Geoffrey Home had the look of a warrior. Barrel chested with a bit of grey in his beard, he was the type of man whose loyalty the Kingdom needed. “Most of the clans support ye. We’re all sick of having our lands razed by the English. Only barons with holdings on both sides of the border are in question.”

William leaned forward and rested his elbows on the table. “True, but that comprises nearly all the most powerful families in Scotland.”

“But I dunna ken a man who wouldn’t like to see the backsides of the English army retreating across the Tweed.” Sir Geoffrey sipped his whisky thoughtfully. “And your victory at Stirling Bridge made ye a legend. Make no bones about it, the people of Scotland are ready to take up their arms and stand behind ye.”

“’Tis good to hear. Mayhap if we can continue to drive away naysayers like the Earl of March, even grand families like Bruce and Comyn will stand behind our cause.”

“If they can curb their lust for the throne.” Home threw back his head with a belly laugh. “Ye mustn’t forget in twelve ninety-one Bishop Fraser asked Longshanks to choose between Balliol and Bruce—the two men with the greatest claim to the throne.”

William hated that Edward had been consulted, though at the time, the bishop thought he was acting to prevent a civil war. Little did the misguided holy man know, Longshanks would arrive and claim himself rightful suzerain. “’Tis not our place to decide who should have been crowned. Regardless, Edward has wrongfully imprisoned King John in the Tower. I intend to see his crown restored afore I take my last breath.”

“Here, here,” said Sir Geoffrey, raising his cup.

William eyed a thin sword resting atop the sideboard. “Do ye mind if I have a look at that?”

Sir Geoffrey twisted around and followed Wallace’s line of sight. “My mail piercer? Go right ahead.”

Pushing back his chair, William strode around the table and picked up the piece. “’Tis light of weight.”

“And square at the hilt.”

William touched the blade. It wasn’t sharp except for the deadly tip. “Did ye say mail piercing?”

“Aye. ’Tis from the Holy Land—bought it off a sea merchant. Its sole purpose is to pierce through a man’s hauberk straight through to the heart.”

William whipped it through the air with a hiss. “Would ye be willing to part with it?”

Sir Geoffrey crossed his arms thoughtfully. “Nay, but my smithy could fashion ye one if ye’re inclined to stay on a bit.”

“I could arrange for that.” William tested the tip with his finger. God’s teeth, it was sharp enough to lance straight through bone. “Besides, I’ve a parcel of missives to deliver to the surrounding clans.”

“I think I’ll call this filly Ryn,” Eva said, posting up and down in time with the gait of the horse while she and Robbie trotted through the open lea outside the castle walls.

After a week of taking instructions from an adolescent boy and riding inside the courtyard, Eva finally felt comfortable enough to take Ryn on a real ride. In truth, she’d learned the basics on an old nag out of pure survival—hadn’t even let on that the only horse she’d ever ridden by herself was hot pink and part of a carousel at the county fair. Thrown on the back of the gelding, as the daughter of a knight, everyone had naturally assumed she could pick up the reins and launch into a canter. The only thing that had saved her neck was her ability to copy others. Eva probably wouldn’t have survived if her gelding had been as spirited as this mare, but fortunately the old fella didn’t like to move much. He’d just drop his head and trudge along behind the others. She’d been fine with him until a few days ago when she needed to flee from a mob of attacking outlaws.

A six-year-old mare felt completely different to the old guy. Ryn took off with the slightest tap of Eva’s heel and needed a firm rein. Over the past week, handling the mare became easier while Robbie continued to provide instruction, like keeping her heels down and relaxing her seat. She even began recognizing the horse’s body language. If Ryn carried her head high, she was more uptight. Pinning back the ears was a definite warning to any human or horse within ten feet.

“Ryn?” Robbie asked after a long pause. “What kind of name is that?”

Eva trotted the mare in a circle. “It’s the name of a minstrel I once knew.”

“Someone ye met on your travels to the Holy Land?” Robbie asked in an absent tone, as if not too terribly interested.

“Something like that.” Eva smiled. Ryn was the name of a new vocalist she’d heard on the radio not long before crashing through time and ending up in the midst of a battle in Fail Monastery. She’d experienced nothing quite as disconcerting as traversing seven hundred years in a matter of seconds. Naming her mare Ryn gave Eva a small sense of connection with her twenty-first century life. A time to which she must return one day. She’d given herself a year. A year to immerse herself in medieval Scotland and learn everything she could about William Wallace. A year to really discover what it was like to love him, adore him, be his woman.

Eva couldn’t allow herself to think beyond that. Yet five months of her year had already passed.

Two years?

Shaking her head, she refused to allow herself to consider it.

“Um…” Robbie slowed the pace to a walk. “Er…How would a lad my age go about talking to a lassie?”

Unable to stifle her grin, Eva managed to hold in her laugh. Most likely, it wasn’t easy for the twelve-year-old orphan to blurt out such a question. “Well, that depends,” Eva tried to keep her voice serious, clinical. “Is the lass old like me or about your age?”

Shrugging, he fiddled with his reins. “Close to my age, I’d reckon.”

“Hmm.” Eva gave the lad a sideways glance. His brow furrowed as if this topic were very important. “I think it’s best to keep things simple at first. Say hello—um—or good morrow. Mention the weather.”

Robbie scrunched his nose. “Weather?”

“Yes. Everyone talks about the weather.” Arriving at the edge of the forest, Eva reined her horse back toward Dirleton Castle. “You might think of questions you could ask her. If she was a serving girl, perhaps you could—”

“I didna say anything about her being a serving girl.” He gaped as if she’d dealt a personal affront.

Waving her hand apologetically, she explained, “I know. I was just using that as an example.” Eva cleared her throat and continued as if he hadn’t been bothered by the serving girl comment. “If she was, you could ask her about her tasks. What part of the castle does she work in, what are her main responsibilities, does she like it, does she ever have time to herself, do her parents work at the castle…You know, that sort of thing.”

He groaned and looked to the sky. “Och, ye make it sound so easy.”

“It is, really.” She let out a relieved breath. “I’ve never met a young lady who didn’t like talking about herself.”

Robbie grazed his bottom lip with his teeth, giving her a quizzical look. “So ye reckon a lad should just go up to a wee lassie, say good morrow and ask her what she’s on about?”

“Sort of.” Eva bit her lip. She knew enough about living in the Middle Ages to throw out a word of caution, especially since Robbie was an orphan with William overseeing his fostering. The newly appointed Guardian had more on his plate than any army general and Eva wondered if he’d paid much notice to the lad in the past month. “Of course, if she’s a highborn lass, you would need a proper introduction. You might ask someone like Lady Christina to introduce you, for example. Then, once you are on speaking terms, it would be all right to ask questions.”

The lad’s eyebrows shot up as if he liked her idea. “An introduction, aye?”

“That would be proper, but regardless, you should speak to the lass where others can see you, so as not to sully her reputation.”

Robbie turned as red as a harvest sunset. “I wouldna want to do that.”

“I’m certain you wouldn’t. It is always important to be considerate of a young lady’s standing. You must understand how devastating it would be for a lass to be compromised in the eyes of society, and it is up to young men like you to protect and honor her virtue.” Eva sat a bit straighter in the saddle. Had William been so busy he’d overlooked the need for such important discussions? “You must act chivalrously. Do you know what that means, Robbie?”

The growing boy puffed out his adolescent chest and thumped it with pride. “Och aye, Miss Eva. ’Tis my duty to protect womenfolk and to fight for right.”

“Mm hmm. And more.” Eva definitely must have a word with William about this conversation. “Do you know many court dances? Dancing is an essential social skill at court and at gatherings.”

Robbie’s shoulders shrugged to his ears. “How am I supposed to learn about dancing when I’m serving as squire to the Guardian of Scotland?”

Eva shook her riding crop at him. “That makes it even more important—and we mustn’t forget that you are the son of a knight, a lad who owns property.”
And a man who will become a titled baron in his own right
.

“Aye, but who will teach me?” Robbie gave her a stern frown. “Not ye I’d wager. Ye dunna even ken how to dance. I saw ye at Peebles Castle and reckon ye need lessons more than I do.”

Covering her mouth with her hand, she let out a belly laugh. Oh, for the love of God, she’d hoped her skirts had hidden her stumbling feet. “True,” she admitted. “Perhaps we both need lessons. Let me give that some thought.” Eva slowed her mare and looked to the donjon looming above the bailey walls. Could she ask Lady Christina to help?
But how long…?

Eva blocked the thought from her mind.

Robbie obviously considered their discussion over, because without another word, he spurred his horse into a fast gallop—a gait Eva doubted she’d ever be able to master. Alas, she did miss driving her red Fiat at seventy miles per hour on the motorway—though less and less as time passed.

Picking up her reins, she sighed and headed toward the gate. The mare hadn’t traversed but a few paces when the ram’s horn sounded from the wall-walk above. Blinking, Eva nearly jumped out of her skin. Robbie immediately changed course and hollered, waving his hand over his head while grinning like it was Christmas.

Catching sight of the garrison approaching through the trees, Eva’s stomach erupted with butterflies.
William!

She cued her horse for a canter while the little show-off rode in beside William with animated welcoming gestures. And what a sight the big man made, sitting his horse with a commanding presence as if he were born to the guardianship. If she hadn’t known him, Eva would have guessed him to be as regal as a king. While he led the garrison along the path to the gates, he looked her way and gave her a firm nod.

She pulled her horse to a stop. There had always been an unspoken code of respectful distance between them when in public—gatherings and celebrations aside. Even when William carried out his duties as leader of the rebellion, and now Guardian of Scotland, she kept her distance and minded her affairs. But at night, William was hers. Fortunately, with the sun low in the western sky, she wouldn’t have long to wait.

***

After leaving her horse with the groom, Eva headed to her chamber to dress for the evening meal. Now they were no longer living in a cave, she’d fallen right in to living the comfortable life of a highborn woman. William had even appointed her with a chambermaid, Madeline, who greeted Eva as soon as she stepped inside. “How was the riding, Miss Eva?”

The words “awesome” and “brilliant” came to the tip of her tongue, but Eva knew better. “Quite invigorating.” She twirled inside and tossed her circlet on the bed. “Do you ride?”

“Och, whenever there’s a need, I suppose.” The chambermaid strode to the bed and picked up Eva’s discarded headpiece. “I dunna travel overmuch.”

Eva combed her fingers through her growing red hair, though it was still too short for a medieval lady. “Were you born here?”

“Aye, and my parents as well.” Madeline gestured to the walls. “Everything we need is right here in Haddington.”

“Have you ever been to Edinburgh or a city?”

“Oh no.” Madeline stepped into the garderobe and retrieved a blue gown.

Eva untied the front lace of her kirtle. “Would you like to go sometime?”

“Never really thought about it.” The chambermaid stopped and looked down with a furrow to her brow. “Wouldna it be dangerous?”

“Perhaps not if traveling to Edinburgh when riding with a fortified garrison. And riding a horse, it wouldn’t take long. If you left at dawn you’d be there in time to take your nooning.” Goodness, Eva had improved at communicating in Auld Scots. Professor Tennant, the archaeologist who’d given her the medallion, would be impressed.

Madeline drew a hand to her chest. “No longer than that? I never realized we were so close.”

“Would you like to see the city?” Eva shrugged out of her kirtle and let it drop to the floor. It always felt as if she could float after removing the heavy woolen day gown and shaking out her shift.

“Oh no, I couldna leave Dirleton.” She skittered backward as if terrified of the idea.

“I suppose you’d need an adventuresome spirit.” With a sigh, Eva tapped her fingers to her lips. “There’s far more to life than what lies in this castle.”

“Mayhap to ye. Ye’re William Wallace’s woman, and ye’ve traveled all of Christendom. But the mere thought of venturing away from my home scares me to my verra bones. What of outlaws and tinkers and all manner of ill-reputed folk the father preaches about during Sunday mass?”

“Yes, the world can be a dangerous place, though I doubt it is as bad as the priest makes it out to be—especially if you have a proper escort.” Eva rolled her eyes to the ceiling. Recently, she’d been giving too much advice. Servants didn’t just pick up and take a day trip to a big city. A stroll into the village of Haddington would have been a major deal to Madeline.

“Och, ye dunna need to be filling my head with fanciful dreams of travel. I’m a servant’s daughter. No use dreaming where I’ve no business sticking my nose.”

Dumbfounded, Eva stared at the wall for a moment.
My, how different their lives are. A servant who refused to allow herself to dream about traveling twenty miles?

The door creaked open and William poked his head inside. “Do ye have a moment?”

Madeline darted in front of Eva and held up the gown to cover her as if she were naked and not wearing a shift tied at the neck, draping all the way to her toes. “I’ll have Miss Eva presentable in no time.”

He craned his neck, peering around the tiny chambermaid. “Verra well. I shall wait in the passageway, then.”

“For crying out loud.” Eva marched to the garderobe and donned a dressing gown. Was she the only person at Dirleton Castle who didn’t see a need to pretend she and William weren’t sleeping together? “Please excuse us, Madeline.”

Holding out the gown the chambermaid shook her head defiantly. “But—”

“Just leave it. I’m sure I can manage this once.”

“Aye, miss.” After carefully draping the gown over a chair, Madeline curtseyed then slipped past William and out the door.

Once they were alone, all he had to do was grin.

Swarms of butterflies attacked her stomach as Eva flew into his open arms. “Can you believe it? I stayed behind for an entire fortnight and nothing bad happened. I wasn’t kidnapped. There was no attempt on my life.”

They both shook with the force of his laugh while he lifted her and spun in a circle. “And ye didna don men’s clothing and try to come after me.”

Her toes touched the floor. “Right. You did have to bring that up.” When he’d found her at Fail Monastery, she’d been dressed in jeans and a month later, when he tried to break up with her and leave her at the same monastery, she’d put on a monk’s habit and had gone after him—which didn’t work out well for her at all. She coyly twisted a lock of hair around her finger. “But I promised not to try anything rash as long as you vowed to return.”