In the Kingdom's Name (Guardian of Scotland Book 2) (14 page)

Gnashing his teeth, William rode straight for the backstabbing leader.

“Protect Badenoch,” bellowed a man at his flank.

In the blink of an eye, four horsemen blocked William’s path. He didn’t pull up. Strengthening his seat with a downward press of his heels, he eyed the first, swinging his sword back for a deadly blow. William glared into the wide eyes of his opponent.

Ye’re the first to die
.

The pain in his shoulder shot thorough his arm like he’d been bludgeoned with a pickaxe. The lion’s claws sinking though his flesh plagued his mind with every bone-jarring strike. But William would never allow an injury to stop him. Only death would still the rage of battle that poured out from his heart to the tips of his fingers.

Iron scraped and clanged as blood splattered and men fell.

Behind the bridge, the foot were running with John Blair leading the pursuit.

Attacked from the side, William had no time to spare. Gritting his teeth against the pain, he forced his arm to keep swinging, defending every blow.

When his opponent fell, he set his sights on the prize. He’d have Comyn’s traitorous head. “Sssss,” William hissed, leaning forward in his saddle and demanding a gallop. “Ye venomed swine-eared rat!” He raised his sword, ready to meet his foe head-to-head. “I’ll send ye to hell for selling your loyalty for a bit o’ land.”

Comyn’s eyes grew wide with terror as William swung, aiming for the bastard’s neck sinews.

Struck from the side, a hammer collided with his helm. Stars blinded him. The great sword flung from his hand. Squeezing his knees, he fought to stay mounted while his body hurled sideways.

William’s sight cleared in time to see the ground approach. Tucking his shoulder, he hit with a jarring thud. A thousand knives needled his torturous scars.

His pulse thrummed.

No time to think.

Drawing his dirk from his belt, he tried to spring to his feet. His stomach squelched. Everything went black as he dropped to the mud.

***

“Give me a wee bit o’ help would ye, now?” a voice strained.

William gulped back his bile, his eyes flashing open. God’s teeth, Robbie was trying to heft him onto his horse.

“I’ll be right,” Willy slurred. “Go a-f-ter Comyn.”

“They’re long gone.” Robbie grumbled as he shoved against Wallace’s backside.

“Let me help,” said Little’s voice. “We need to spirit him away afore they double back with an army.”

Wind coughed through William’s throat as he landed across his saddle on his gut. Consciousness slipped in and out, his vision blurred. Was this the end? Finally?

“Eva,” he bellowed at the top of his lungs.

All strength fled as his head dropped and bobbed against the horse’s barrel.

Bitterly cold as if she’d plunged into a snowdrift, Eva sat up and shook her head. Lord, it was darker than midnight. Her teeth chattered. Where the hell was she?

Putting her hand down, her palm filled with wet slush.

How in God’s name did she end up in the Highlands?

Scrubbing her hands over her face, her eyes adjusted a bit.

Icy prickles shot across her skin.

Good Lord, she wasn’t in the mountains.

A tightness gripped her chest so powerful she couldn’t breathe. Though overgrown, she’d recognize the cave entrance anywhere.

But how did she end up in Leglen Wood in the snow? Yes, it had been cold at the reception, but snow hadn’t been in the forecast.

Her next problem? The surrounding forest was so dense, there was no way to wander out of there until daylight.

Pushing herself to a stand, her feet wobbled. Jeez, she still wore stilettoes, stockings and suit. She rubbed her outer arms.
Where’s my coat?

Shaking her head, the last thing she remembered was lying across her bed at Torwood.

A flicker came from the cave.

She gasped.

Who’s in there? Shit.

She wouldn’t last the night out in this cold. But before she just marched inside and met up with a band of hoodlums or drug addicts, she reached into her purse and pulled out her smartphone.

It only took one blink for the realization to sink in. Her throat closed. With the sudden perspiration oozing from her palm, the phone slipped.

Oh God, no
.

Clutching the phone to her chest she paced while her teeth chattered.

Twelfth February, 1305?

I can’t do this.

The medallion chilled like ice against her skin.

“Take me back, dammit.”

Bouncing her knees to stave off the cold, she squeezed her eyes shut.

Please. I can’t. Please, please, please, please.

If it got any colder, she’d turn into an ice sculpture.

What if he wasn’t there?

What if she’d been sent back to fall in love with someone else?

No. Fucking. Way
.

With a gulp, she pushed the torch icon on her phone and hobbled inside, trying not to twist an ankle on the craggy ground. The last time she’d been in this very spot, she was wearing hiking boots and a down vest—much more practical attire for the woods.

She hadn’t seen another flicker. Maybe her eyes had played a trick on her? With luck, the place would be empty…and then she’d need to build a fire. Did she have a book of matches in her purse? She certainly didn’t have a flint.

A hiss echoed through the passageway.

Ice coursed through her veins. Eva hadn’t heard the sound of a sword sliding from its scabbard in eight years. “Hello the cave,” she called in a panicked voice. “I’m in need of shelter.” Lord, the Auld Scots came back, too.

“There’s no room to be had. Be gone with ye,” a young man’s voice resounded—one she didn’t recognize.

She turned off the torch and slipped the phone back into her bag, replacing it with a vial of pepper spray—not a fantastic defense against a sword, but it might buy her some time.
To run where?

Should she chance it?

“I’m looking for William Wallace,” she said.

A wry chuckle followed. “Ye and everyone else. He’s nay in these parts—now be gone with ye.”

She ventured to guess the reason for her sudden appearance. He had to be in there. If her hunch was right, asking for shelter would be met with a firm rebuttal. “I am Eva MacKay come to see William. I have no weapons.”
Not even a miserable coat or a practical pair of shoes either
.

Silence filled the cavernous walls.

She held her breath, trying to stay her chattering teeth.

“Come into the light,” said a deeper voice.

Blair?

Her pulse sped.

Skimming the balls of her feet over the craggy surface, she rounded the bend and stood at the entrance to the big cavern, bracing her hand against the wall.

“Lord have mercy,” a young man said, staring at her legs.

“Robbie?” she asked. Goodness, the sandy-haired lad had grown nearly as big as William.

John Blair held up his sword with a sneer. “Satan, get thee from me.”

Backing, she glanced down at her legs and cringed. Bloody hell, over a dozen hungry eyes gaped at her. “Does anyone have something I can use to cover up? It seems I’ve arrived a bit over dressed.”

Blair snatched a blanket and tossed it to her. “A bit under dressed is more apt.”

She tugged the musty wool around her shoulders. Ah yes, the acute odors of the—now—fourteenth century. Warming ever so slightly, she regarded the men’s swords, still leveled at her midriff. Funny, they didn’t make her jittery at all. Perhaps she’d mellowed after eight years. “If you’ll be so kind as to sheathe your weapons, I could use a pair of shoes as well.”

“Bloody hell, woman.” The overzealous priest shoved his enormous sword into the scabbard hanging from his belt. “Where did ye come from, and why in God’s name did ye stay away for so long?”

“I…” She chanced a glance around the cave.
Where is William?
“I tried to come back for years.”
And now that I’d finally accepted my fate, I’ve suddenly appeared. Why the hell didn’t I give the medallion back to Walter when I saw him at the reception?

John Blair hadn’t grown any more welcoming during her absence. If anything, his face was gaunter, more foreboding.

But Robbie on the other hand—he’d turned into a man. Tall, ruggedly attractive, shiny blue eyes, shoulders as broad as a horse’s rear end. “Och aye, Miss Eva. Willy pined for ye something awful.”

She rubbed her outer arms. “As I did for him.”

“Then what happened?” demanded Blair.

She shifted her foot to the side, regarding the latest Louis Vuitton style—sinfully high heel, pointed toe—a slip of black leather. Everything she wore oozed twenty-first century. “You’d never believe me. William didn’t at first.”

Blair nudged Robbie’s arm. “Go tend the fire. I want to have a word with her
ladyship
.”

Eva folded her arms as the priest neared. “Where is William?”

“That is none of your concern.”

Her gaze shot to the alcove where he slept—had slept with her at one time. Furs covered the entrance like they had nearly a decade ago. “I believe he’s the reason why I’m here.” Surely he must be somewhere near.

“Ye think so?” He backed her down the passageway.

“Well, I certainly didn’t travel through a time warp to seek forgiveness for my sins. There are plenty of priests who can offer me absolution in the twenty-first century.”

“Blasphemy!”

“No. It is the truth.” She glanced down at his sheathed sword, then met his gaze. “Why do you think I’ve suddenly appeared wearing clothing not of this time?”

“Wearing the devil’s garb. Ye are disgraceful.”

She crossed her arms tight over her gabardine jacket, huddling under the blanket. “My clothing is of the best manufacture in my time.”

Lunging forward, Blair pinned her against the stony wall, his forearm across her throat. “Willy said ye were from the future.” His eyes narrowed. “How do I ken ye’ll not put a hex on him?”

Gulping, her knees started to quiver.
If I show weakness I’ll lose his respect
. “Did I ever do anything to harm him before?”

“Och, he pined for ye something awful—never forgot your bonny face. Damnation, I ought to burn ye.”

She refused to shift her gaze away from his penetrating stare. “Father Blair,” she said, stressing her modern Edinburgh accent. “I have no idea why I am here, but something in my heart tells me William Wallace needs me.” In a bold move, she pushed against his shoulder. “Is he in the alcove?”

The monk’s eyes shifted.

Shoving her way out of the priest’s trap, she started off, but he grabbed her wrist and squeezed. “Ye hurt him again, and I’ll hunt ye down and carve out your heart myself.”

She yanked her hand away. “I see you haven’t lost any of your charm.” She flung her finger toward the center of the cavern. “Now, I will forgive your boorishness if you find me a more suitable pair of shoes before I break my ankle on these stilts.”

The man grumbled something imperceptible under his breath, but then continued to follow her. “Can ye heal him?”

Eva stopped. “He’s ill?”

“Wounded in battle.”

“Jeez. Why didn’t you say something when I first arrived?” Clutching her purse, she kicked off her shoes and sped for the alcove.

***

Pulling the furs aside, Eva’s hand flew to her tingling chest. Turning upside down, her stomach fluttered with a gazillion butterflies. Her knees buckled, made worse by the swooning of her head. She’d been in shock before—swore she didn’t want to come back. Not now. Now when things would… Shaking her head, her entire body trembled as she regarded the sleeping form stretched out atop a pile of furs.

Lord, he’d aged. Deep lines etched the corners of his eyes and made furrows from his nose to where they disappeared beneath an unruly auburn moustache and beard. Still mahogany brown, his hair had not a wisp of grey. Regardless, his face was drawn, a bit gaunt and pale.

Eva glanced over her shoulder. “How long has he been unconscious?”

“A day,” said Blair.

She crawled inside. “Bring me some ice from outside—and clean rags.” After sliding her bag from her shoulder, she set it on the ground. “Where is Brother Bartholomew?”

“Gone,” said Blair, his voice trailing off.

“What happened to him?” Eva loved the little monk.

“Died of consumption on the return trip from Rome.”

Eva gasped, her heart clutched into a knot.
God, no
. “I-I’m sorry. He was…um…I liked him.” She had to keep it together. How many others had perished during her absence?

Seeing William unconscious—being back in Leglen Wood was like stepping into a nightmare. For so many years she’d ached for him, cried herself to sleep, angry that their time together had been cut short. But now. Did she want to be here?

Hell, no, no, no, no, no
.

She knew what was coming.

Death.

The most hideous, painful, humiliating, barbaric death ever imagined—the brainchild of an insane king, Edward Plantagenet. Her flittering stomach squelched and threatened to heave.

Blair didn’t budge. “Why, may I ask, do ye need ice? Is it not cold enough already?”

Eva had nothing to hide from the priest—not anymore. The medallion needed to send her home. Besides, Blair already thought her a heretic or worse. “You said he’s been unconscious for a day?”

“Aye.”

“Well, he most likely has a concussion. Ice is to help decrease the swelling of his brain—if he hasn’t suffered brain damage already.” In addition to keeping a first aid kit in her purse, she’d taken first responder classes with St. John’s Ambulance—in the days when she was sure she’d end up traveling back to William. She might be a bit rusty, but the knowledge she’d gained was a damned sight more than she’d had the last time she’d visited medieval Scotland.

Blair slapped his hand through the air. “Ye dunna make a lick of sense.”

“To you, perhaps not, but if you want him to wake, I’d suggest you stop lingering and fetch me the ice.”

“Ye havena quelled that barbed tongue of yours, I see,” Blair grumbled, dropping the curtain. “Pushy wench,” carried through the shroud.

And you haven’t mellowed your grumpy, opinionated attitude
.

Alone, she scooted toward William’s head and tested his temperature with the back of her hand. “At least you’re not fevered. But you’re awfully pale.” The friction from touching him made goosebumps rise across her skin. Her fingers trembled. “I’ll tell you here and now, I cannot possibly stay.”

William didn’t move, though a puff of air whistled through his lips.

Eva’s gaze slid down his body. Wearing a dirty linen shirt encrusted with blood, a plaid covered him to his waist. “Do you have any other injuries?” Wet blood seeped through his sleeve at his left shoulder. Untying his laces, she peeked beneath. “Jesus Christ you’ve been pummeled. What? Did they just shove you in here and leave you to live or die?”

Her pulse racing, she reached into her purse and pulled out the first aid kit. The jagged wound looked as craggy as the Grand Canyon.
Hit with a mace?
Lord only knew. Medieval soldiers carried all manner of weapons meant to maim.

She snatched a pair of shears and cut the shirt right down the middle. Pulling it away, the fabric stuck to his wound. Carefully she cut around it. “Robbie! Bring me some boiled water,” she hollered. Hopefully the lad remembered how important it was to keep things clean.

“Still harping on about hot water?” After some rustling, he popped his head through the shroud, holding a tankard of ale in his fist. “It’ll take a wee while to set a pot to boiling.”