In the Kingdom's Name (Guardian of Scotland Book 2) (25 page)

When William looked up, it was no surprise to see a galley approaching, flying the pennant of the Earl of Carrick. He’d known something was afoot for sennights. His wife mightn’t be able to predict small events, but Eva couldn’t hide it when she knew something big would happen. Only he’d never seen her so distraught before.

The color drained from her face as she straightened in his lap, digging her feet into the stones on the beach. “Lord Bruce,” she whispered as if suddenly chilled.

“Aye.” He stood, pulling Eva to her feet with him. “Go to the kitchens and ensure a feast is prepared for our guests.”

“But.”

“Do it, I say.” He pointed back toward the cloistered walls. “Doubtless, the earl and his company will have a sore hunger.”

Pursing her lips, she gave a sharp nod. “I shall see you in the dining hall anon.” Her voice took on a commanding tone William didn’t care for, though he chose not to argue. He just pointed, urging her to obey.

He didn’t know why, but he wanted to meet the Bruce alone. In the past sennights, Eva had been too outspoken and uppity. Whatever news the earl brought, William needed to hear it with a clear head, without Eva’s opinionated comments making him doubt his convictions. Aye, he loved her more than any person in all of Christendom, but no matter how much he wanted to, he could not place her or any mortal ahead of his duty. The image of his father lying lifeless in the mud, his sinews sliced as if he were worth no more than a slab of meat on the butcher’s block burned into William’s memory. On that day long ago, he’d committed himself to the patriot’s cause and would live by its creed.

Dressed for battle, the earl alighted from the galley unassisted. Most men of his affluence would have their men-at-arms carry them through the knee-deep surf, but not Robert Bruce. The man bore his nobility with an air of command, of strength. Something William hadn’t found in the others.

Wallace bowed deeply. “M’lord, it pleases me to see ye havena forgotten us.”

The hearty warrior took Wallace’s hand with a firm grip. “Och, Sir William, the memory of our last meeting weighs on my conscience with every passing day.”

“’Tis music to a weary soldier’s ears.”

“Weary? Ye’ve been in repose for the past four months.” Lord Bruce gestured forward, leading him away from his retinue. “Tell me, how goes our army?”

“We need more men for certain.”

“What are your numbers?”

“Five hundred.” William’s shoulder ticked up. “They’re trickling in and, with them, bringing tales of oppression and fear.”

Lord Bruce strode thoughtfully, his hands clasped behind his back. “I’d hoped for greater numbers by now. Ye’re right. We need ten times that to put an end to the senseless raids.”

William stopped. “Ye mean to say after all this time, things have not yet settled—even on the borders?”

“’Tis grave and the borders are suffering the worst of it.” A dark shadow passed over the good man’s face. “More villages are being put to fire and sword than before, all the while the marauders are calling your name. The murders and hangings have grown out of hand. ’Tis as if Longshanks’ madness increases with every passing hour.”

William’s fingernails bit into his palms as he clenched his fists. “I thought my disappearance would serve to settle the bastard’s ire.”

“As did I.”

“Is there someone else inciting the English garrisons playacting in my stead?”

The earl chuckled. “No one would be brave enough to take on your mantle.”

“Ballocks.” Scratching his beard, William looked toward the courtyard. It was eerily quiet, even for a Sunday. “We need an act so powerful, ’twill provide a spark to ignite a fire in the Kingdom’s breast.”

“I agree. If only we had the numbers we could strike now. God kens we need a miracle.” The earl heaved a heavy sigh and looked to the heavens. “After all this time, the people still love ye. Still long for the day when Wallace—their savior—will ride on the heavens and bring them liberty.”

Such a verbose assertion made William scoff. “No mortal man is capable of such heroism.”

“Nay?” Lord Bruce bowed. “Not even William Wallace, sir?”

Looking the earl directly in the eye, William’s gut clamped with the power of his conviction. “Mayhap a young king with cods of iron could rise up in my stead.”

The Bruce’s hawk-like stare narrowed. “What are ye saying?”

“Your time has come, m’lord. It is up to ye to take up the gauntlet and rise above the mire.”

“Take a stand against all of England?” He spread his arms wide and raised his chin. “Now? When we have been beaten and burned through eight years of tyranny? How will I find an army of forty-thousand brave Scots who can stand against the greatest fighting machine in all of Christendom?”

“Ye will, ’cause I will start a riot so grandiose nary a tiller of the land will be able to step away from his sword.” William stepped in and held his pointer finger under the earl’s nose. “And ye must let nothing and no one stand in your way.”

The Bruce folded his arms. “What is this grandiose plan of which ye speak?”

“I’ll tell ye once we are on our way.” William inclined his head toward the galley. “We’ve a good wind, m’lord. We’d best take advantage of it.”

***

“His lordship’s galley has set sail,” a crier bellowed from the tower.

The bowl of apples dropped from Eva’s hands, crashing to the floor, shattering into hundreds of pottery shards. With a shrieking gasp her hands flew to her mouth. “William!”

The monks in the kitchen stopped and looked her way.

“Where is William?” she demanded.

One shrugged his shoulders.

Eva didn’t wait for his response. Running to the courtyard, she grabbed the front of Father Blair’s black vestments. “Have you seen William?”

“I thought he was with Lord Bruce.”

“Aye, and the ship’s sailed.” Shoving the priest away, Eva raced out the gate. Tears burned her eyes. In the distance, the sea galley’s sail billowed with wind, heading away at full tilt.

“William!” she screamed, scanning the shore for his robust form—his dark hair blowing in the wind, his physique in repose, reading his psalter as he’d been doing only an hour before.

“No! You cannot leave me here. What in God’s name are you thinking?” Her mind spinning, Eva ran into the surf. “What did the earl say to make you board that ship?”

Icy water soaked her gown and slowed her progress, but onward she went. “Come back! I am your wife. Come back to me—” The undertow whipped around her legs and drew her downward with the ebb of the tide.

As water filled her mouth, a large hand clamped onto her shoulder. A burst of hope shot through her heart until Blair’s grey-eyed scowl met her gaze. He dragged her toward the shore as she tried to wrench from his grasp.

“We must stop him,” she shouted, sputtering saltwater out of her mouth.

“Why in the blazes did ye not stay with him?” He pushed her onto the stony beach.

“Me? I told you he sent me to the kitchens.” She clutched her arms tight to stave off the shivers and her chattering teeth. “Why did you not follow him?”

“Bloody hell, ye said they needed a meal.”

“Jesus Christ.” Eva’s stomach convulsed, her breathing grew shallow. “He cannot be on that ship.”

Blair grabbed her by the shoulders and shook. “Dammit, woman. Ye’ve spoken in cryptic gibberish long enough. Tell me what has ye so riled.”

With a burst of ire, she twisted out of his grasp. “I know you do not believe that I am from the future, and honestly, I no longer care what you think. But trust me when I say William will be captured by the English on August third, the year of our Lord thirteen hundred and five.”

Dropping his hands, Blair looked to the sea galley, now only a speck on the horizon. “Good God, that is only two days hence.”

“Exactly.” Her teeth chattering, she tugged on his arm. “We must leave immediately. He will be betrayed by Sir John Menteith, taken to Dumbarton Castle for one night before they haul him to London for a mockery of a trial.”

The friar didn’t budge. “Ye kent all this and yet didna tell me?”

“If I had, the words would not have escaped my mouth before I would have been swept away for good.” Eva ran her palm over the spot where the medallion should be. Her damned skin was as icy cold as the droplets of water sprinkling from her hair. What if she
had
tried to tell him? Would William still be there?

“There is only one rule.”
Walter Tennant’s voice rang in her head. Those were the words he used when he gave her the medallion.

Her sudden disappearance when she’d tried to help Andrew Murray was an experience she could ill afford to repeat. She must tread with utmost care—must not divulge too much or she’d run the risk of losing William. Eva curled over, her fists tight against her forehead. Why couldn’t she stop him from going? Why couldn’t she convince him to stay?

Would he have done so if she’d revealed the whole truth? She knew the answer, though she wasn’t about to accept it.

She started toward the monastery to collect her things—including the damned medallion. “Gather a crew. We must sail after them straight away.”

After their galley set sail, the wind changed and with it came a violent tempest. Refusing to turn back, Eva and William’s most loyal men suffered the ire of the Atlantic as they tacked through thirty-foot waves toward Glasgow.

Two days it took them to negotiate the angry swells, all the while Eva prayed they’d catch up to Lord Bruce’s galley. The storm cleared as their boat headed up the River Clyde.

As soon as they alighted onto the pier, they were intercepted by the Earl of Carrick. “Sir Wallace told me ye would follow.”

“You’re bloody right I would.” Eva reached into her satchel and pulled out a handful of shillings. “We need horses. We must haste to Robroyston a once.”

Bruce frowned. “Ye are too late.”

“Then to Dumbarton!”

The earl knit his brows with a menacing glare. “How do ye ken this?”

“She’s a seer,” said John Blair, stepping beside her.

“And William’s wife.” Robbie Boyd hopped on her other side, gripping the hilt of his sword. “Lady Eva will gain an audience with her husband anon.”

“Ye’d best watch your backs.” Lord Bruce eyed each one. “Ye men all have prices on your heads. If ye’re seen within a mile of Dumbarton ye’ll not live to tell tale of it, mark me.”

“What about me?” Eva asked. “Is there a price on my head?”

“I didna ken Wallace had married,” said Bruce.

“Only his most trusted men were a party to the ceremony,” said Blair.

Eva took Robbie by the elbow and pulled him forward. “You must stay with Lord Bruce. He will need your sword and your fealty.”

The young man yanked his arm from her grasp. “No. Not while Willy is in peril.”

Eva looked to the man who would seize the Scottish crown in less than a year. Placing her palm in Robbie’s back, she led the lad toward him. “Sir Robert Dominus Boyd is named for his father. A knight hanged by Edward the Longshanks. During his youth he acted as squire to William Wallace who taught this young man to be a knight and to keep him, a lad of noble birth, from King Edward’s grasp.” She dipped into a deep curtsey. “There would be no greater sword at your side than Sir Boyd. He knows how to fight like Wallace—he is bred to guard a king.”

The Bruce’s eyes widened as he assessed the young warrior. “William wed a wise woman.”

Robbie took a step back. “But—”

“Go,” commanded Blair. “’Tis your destiny, lad.”

The promising knight threw out his hands. “I canna leave William behind.”

Taking Robbie’s hands in her palms, Eva squeezed. “Remember what I told you? Your time has come. You must follow the path of your future.”

The lad’s face flushed red. “I—”

Lord Bruce gripped Robbie’s shoulder. “Come, Sir Boyd. We’ve a new rising to plan.”

Shifting his gaze to the future king, Robbie’s Adam’s apple bobbed. But he nodded.

Eva wasted no more time. Beckoning the priest, she inclined her head toward the stables. “Go find us some horses.”

Crossing the street, Eva glanced over her shoulder. Robbie made wide gestures of disbelief until the future king placed his hand on the lad’s shoulder and spoke. Something happened then—the Bruce’s words must have been profound because the young knight took one step back and bowed deeply.

***

By the time she arrived at Dumbarton Castle it was dark. Father Blair and Eddy Little hid in the shadows of the trees while Eva climbed the stairs and pounded on the gate.

The screen opened and a helmed head popped through. “Go away. The gates are sealed closed until the morrow.”

“Please. I must see the prisoner William Wallace.”

The guard cackled with a rueful laugh. “That sorry bastard is headed for a public execution, he is.”

“Please just let me speak to him.”

“Too right, Sir Menteith will receive lands and riches for ensnaring that slippery eel,” the guard spewed in a brogue sounding thick like cockney English. “But ye’re too late, wench. They set out hours ago. Menteith didn’t want to chance on risking a raid by Wallace’s men—not when we have the traitor in our grasp.”

If only she could reach through the panel and wrap her fingers around the guard’s neck. “Sir William is not a traitor. He is a patriot. And you, sir, are trespassing on Scottish lands.”

He shoved his ugly face further out the window. “Ye’re one them are ye not? Off with ye afore I haul your arse into the dungeon and lock ye away for the rest of your days.”

Backing away, Eva gaped. The panel slammed closed. She took in consecutive gasps while clutching her heart.
Not there? The history books got it wrong, goddammit.

***

Eva thought they’d never reach London. When they crested the last hill, the smoke hanging above the medieval city gave the impression of hell—it had a sulphur stench, too. Only Satan himself would enjoy wandering the streets of such a cesspool. But she would tread through hell and sell her soul to see William. She could not allow him to go through this madness—not while she remained in this century.

Pointed spires jutted toward the sky, surrounded by the slate roofs of wooden townhouses. The twin gothic towers of Westminster Abbey stood as prominent as the Tower of London nestled by the Thames. The river itself had a green tinge, and as they neared, the stench became unbearable. Eva held her cloak across her nose, but it did little to allay the burning of her eyes. The streets grew narrower, sloppy with mud and excrement. Hogs wandered freely, gnawing on the rotting flesh cast aside from the butchers’ blocks.

Eva had experienced the filth of medieval cities before, but nothing compared to London. She thanked God a horse carried her toward the tower. She’d loose her meager breakfast of oatcakes if forced to sink her feet in the mire. But even sickness from revulsion would not sway her determination.

Dressed in a nun’s habit, Eva slipped to the gatehouse of the Tower. John Blair and Eddy Little remained behind at an inn while they awaited her return. Again she hailed the guard, but this time she knew William was locked away in one of the dank chambers. She would not leave until she saw him.

A panel slid aside. “Who goes there?”

“It is Eve, a holy woman who wishes to pray over the prisoner William Wallace.” She purposely called herself by the first woman to allay doubt of her being a nun.

The soldier gawked, looking her from head to toe. “Are ye daft? That beggar is a vile beast. Such a man could do ye harm.”

“I am a bride of Christ. The Lord’s mercy is watching over me. Surely you would not deny the vilest of men an opportunity to atone for their sins.”

“But he has seen a priest.”

“Ah yes, but a man will confess more to a woman.” She held up Blair’s bible. “Please, I have selected a scripture to ease his troubled soul.”

The door creaked with the sliding sound of the crossbar. “I’ll allow it, but only for a moment.”

As it opened, Eva made the sign of the cross. “God will look favorably upon you come the Day of Judgement.”

Following the stocky guard through a maze of dank passageways and wheel stairwells, more than one rat scurried through the shadows. Eva recoiled at the filth. When he stopped at a thick wooden door, reinforced with blackened iron nails, she peered through the crossbars in the tiny window.

William sat on a cot, his head bent over his psalter. Eva swooned as she clutched a hand over her heart. When the door opened, she curtseyed to the guard. “Leave us.”

“But—”

“I will be unharmed. The prisoner needs solitude.”

With a nod, he shut the door behind her and bolted it.

William didn’t look up. He merely held a finger to his lips while footsteps clapped and faded down the passageway.

Then his eyes met hers. The same eyes that could see to her soul and carve out her every secret. But she’d never seen such an expression on William’s face before. Yes, there was bold determination, strength, intelligence, but this was the first time she’d ever read defeat.

He set his psalter aside. “I wish ye hadn’t come.”

She moved further inside. “Did you think for one moment that I would not?”

“Nay. I kent ’twas a matter of time.”

Choking back a gasp, Eva rushed to him, falling to her knees and clutching his hands between hers. “You cannot go through with this.”

“I have made up my mind.” His eyes pleaded. “One man’s life for an entire Kingdom. The people will rise at the outrage. I ken they will in my heart. It is what Lord Bruce needs to rekindle the Scottish spirit.”

She suddenly wished she’d never uttered the Earl of Carrick’s name. “Do you know what they will do to you?”

His head dropped forward. “I have an inkling. After so many years of chasing me, Longshanks willna make my death easy.”

“It will be the most atrocious, painful death imaginable.” She took off the medallion and wrapped it around both their wrists. “Go back to the twenty-first century with me. Please. I will show you everything. I-I-I never told you that men can fly.”

He snorted and shook his head. “Och, Eva…”

“They can. In airplanes. Planes can ferry a great number of people like a ship at sea.” She closed her eyes tight and concentrated, squeezing William’s fingers. “Take us back. Take us to a gentler time. I want to show William my world. Please!”

He wrenched his hands out from under the leather thong. “Nay, lass. It is done. I stand firm on my conviction. This old warrior’s bones are weary.”

“Old? Why, you might very well have fifty more years to live—over half your life.”

“And then what? Die an old man in my bed? That is not a death that will inspire a nation to arms.”

A tear streaked down her cheek. Her mouth quivered. “Please, William. I cannot lose you. You will be tried on the morrow. Once the sentence is passed they will drag you behind a horse and—”

“Hush.” He held his fingers to her lips. “I ken what they will do and I will meet my end.”

Shaking her head, she couldn’t breathe. “No—”

“Wheesht, now.” He pulled her into his arms and silenced her mouth with a deep kiss. Raw passion surged from him, for the fear he could not express with his words electrified her with the intensity from the pressure of his lips and the desperate swirling of his tongue.

Inhaling deeply, he leaned his forehead against hers. “Our souls are one, m’lady. We will meet again in heaven and ye will be my bride through eternity.”

How can he say this? Be so calm when my every nerve ending is on fire?
“I cannot let you go.”

“Ye have no choice. I want ye to return to your time. Go now, for there is nothing left for ye here.”

He placed her on her feet and hollered for the guard.

***

All three disguised in peasant’s garb, Eva attended William’s trial with Eddy and John.

Dark paneled benches in two tiers and filled with English noblemen lined the Westminster courtroom walls. Onlookers were allowed to stand in the public gallery beyond the justice’s table. People crammed into the space, shoulder to shoulder, the air heavy with the sickly pall of unwashed humanity.

Eva’s entire body shook as they led William into the courtroom in chains and forced him to stand inside a cage tipped with sharp iron spikes. She reached out toward him, her throat thick and dry. Boos and rumbles of dissention rolled between the chamber walls.

The justice hammered his gavel, demanding silence. “William Wallace of Scotland, ye have been accused of sedition, homicides, plunderings, fire-raisings and a litany of other felonies and crimes.”

William stared at the black-robed man, his face devoid of emotion.

“Ye are not allowed to speak during these proceedings as ordered by His Grace, King Edward of England.”

“That’d be right—not allow a man a defense,” grumbled Blair under his breath.

“All hear the case and evidence against the felon who stands before ye. The charges are lengthy. The evidence irrefutable.” Lord Justice stood, unrolled a scroll and cleared his throat. “The King of England in hostile manner conquered the land of Scotland over John Balliol. The prelates, the earls, the barons and other Scottish enemies of England were in forfeiture along with the same John, and by the conquest of him submitted and subjugated all the Scots to right of ownership and Edward’s royal power as their king. After which, Edward of England received in public the homages and pledges of the prelates.”

Eva frowned.
The Ragman Roll was signed by Scotland’s nobles under duress.

“The King made his peace to be proclaimed through the whole of the land of Scotland. He appointed and set up Guardians of that land, including sheriffs, provosts, bailiffs and other ministers to maintain his peace and issue justice to all according to the laws and customs of England. The aforesaid William Wallace, forgetful of his fealty and allegiance—”

“I did not pledge fealty to the English king,” William’s deep voice resonated across the chamber.

Boos and shouts of vile discord came from the gallery.

“No!” Eva shouted at the top of her lungs, only to have Blair slap a hand over her mouth.

The justice hammered his gavel on the board. “Silence. The prisoner is
not
permitted to speak.”