Rise of a Legend (Guardian of Scotland Book 1) (2 page)

Walter chuckled. “Your analysis of Fisher’s writings in your article impressed even me.”

“Thank you.” Eva could have floated right to the top of Loudoun Hill—her editor hadn’t been nearly as enthusiastic. “Some say he’s done the most thorough research on Wallace.”

“Some do.” Tennant cleared his throat with a deep rumble. “I wouldn’t discount Blind Harry’s fifteenth century verse. He recounted stories that had been retold for a hundred and fifty years. There might be a modicum of truth in every chapter.”

“But you shot me down when you gave your presentation—said ‘we’re not chasing after a poet’s fairytale’ or something like that.” Eva thought her imitation of the professor’s rolling burr was pretty good.

“I was presenting facts, not conjecture. However when it comes to Blind Harry, people want to believe rather than question.”

“Interesting—but all oral stories change every time they’re retold.” Eva drummed her fingers against her lips. “Regardless of what a fifteenth century poet deemed the gospel, why wouldn’t people want to know the truth? That’s the very reason I went into journalism. I want to report the truth to the world.”

“Quite an ambition.” He held the seal up and peered through the plastic. “But isn’t one man’s truth another man’s lie?”

Her shoulders tensed as if he’d issued a slap. “I don’t think so. It’s the job of the journalist to give an unbiased account of the facts. That’s where history errs—too many reporters skewing the truth.” She could have debated Walter’s statement for the rest of the day, but instead she pointed to the seal. “How do you think that got here?”

“Not sure. Wallace could have lost it himself, or it could have been a keepsake carried by one of Bruce’s men.”

“Wouldn’t it be cool if it was held by Sir Robert Boyd? If my facts are right, he rode with Wallace and then with Robert the Bruce.”

Walter’s eyes bulged behind his comical glasses. “You do ken your history.”

Eva glanced longingly at the stamp. “I wish I knew more.”

***

On her way to the dig site the next morning, Eva’s car again turned right onto the unmarked road to Fail. She could have sworn the Fiat turned on its own but that would have been absurd. Regardless, the detour wouldn’t cause much of a delay. Giving in to
her
intuition, she drove straight to the church ruin she’d found the day before.

The sky violet above, magenta and orange hues illuminated the eastern horizon as she parked beside the old ruin.
Good, I’m in time to see the sunrise
.

As usual, the morning air was cooler than she liked, and she covered her pink NYU sweatshirt with a blue, down-filled vest. The grass a bit boggy, water bubbled beneath her hiking boots with every step. Ever since arriving at the dig she’d been thankful she’d had the wherewithal to purchase a sturdy pair of waterproof boots—red ones.

She stepped across a threshold where the door once would have been. Rectangular quarried blocks covered with moss lay scattered amid the grass, shaded by a canopy of birch and an inordinately tall ash tree. Eva stood for a moment. Tingles spread over her shoulders as if someone had just blown on her neck.

She glanced behind. Nope, she was still alone.

To the east, the oranges and violets of the sunrise pulled Eva toward the old church. She moved into the center of the ruin and faced the sun. Just as the master mason would have planned it in medieval times, rays gradually climbed the lone east-facing wall of the sanctuary. Luminous light sparkled around on the outer corners of the only remaining wall. Somehow it survived the ravages of time.

Her breath caught when a ray streaked down from the wheel-shaped window, as if an angel shone a beam of light straight onto Eva’s face. She squinted.

Goosebumps rose across her skin. Gripped by the sudden urge to sing a refrain from the Hallelujah Chorus, Eva opened her mouth but couldn’t make her voice work. The air around her levitated as the sun centered itself inside the circular window atop the crumbling wall. In fact, her body became weightless. If it weren’t for the angle of her foot awkwardly resting on a stone, Eva would have sworn she was floating.

Continuing up the wall, the sun’s light had nearly passed over the window when a flock of mourning doves took flight from the canopy made by the enormous ash. For the second day, the sensation of weightlessness made the woes lift from her shoulders and her mind soar with the birds.

She stared at the wall, not wanting to move. Her mind clear, her fears gone, Eva found her place of calm serenity.

“This church is magical, isn’t it?” Walter Tennant’s voice whispered directly behind her.

But Eva didn’t jolt this time. Her gaze remained fixed on the window, as if she expected the professor to appear. A dove landed on the sill and stared at her.

Taking a deep breath, Eva turned, faced the archaeologist and pointed. “The sunrise. It lined up perfectly with the wheel window. When I drove past yesterday, I thought it might, but wanted to see for myself.”

Now that the ethereal moment had passed, she studied him with puzzlement. “What…Why…How did you know I’d be here?” Her fists flew to her hips. “And why did you happen by this place at this very moment?”

He chuckled, cupping his chin between his thumb and pointer finger. “No reason, really. I’ve often driven past these ruins.”

“Honestly?”

“Aye.” Walter took a seat on the remains of the wall and patted the spot beside him. “This once was Fail Monastery. It was established in the Trinitarian Order by John de Graham in twelve fifty-two.”

“Trinitarian?” Eva didn’t recall the order from her studies. “That’s unusual, isn’t it?”

“Nay, not in those times. They had friaries all over—wore white vestments with a large red-and-blue cross.” Walter drew a cross on his chest with his finger.

Eva scrutinized the surroundings—pastoral land sparse with trees, but no other signs of ruins. “If this was a monastery, there would have been a lot more to the grounds than just this nave. What happened? Did it fall victim to The Reformation?”

“Not entirely. And it wasn’t a well-to-do sect. The Trinitarian monks were charged with the duty of rescuing Christian captives from slavery.” Walter crossed his ankles and looked down in thought. “I reckon they were the most Christian-like of all the orders. They never had much—couldn’t compete with wealthier orders because of their generous philanthropy.”

Eva smoothed her hand across the stone at her side. “I think it’s a shame so many great castles and churches have fallen into ruin.”

“I agree. You ken William Wallace could have spent a great deal of time right here. After all, he had an interest in the priesthood.”

She let Walter’s words sink in for a moment while a hundred questions swarmed about her head, but one stood out. “So, since we know Wallace studied to be a priest, was Blind Harry incorrect when he wrote William was married to Marion Braidfute?”

“Ah yes, the master sixteenth-century poet. As I said before, you must read between the lines of Harry’s writings—there are nuggets of truth betwixt the babble.” Walter’s bottom lip jutted out with his shrug. “But no one knows if William was married. Given his education, it doesn’t stand to reason, though. And there’s no record that Marion existed.”

“True, but at that point in time it wasn’t unusual for female births to go unrecorded.” Eva stood and looked at the window again. “I wish I could travel into the past and write his true story.”

“Och aye, me as well, but I wouldn’t be able to sit back and allow history to run its course.”

She faced him. “Oh, I could. That’s the essence of being a journalist—to be impartial and report the facts as they truly occur.”

He rocked back. “Very interesting point of view, indeed. I’m afraid I’d try to intervene. Then Scotland might end up without the greatest hero and martyr who ever lived.” Walter spread his arms wide. “Wallace’s legacy is epic, legendary, larger than life. It has defined Scotland’s sense of pride for over seven hundred years. I’d be mortified if I did anything to jeopardize that.”

She tapped a piece of flagstone with her toe. “I have to agree with you there. I think he was exactly what the country needed.”

“You’d best believe it, lassie.”

She sighed. “If only we knew more about him…I mean
really
knew.”

The professor stood and stretched. “And that is up to archaeologists and historical journalists like us to uncover and report—maybe we’ll find more clues right here.”

Eva expected him to head to his car, but Walter moved to the very place she’d watched the sun shine through the window. “No one can change the past.” His voice grew ominous. “That is the only rule.”

She gave him a quirky look. He certainly was odd—even for a professor. Though he had an endearing air, sort of like a grandfather—someone she felt comfortable talking with. “May I ask you a question?”

“Depends.” Walter rolled his hand through the air.

“Have you ever lost someone close to you—someone who wasn’t supposed to die?”

Walter removed a large coin from his pocket and smoothed his thumb over the surface. “Aye.” His hand trembled a bit. “Lost my twin sister when we were but in primary school.”

Eva drew in a quick breath. “I’m sorry.”

He opened his palm and looked at the coin. Eva peered a little closer, realizing the piece was very old and had a metal loop as if it might be a medallion worn around the neck.

“Now it’s my turn to ask you something,” he said, closing his fingers.

Eva pulled back—she shouldn’t have been so nosy. “All right.”

“You seem to be born with a silver spoon—you’re smart, beautiful, wealthy. Why did you volunteer for this dig?”

That was easy enough. “I’m a historical journalist with a deep love of Scottish history.” She stuffed her hands in the pockets of her down vest. “Anyone with my background would be thrilled to be here, regardless.”

“Aye?” The look on his face reminded Eva of her father’s expression whenever he caught her in a lie. “I think the reason goes far deeper.”

She swallowed.

“You were a favorite at the
Times
, a darling Scottish rose.” He wasn’t going to let up. “Had a stellar career in the making. But you walked away.”

Heat flared up the back of her neck. The last thing she needed to hear was a lecture. “How do know so much about my life?”

He gave her a disbelieving smirk. “You’re a top-notch journalist and you’re asking me?”

Eva folded her arms. Maybe the lecture wasn’t coming, but Walter sure knew how to push her buttons, and she wasn’t going to let it slide. “You said you lost your sister. Well, I lost my
husband
. A man I was planning to have a family with, a man who meant
everything
to me.”

Walter tossed the medallion in the air and caught it. “Och aye, I understand your loss well enough. And I feel for you, lass. I really do. But what I want to know is when will you decide to break down that wall you’ve built around yourself and get on with your life?”

She didn’t want to answer—didn’t want to have this conversation, but something in Walter’s stance demanded she reply.
Damn him
. “When the pain in my heart stops,” she whispered.

“That will come with time.” He positioned the artifact in his palm and smoothed his pointer finger around it. Then his enormous eyes met hers in challenge. “If you could do anything in the world, achieve any level of success, what would it be?”

“Aside from winning a Pulitzer?” She threw her head back with a rueful laugh, relieved the conversation had turned to something easier to discuss. “For me, it’s not about earning recognition. Not really. It’s about telling the story.” She took in a deep breath and met Walter’s pointed gaze, then stepped closer and squared her shoulders. By God, no one could change her mind about her single remaining passion. “I want to find something so intriguing…”

“Go on,” he said.

“…So intriguing, the entire world says
wow
.”

Walter smiled. “A worthy ambition.” He pulled a leather thong from his pocket and threaded it through the pendant’s loop. “I want you to keep this for me over the summer. It is said this medallion has powers that will direct you toward the path you are to travel.”

“You don’t believe in magic, do you, Professor?” she teased.

He tied both ends and slipped it over her head. “Aye, lassie.” He inclined his chin toward the wall. “A wee bit o’ magic happens every time the sun shines through that window up there.”

She grasped the medallion and read the inscription.
Verum est quasi malis navis in nocte
.

“It means:
truth is like a beacon
.” Walter reached in and turned it over. “And on the reverse it reads:
but few choose to follow
.”

With a couple years of college Latin under her belt, Eva read the inscription on the back.
Sed pauci volunt sequi
. “If you believe this, then yesterday why did you say one man’s truth is another man’s lie?”

Walter shrugged. “I wanted to see how you’d respond. You see, I believe we need someone who has a fervent hunger for the truth—someone who’s willing to allow history to unravel so she can share her unfettered story with the world—the one that just might make people say
wow
.”