Rise of a Legend (Guardian of Scotland Book 1) (24 page)

A spike of need shot through her body as she moved her hands down and wrapped her fingers around his manhood. “We must pay special attention to cleansing this.”

“Ye do understand me, lass.”

She pleasured him with languid strokes, watching his face grow dark and impassioned.

He opened his eyes to half-cast. With a low rumble he lifted her onto his hips. “Take me to heaven, lassie. For no one but ye can cool the fire thrumming in my blood.”

With war imminent, the luxury of Renfrew Castle could never last, and deflecting Lady Stewart’s questions about Eva’s parentage had grown thin. With leather saddlebags filled with her new clothing and two rolls of parchment, she mounted her old gelding and rode out the gates of Renfrew where she crossed the River Clyde with William and his growing ranks of foot soldiers. At least she’d stolen an opportunity to sneak through the keep and snap photos. She patted her satchel with her phone hidden in a secret pocket she’d made. Her pictures would be priceless one day.

Robbie and Lachlan rode in beside her. “I thought ye may have left us,” Robbie said.

Lachlan planted a fist on his hip. “Och aye, ye didna come to the camp once.”

“I’m sorry.” Eva bit her bottom lip. “I should have been more thoughtful.”

“Mr. Little fashioned me a longbow.” Lachlan held up his new weapon with a broad grin stretching his freckled face. “I wanted to show ye how good I shoot.”

“How well I shoot,” Eva corrected.

“Huh?” The lad scrunched his nose. “They’re putting me with the archers.”

“Aye, and me with cavalry.” Robbie patted his gelding’s neck. “This fella is fearless.”

Eva made a mental note to again speak to William to ensure the boys stayed far from harm. “I am impressed.” She tried to mask her horror. “Do you know how long we expect the march to Scone to be?”

“Three days,” Robbie said.

“Good, then you shall have plenty of time to tell me about all that happened at Renfrew.” She gave Lachlan a wink. “As well as show me how to shoot arrows.”
And I’ll have time to talk to William
.

Traveling with an army was slow. Scouts rode ahead to look for ambushes and sentries were sent ahead to ensure there would be enough food. All the while, stragglers joined along the way. And Eva didn’t balk when William told her he and his lieutenants had decided they’d only accept men who possessed arms because it did little good to have beggars in their ranks who consumed precious food.

On the second day, they gave Stirling Castle a wide birth, skirting to the north and west. Riding through the edge of a forest, William looked to Eva and pointed upward. “’Tis Abbey Craig. Blair and I hunted there when we were studying at Dunipace.”

Eva’s gaze trained up the forested cliff. Up there, the Wallace Monument would be built in the nineteenth century. She’d climbed its narrow tower stairs with her classmates in grade six. But it all looked so different in the twenty-first century, Eva didn’t recognize a thing.

Her limbs quivered in concert with a horrible tightening in her chest. The reality of 1305 wrapped itself around her throat like a hangman’s noose. Her nightmares may have ebbed, but the trepidation creeping up her skin increased her anxiety tenfold.

Eva closed her eyes and willed herself to breathe.
Go on sickly dread. Back to your corner
.

“Are ye unwell?” William asked.

She glanced at his concerned expression and forced a smile. “I’m fine—just had an unpleasant thought haunt me from my past.”

“Och, your elusive past, aye?”

She nodded and ran her fingers through her gelding’s mane—anything not to look William in the eye. True, this adventure had pulled her away from thinking about Steve and his murder. But now she must keep thoughts of the year 1305 from her mind too. Besides, she doubted the forces behind the medallion would ever allow her to remain in medieval Scotland for eight years.

No, no, no.
One year
.

She must continue to live life one day at a time. Neither the past nor the future existed for Eva.

She clenched her fist around her reins, drilling in the words she must never forget:
there can only be the now
.

***

In the wee hours before dawn, outside the tent the trees of Scone Wood rustled and moaned with the wind. After spending an hour on his knees with psalter in hand, William watched Eva in slumber. Gazing upon her stilled his heart. What on earth had he been thinking leaving her in Fail? Living without the lass was like living without air to breathe.

He placed his palm on Eva’s shoulder. “Would ye help me with my hauberk?”

Stirring, she rubbed her eyes. “What time is it?”

He shrugged into his quilted arming doublet and fastened the ties. “Time to ask Sir Ormsby to vacate Scone Castle and head back across the border.”

She mumbled something about coffee while she stood and hefted up William’s mail armor.

Knee-length with half sleeves, the blasted thing weighed near three stone, and even for Willy it was near impossible to shrug into without help.

Once situated, Eva held up his surcoat with the St. Andrew’s Cross emblazoned on the chest. “Remember you promised to keep the lads away from harm.”

“Aye. Given the wooden battlements around the city, we aim to attack first with cavalry.” Now dressed for battle, he stretched his shoulders back to allow the chain links of his mail to better mold to the quilted arming doublet beneath. “Keep them with ye and set up a makeshift hospital with Brother Bartholomew.”

She frowned. “I hope the injuries will be minimal.”

“As do I.” He grasped her shoulders. “I mean it when I said stay clear of the fighting. If ye want all the gory details, I will relay my account after ’tis safe.”

She smoothed her hand down his surcoat as if clearing it of wrinkles. “You needn’t worry about me.”

“Aye? Well, this would be the first time.”

She thwacked him on the shoulder. “I beg your pardon?”

“Think on it, lass.” He picked up his helm from the base of their pallet. “Since I rescued your fair arse in Fail, ye’ve managed to wind up in a world of trouble at every skirmish.”

She cringed. “Well, I didn’t mean to.”

“No one ever means to, but ye sure do have a knack for finding it.” He grasped her wrist and pulled her into him. “Come here and kiss me.”

He loved how her green eyes grew darker when she pressed her body against his. Eva’s tongue moistened her bottom lip as she rose up on her toes. Clasping her face between his palms, William closed his eyes and savored the taste of pure woman. Aye, when he walked out of the tent, he would assume his role of hardened warrior. But having Eva MacKay in his arms helped to remind him that he was also a man with a compassionate heart—a heart he once thought hewn of stone.

With one last kiss, he headed for his horse. The others had begun to rise and prepare their mounts. God willing, this would be a victorious day.

Robbie had William’s Galloway saddled and waiting. “Are ye sure ye dunna need me to ride beside ye? My horse is as fast as yours.”

William mussed the lad’s hair. “I need ye to look after Miss Eva and tend to the fallen.”

The lad dropped his arms to his sides. “Again?”

After mounting, William regarded the lad. “Robert Boyd, I ken ye’re the leader of your clan, but that does not allay the fact that ye’re still a lad. Once your beard has come in, I’ll be more than honored to have ye fight beside me. But until then, ’tis my duty to ensure ye live to lead your people.”

“But—”

William sliced his hand through the air. “That’s the last I’ll hear of it. If I see your bony arse on a horse anywhere near the skirmish, I’ll lock ye in the stocks for a week. Ye ken?”

“Och.”

William gathered his reins and leaned down to the boy. “Ye ken?”

The lad kicked a rock. “Aye.”

“Now off with ye. Go see what ye can do to help Miss Eva and Brother Bartholomew—and take Lachlan with ye.” William tapped his heels and trotted to the cavalry men.

“He’s with the archers,” Robbie yelled.

William looked to the group of men with their bows. They probably would see no action this day and at least an archer wouldn’t be in the midst of the fighting. Lachlan stood on the outside of the mob with his bow in hand. William steered his horse toward him until Sir Douglas blocked his path.

“Are ye ready to skewer some English vermin?” Douglas asked from his black steed, caparisoned with the white-and-blue Douglas shield embroidered over the beast’s hips.

William reined his mount beside the knight. “Ready to take back Scotland’s lands for Scotland’s people?”

Douglas smirked. “And send Sir Ormsby to an early grave.”

“Aye.”

William turned his attention to the ranks and rode down the line of mounted men. “This day we shall stand against an uninvited trespasser. A man who mistakenly believes himself superior. A man who has committed heinous crimes against our kin.” At the end of the retinue, William drew his sword and turned. Digging in his heels, he demanded a gallop. “We will not stand for another day of tyranny!”

With an uproarious cry, the men followed him. Thundering through the wood and out into the open lea, William and his cavalry raced for the sleeping village of Scone with the Douglas renegades alongside.

From the ramparts, the ram’s horn sounded. Ahead the gates opened and out poured a line of cavalry men all clad in English surcoats depicting the red-and-yellow Ormsby coat of arms.

The wind at his face, William tightened his fist around his hilt and bellowed a battle cry. He raced toward the enemy at breakneck speed. His senses honing, every sound, every blink of the eye, every breath became acute. Even his mount’s hoofbeats thundered like the pounding of a drum. The rumble of the horse’s snorts intensified as the beast took in deep breaths through his enormous nostrils.

From beneath his helm, William stared at the onslaught of mounted English soldiers. He focused on the whites of one opponent’s eyes. The man bared his teeth with a challenging bellow, galloping toward him with his sword held high. At two paces to impact, William chose the point of his target. The man’s exposed neck would be the first place Wallace would strike. Without hesitation, he swung his blade, hacking through the neck sinews of the attacking guard.

The man toppled backward off his horse, but William couldn’t stop to watch. Surging forward, he swung his sword, fighting his way to the town gates. The thundering roar of the battle infused him with strength. On and on he fought the onslaught of mounted Ormsby men.

As he neared the gates, out of the corner of William’s eye, Sir Douglas and his rebels had also broken through the line of English horse.

“Battering ram!” Wallace shouted.

Thrusting his blade, William dispatched his next opponent, then spun his steed. Eddy Little’s archers moved into place while infantry men marched forward. They carried the iron-tipped ram and protected their bodies with targes held over their heads.

A volley of arrows hissed, raining above as the soldiers on the battlements made a feeble attempt to stage their defense.

The battering ram boomed against the gates.

Eddy’s archers shot flaming arrows into the wooden fortress. Within two blinks of the eye, fires across the battlements crackled and grew.

Boom
. The ram smashed again, this time with a splintering crack. Again and again the ram hit its mark until the heavy gates gave way.

William led the charge through billowing black smoke, straight into the town square. The remaining enemy stood with their weapons above their heads whilst an English cleric pleaded for leniency.

“Blair!” William shouted. “Send them back to England and bid them never return.” William dismounted along with his men. He would not attack soldiers who were willing to lay down their weapons. “Only but one will pay for the crimes committed against Scotland. Where is your leader, Sir Ormsby?”

“F-fled,” said a brave soldier. “Deserted us in the night.”

Dropping to his knees, the friar continued his chant, begging for God to have mercy on their souls.

Sir Douglas spurred his horse forward with an ugly bellow.

William broke into a run. “No!”

With one swipe of his sword, the bloodthirsty knight lopped off the defenseless cleric’s head.

Stunned gasps rang out across the courtyard. William’s gut roiled. The last thing he wanted was to have the Scots become reputed as murderers of innocents, something of which Sir Douglas couldn’t give a rat’s arse about.

“Ye bloody bastard.” In three strides, William latched onto Sir Douglas’s bridle. “There’ll be no more killing for the sport of it under my command.”

“And who named ye commander of this army?” The knight tried to rein his horse away, but William held fast.

“My charter comes from High Steward of Scotland, James Stewart, and ye’d best not forget it, else your head will be rolling on the cobblestones alongside the friar’s.”

Douglas scowled. “Ye talk like a milk-livered fool.”

“Ye’re wrong. Let no man say I raised a hand against the innocent. Send these Englishmen back from whence they came. Furthermore, we will have Scottish born holy men presiding over Scotland’s abbey’s and churches,” William spoke loud enough for everyone to hear, though his gut roiled. To have this victory sullied by Sir Douglas’s vulgar brutality left a sour pall hanging over the town.