Rise of a Legend (Guardian of Scotland Book 1) (9 page)

***

Eva stood under the shower, reveling beneath the luxurious hot water. To think, just a few days ago, she thought it a paltry stream. If only she could linger, but not now. Anxious to be on her way, she turned off the faucet and grabbed her towel. Earlier, she’d rinsed out her musty smelling clothes and thrown them in the caravan park dryer. Who knew when she’d have the chance to clean up again?

After toweling off, she donned a pair of black leggings, convinced they would be more comfortable under her gown and blend in better to medieval Scotland than her jeans. Then she put on wool socks, her boots and a bra. Dashing to the dryer, she removed the shift and tugged it over her head, followed by the blue gown, the apron and the veil—well, she tossed the veil over her arm and ran to the caravan.

Thank God her roommates Linsey and Chrissy weren’t there. Eva opened her laptop and quickly shot off an e-mail to her parents, telling them she’d found the story of a lifetime, and not to expect to hear from her for a while. Mom would have a gazillion questions, but Eva wouldn’t be online to answer.

She grabbed a worn leather satchel because it was the only bag she owned that would pass for medieval. The first thing she packed was a handful of panties. She might have to wear the same clothes for days, but she’d go crazy if she couldn’t change her underpants. Then she added her toiletries bag and her solar mobile phone charger. Without service, the phone could still be used as a camera and a recording device—as long as she could keep it hidden.

Money?

She plopped the satchel on the bench and turned in a circle. Opening the cupboard, she found a canister of salt and tossed it in, then opened her jewelry travel case and pulled out the gold band from her wedding set. She stared at the diamond engagement ring and matching earrings Steven had given her and opted to leave them behind. She could end up in more trouble than not with a couple of karats in diamonds…but she did pick out two silver rings and a silver pin in the shape of a thistle she’d had since high school.

If only I had a halfpenny or a few farthings dated 1297 or earlier
.

She sighed, stood in front of the mirror and affixed the veil in place with the cord Wynda had given her.

The door swung open.

Eva whipped around and faced Linsey and Chrissy with her hands gripped behind her back as if she’d been caught stealing. “Hey! What have you two been up to?” She sounded like a cheerleader.

They exchanged exasperated looks. Chrissy with her brown hair and freckles stepped in and leaned against the counter. “The question is: where have
you
been?”

Eva shrugged into her down vest—Lord knew she needed it the most. “I wish I could say, but I’m following the story of my life, and its hush, hush.”

Linsey raked her gaze up then down. “Bloody Christmas, you look like you’re ready for a reenactment of the Battle of Bannockburn or something. I went to one last year and the women were dressed just like you are.”

“Oh this?” Eva held out her skirts. “It’s just part of my disguise.”

“Sounds like a weird story you’re writing,” Linsey said.

“I know, right?” After picking up her satchel, Eva slung it over her shoulder. “Hey, well, I guess I’ll see you later, then?”

“Yeah.” Still leaning against the counter, Chrissy crossed her arms and her ankles. “I hope you can tell us what’s going on when you get back.”

“I sure will, just as soon as I know it’s all right.” Before Eva walked out the door, she opened the cupboard and grabbed a box of granola bars she’d brought with her. “See ya.”

The girls hardly had a chance to say goodbye when she dashed out the door, running for her car. Hopefully Walter would bring it back again. Honestly, she had no idea if she could fling herself to the past from anywhere, or if she had to be at Fail Monastery. But this wasn’t the time to find out. She must return to Lanark before William arrived, else the trust she’d began to build would be ruined forever.

The Fiat engine revved, and though Fail was only a few miles away, she couldn’t drive fast enough. Skidding to a stop in the gravel, she ran to the old ruin and faced the rose window. Breathing heavily, she looked up and grasped the medallion. “I swear I will never do anything to alter the past. Please, whatever force is out there, take me back.”

Eva stood staring at the window while the breeze picked up her veil. Thunder rumbled in the distance.

Please. Before it starts to rain
.

She stood in place for a good fifteen minutes. Gusts of wind swirled around the ruined walls, then a splash of water smacked her cheek. Lightning streaked overhead. Eva crossed her arms and hugged them tight to her chest. “I’m not leaving!”

The skies opened with a deluge. Eva glanced at the Fiat—if she made a run for it, she could wait out the storm. But something deep inside told her to stay.

When she blinked, an image of Heselrig’s back flashed through her mind’s eye. She shook her head.

“I will not fail,” she yelled at the gaping window. “I will do everything to bring back the truth.” She shook her fist. “You know what I’ve been through. You know how much I need this story. And most of all, you picked me because I will obey your code of honor. I swear this on my life!”

A bolt of lightning turned the sky above pure white. Eva threw up her hands as the brilliant light transformed into utter darkness. This time her heart soared at the piercingly agonizing noise and the sensation of falling through a bottomless abyss.

With a sudden rush that nearly burst her eardrums, Eva found herself against the torture chamber wall, looking at Sheriff Heselrig’s back—the same image she’d seen when she blinked.

Holy shit!

He regarded the battleax just as he had before everything went black…but Eva’s hands were no longer bound.

Dripping wet, she tugged on the satchel strap to conceal the bag in the small of her back. Eva hadn’t thought through exactly what might happen when she returned. She’d kind of assumed she might arrive in a dungeon cell. The last time she’d hurtled through time, she’d landed in the midst of life-threatening danger. Why on earth would she have anticipated differently now?

When Heselrig set down the unbelievably sharp battleaxe, Eva exhaled. She could only think of one thing he might do with that weapon and she was pretty sure head severing was involved. Regardless of her fear of sharp objects, now that she’d returned, she refused to allow terror to control her mind—the hard knot in her gut insisted this was not her time to die. She inched toward a dagger hanging in a line of weapons on the wall.

“Let me see,” he said. “I think I’d like to take my time with this one—young women always provide such interesting sport—and ye will be all the more entertaining when I hold court in the town square on the morrow.”

She took in an inhale—good, he didn’t plan to kill her immediately. Eva slid the knife from its peg and hid it behind her back.

The sheriff spun around. “What was that?”

Jeez, I barely made a noise
. She knitted her eyebrows. “Pardon me, sir?”

He chuckled and sauntered toward her, his neck craning so he could look her in the eye. “Ye might be certain of yourself now wench, but I assure ye, I’ll have ye singing the bastard’s name from the bell tower by the time I’m done.”

Eva tightened her grip around the knife’s hilt.

He held up a pair of shears and grinned like
Batman’s
Jester. “We’ll start with these.”

He yanked her veil from her head, then jerked away. Sucking in a gasp, he gaped at her in horror. “Miserable bleating wretch! I should have known someone might have already taken the shears to ye.”

Then Heselrig narrowed his eyes, his initial shock replaced by a sneer. He fingered a lock of her hair—the veil had kept it dry. “What did ye do to earn this shearing? I’ll wager ye’re keeping company with more than one scoundrel dog.”

Eva jerked her head aside, making her hair slip from his fingers. Her gut lost a bit of verve and clamped with terror. She needed to keep the sheriff talking—anything to prevent him from doing something unconscionable. “I-if I tell you his name, will you let me go?”

Lunging, his hands shot out and trapped her against the wall, his foul breath wafted up to her nose. “Ye’ve broken the law, for that ye must be punished.”

She looked down at his beady eyes—black and without a hint of compassion. “But I thought a man like you might be a better negotiator,” she baited him. “Telling me I’ll pay penance regardless does nothing to loosen my tongue.”

“Ye are a wicked bitch.” With a sickly chuckle, he ground his crotch against her thigh. “Clearly ye’re not daft.” He inclined his head toward the table of torture devices behind. “If ye hold your tongue, the pain ye’ll endure will be far worse.”

Eva swallowed, perspiration prickling her brow. Though the man was shorter, he outweighed her by a good sixty pounds. She needed time. How the hell could she overpower Heselrig and then take on the goons with the battleaxes by the stairwell? “What will you do if you catch him?”

“
When
I catch him.” He licked her neck, an unwelcome column of hardness growing against Eva’s thigh. “There will be a public display on such a grand scale, the king will grant me title, lands and riches.”

“So you’re pillaging Scottish villages—murdering innocents for a title?”

His hand snapped to her face, his fingers clamping around her chin. “I’m clearing vermin from the face of the earth.”

The back of Eva’s head ground into the stone wall behind, but she clenched her teeth against the pain.
I must keep stalling
. “What about the gentry—nobles like Bruce and Comyn? They own lands on either side of the border.”

The vile man spat at the wall beside her head. “They’re little better—aside from having the king’s ear—and his bleeding protection.”

“True,” she hissed through her teeth with her face squashed in his grip. “Those who signed the roll pledging fealty to King Edward are all protected—but then some didn’t sign.”

Still pinning her with his body, Heselrig released his grasp on her chin. “And it is my duty to convict those errant bastards for treason.”

Her brow pinched. “How can they commit treason when they are not English subjects?”

“Ye’re one of them are ye not?”

“A Scot? Aye.” Oh, how Eva would have liked to tell Heselrig how wrong he was, and describe exactly how psychotic the English king would become, but that would only serve to make her captor lash out—might even buy her a one-way ticket back to 2015.

The muffled sound of horses came from above. Eva prayed Wallace and his men had arrived. She doubted she’d be able to delay the sheriff’s sadistic torture much longer.

Heselrig grabbed the back of her hair and yanked.

Eva braced herself against the wall and tightened her grip on the dagger. “What if the man you’re after rides with Bruce?”

“Ye’re boring me, wench. Ye know as well as I, Bruce sides with Edward.”

“Does he?”

He yanked her hair to the side and held up the shears. Grunts and clanging echoed from above stairs.

Hesitating, Heselrig nodded at the guards. “Go take care of the skirmish.”

With his attention diverted, Eva clenched every muscle in her body and stamped her boot on the sheriff’s instep.

Hopping, he reeled back. “Christ! I’ll murder ye for that.”

He drew back his fist. Clamping onto the dagger with both hands, Eva swung. She gritted her teeth as the blade sliced across his arm.

“You cock-sucking whore,” Heselrig shrieked, bending over his wound.

Eva sprinted for the stairs. “Help!”

Something clattered behind her. Heart racing, she ran faster.

Her foot stretched for the first step. She grasped the rope rail.

A blunt object thudded against the back of her head.

***

“Spare the innocent!” William held a torch high as he led the charge into the town of Lanark. “Burn out the vermin!”

The only way to break through Heselrig’s defenses was to storm the city at night. It had taken every ounce of William’s self-control, but he’d waited until the sun sank in the western sky.

The Sheriff of Lanark had murdered hundreds of his countrymen—had murdered his father, and now he’d taken Eva. The woman might be only a slip of a lass, but in the past hours she’d become a symbol embodying all of the suffering inflicted against Scotland by the trespassing English.

Ahead, the town gates had not yet been secured. Wallace waved his torch. “We shall have our vengeance.”

An arrow hissed past his ear. His warhorse didn’t flounder, pummeling the ground as together they barreled forward.

A high-pitched bellow shrieked from behind. William’s gut roiled with his mounting ire. Aye, he would lose a man or two this night, but his losses would be nothing compared to the devastation his men would deliver.

English pikemen scampered in front of the gateway, awaiting their death.

Digging in his spurs, William demanded more speed as he galloped toward the doomed men. Holding his course, he drove with focused abandon. Two steps before impact, he leaned forward and cued his warhorse to jump over the unsuspecting guardsmen.

With a thud, the horse’s front hoof caught a soldier’s helm. The man grunted as he dropped to the ground.

William braced himself to land, casting a glance over his shoulder. As planned, Blair followed suit, along with Little. The miserable guards had no defense.

The warhorse hit hard, then raced ahead. William threw his torch at a thatched roof and reined his steed toward the gaol. By the time he dismounted, the burgh’s roofs were ablaze. Women screamed as frenzied people raced through the streets.

“Spare the innocent,” he bellowed again, hopping down with his sword firmly gripped in his hand.

William led the way up the steps straight toward a line of guards.

“Halt,” yelled an emboldened fool, defending the door with a battleax.

The impertinent command only served to raise the hackles on the back of William’s neck. Not stopping to parley, he raised his blade and dispatched the man with a sidelong swing. Metal clanged as William and his men deftly launched into battle, cutting through the line of guards.

Not a man in the burgh of Lanark could stand against William and his patriots. When not fighting the enemy, they trained from dawn till dusk for battles such as this. If Sir Heselrig thought he’d continue to demonstrate the ruthlessness of Edward Plantagenet, he’d soon discover the error of his ways.

Charging inside, William addressed a young soldier. The lad’s sword shook as his neck craned to take in Wallace’s extraordinary height. William glowered and advanced. “Where’s the sheriff?”

The lad’s eyes flashed toward the stairwell.

“Help!” Eva’s voice shrieked.

William started toward the sound. The lad howled and attacked from the flank. With a twist, the great sword hissed through the air, colliding with the young man’s blade. William attacked.

The boy quickly retreated behind a table.

In two strides, William skirted around it, slamming his pommel into the lad’s helm. His eyes rolled back as he dropped to the floorboards.

William dashed to the stairwell, crouching low to descend the narrow passage without hitting his head.

Rounding the last bend, Wallace found the repugnant blackguard kneeling over Eva’s body. Blood pooled beneath her face.

Heselrig sprang up with a sneer.

William roared and leapt from the last step.

Moving like an asp, the sheriff blocked William’s strike and spun to behind the security of a table. The man’s deranged cackle filled the dungeon. “Luring ye into my snare proved far easier than I’d guessed.”

Together the men circled the table, laden with blackened iron tools of torture.

Heselrig lunged to the side with a tricky flick of his sword. William hopped away from the blade’s pass and dashed around the board.

The Englishman made chase like a milk-livered swine. William stopped daring the bastard to make a move.

The scoundrel trained his blade between them. “’Tis a shame ye spoiled my fun. Any later and I would have impregnated her with English seed.”

William’s ears rushed with his inhale.

Each thundering beat of his heart rumbled as if the world stilled.

The shift of his eyes brought in a myriad of information.

As his lids lowered, William upended the table and hurtled it into Heselrig’s body. Weapons clanked and clattered to the ground. The sheriff flew against the stone wall, his eyes stunned. Heaving the board aside, Wallace advanced. “Ye will not live to rape another woman or pillage another Scottish burgh.”

Heselrig jerked, pulling his weapon up. “I’ll murder—”

William’s great sword hacked off his arm at the shoulder, opening a giant gash in the bastard’s upper quarter.

The English sword clattered to the floor.

Dropping to his knees, blood spouted from the sheriff’s wound before he fell to his face.

As time again sped, William dashed to Eva’s body, praying she was alive.

Turning her over, he gathered her into his arms. Blood caked beneath her nose. “Eva, wake. Please.” He clutched her body against his and rocked, the agony of the past few days hitting him with the force of an iron hammer. “God in heaven,” his voice cracked. “Why are my people to suffer at the hands of a madman’s rule—a man not of this kingdom?”

Beneath his arms, Eva’s ribs expanded. Gasping, William regarded her face. “Eva?”

Her eyes remained closed.