Rise of a Legend (Guardian of Scotland Book 1)
Page 4
“Wait,” she yelled, finishing and yanking up her panties and skinny jeans together.
Her riding partner stopped and turned with his fists on his hips. “Ye’re awfully tall for a lad whose voice hasn’t yet changed.”
She buttoned and zipped. “You’re the one who keeps calling me a lad—with hips like mine, no one ever confuses my gender.”
Though darkness veiled his face, the whites of his eyes grew round. “Bloody hell, ye mean to say ye’re a woman?”
Eva glanced down at her breasts. Concealed beneath the down vest, she could forgive him for not noticing those, but honestly. Did she look that bad?
He took a step toward her.
She scooted back. “Am I in danger?”
“What tongue do ye speak?” His eyes narrowed. “Are ye an English spy?”
“Of course not. I’m a Scot. Born in Edinburgh.”
He folded his arms and tipped his chin up. “Nay, ye speak like no Scot I’ve ever heard.”
“I-I studied abroad.”
“Och aye? Ye’re full of drivel. A woman who studied abroad? Now I ken ye’re a spy,” he growled, sauntering forward and wrapping his fingers around the hilt of the dirk sheathed in his belt. “I ought to cut out your tongue for telling tall tales.”
“No!” Eva waved her hands in front of her face. “Y-you cannot tell my nationality by the way I talk. My father is…” She faltered, recalling the date on her phone. “…was an ambassador. I’ve spent most of my life overseas.” Screaming sirens in the back of her mind told her not to divulge too much. First she needed some answers of her own.
“What were ye doing at Fail Monastery?” The moonlit shadows intensified his glower.
“That was—” She stopped herself from repeating the word Fail and sounding like a complete idiot. Oh my God. It couldn’t be. “I—ah—what is the date?”
“The first of May, but ye havena answered—”
“The year!” She stamped her foot. “I need to know the year.”
“The year of our Lord twelve ninety-seven.” The man drew his dirk and took another step toward her, his white teeth flashing with his sneer. For the love of God, he was huge. “But ye best start making some sense, else I’ll not only cut out your tongue, I’ll carve up your liver and feed it to the pigs.”
Squealing, she squeezed her arms into her chest and scooted away until the brush poked her behind. The steel of the knife flickered. “Gah! Does everyone have to threaten me with inordinately sharp objects? I’m telling the truth. Surely you can deduce I don’t speak anything like a bloody English subject. I’m as Scottish as you are, you big brute.” Eva shoved his shoulder—God only knew what prompted her to do that. The giant asshole could kill her with one swipe of the oversized knife he brandished.
Keep your hands to yourself. An involuntary shudder coursed through her entire body as she cringed at the weapon. It’s a freaking dirk—very sharp and deadly.
“Och, ye should be afraid of my wee blade.” He latched on to her shoulder with fingers hewn of iron, his dirk angling toward her neck. “Answer me. Why were ye at Fail?”
“I—I…” Jesus Christ, what should I say? “I was lost. The Trinitarians took me in. I still cannot remember the past few days. One minute I was sitting alone and-and the next, I awoke to someone trying to kill me.” She inched her head away from the knife, her voice growing shrill. “Just like you are now.” She told most of the truth, at least the part that wouldn’t get her burned at the stake.
“Why didna ye say ye were lost?” Narrowing his eyes, the man lowered his blade. “What are ye called?”
“Eva—Eva MacKay.” Taking in a gulp of air, she squared her shoulders, eyeing the damned dirk as he sheathed it. Something told her not to trifle with this man. He was the type who’d respect others more if they didn’t cower. She glanced up at his eyes—piercing like arrows. She took a nerve-steeling breath. Backing down now might just get her throat cut and her liver carved out.
Oh, Lord, help.
“I doubt you want me to call you Beast for the duration of our association—which I hope will not be long.” She cringed—maybe she’d been a little too confident with the Beast comment.
“William.”
Then again, maybe not.
“I wish I could say it’s been a pleasure making your acquaintance.” She inclined her head toward the dim light. “Did you mention there’s something to eat in that cave?” The thought of wandering inside with a man a good nine inches taller and ninety pounds heavier, and confronting his band of upstarts made shivers skitter up her spine. But Eva didn’t care for the alternative either. If she indeed had landed in the thirteenth century, fending for herself in the dead of night in God knew where wasn’t an option either—especially without food.
Once she had a chance to think, she’d figure a way out of this mess, but for now, she needed this William on her side.
“Aye, we’ve food aplenty.” He gestured forward. “But tell me, why are ye dressed like a lad?”
Eva had no reply that would make a bit of sense, so she just shrugged. “I wish I knew.”
“Ye must have suffered a nasty blow to the head.” William grasped her elbow with a surprisingly gentle hand and led her inside. A golden glow flickered on the cave’s walls, a hum of deep voices echoed from within. Inside a narrow passageway, he stopped and clamped those powerful fingers on her shoulder. “If ye do anything to cross me, ye’ll not live to tell about it.”
“Jeez.” Eva sucked in a gasp. “You’re not only a brute, you’re paranoid.”
He shoved her against the wall. “What language are ye speaking now? Attempting to pull a veil over my eyes are ye?”
“No, no, no.” Eva gulped. She must choose her words carefully—paranoid was definitely too modern. “I meant to say—ah—if I wanted to kill you, I’d have done it whilst I was riding double on your horse. You had your back to me for hours.” She quaked inside, praying she’d used the right tact. Lord, the barbarian could turn hostile before she had a chance to blink.
“All right, then,” he whispered, leaning a bit too close and smelling like a pine forest. “I think it best if the men believe ye a lad. That way I’ll not have to stand guard over ye all night. Then I’ll see to it ye’ll be on your way on the morrow.”
“All right.” Eva placed a hand on the wall to steady her dizziness. Maybe something did hit her head.
They rounded a bend and the cave opened into a large cavern. Smoke from the coals made the air hazy, but Eva could see well enough. The entire retinue reclined on furs. A man skewered a slab of meat with a knife and tore off a bite with his teeth while juice dribbled into his beard. Beside him, the holy man in the black robes who’d ridden with them assessed her with a dour frown.
Eva shoved her hands in her pockets.
Across the fire William gestured to a lad who couldn’t have been more than twelve or thirteen. “Sit with Robbie. He willna cause ye any mischief—if ye ken my meaning.”
Surrounded by a mob of unwashed heathens? Eva knew exactly what William meant.
“Fetch him a portion of meat and a pint of ale,” William ordered.
Robbie jumped up. “Straight away.”
Eva sat on a pile of furs clumped between the rocks. “Thank you.”
“Eat your fill, then sleep.” William threw his thumb over his shoulder. “We’ll be riding early come matins.”
She watched him make his way toward the priest. Dumbfounded, she couldn’t tear her gaze from his powerful legs. Wrapped with wool chausses, his muscles flexed with his every step. A broad, powerful frame devoid of fat supported his mail. William stopped beside the holy man, removed his helm and combed his fingers through thick, wavy hair. Then he glanced her way. Damn. The devil had to look like Adonis incarnate.
Robbie tottered back and set a wooden trencher in front of her. An unappetizing lump of meat dribbled juice over the side while the lad passed down a pint of ale. “This’ll see ye fixed right up.”
With her pincer fingers, she lifted the well-cooked meat, then leaned down and clipped a bit with her teeth and swirled it in her mouth. No too bad, but at least it’s not rancid.
“Where’s your eating knife?” Robbie asked, plopping back onto his seat.
Eva bit her bottom lip. “Must have lost it.”
The lad pulled a blade from his sleeve, tugged off the leather sheath and held it out. “Use mine. We can see about finding ye one on the morrow.”
Her fingers trembled when she took the knife. With a wooden handle, a double sided blade, and a little larger than the steak knives she had in storage, it could have passed for tableware at an upscale restaurant. At least it has no resemblance to a Bowie knife.
Eva shuddered.
“Are ye ill or something?”
“No, just not fond of knives.”
The boy shook his cap of sandy hair. Jeez, he was adorable with dark blue eyes and a splay of freckles across his nose. “My oath, the more ye talk, the odder ye become. A man’s good as dead if he doesn’t carry a few blades on his person.”
Eva cut off a piece of venison and popped it into her mouth. “Mm.” The first full bite of food she’d had since breakfast sent her taste buds into overdrive, even without seasoning. She gave the lad a once-over. “You seem awfully young to be hanging with this band of renegades. Why aren’t you home with your parents?”
“Ma died giving me birth. And King Edward…” Robbie spat as if he’d uttered a curse. “…well, he hung my da when he refused to pledge fealty.”
“God.” Eva gulped against her thickening throat. “You poor boy.”
The lad’s bottom lip jutted out as he kicked at a rock with the tip of his boot. “Ye asked why I’m not sitting in front of my da’s hearth. This war has made a lot of orphans—not just me.”
Swirling a bit of the bitter ale in in her mouth to wash down her revulsion, Eva fixated on cutting another piece of meat. What could she do to help this lad? Living in a cave with a mob of heathens was definitely no place for him.
“Besides, I’m two and ten.” He puffed out his chest. “Almost a man.”
“I’ll say.” Eva smiled and mussed his hair. “You’ve no choice but to be.” She shoved a bite in her mouth. Maybe I should take him with me to find a town?
Across the coals, the priest with the glaring eyes watched her, fingering a dirk tucked inside his rope belt. She pointed. “Who’s the friar talking to William?”
“Father John Blair?” Robbie asked.
Eva stopped mid-chew. Was it a coincidence? So many familiar names. “Just a minute. What is your full name, Robbie?”
The lad thumped his chest. “I’m Robert Dominus Boyd, squire to William Wallace, leader of the resistance—but dunna tell a soul. This is a secret army. Not even Willy’s uncle kens about us.”
“Holy shit.” The knife slipped from her grasp while her stomach flipped.
“Pardon?” The boy’s mouth twisted.
Eva cleared her throat and clutched at her pounding heart. “Is William’s uncle Reginald Crawford?”
“Aye, Sheriff of Ayr.” Robbie ran his thumb over the pommel of his dirk and narrowed his eyes. “Ye’re not an English spy are ye?”
If she said yes, she had no doubt the lad would kill her without an iota of remorse. “No.” Eva watched the boy’s hand as she made a pretense of calmly taking a sip of ale. “Just a las—uh—lad who’s lost his way.”
Robbie moved his hand and smoothed his fingers along the fur beneath him. “Ye sure do talk peculiar.”
“Aye? Well, my father was an ambassador in the…um…Holy Land. I was away for years and years.” A wee fib to Robert Boyd, the future First Baron of Kilmarnock couldn’t hurt, could it? Eva swiped her hand over her mouth and regarded him. He had no idea he would one day be a favored knight of the forthcoming King Robert the Bruce.
Then her stomach turned upside down as she regarded the legend sitting across the fire, chatting with his personal chaplain, Father John Blair. Deep concern, perhaps even pain, etched lines in his face. In the blink of an eye, Eva’s prior contempt for the man turned into awe. No wonder he was so brusque with her—he had every right to believe her a spy. And tomorrow he planned to be rid of her.
I have to ensure that doesn’t happen.
She patted her down vest. Good, her notepad was where she always kept it. Then her finger tapped the medallion. Is this what transported me here? How do I return? Blast Professor Tennant! Why didn’t he tell me this would happen?
William leaned forward and cradled his face in his hands as he shook his head.
Too familiar with that woeful gesture, Eva nudged Robbie with her elbow. “Is something wrong with him?”
“Bloody oath there is.” The lad’s jaw squared as if he were a grown man who’d seen his share of hardship. “His da was murdered with a number of other landowners in Lochmaben this day.”
The date from her mobile phone flashed through her mind. First May, 1297. Wallace would kill the Sheriff of Lanark sometime this month. “Does William know who did it?”
“They thought they followed the murderers to Fail Monastery, but it wasn’t the same mob of English bastards.”
Footsteps echoed from the cave’s entrance and every man reached for his weapon.
“’Tis just me, lads,” boomed a deep voice. A stout warrior wearing a hauberk and helm stepped inside and strode straight to William.
“Who’s that?” Eva asked.
“Eddy Little.”
Edward Little? William’s cousin. My word, this is like a convention for Wallace fanatics.
“There was a survivor,” Eddy said. “An old woman. She said the murderers were Heselrig and his retinue of English thugs from Lanark. It doesn’t surprise me. That man’s cruelty surpasses Edward Plantagenet himself.”
“He’s a vassal of the bastard.” William stood and the two men grasped elbows—something more personal than a handshake. “His actions are in the name of the English king.”
“Aye,” Eddy agreed. “But word has it he’s headed north for a meeting in Glasgow. I say we ambush—”
Looking directly at Eva, William sliced his hand through the air to cut Eddy off. “We’ll bury my father on the morrow, then we’ll set our ambush.”
Loudoun Hill? Eva wanted to ask, but if she dared speak out, they’d peg her as a spy. Then William would make good on his promise. She clamped her lips tight.
Lord, what the hell am I doing here?
Chapter Five
As usual, William woke before his men. This morrow he wanted to ensure he spirited the woman outside before the encampment roused for the day. The last thing they needed was a female amongst their ranks, especially one as lovely as Eva. And aye, even in the dark, her beauty had not gone completely unnoticed.
Though dressed in men’s clothing, it wouldn’t be long before the men figured out her gender—even with tresses shorn like a man’s. Why any woman would cut her hair to her shoulders, William couldn’t fathom. Tresses, especially fiery red locks such as hers should be allowed to grow and blow free in the wind. Och, he maintained an errant affinity for ginger-haired lasses for certain.
After collecting a loaf of bread, he stood over Eva for a moment. She slept curled into the deer hide like a wee bairn. Her arms encircled her knees, but did not hide her long, slender legs. William was an inordinately tall man—taller than anyone he’d ever met. Last eve, Eva had stood but two hands shorter than he. Rarely had William encountered a man who could come close to peering over his shoulder, let alone a woman.
Gingerly, he placed his palm on the lassie’s arm and roused her. She jolted awake, and sat up looking at him with terror in her green eyes, as if afraid he’d run her through. Thank the stars she didn’t scream. He put his finger
to his lips indicating quiet. “Come,” he whispered.
She nodded her understanding and followed him outside. “Aren’t you going to wake the others?”
“I thought ye might want to take care of your—ah—needs first.”
Once in the dawning sunlight, he could see her face clearly for the first time. Her eyes shimmered—as green as the rolling hills of Scotland. Bless it, fanned by red lashes, those eyes could melt the most hardened of hearts.
A pink blush blossomed in her creamy-white cheeks. “Thank you.” The feminine softness of her voice, combined with the breeze tossing wisps of her red tresses made his tongue slip out and tap his upper lip. Would those wild curls be silken if he ran his fingers through them? Heaven help him, he forced himself to clench his fists against such an improper urge.
William shifted his feet while he watched her head behind a clump of yellow gorse. God’s teeth, her long legs stretched upward to the most alluring heart-shaped buttocks he’d ever seen in his life. He swiped a hand across his mouth. “I-I’ll just stand guard over here,” his voice rasped.
“Okay.”
But, Lord, her speech was odd. Though I can understand her for the most part. As she said, she doesn’t sound English, but did she speak true about hailing from Edinburgh?
William had tried to ignore her last eve, but he’d been aware of the woman’s every movement sitting beside his squire. Robbie ran at the mouth as if he’d been seated with kin. William almost put an end to their chattering, until he’d been distracted by Eddy Little’s message.
The news grew worse with every murderous report of English hostilities against his countrymen.
Nearly a year ago, William had cast aside his ambitions to enter the priesthood and took up the sword in the name of King John Balliol. Leading his small band of rebels, one blunder after another hit him between the eyes. If we had been a half-day earlier, Da would still be alive. All those ill-fated victims would still be alive.
Thunder pounded in his ears while his gut twisted. If only he had forty-thousand men, he could drive the vermin out of Scotland and build a wall across her border like the Romans had done—but this time to keep the English barbarians out. If only. Fortunately for William, years of training to be a Templar had deeply seated the most important lesson: In war there is no greater virtue than patience. Ponder and deliberate before making a move.