by Amy Jarecki
She swirled her fingers into the muscular bands in his shoulder. “I know what you’re going through. It’s as if there’s a chasm spreading so wide in your chest, you feel like it’s about to burst. The pain hurts so badly, you want to score your palms to ease the burden on your heart.”
William shook his head. “’Tis my burden to bear. I should have been with him.”
At the campfire, Eva had learned from Robbie that Wallace and his men were on the borders defending villagers’ homes from an English raid. They couldn’t have known about his father’s meeting with knights loyal to the Earl of Carrick at Lochmaben. “You cannot blame yourself. You would have been with him had you received word sooner.”
His head dropped a bit further. “Every time Scottish blood is spilled, I feel responsible, as if God put me on this earth to defend those who are too weak to fight for themselves.”
Eva sidled behind William and sunk her fingers into muscles made tense by too much anguish. If nothing else, she could help relieve his burden with a massage. A man who wore a heavy hauberk, the sinews supporting his neck felt rock solid. Mercy, it would take a month at a spa in the Bahamas to relieve such tension.
He stretched his head from side to side. “I ken in my soul I must carry the sword and face our oppressors, but how do I ken if I’m doing the right things?”
A man like William Wallace had doubts? In awe, Eva plied his flesh with deep kneading fingers. “You are following your heart and you cannot walk away.”
“I wouldna be able to live with myself if I turned my back on my people.” His muscles stiffened. “Edward Plantagenet humiliated King John and forced the nobles of this great kingdom to pledge fealty to him as suzerain.” He spat. “The Bastard. I refuse to sit idle and stomach the crimes he has committed against my countrymen.”
“I know.” Eva rubbed in a circular pattern and his tension eased ever so slightly.
“The nobles are afraid. One misstep and they can lose their lands and their titles, but I have no lands and no title to lose. I am a vassal of the people.”
“You are and you must continue to be.” Eva moved to his outer shoulders, using the heels of her hands to loosen the taut sinews. “God gave you the mind of a great general—a man who can strategize and lead an army.”
“I dunna ken about that.” William harrumphed. “If only I had the numbers.”
“You will.”
He drew his head up. “How can ye possibly ken what the future brings?”
“I just do.” She used her thumbs to coax the muscles in his lower back to relax. “You are charismatic. Men are drawn to you. I am drawn to you. And by your size, let alone your skill with weapons, they will be in awe of you.”
He chuckled. “Ye are whimsical. I only desire to see my country as she once was—to have the rightful king returned to the throne.”
Eva’s nerves grated. If only she could tell William how wrong he was about John Balliol, but Walter Tennant’s voice rang in her head—she must do nothing that might change the past. And at this point in history, Balliol was still the King of Scotland.
She mightn’t be able to argue the future with William, but she could offer a man mourning the loss of his father a few words to bolster his spirits. “Scotland’s people need someone to follow. A man of the masses. You have the heart.”
She placed her lips beside his ear. “Be. That. Man.”
William sucked in a sharp breath.
Eva slid her fingers to his neck and up through his hair. The medallion warmed against her chest, as if providing another reminder not to reveal too much. But she didn’t need to tell William how he would rise to become a great man. On his own, he’d proved the strength of his character to the world and became a legend. In this moment, he merely needed a soothing touch in a time of sadness.
“I will,” he whispered and leaned into her hands with a rumbling moan.
Eva massaged until her fingers ached and William’s chin dropped to his chest. She finished with soft outward strokes, then studied his face. His eyes closed, she gently coaxed him down to the bed of straw. Though doing so was inordinately presumptuous, in the dead of night, shrouded by darkness in a barn, she’d never felt so connected with another living soul. No words were necessary to share their pain, and the comfort of an unconditional touch was something she’d longed for on many a lonely night.
Eva slid down beside him and spooned her body into his.
***
Awakened by the crow of a rooster, Eva opened her eyes. Someone had covered her with a blanket, but William was no longer beside her.
She rubbed a hand over her caffeine-starved head. What the hell happened last night? Nothing. I did nothing but give a grieving man comfort. Yeah right, and you’d better not let things go any further than that.
Shaking her head, she focused on her mission—to get her story and find a way home. Before setting out, she jotted a few notes, and then left to find Wallace.
Plopped on a stack of hay near the barn’s entrance, Robbie Boyd sat alone. He hopped up with his bonnet in hand. “Good morrow, Miss Eva.”
“Good morrow,” she replied, figuring it would be easier to communicate if she adopted some of their archaic words. Turning full circle, there wasn’t another soul in sight. “Where are William and the men?”
The lad kicked at a bit of straw. “Left me behind to watch ye. Bloody hell, they always leave me behind to clean up their messes.”
“I’m sorry.” Eva bit her bottom lip. “I didn’t mean to be a burden.”
“Och, ’tis not ye that angers me.” He shook his fist. “’Tis just that I’m a man. I should be fighting alongside Willy and the rest of them, not staying here playing nursemaid to a lost lassie.”
“Don’t feel like you have to stay here for my sake.” She craned her neck, looking for spare horses. “Where did they go?”
Robbie’s lips thinned. “They’ve ridden after the man who killed Willy’s da.”
“Heselrig?”
He studied his boots, his shoulders shrugging so high they nearly touching his ears. “Aye.”
Eva’s heart lurched. “Then they’re heading to Lanark.”
“Nay.” Robbie shook his mop of sandy hair. “They’re setting an ambush.”
“Ambush? Where?”
The lad scooted backward. “I shouldna tell ye.”
But she could guess. The corner of her eye twitched. “Loudoun Hill.”
“Boar’s ballocks.” Robbie threw up his hands. “Are ye a soothsayer?”
I knew it. Eva could have jumped out of her skin. “No, I’m just smarter than I look.” She tugged his arm. “Come. I need to watch the battle.”
“Oh no.” Robbie’s head shook like he had palsy. “I never should have opened my mouth. If we show our faces at the hill, Willy will whip my hide for certain.”
“I’m not suggesting we ride close enough to join in the fight. But I cannot possibly write William Wallace’s story without witnessing the man in action.” She gripped the lad’s elbow. “Just take me close enough to watch.”
Robbie yanked his arm away and rubbed it. “Ye can write?”
“Aye, I can do a great many things that would surprise you.” She pulled a bridle from a nail on the wall. “Now help me saddle a couple of horses.”
“Och, no, Miss Eva. I’ll face a month of mucking out the pig sties, I will.”
“Robbie Boyd.” She fisted her hips and shot him a challenging stare. “If you’re not man enough to help me, I’ll go alone.”
Chapter Eight
William’s shoulders weren’t quite as tense as they usually were when lying in wait for the enemy. He’d been so distraught last eve, he hadn’t realized how well Eva’s deft fingers had eased his stiffness.
Though waiting was his least favorite part of battle, he’d never forget it was the most important. Impatient men ended up dead.
At least waiting gave him time to think as the water from the burn rushed past, unaffected by the ra
vages surrounding them.
He’d never encountered a woman like Eva. They’d only met, but she seemed to understand him better than many people who had known him for years. Her encouraging words wiped away all suspicion of her being a spy. As most had, she’d lost a great deal in this war with England—yet another victim of Edward’s brutality.
Regardless, he’d most likely not see her again before she found employment. He almost regretted leaving her in the stall, but it was for the best. He couldn’t court a woman—could give his heart to no one but Lady Scotland. Aye, he’d like to. And mayhap one day he’d settle down, grow crops and raise a family.
Take up the cloth? Fight with the Templars in the Holy Land as was his boyhood dream? Now he knew bonny Eva lived in Christendom, family life bore a bit more allure. The corner of his mouth turned up, picturing her hips swaying gently as she stirred a kettle of pottage over home’s fire.
Holding her in his arms last eve had set his blood to thrumming for certain.
And there is nothing like a battle to reset my priorities.
There would be bloodshed for certain this day and he had no business thinking of anything but the task at hand. A man whose mind wanders is a man who ends up with his throat cut.
Regardless if there was nothing he hated more than waiting, Brother MacRae had drilled three critical elements of war to ensure success: Wait for your quarry to come to you. There is nothing greater than the element of surprise. And stage your battles using the most advantageous ground.
Aye, he’d live by this code and put a stop to his errant thoughts of a redheaded lassie.
William opened his psalter and pulled upon his inner calm by reading. When he finished the psalm, he looked to the top of Loudoun Hill. His archers stood ready with their bows and boulders lined up to push down onto the unsuspecting horsemen as they rode through the pass.
He and his best swordsmen crouched in their saddles, lying low in the gully of Winny Wizzen. Completely out of sight, they had not only the ground advantage, but the element of surprise on their side. If only the bastards would come.
“How many horse and how many foot do ye reckon there’ll be?” asked Blair in a low voice.
“Two dozen mounted and forty or so pikemen,” Eddy whispered, though he’d reported the same earlier that morn.
Two to one. They’d fought worse odds, and this day William’s men had the ground advantage and, if nothing tipped them off, they had the element of surprise as well.
“We’ll wait until they’re trapped in the pass with nowhere to run, then I’ll toot one blast from the ram’s horn.” William pointed toward the archers. “That’ll be their cue to start firing.”
Blair crossed himself. “May God have mercy on their souls.”
William followed suit. “Och, John, put in a good word for us while ye’re at it.”
“I do that every waking hour.”
“Wheesht,” Malcolm scolded from behind. But Willy’s elder brother was right.
Without another word they waited.
The silence before a battle always sent chills along William’s spine. When not a bird called, the faint sound of hoofbeats carried on the breeze.
William squeezed his fingers around the hilt of his sword and made eye contact with Blair, then Little. Each man’s face determined, Willy would be confident riding into battle with these men any day of his life. He raised his head high enough to peer through the brush at the pass. The English hadn’t yet rounded the bend.
The archers atop the hill loaded their bows.
Movement at the forest’s edge caught William’s eye. What the devil? His heart stopped in his chest. I’ll murder that wayward ox-brained lad.
Blair nudged William’s arm and pointed.
All Willy could do was shake his head and roll his eyes. Now he’d have to worry about a woman and a lad of two and ten who thought he was a man. When this was over, Robbie Boyd would need to be taught a lesson in obedience—if he managed to survive this day.
The first rider came into view, carrying the king’s pennant—and the next touted Sir Heselrig’s colors emblazoned on his surcoat. William raised his ram’s horn no higher than his shoulder—the men on the hill could see his signal, but in the gully, he and his rebels remained hidden from view of the English.
“Now,” John Blair whispered.
William shook his head. Let them come a bit farther.
He waited until the iron pike tips reflected the sun over the heads of the riders. Slowly he drew the horn to his lips, holding his hand steady. With a single blast, he dug in his spurs and drove his mount toward the unsuspecting cavalry. Arrows hissed and enormous stones bounded down the hill. Horses whinnied and men howled with unimaginable pain.
Bellowing the rebel’s war cry, “Scotland until Judgement,” William led the charge straight toward the first horseman. With a gasp of horror, the man cast his pennant aside and reached for his sword. Before he drew, William dealt a killing blow across his neck.
The English cavalry surged forward, surrounding William and his men. One by one he fought the onslaught of riders. “I will avenge my father for his murder at Lochmaben!” He spun his horse in place, swinging his longsword from side to side.
His mount squealed with a high-pitched whinny and reared. Thrown from his seat, William crashed to the ground, his sword clattering beside him. Intently focused on the battle, no pain could sway him during a fight. Clamping his fingers around his swords hilt, he sprang to his feet. A horseman barreled in, bellowing like a madman, battleaxe held high. Planting his feet, William prepared to meet the bastard’s blow. As if time slowed, he watched the weapon as it came down on a path to lop off his head. But the English soldier made a mortal mistake by wielding it with only one arm.
William ducked aside. With and upward strike, his great sword met the soldier’s axe with a clanging scrape. The jarring impact shuddered through his arms, but Wallace held fast. The bastard’s weapon flew from his hand, while William caught the attacker with his downward stroke. Cut in two, the man’s corpse dropped to the earth.
William spun in place, searching for his next opponent. A shrill scream resounded from the forest edge. Robbie toppled forward as he took a bash with the hilt of a sword. Heselrig threw Eva over his horse’s neck and galloped into the forest with a half-dozen riders behind him.
“No!” William yelled, racing for his horse. Before he took two steps, something crashed into his helm with teeth-rattling force. He dropped to his knees, the world spinning.
***
When William opened his eyes, Robbie’s worried mug grimaced inches from his face. “Thank the good Lord, ye’re alive.”
William’s hand shot up, his fingers clamping around the lad’s throat. “Why did ye not stay at Ellerslie, ye fool-born milksop?”
Robbie clenched his hands around William’s wrist. His face turned red as he croaked out a gurgling sound.
“If ye want him to answer, ye’d best loosen your grip,” Blair said beside them.
William pushed the lad away and sat up. A miserable pounding punished his head. “Tell me, Robert Boyd. Why did ye bring Miss Eva here—a battle site, no less? She could have been run through or worse.”
“She said she would ride alone if I didna go with her.” The boy rubbed his throat. “I told her ye would throttle me.”
“Ballocks!” William stood and glared at his men. “What are ye all standing idle for? Heselrig is the one man we wanted and now he’s ridden off with Miss Eva.”
Blair crossed his arms. “Good riddance if ye ask me.”
The ache in William’s head nearly burst through his skull. He balled his fist and smacked the priest across the jaw.
Stumbling to his arse, Blair rubbed his chin. “Why in God’s name did ye have to go off and hit me? Ye’re taken with the lass and she’s marred your judgment.”
“Ye think ye’re so wise? What about Heselrig? As long as he’s in Scotland, he’ll not only rape our women, he’ll burn and p
illage our villages—regardless.” William ground his teeth, forcing his mind away from what that monster could do to Eva.
“He’s using the wench to lure ye into his lair.” The priest lumbered to his feet.
“Aye?” William paced. “Well that’s an invitation I’ll gladly accept.”
Blair swatted his palm through the air. “Bloody woman.”
Wallace held up his fist and glared. “She changes nothing.” Then he pointed east. “Heselrig will pay for his crimes against Scotland and Da.”
“But we now have a bonny lassie to rescue from the Lanark gaol—if she’s still alive,” Robbie said.
“Aye.” William glared at the lad and growled. “And shut your gob. That spineless boar will not murder Miss Eva. ’Cause I aim to find him first.”
Chapter Nine
Stars flashed through Eva’s eyes after riding face-down, draped over a horse for God knew how long. She smelled the burning peat a good quarter-mile before the road grew wider and the horse slopped through mud made soupy from heavy use. Out of the corner of her eye, stone buildings passed. This must be Lanark.
When Heselrig pulled her down, Eva’s knees gave out. She strained to regain feeling in her legs while the ruthless toad dragged her through ankle-deep mire toward a stone building.
She twisted against his crushing grip to no avail. Though shorter, the man was a beast. The stench of raw sewage burned as he pulled her up the stairs. Her gaze shot across the scene—muddy street, stone buildings charred with smoke residue from endless burning fires—people gathered around and stared at her like spectators anxious for a public display. This brief glimpse was the first she’d seen of a medieval village and was every bit as ghastly as she’d imagined and worse.
With soldiers flanking her on all sides, she had zero chance for escape.
Shuffling her numb feet, Eva managed to keep pace with the scoundrel. “You have no right to bully me. I am an innocent bystander.”
“That is yet to be seen.” Even Heselrig’s voice cackled unpleasantly.
