by Amy Jarecki
“Then explain all this.” He gestured to the contents spread before them. “And ye’d best do it quickly, else I’ll have no choice but to burn these things and ye along with them.”
Gasping, she scooted aside. “No, please. I-I-I just don’t know how to tell you. If I do, I might…” Her gaze trailed away.
“Ye might?” William didn’t know if he wanted to hear more.
She took a deep breath and cringed. “Look, that thing that lit up? It’s a telephone. People in my time use it to communicate when at long distances.” Eva, glanced left and right with fear in her eyes, as if she expected someone to spring from the walls and seize her.
William had heard enough. Standing in a crouch so not to hit his head, he yanked his dirk from its scabbard. “Your time? Ye speak with a devil’s tongue.”
Eva held her palms in front of her mouth. “Just wait a minute. Before you haul off and cut out my tongue, sit your ass down and allow me to explain.”
How dare she speak to him with such insolence? He hesitated. No woman had ever spoken to him thus. He should not allow it.
She swatted the fur beside her. “Sit.”
Growling, he shoved his dirk back in its sheath. “I’ll listen, but if ye lift a finger against me, I’ll slit your throat afore ye can draw your next breath.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” Eva smoothed her fingers over her throat and waited for him to sit. “You are right. My things are not from your era, but they are from this world.”
He gave her a leery stare. And to think earlier he’d grown to believe her tale of woe.
She placed her palm atop his hand. “Please hear me out. But first promise you will not strike out rashly at what I am about to say.”
He didn’t like it, but she had a right to make her peace. Though he couldn’t make any promises about how he’d respond once she’d finished. He snatched his hand away and rubbed off the beguiling sensation of her soft touch. “Go on.”
***
Staring at her with the most intense blue eyes she’d ever seen, Eva had no doubt William would take her life if she couldn’t make him believe her story. But for some reason she didn’t panic. She almost felt calm. After pulling the medallion from beneath her shift, she translated the inscription in her head: Truth is like a beacon…but few choose to follow.
No matter what his medieval mind chose to believe, she could no longer lie to William Wallace.
She took the medallion off and handed it to him, searching for words he would clearly understand. “A professor—an expert in thirteenth and fourteenth century antiquity gave me that after we had a discussion about reporting the truth. You see, I am a historical journalist—a chronicler from the twenty-first century. I was born six-hundred and ninety-nine years in the future, in the year of our Lord nineteen eighty-eight.”
“That canna—”
She held up her hand to stop him. “I know what you’re going to say, but you can’t possibly imagine the inventions and progress that have occurred in seven hundred years.” She reached for her phone. “Honestly, I have no idea how I ended up here, but it has something to do with that medallion and the fact that I have researched your life and deeply desire to know more about you.”
“My life?”
She sighed. “You do become a great man, one who…ah…” Walter’s warning echoed in her head. “I can say no more about that.”
He nodded.
“I have pledged an oath not to change the past.” She bit the inside of her cheek. “I think that’s why I was allowed to return.”
“To return?”
“Yes.” She had so much to say and yet needed to be careful with every word. “In the torture chamber, Heselrig wanted to know your name. I figured it wouldn’t hurt to tell, because I knew you were going to kill him—regardless if I was there or not.” She couldn’t help but delve into the stories. “But honestly, no one knew the real reason for your attack on the Sheriff of Lanark. A man named Blind Harry, who lived in the fifteenth century, wrote that you were married to a woman named Marion Braidfute, and that Heselrig murdered her—not your father.”
“Me? Married? I’ve never met a woman named Marion Braidfute.” He knitted his eyebrows. “From Lanark?”
Eva nodded. “There is no proof of her birth, though she would have been from a noble family with holdings in Lanark. She was said to be the heiress of Lamington.”
“’Tis preposterous,” he snorted. “How on earth could a lowborn man marry an heiress?”
“Many historians questioned exactly that…and then there was the quandary of your paternity. Because Harry quoted your birthplace as Ellerslie—”
“Which it was.”
“True, but history got it wrong and assumed the poet meant Elderslie in Renfrewshire.”
“Bah. What did they have right?” he grumbled sarcastically.
“You did brutally kill the Sheriff of Lanark—and other events of which I cannot disclose.” Eva took a deep breath, relieved that he appeared to be willing to listen before he killed her. And thinking of that, she snatched the medallion and put it back around her neck just to be safe. “Anyway, I’ve veered too far away from what happened in the jail. When I tried to tell Heselrig your name, blackness engulfed me and I was flung back to my time. I thought it wouldn’t hurt to disclose your identity to him, but I was obviously mistaken—though I still cannot understand why.”
He scratched his head. “Is that where ye obtained the satchel? I ken ye didna have it afore ye were captured.”
“Yes. I collected a few comforts from my time and then headed back to the Fail Monastery ruins.”
“Ruins?” he groaned and rolled his eyes to the alcove’s ceiling. “This is all preposterous.”
She held up her phone. Showing him was a huge risk, but the pictures would provide undeniable proof. When she pushed the on button, William jerked away. She gave him a pointed look. “I bring no sorcery, no evil. This simply holds a glimpse into the future.”
He pulled back as if he were about to be burned. “I dunna believe ye. ’Tis witchcraft hailing the future.”
“No. It is pure unadulterated fact.” After finding the picture of the sunrise over the ruins, she held it up. “My phone has a camera with which I can take pictures—it’s like an artist drawing an image of a scene at a certain point in time. It never changes once the picture is taken or drawn.”
He eyed her dubiously, then shifted his wide-eyed gaze to the phone as if afraid it might scorch his eyeballs. “Why, that’s just a pile of rubble. It looks nothing like the monastery.” He leaned closer. “And there’s no forest surrounding.”
“Most of Scotland’s forests were cleared in later centuries.” She pointed to the rose window. “Though not much remains, do you recognize the window? It is the same.”
He crossed his arms. “I am not convinced. Most abbeys and monasteries have round windows.”
She brushed her finger over the screen and displayed another picture she’d taken the first day of the dig. “This is Loudoun Hill.”
He sucked in a sharp inhale. “’Tis sorcery.”
“No, the deforestation, and the erosion happens over time, but the rock still looks the same.” She swiped over to the picture she’d taken of the Wallace monument. “This was erected in your honor.”
He looked closer. “Is there an inscription?”
She pulled the phone away. “Yes, but it is not meant for your eyes.” She shook her aching head. “Remember, I cannot do or say anything to affect your future.”
He growled. “It seems ye’re willing to tempt me, but when I dig deeper, ye canna say. ’Tis the forked tongue of a soothsayer.”
“Do you honestly think so? You are enterprising enough to realize that’s not it at all.” Eva held out the phone and inclined her head toward him. “Smile.”
She snapped a picture before he had a chance to say a word.
William clapped his hands over his eyes. “Are ye trying to blind me now?”
“It’s just the flash. Blink a few times and your vision will clear.” She held up the still, praying he wouldn’t freak out. “See? I’ve just taken of photo of us—in my time it’s called a selfie.”
He said not a word, but his eyebrows formed straight lines while he looked closer.
“You’re a handsome man.” But Eva cringed as her gaze slid to her mangled face. “Oh my God, I have a black eye. Why didn’t you tell me?”
William gaped as if he hadn’t heard her. “’Tis witchcraft for certain.” He seemed none too concerned about the condition of her face.
She groaned. “You’re not understanding me.”
He grabbed the phone and held it two inches from his nose. “What other images have ye on this thing?”
She snatched it back. “Can I see your stamp—the one you use to seal documents?”
He eyed her. “Why?”
“Because I need to see it first.”
“I suppose there’s no harm in it. But ye best have sound reasoning behind your request.” With a distrustful scowl, he untied a worn leather pouch from his belt and slipped his hand inside.
When he held it up, Eva’s heart skipped about five beats. Clear as her nose, it was a brand new version, exactly the same with a backward inscription of Filius Alani Walais. She selected the picture Walter had taken of her with the seal. “I unearthed this at Winny Wizzen four days ago.”
William sprang to his feet hovering in a crouch with his back inches from the low ceiling. “That is preposterous!” he bellowed, his eyes so wide they nearly burst from his skull.
Unwilling to lose the battle now she braced her hands beside her. “You are a smart man—a man with vision and purpose. Above all people in this century, I would expect you to be able to understand all I have shown you.”
He thrust out his palm and held it in front of her face. “Ye will stop this immediately. Ye’re an apparition of my imagination.” He shook his finger at her phone. “And that sorcery must be destroyed afore it consumes the minds of good men. God willing, I have not been soiled by your display of witchcraft.”
Shit! She’d pushed him too far—shown him too much. I am so stupid.
“William,” someone called from behind the furs hanging in the alcove entrance.
Still crouching, Wallace lumbered over and pulled them aside. “What is it?”
John Blair held up a folded piece of parchment. “A missive from the High Steward of Scotland. He’s requested a meeting at his keep in Renfrew.”
He glanced back at Eva, then to Blair. “How do ye ken ’tis not a trap?”
“His messenger said to travel at night. Said all of Scotland is talking about Lanark, and the English are plundering every standing hovel looking for an outlaw the size of Goliath—say he’s seven feet tall and wields an enormous sword the length of a poleax.”
“The gossipers are always blowing tales out of proportion,” Wallace groused. “At six-foot-eight, I’ll disappoint them for certain.”
“Bloody hell, most people canna see that high, let alone worry about a hand.”
William took the missive. “Go ready the horses. I’ll be with ye shortly.”
After glancing at the writing, he turned to Eva and crossed his arms. “Tell me what James the Steward wants with the likes of me. Is it a trap?”
“No.” A flicker of hope made her grin. “Bishop Wishart might be there with him. They will pledge their support and offer you troops. They could mention Sir Andrew Murray to the north and Sir Douglas to the south.” She clapped a hand over her mouth, terrified she could reveal too much. “That’s all I can say.”
“Bishop Wishart is the man who approved my entry into Dunipace in Dundee. I studied under him as a lad.” He reached for his sword from where it rested against the wall and gave her a pointed stare. “If ye’re wrong, I’ll expect ye to be gone afore I return. Else I’ll have no recourse but to burn ye.”
Chapter Twelve
Setting out with a small band of his closest men, William took Blair’s advice and traveled at night. Moving through darkness slowed the pace, but any man his size would be suspicious to English patrols, especially now with news of the slaying of Heselrig spreading like wildfire. Regardless, William knew this country better than any scout in the shire. He’d be able to pick his way to Renfrewshire blindfolded if forced.
And this eve in particular, he welcomed the quiet ride. Listening to Eva’s story had riled him more than he cared to admit. And regardless of what she’d said, the woman was a vixen. Even with the bruise expanding beneath her eye, her beauty intoxicated him. Nothing about the lass was natural. And the Almighty knew he could not entertain courting any woman, let alone a hellcat who possessed inexplicable things she claimed to be from the future. How could he ever believe her?
Seven hundred bloody years? He guffawed.
Worse, things grew more precarious by the day. Last eve when he and his men had struck the English garrisons at Lanark, he’d crossed the line. Aye, he’d battled with the English and killed in the name of King Balliol before, but Heselrig was the first member of nobility who’d fallen under William’s blade. Willy may have been a wanted man for leading a score of resistance warriors, but now that Heselrig was dead, Wallace would be an outlaw with a price on his head. Showing his face in public would bear greater risks than ever before.
As he rode his mind kept drifting back to Eva. The further they rode from Leglen Wood, the more William recounted all the disturbing things the lass had shown him. Is she truly from the twenty-first century? I cannot imagine someone wanting to travel back in time to be my chronicler. Of all the great men Eva could have sought, why would she choose me? I’ve no title, no lands to my name.
Nothing about the woman made sense. Yet the pictures she’d shown him were so visceral. It was as if he could reach into her small rectangular telephone and touch the miniature scene. And how unnerving to see his seal without the wooden handle, rusted and decayed like it actually had been in the ground for seven hundred years.
Though she’d blinded him taking a picture of them together, he couldn’t believe she’d captured their faces. Couldn’t bring himself to comprehend all she had shown him. Aye, her clothing and trinkets were not of this world—that she was a sorceress was the only logical explanation for certain.
Even her name was synonymous with the first woman—the very enchantress who’d tempted Adam in the Garden of Eden.
William shifted in his saddle unable to pinpoint exactly what made him so damned uncomfortable.
On one hand, nothing Eva had shown him was meant for evil. Shampoo? What harm was there in wanting one’s tresses to be clean and to smell nice? The telephone, however was a different matter. She’d said she used it to communicate with others from a distance. Surely that defies God’s holy order? Are the people in the twenty-first century playing God?
Pushing a button and capturing their faces at a moment in time? He never would have imagined it possible if he hadn’t seen it with his own eyes.
But how does that compare to capturing a picture on a canvas or tapestry?
He didn’t care to examine her side. He’d built his life, his honor, his code of chivalry around the firmly set rules of Christendom. He’d be a man of the cloth at this very moment if Scotland hadn’t come under attack by the oppressor to the south. William believed in the word of God, freedom, and the right of every man to live at liberty without the yoke of tyranny.
He could not abide sorcery of any kind. Never.
Riding into the open lea, Wallace drove his mount harder. He had no time for a damned woman, no matter where she hailed from, and no matter how much he wanted her. No sorceress could sink her wiles into his heart. He’d sworn his duty to Scotland and to rid the kingdom of English rule. He’d pledged his life to the cause and would die with a sword in his hand.
If Eva was still at the cave when he returned, he would send her away. Nothing would change his mind this time.
***
They camped in the wood beside the High Steward’s keep in Renfrew, and after a few hours’ sleep, William roused the men at dawn. Before breaking their fast, he pounded on James Stewart’s thick wooden gates.
A guard opened the viewing panel and his eyes popped wide. “I didna expect to see ye so soon.”
William looked toward Blair and shrugged. Fancy knocking on the gate of one of the most powerful men in Scotland and being recognized afore he opened his mouth. Something was afoot.
The gate opened. “I’ll notify Lord Stewart of your arrival immediately.” The guard gestured toward the keep. “Ye can wait in the great hall.”
“My thanks.” William glanced over his shoulder at Eddy Little. “Do ye think ye might find a bowl of porridge for my men? We rode all night and haven’t had a morsel.”
“I’ll tell Cook straight away. Not to worry, there’s food aplenty, especially for ye and your men.”
William led his band into the great hall with a swagger.
“It appears our raid in Lanark tipped the scales in your favor,” Blair whispered.
“I pray the lord of the castle greets us with the same sentiments. Meanwhile, fill your bellies while there’s food aplenty.”
Stepping inside, William couldn’t remember seeing such opulence outside of an abbey or cathedral. He’d not much occasion to visit a castle that hadn’t been plundered by the English. Rich tapestries lined the walls, woven with silk so brilliant, the scene could have been outdoors—not unlike Eva’s pictures. Sturdy tables lined the hall, spotted with groups of guardsmen breaking their fasts. At the far end, a raised dais displayed a table with ornately carved legs and velvet padded chairs to match.
The Steward has the means to assist us.
After they’d found a table and helped themselves to the abundant fare, William spooned his last bite of porridge when the same guard who’d met him at the gate approached. “Lord Stewart will see ye now.”
Blair and Little stood with William.
The guard held up his hand. “My lord asked to see only Wallace.”
