Rise of a Legend (Guardian of Scotland Book 1)

by Amy Jarecki

  William’s lips pursed though he didn’t say a word. He reached over, grabbed her pen, snapped it in two and threw the pieces against the wall. Then he opened a small wooden box and made an exaggerated gesture toward it. “If ye’re planning to scribe anything whilst ye remain in my company, ye’ll find vellum, ink and a quill right there. I meant it when I said I dunna want to see any of your newfangled bits of sorcery.” He lowered his voice. “Even if they are not of the devil, every other soldier in my army will see your trinkets as an omen for evil.” He snatched her wrist and squeezed. “Can ye not understand me, lass?”

  Nodding, Eva yanked her arm away and rubbed her wrist. “I hid everything but my journal. I do not want to be responsible for jeopardizing your chances of success.” Though she figured she would have been hurtled back to the twenty-first century by now if she had. And, he’d not said anything about sending her away—even talked about remaining for a bit. Yippee. She tried not to grin.

  “’Tis good to hear.” William pulled on his shirt. “Now tell me, how did ye ken Bishop Wishart would be with Lord Stewart, and that they’d offer their support?”

  Eva’s mind raced. What should she say? She’d vowed not to lie to him again. On the other hand, he didn’t believe anything she uttered. If she told him she’d read countless articles and books about his life, he’d freak. Taking a deep breath, she met his soul-piercing gaze. “I know some things, major events, but not all.” There. She’d told the truth without mentioning anything from the future.

  “Now I think I can believe that.” He grinned. Wow. He had the most captivating, broad grin with healthy white teeth. “Ye’re a seer.”

  A cough caught in her throat as she threw up her palms. “What’s the bloody difference?”

  His grin twisted into a smirk. “Ye dunna ken?”

  She snorted. “Not in this century.”

  “First of all, seers are valued by commoners as well as the gentry.” He shook his finger, nearly hitting her nose. “But most importantly, they are good-hearted. They do not worship the devil or cast hateful spells.”

  Shifting her gaze to her shattered pen, she nodded. “Ah—if that’s what you want to call it, I suppose seer would make more sense, especially since I cannot incant a spell to save my life.”

  “Why didna ye say so in the first place?”

  Because I can see about as far as you can.

  If William accepted her presence as a seer and wouldn’t cast her out of the camp, she’d resolve to play along. “Honestly, the thought hadn’t crossed my mind.” Still, his assumption didn’t sit well. Why couldn’t he trust in the truth? That would make things so much easier.

  With a sigh, she reached in his box, pulled out a sheet of vellum, and the quill. She removed the cork from the small bottle of ink and dipped it in. At least seer was a step toward gaining his acceptance. “My first entry today will include this conversation. I do not wish for either of us to forget it.”

  Using a script that she hoped would appear something like Auld Scots, she wrote: William Wallace has decided I am a seer, though I am not convinced of it. However, we both agree I am not a witch.

  She read it to him, panning her finger under the words to help him follow her modern penmanship.

  His eyes met hers and held her gaze, connecting lightning to earth. His drew in a sharp inhale—one that made hot blood thrum beneath her skin. For a brief moment, the passion from last night returned full force. But William cleared his throat. “Agreed.”

  “Let us make it official, then.” Eva dribbled a bit of ink onto the parchment. “Affix your seal.”

  “In the ink, not wax?”

  “Aye, it’ll make a mark. But hurry before the ink dries.”

  ***

  Great sword in hand, William walked down the line of bedraggled men. A few showed up with swords, most rusty and looking like they hadn’t seen a smithy’s rasp in a score of years. “The first lesson is to care for your weapons.” He held up his well-oiled sword. “Does anyone see a speck of rust?”

  “Nay,” all agreed.

  “Too right. A man’s sword should be his most prized possession.” William swung a cross cut through a blade of grass. “Your sword and your dirk should be deadly sharp at all times. Any knife ye carry on your body has the potential to be used to kill an attacker.” He stopped and scanned each face in the line of men. “Who here would prefer the best odds for survival to be in his favor?”

  The men held forth with exuberant ayes.

  “On the morrow, every one of ye will have a well sharpened and oiled blade, else I’ll send ye back to your mas. And every day henceforth ye’ll allow nary a speck of rust to soil your weapons.” William pointed at a soldier. “Agreed?”

  “Aye, m’lord.”

  William stepped past the man, then batted the fool’s chin with a flick of his elbow. “I am no man’s lord. I am a murdered crofter’s son—studied for the priesthood, and drawn into this war upon the invasion of our land and wrongful imprisonment of King John.”

  “Here, here!” the men bellowed, some pumping their swords in the air.

  “In battle, your blades and your wits are the only things that will save your lives. Your sword and your pike will become an extension of your arm. Your feet will dance and your legs will be as solid as oaks. This day I will teach ye the foundation of a fighting man. Before any solider can wield a sword, he must first make his body strong.” He glared at the staring faces. “Cast aside your weapons.”

  A bull of a man stepped forward, rusty blade held in challenge. “I can fight with the best of them.” He flexed an arm. “I dunna need a lesson in gaining strength.”

  “Nay?” Wallace faced the braggart and beckoned him. “Ye’re bigger than most, I’ll give ye that, but still a good two hands shorter than me.”

  The man shrugged. “But I’ve a greater girth.”

  “Aye?” William assessed the man’s form. “Mayhap around the middle.”

  “Ye’re a smug bastard. I’d like to see ye prove ye’re as good as they say.”

  God knew William needed every able-bodied soul he could recruit—even a vainglorious codfish such as this measle. “Verra well. Come, let’s give it a go.” He crouched, readying himself for attack.

  Bellowing, the man raised his weapon above his head and barreled in with a downward hack. Exerting little effort, William lifted his great sword and deflected the blow. With a grunt, he used the man’s momentum, slid aside, and continued to circle his hands downward in concert with the man’s blade. Then snapping up his arms, the beef-witted goat flipped head first and landed on his back.

  His eyes stunned, the puffed-shirt clutched at his chest, gasping for air.

  William faced the men, their mouths agape. “Let this be a lesson to ye all. Put it in your heads this verra day—there is always someone who can best ye. The only way to overpower a man with more size or skill is to outlast and outmaneuver him.” He slapped his hand to his chest. “That kind of doggedness takes stamina—air in your lungs and quickness of feet.”

  The man on the ground sat up, his head dropped between his knees with a fit of coughing.

  William offered his hand. “What are ye called, soldier?”

  “Graham of Peebles.”

  “Well then, Mr. Graham, I suggest ye step back into line and pay heed to the lesson.”

  William started at the beginning, just as he and Blair had been trained by Brother MacRae, the old Templar monk in Dundee. The timeworn knight had driven William hard and now Wallace knew why. He’d been born to be a leader in a rebellion against a tyrant. He would drive these men harder and longer than he himself had been driven in Dundee and nary a soul would have cause to complain because William would work alongside them every step of the way.

  Making a competition of it, he showed them how to build strength by tossing the caber—a very long tree trunk as heavy as a man. He made them stand in a crouch, holding enormous boulders until their thighs could take no more. He ran them,
forcing the men to leap over logs and dance between the trees as if each protruding branch were an attacking English spearman.

  William stopped only once to take a swig of water. Over the top of his cup, he watched Eva carry a sloshing bucket toward the cave with both hands. She glanced at him and smiled with a subtle nod. His heart leapt. Och aye, that wee gesture could give him enough verve to last the entire day. Bless it, she made him want to beat his chest and bellow—and right out in the open she could beguile him so subtly, none were the wiser.

  Indeed, few women would ken to mind their own affairs when the men were hard at work, and William appreciated her taking the initiative to help Brother Bartholomew. Perhaps he had chosen right to allow her to stay—for the now.

  He chuckled and took another drink. If Eva had been a man, he would have made her a lieutenant. They needed someone who could organize the men and take charge, but aside from her gender, Wallace had seen her blanch at the sight of a blade more than once. She’d even told him of her nightmares. No, the woman was best kept beside the cooking fires or in the cave with her quill. Besides, now he’d realized she was no witch, but had the gift of sight, William kent she’d be of use. And thanks to Robbie Boyd, the men had already accepted her.

  But why had he? She still posed a quandary—so many secrets—so many unanswered questions. Did it matter? Mayhap not when they were alone.

  The lass disappeared into the cave. Aye, he liked having her near—not that he’d boast about that actuality to anyone.

  Chapter Sixteen

  William had been back from Renfrew for a couple of weeks when Eva hastened back to the clearing with a camphor-smelling clump of yellow tansy in her hand. It had been drizzling all day, but now the sun had moved to the western horizon, the clouds parted to reveal a violet sky.

  Across the clearing, William caught her eye.

  The men had stopped sparring for the day, and he stood frozen, as if seeing her for the first time.

  Pushing an errant lock of hair under her veil, she glanced sideways. No one else mulling about seemed to notice William’s intently focused attention. She gave him a questioning look—it was unusual for him to pay her much attention away from the alcove. Usually he was deep in conversation with his inner circle or training the new recruits. Only behind the deerskin shroud of the alcove did she command his full attention, and in their quiet space very little was said, yet very much was expressed.

  In the fortnight since the first time they’d made love, she’d grown to prefer things being passionate but not too open, especially given her past and his future.

  Striding directly toward her, William’s intense expression didn’t change. He clasped his fingers around her wrist. “Come.”

  Eva held up the tansy. “Brother Bartholomew wanted this to keep the mosquitoes out of the cave.”

  His dark stare slipped from her eyes to her breasts. William snatched the bouquet from her grasp and dropped it near a tree. “Ye can take the flowers to him later.”

  The rumble of his deep growl made shooting heat sear between Eva’s legs—so intense her reaction, her knees nearly gave out—right there in the clearing with others about. How this man could make her melt with a stare and a few gruff words, she’d never understand. Wallace embodied raw male—passionate, intense and powerful.

  Eva had never been one to fall for the alpha type. But, Lord, this attraction defied all sensibility.

  He moved his hand and laced his fingers through hers. Long, powerful fingers roughened by hours and hours of training pulled Eva down the path to the river, not forcibly, but with conviction, demanding she follow.

  She hastened her step to keep pace with him. “Is everything all right?”

  “Aye.”

  Not much for words tonight, I see. “Where are we going?”

  He glanced back with that same dark glint in his eye. “Where I can gaze on your bonny face without a mob of rebels surrounding us.”

  Her heart fluttered. “But it’s nearly dark.”

  “Not to worry. We’ll be there afore the light’s gone.”

  He pulled her a distance down the shore and together they climbed a craggy outcropping. At the top, the ground was flat, covered by a cushion of moss. Above, more green moss draped from the canopy of trees with sunlight streaming through and flickering as if the fairies had prepared a haven solely for them.

  He stopped and smoothed his hands over her shoulders. “Here.”

  She gazed up at his handsome face. Intent, starved, determined—with a look he could express so much. The hardened warrior she saw during daylight hours stared at her like a wolf, but not as he regarded his opponents. He looked at her with penetrating intensity, his mouth slightly parted, his chest rising and falling with every breath.

  Barely able to breathe, Eva’s tongue slipped across her lips.

  He moved a bit closer. “Every time ye walk past, I want ye. Your scent sends my insides into a maelstrom of need.”

  She closed her eyes and drew out the moment, wishing he’d say that again. Oh, how delectable to listen to a medieval Scotsman declare his desire. A wry grin turned up the corners of her mouth, and she circled her finger around the center of his chest—ah yes, he’d taken off his hauberk and arming doublet. Only a thin slip of linen lay between her fingers and his muscular flesh—did he have any idea what his exquisitely toned body did to a woman?

  Eva’s tongue slipped to the corner of her mouth as she untiled the bow and loosened his shirt laces. William’s breathing grew more labored.

  With a throaty chuckle, she lifted the hem of his shirt, but William finished the motion, whipping it over his head and casting it aside. His bold fervor heightened the stirring in Eva’s panties. “You notice me when you’re working with the men?” Her fingers trembled as she traced the defined muscles rippling over his abdomen, her need moving from simmering to a rolling boil.

  He yanked her into his arms with unmitigated strength—forceful, but not quite savage. She liked it—a hint of danger with a surge of passion. “I ken when ye are within a mile, lass.”

  Rocking her hips forward, his erection drove into her mons. With a soft moan, she swirled against him, desperate for more intimacy.

  Powerless to resist his advances, Eva’s knees buckled as he crushed his mouth over hers. This wasn’t a deep, exploring, sultry kiss like the many they’d shared in the cave. This was a claiming, fervent expression of passion that demanded a response in kind. All she could do was hold on and mirror every swirl of his tongue, every little suck, every deep, guttural moan.

  Ignited by the bone-melting fire that spread between her hips and up through the tips of her breasts, she cupped his face with her hands while he eased her down to the bed of moss.

  Kneeling, her fingers fumbled with his chausses while he untied the front of her kirtle and shift. Slipping his hand inside, he pushed beneath her bra and cupped her breast, teasing his finger over her sensitive, hard nipple. Heaven help her, how on earth could this man be so virile?

  With one last tug, she released the ties, shoved down his woolen chausses and his braies with them. Beautiful, long and hard as an oak branch, William growled and covered her mouth with another mind-claiming kiss. Every sinew in her body shuddered as he ground his exposed flesh against her.

  Eva’s thighs trembled with need as she arched her hips against him. “I want you.”

  “I need ye as much as I need the air I breathe,” he growled with a breathless burr.

  William tugged up her skirts and he tore down her panties. In a fluid motion he lifted her with one arm and laid her on the exquisitely soft bed of nature. Naked, potent, he held himself above her.

  Their gazes locked.

  She could take no more.

  Reaching down, Eva smoothed her fingers along his shaft and guided him into her. His breath trembled as he slowed the pace, allowing her time to adjust to his size. Needing him deeper, she sank her fingers into his solid buttocks and demanded he speed his thrusts as if t
heir very lives depended on their joining.

  The desire in his eyes connected them as if their very souls passed through their bodies. Wetting his lips he devoured her mouth as he made love to her with languid strokes—controlling the pace—controlling her.

  Mind-consuming passion flowed through Eva’s every nerve ending. Fierce and hot, William could make her soar to the stars and hover there until sweet release finally allowed her to drift to a place of blissful inner peace.

  ***

  As the weeks passed, Eva continued to settle into a routine. With so many mouths to feed, and more arriving by the day, there was never a lack of something to do. She journaled in the mornings, then spent the majority of her days helping Brother Bartholomew with what she called administrative tasks. He wasn’t only the cook. No taller than five-foot-two, the little monk played the role of chief healer as well. Though she’d never done anything aside from applying antibiotic ointment and a Band-Aid, by necessity she applied herself to learning medieval healing arts—some of which were surprisingly effective—and others—well, Eva figured there was always the power of the placebo effect.

  Stealing a moment’s rest, she climbed the hill overlooking the clearing. A few days ago, she’d done the same while the men still practiced. At that time, she’d made the decision to do a little training herself. One thing she knew for certain—their time in Leglen Wood was nearing an end. She posed as Wallace’s woman there, but outside their small community, who knew what dangers she’d face? And truth be told, Eva preferred being outside the dank cave whenever possible.

  William’s routine had become predictable as well. Daily he trained with the men until the sun set. He took the evening meal with his inner circle—the men who always stood beside him, rode with him—the most trusted and most talented warriors. Though his gaze would meet hers across the fire and linger, Wallace still rarely ever spoke to Eva unless behind the furs in the alcove.