by Amy Jarecki
“Well, I suppose ’tis good to hear. If ye could unite the nobles, ye’d make my job all the more painless.” Though William saw this as good news, his hackles stood on end. He swiped his hand across the back of his neck, brushing away the warning.
“Right ye are.” Lord Stewart raised his cup. “To Scone?”
“Agreed.” William drained the rest of his tot and set the cup on the table. “We’ll remain here for a fortnight. That’ll give Blair a chance to train the new men.”
“Here?” Lord Stewart’s eyes bugged out—not a becoming expression for the man.
Pushing back the chair, William rose. “Aye, and as ye’re lord and master, I’ll expect ye to feed us.”
His lordship’s noble chin ticked up. “Ye are quite sure of yourself for a commoner.”
“Possibly. But unlike others, I’ll not rest until His Grace, John Balliol, is returned to the throne. Only then will I settle and farm the land as my father did. Then I’ll be more than content to sit back whilst the Scottish aristocracy quibbles about their borders. Until that day, I’ll continue to lead this rebellion, unless a man who can best me with a sword earns the right to take my place.”
***
When William left Eva with the tailor with orders to create a wardrobe fitting for a knight’s daughter, she’d hoped she would end up with another complete change of clothes. She’d even offered to pay with her gold and silver rings, but William would hear none of it.
Mr. Tailor eyed her from head to toe. “Your gown is the most hideous woolen garment I’ve ever seen in the twenty years of my trade.”
Eva could only laugh. The man’s gaunt face was entirely serious, but he reminded her of a weathered accountant who wore a visor and crouched over a desk all day. The only thing missing was a monocle or a pair of glasses. She brushed her hands over her dingy skirts. “This gown was loaned to me by a Good Samaritan, and I assure you, you don’t want to see what I was wearing before that.”
“I couldn’t agree more.” The man frowned and shoved a handful of pins in his mouth.
For the next several hours, Mr. Tailor measured, pinned, cut and stitched all the while grumbling about Eva’s ill-fitting and completely unstylish gown.
When he finally allowed her to sit, to her astonishment, the speed at which the man’s fingers worked the burgundy damask was practically as fast as her grandmother’s Singer sewing machine. Eva leaned forward and studied his impeccable craftsmanship.
“Must ye crowd me?” he asked.
She straightened. “Sorry, but your stitches are so perfect, they look like they could have been sewn by a machine.”
“Och. That will be the day.” He shook his head. “Young people come up with the most harebrained ideas.”
Eva covered her mouth with her palm. If only he knew what a treasured skill he had.
He flicked his wrist her way. “Remove that godawful veil. I’ve a snood made of gold thread to match this fabric. It’ll suit your coloring nicely.”
Before she thought, she pulled off the cord and veil and scrubbed her knuckles through her hair. Jeez, it always felt good to take off her veil.
The old man’s fingers stopped. “God on the cross, what happened to your hair?”
Eva cringed. Might as well use the same old story. “Lost it during the battle of Dunbar.”
He clapped a hand to his chest. “Glory be, ye dunna mean to say ye survived that massacre.”
Her gaze dropped to her hands as her eyes rimmed with tears. She may not have been in Dunbar, but she’d been through enough strife to warrant his sympathy. With a deep inhale, she looked up. “Will I be able to wear that tonight? I cannot be seen by his lordship wearing this old rag.”
“Not to worry, lass. I’ll set ye to rights.” Somehow, people always grew nicer after they learned about her past—either factual or fabricated. If only she could just tell everyone the truth.
He glanced down and sucked in a gasp. “What is that ye have on your feet?”
Eva tapped her toes together. “They’re hiking boots.”
“While I’m finishing this, ye’d best go next door to the cobbler and put in an order for a pair of proper shoes like those on my shelf.” He pointed over his shoulder to a pair of dainty slippers that looked more like they belonged in a production of Swan Lake.
Eva tucked her feet beneath her wooden chair. “These boots serve me well, thank you.”
Mr. Tailor grumbled under his breath and continued to furiously whip stitches.
Training her gaze upward, she spotted a man’s leather hip purse hanging above the slippers. “Would you be able to make something for William?”
“Of course, as long as ye dunna need it today.”
“I’ve a canister of salt. Would that pay for a leather purse?”
He looked up. “How much salt?”
Eva squinted. “A pound.”
“That is quite a lot.”
“Aye.”
He whipped a half-dozen more stitches. “Well then, I’ll throw in a linen shift for ye as well.”
She clapped her hands. “Oh my, that would be wonderful. Thank you.”
When Eva left the man’s shop, she wore a new burgundy damask gown complete with matching veil and snood. He’d even had a polished copper mirror for her to assess his handiwork. Indeed, she looked quite the medieval lady. She’d also requested he craft at least one kirtle for riding that didn’t drag on the ground when she walked. How women in this century kept their dresses from caking with mud or horse manure, Eva couldn’t surmise.
As she bid the tailor good day, she felt sort of like she’d spent the day in an upmarket dress shop, being primed and measured for her every whim. And it thrilled her to no end to be able to have a change of clothes. How such small things seem huge when forced to go without.
Across the courtyard, William faced her. Eva startled. After spending the entire day with a tailor a good head shorter, William Wallace took her breath away. Not only was his hair combed away from his face, he wore a shiny, black leather jerkin over a pair of black chausses that made him look as devilish as a pirate.
“My, you are a handsome man, William Wallace.” She strode up to him and waggled her shoulders in tandem with her eyebrows. “Were you able to speak with Lord Stewart?”
“Aye, half a day ago. What have ye been up to in there, weaving the cloth?”
She chuckled. “Indeed. I never thought that sadist tailor would unpin me.”
He stepped back and raked his gaze from her head to toe. “Well, if this is the result of his efforts, I heartily approve.”
She held out the skirt. “You mean this old thing?”
His mouth twisted.
Rapping him on the arm she simpered, “He insisted I have a fine damask gown in line with my station. When I told him I needed something practical for riding a horse, I thought he might whip me with his tape measure.”
“I dunna see why. My mother wears day gowns and her father was a knight.”
“Honestly? You didn’t tell me that.” Eva blinked. “Anyway, he found a length of blue wool for the kirtle. He’s also planning to make a mantle and I’ll be ever so grateful for a new shift.”
William grasped her elbow and led her toward the keep. “Sounds as if he’ll have ye clothed right proper.”
“Yes, and thank you.” She strolled beside him. “At least stays aren’t in fashion yet. I’d die if I had to wear one of those contraptions every day.”
“Stays?”
“Oh yes, at first they had wooden slats, and later whale bones and women cinched them around their ribs and waist to make them look smaller.” Eva shuddered. “They’re torture devices that make it hard to breathe.”
William looked to the skies. “That seems complete gibberish to me. I canna see any woman putting up with torture simply to look bonny.”
Eva stopped gave him an incredulous stare. “You didn’t have any sisters did you?”
“Thank the good Lord for such mercies.”
She held up a finger. “Never underestimate how much a woman will be willing to suffer to be beautiful.”
He blessed her with a knee-melting grin. “Well, ye’re the bonniest lassie I’ve ever seen, and it doesna look as if ye’re suffering overmuch.”
“Thank you, and you should smile more. It makes butterflies flit around in my stomach.”
He gave her a squeeze. “’Tis good to hear I’m not the only one around these parts with those fluffy-feathered vermin ticking my insides.”
Giggling, Eva slipped her fingers over her mouth. William hadn’t complimented her often. Their attraction had been powerful—carnal, but he kept his opinions to himself. She liked that she had a visceral effect on him and he thought her beautiful, but it made her nervous at the same time.
He is an attractive man, so why should I be uptight? She bit her nail and regarded him. Yes indeed, he could charm every maiden’s heart in the county. Okay, I’m not bothered at all.
Eva gestured toward the keep. “I hope you are taking me to a place where there’s food, because I’m starving.”
“Ye’re in luck. Lord Stewart has invited us to dine at the high table this eve.”
“Us?”
“I told him ye were under my protection.”
Eva’s stomach flipped. “You mean a feast in a great hall with the High Steward of Scotland?” If only I had a video camera. Linsey and Chrissy would totally die from envy.
“I thought ye’d be pleased.”
Her mind snapped to her bag. “Do I have time to freshen up?”
“Ye spent the entire day with the tailor, how much more primping do ye need?”
“I could use a bit of makeup on my face—perhaps some rouge?”
“What the hell is that?” He pinched her cheeks. “Ye look fine.”
“Right.” He could repeat that a hundred times and she wouldn’t believe him. “Red eyelashes and all.”
William’s tongue tapped his top lip and his eyelids dipped. “The red adds to your character.”
“’Tis a very good thing you continually make those butterflies squirm or else I’d not believe you one bit.” She gestured toward the keep. “Lead on, Mr. Wallace. After all, it’s not often a girl has the opportunity to meet the High Steward of Scotland and dine at the high table in the year of our Lord twelve ninety-seven.” The way her insides bubbled, she felt as if she’d imbibed in a glass of wine—though she was stone cold sober.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Eva had toured the great hall at Edinburgh Castle when she visited with her family before they moved to America. Even at the age of fifteen, the enormity of the hall had impressed her. Though it had appeared more like a museum with swords and poleaxes on display, as well as coats of armor adorning either side of the marble hearth. She chuckled. The very great hall she’d seen at Edinburgh Castle hadn’t even been built yet—not for another two hundred years or so, if her memory served her correctly.
This evening when she stepped into the hall of James Stewart, High Steward of Scotland, she reached down and pinched her thigh through her skirts just to ensure she was lucid. Tables and benches filled the room, packed full of people. Overpowering smells of humanity mixed with welcomed aromas of baking bread and roasting meat. The men outnumbered the women about five to one, which made sense, given Lord Stewart’s large army.
Eva leaned into William. “Where are your men eating?”
“They’ve fashioned a spit and encampment just beyond the Renfrew walls.”
“So it’s just us receiving the royal treatment this eve?”
“Aye.”
“No wonder you look so dashing.”
William grinned and led her toward the dais.
Covered with rich tapestries, the walls absorbed some of the sound echoing off the stone floor. Above, candelabras supported countless candles, all flickering in harmony. As they approached the dais, the sound of minstrels playing a flute and lute up on the gallery became clearer.
Now this is more in line with what I imagined living in the thirteenth century would be like.
Ahead on the dais, the lord and lady were unmistakable. They sat in the center of the table as they presided over the throng, sipping from golden goblets and dressed in rich velvets in line with their station.
Eva looked to the side. The people sitting in the main part of the hall drank from pewter tankards. And the further away from the dais they sat, the more bedraggled their appearance. Truly, the scene established the social pecking order of the Middle Ages. But the disparity between classes did nothing to quell the exuberance in the hall as these medieval folk made merry, laughing and talking above each other. Eva couldn’t make out a word.
Her palms began to perspire as William led her up the three steps to the dais. When he bowed, she dipped into a curtsey, hoping she didn’t appear too awkward.
“Lord and Lady Stewart, may I introduce Miss Eva MacKay. She has fallen victim to King Edward’s severity as have so many in these trying times,” William said, obviously curbing his passionate dislike for England’s king.
Lord Stewart spread his palms before him. “Welcome, Miss Eva. It is our pleasure to have ye share our table this eve.”
“Thank you.” She again curtseyed, though not as deeply this time.
“James tells me you are the daughter of a knight,” said Lady Stewart. “Pray what was he called?”
Eva gulped and glanced up at William who arched his eyebrow, giving her no encouragement whatsoever. “Sir David MacKay,” she said with conviction.
Lord Stewart stroked his pointed beard. “I do not recall a knight named thus.”
She hated being called to the carpet. Dammit. “Do you know every knight dispatched to the Holy Land, m’lord?”
He used his pinky finger to dab the whiskers at the corner of his mouth. “Most, I’d say.”
Shrugging her shoulders, Eva feigned a dismayed grimace. “Then I have no answer for your lack of recall.” Perhaps I should have told William my father was a Norwegian knight. Had I only the forethought. But then again, that would have been a lie and I hate lies.
Lady Stewart reached for her goblet, jostling the silk wimple that covered every last strand of her hair. “I recall a knight named MacKay. Hmm. Ever so long ago.”
“Then if ye recall him, it must be thus.” Lord Stewart patted his wife’s hand. “Regardless, Miss Eva, if ye are an ally to Mr. Wallace, then I welcome ye to my table.”
Eva bowed her head. “Most gracious of your lordship.”
William led her to a pair of seats toward the far end of the table. As soon as they sat, a servant placed goblets of wine in front of them. Everything was so new, but archaic. Eva ran her finger around her empty pewter plate, thinking how excited the dig team would be to unearth one of them.
Lord Stewart clapped his hands. “Let the feast begin.”
At once, servants laden with trays of food paraded through great double doors and up to the dais. The smells made Eva’s mouth water. She leaned aside while a servant placed a trencher of roasted meat in front of her—three whole chickens, two legs of lamb and another fowl. She looked up at the man. “Is that duck?”
“Nay, ’tis swan.”
Eva looked at William and cringed. “How can anyone eat a swan?” she whispered under her breath.
He reached out with his eating knife and sliced off a piece. “Eat it. ’Tis tasty.”
She should have kept her mouth shut, but she clipped off a piece with her teeth and swirled it in her mouth. After all, as the daughter of an ambassador, her parents served all manner of food depending on the guests. Eva thought she was rather diverse because she’d eaten emu—a bird no one from Scotland had even seen yet. When hit with a combination of mutton and fish, she swallowed the swan meat and washed it down with her wine.
“Did ye like it?” William asked.
Eva pointed to the tray. “I think I’d prefer a bit of chicken, thank you.”
Chuckling, William held u
p an eating knife with a bone handle, sheathed in an ornately hammered leather scabbard. “This is for ye. I’m tired of lending ye mine.”
“For me?”
He smiled as if very pleased. “Aye.”
Accepting the gift, she turned it over in her palm. “Oh my, this is exquisite.” Without a moment’s hesitation, she pulled out the blade and examined it. Oddly, the sharpened steel gave her no tremors at all, and the handle molded to her fingers like an expensive steak knife. Perhaps being surrounded by knives is the therapy I needed after all. “Thank—” Her voice caught and she drew in a breath. “Thank you. I shall cherish it.”
William beamed. “I thought ye’d like it.” The candlelight flickered in his eyes and he stared at her as if there were no other people surrounding them.
She liked it when he looked at her like that. Probably liked it too much. Glancing down, Eva rolled the blade between her fingertips. “This is almost too nice to use for eating.”
William reached for a loaf of bread and broke it. “What else would ye do with a wee blade such as that?”
“Good point. I guess I have no china cabinet in which to display it.” She plucked a portion of bread from his grasp with the knife. “You were very thoughtful to think of me. I don’t know how to thank you for all you’ve done—new clothes and now this.”
“’Tis nothing.” He gave her a wink. “Besides, I couldna let my woman traipse across the country dressed like a serving maid.”
Eva’s heart caught in her throat. Yes, he just called her his woman, and oh, did she relish the idea. Since arriving in the thirteenth century, she’d mostly been living in a cave. Worries about her attire had been miniscule compared to everything else. But now she would be out in the public, riding with William Wallace and his growing band of rebels. Please, Lord, do not let me do anything that will send me back. Not now. She glanced at William. Not for a very long time.
Presented with more food than at a presidential banquet, Eva ate until she couldn’t swallow another bite. Even the apple tart was delicious.
A servant stopped by her shoulder, holding a ewer. “More wine, miss?”
