Rise of a Legend (Guardian of Scotland Book 1)

by Amy Jarecki

  Eva breathed a sigh. At least she wouldn’t be lumbered with the boys at all hours, and Robbie could use new friends—lads who were gently bred to train him how to be the nobleman he would become.

  A messenger marched through the big double doors. “I’ve a missive for William Wallace.”

  All eyes turned to the runner.

  William strode forward. “I’m Wallace.” He took it and ran his finger under the seal.

  Eva tiptoed up to him. “Who’s it from?”

  “Sir Andrew Murray.”

  Her stomach flipped.

  He looked at her with a grin. “We march to Dundee on the morrow.”

  She plucked the missive from his fingers. “Well, what does it say?” Though she had studied Auld Scots documents, Eva still had difficulty discerning the script and lack of spelling convention.

  But she caught the gist. She glanced at Wallace, raising her brows. “Murray and his army intend to be in Dundee by the beginning of September. You will beat them by a fortnight if you leave now.”

  “Aye. And with the siege engines we’ve captured in Scone, why not rid the city of English afore Murray arrives? That way we’ll be able to focus on laying plans to drive the English out of Scotland. This is exactly what we needed.”

  Chapter Thirty

  After Wallace led the army to Dundee it had only taken him a week to sack the castle with its motte-and-bailey stronghold. Mayhap the English had grown soft in their year of occupation. William sat with his commanders in the second-floor solar planning their next maneuvers. Wallace hadn’t liked the latest report from his spies. He looked across the faces of his men—every one of them had grown more assured. But he held no illusions. “Our greatest enemy is overconfidence. And my oath, we’ve only just begun.” He eyed Eddy Little, then John Blair. “Word came today that the Earl of Surrey is marching three hundred horse and ten thousand foot north from Berwick.”

  The warrior priest rapped his fist on the table. “I say we set out for the south forthwith and meet them head on.”

  William studied the map on the table in front of them. “Nay. If we march, we run the risk of losing the advantage. We must draw them to us.”

  “Here in Dundee?” Eddy asked.

  “They’d recapture Scone if we allowed them to come this far.” William pointed. “Mark me, Warenne would attack there first. To be successful we must not split our forces.”

  “Agreed there.” Blair crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair. “But I dunna want another massacre like Dunbar.”

  Wallace thumped his fist on the table. “They’ll not be striking castles they already hold.”

  Eddy leaned forward. “Ye have an idea, do ye not?”

  William first pointed to the border on the map. “They occupy Berwick, Dunbar, Edinburgh and Stirling.” He trained his finger northwest and pressed it firmly on the cluster of trees indicating Abbey Craig. “We’ll lure them to Stirling. First, the River Forth flows too strong and too deep for the cavalry to cross except over Stirling Bridge. And they’ll not be able to march more than two or three wide across the bridge.”

  Blair chuckled. “And our army will be out of sight up on the ridge. They’ll have no notion of our numbers.”

  “Not to mention, we can see for miles up there,” Eddy added.

  With a rap at the door, Robbie stepped inside, looking officious. “Sir Andrew Murray has arrived.” The lad grinned, all pomp fleeing his expression. “He’s waiting in the passageway, Willy.”

  “Then show him in, young squire.” William pushed back his chair and rose, taking long strides toward the door.

  Clad in armor, Andrew stepped across the threshold and gave Wallace a good once-over. “By God, ye are as large as Goliath.”

  William held out his hand. “I reckon ye’re no runt. What are ye, eighteen hands?”

  “Aye, near enough.” Andrew gave a firm shake.

  William liked what he saw, a sturdy warrior with an intense glint to his brown eyes. He made the introductions and gestured to a seat at the head of the table, opposite William’s. “Ye arrived just in time. We’ve word Edward has sent the Earl of Surrey against us. They marched from Berwick this morn.”

  Andrew rubbed his hands with an eager grin. “Then I’ve arrived in time.”

  “Robbie,” William said. “I’m sure Sir Andrew has a thirst from his journey. Bring us some ale and a trencher of bully beef and bread.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Returning his attention to Andrew and the others, William explained the plan.

  “I like it,” Andrew agreed. “We lost in Dunbar because we were not prepared—nor did we have the numbers to fend off the English. It pains me to admit it, but Edward’s army is as fierce as Satan. Ye’ll find no better trained fighting men in all of Christendom.”

  Robbie entered with a ewer of ale, followed by Adam who carried four tankards, and Paden with a trencher of food.

  William grinned. “Good lads.”

  Andrew reached for a tankard and held it up for Robbie to pour. “Do ye have the numbers of the English attack?”

  William reached for the bread and broke it. “My spies report they’ve mustered three hundred horse and ten thousand foot.”

  After taking a long pull on his ale, Andrew let out a deep breath swiped his hand across his mouth. “How many men are in your ranks?”

  “A hundred fifty horse and near two thousand foot.”

  “And mind ye, some of those foot have just come from the crofts with nothing but a homemade pike in their hands,” Blair said, taking a tankard from Adam.

  “I’ve fifty horse and five hundred foot.” Andrew looked around the table. “We mustn’t delay—we need more men for certain.”

  “Aye, but they must come with their weapons,” William agreed. “This is an army, not a mob of benefactors. No matter how much I’d like to, we’re not feeding the poor.”

  “Well said.” Andrew reached in and grabbed a piece of meat, making himself at home. “And the Scots failed in Dunbar because we summoned only landholding and propertied classes. We may have had an impressive show of horse, but we lacked in foot.”

  William took a tankard and motioned for the lads to leave. “Then we must make a call to Scottish service that applies to all males in the horseless classes past their majority. We’ll inspect them for arms and armor. After all, how difficult is it for a man to fashion a pike of twenty-four hands?”

  “I like ye more with your every word.” Andrew grinned. “Agreed. The majority of our force must be pikemen. And for leadership, one in five will command their unit.”

  “We’ll send out criers at once to spread the word. All fighting men are to march to Abbey Wood immediately.”

  Andrew held up a finger. “Why Abbey Wood? Why not assemble them here and then march together?”

  With a chuckle, William sat back. “If we brought them all to Dundee, the English would ken what we are up to afore we had a chance to meet them. In the wood, no one will be able to count our numbers.”

  Andrew raised his tankard. “Then shall we set out for Abbey Wood on the morrow?”

  William lifted his in salute to Andrew’s and nodded to the other men. “Aye, and we’ll stick to the byways.”

  All four men toasted to their plan and drank.

  William knew this union of armies was right—the camaraderie at the table was profound. At last he’d found a leader as passionate as he. Och aye, Andrew Murray embodied a knight he could join with—and since the man’s father was the Justicular of Scotland north of the Firth of Forth, the nobles would be all the more amenable to providing their support.

  ***

  Eva rolled the dice onto the table and clapped her hands. “Sixes!”

  “Holy Moses,” Robbie said, his voice echoing off the rafters in Dundee Castle’s great hall. “Ye are the luckiest person in all of Scotland.”

  She brushed the grains of barley from the center of the table into her heap. “At least we’re not playing
for coin.”

  “Too right,” said Adam. “I’d have pledged ye all my earnings for the rest of my life.”

  Beside her, Paden strummed a lute. “That’s exactly why I refrain from playing games of any sort. Gambling is Satan’s vice.”

  “I don’t know about that.” Eva picked up the dice and plunked them into the cup. “Our game is all in fun. No one is losing his shirt.”

  “But many a man has gambled the clothes from his body and then crawls to the church asking for alms.”

  My, Paden is inordinately serious. “Do you plan to follow in your father’s footsteps and take up the cloth?”

  “Ye mean my uncle.” Paden glared at her and strummed another chord. “I certainly wasna cut out to wield a sword.”

  Eva shrugged off the lie about his uncle, but jeez, he was every bit as much a hypocrite as many of the clergy in power during this era. “Do you prefer the arts?” Trying for more pleasant ground, Eva gestured to his instrument. “Why not play us a tune? Music surely is from heaven.”

  Paden snorted. “But minstrels are not.”

  “Then play us a religious tune.” Eva looked to Robbie and the lad rolled his eyes. Evidently Paden’s “holier than thou” attitude was wearing thin with everyone. But Paden began strumming. In a minor chord, the tune was eerily moving. Eva regarded him for a moment. The lad certainly showed talent as his deft fingers moved effortlessly, playing at a difficulty level that would match a professional.

  “Willy’s been in the solar forever,” Robbie said, drawing her from the mesmerizing music.

  “Aye.” Eva had to agree. She’d been working in the kitchens when the boys came in and told her Andrew Murray had arrived, bringing with him another five hundred mouths to feed. In such a short time William’s army had gone from thirty men living in a cave to a garrison of thousands.

  Wow.

  Footsteps echoed from the stairwell. Eva grinned. “It sounds like their meeting has finally ended.”

  Robbie and Adam jumped up and raced for the stairs. Eva followed at a more respectable pace.

  “When are we going to boot the English out of Scotland?” Robbie asked as soon as William rounded the last few steps.

  “Soon.” He laughed and mussed the lad’s hair. “What have ye been up to whilst I’ve been planning our attack?”

  Adam pushed in beside William—the younger lad appeared to accept his predicament in stride, far better than his older brother. “Miss Eva has won all our barley playing dice. And Paden says it’s the devil’s game.”

  William looked at Eva. “Oh?”

  “Just a bit of fun to pass the time.” She smiled and pointed to the musician, still seated at the table. “Paden was playing his lute for us. He’s quite good.”

  Followed by the men, William walked farther into the hall, giving a nod to the elder Wishart lad. Then he stopped and gestured behind him. “Allow me to introduce Sir Andrew Murray.” William bowed. “Miss Eva MacKay, daughter of the late Sir David.”

  Something in her chest tightened. That was the first time William had referred to her father as “the late” and she didn’t like it at all. But it would have been rude if Eva didn’t smile at the knight and hold out her hand. “I’m pleased to meet you.”

  Andrew took her palm and met Eva’s gaze. Full of life, the man was in his prime. With chiseled features, he could have passed for a fitness model in her time. He grinned, his sparkling brown eyes inquisitive and friendly.

  As he tapped the back of her hand with a chivalrous kiss, cold chills fired across Eva’s skin. Her stomach squelched. Snatching her hand away from his grasp, she covered her mouth. The room spun. “I…I…” What could she say to explain her sudden panic? Her gaze darted to William. “Forgive me.” Throwing him an apologetic grimace, she ran for the door.

  She couldn’t take it—she knew too much.

  “Eva,” he called after her, but she couldn’t stop.

  Tears blurred her vision as she pushed past groups of soldiers. She couldn’t breathe. How in God’s name was she supposed to remain impartial when doom pounded on the door of someone so young and vivacious? It had only taken a look, and in that instant every fiber of her being screamed of injustice.

  A vile man she’d never seen before grabbed her by the elbows. “I’m in luck. Mayhap I’ll have a tasty wench warm me bed tonight.”

  Eva tried to twist away from the filthy, gap-toothed wretch. “Get your hands off me.”

  “Och, a tall lassie with spirit. I like that even better.” His fingers dug into her flesh. The brute smelled like the sewage outside Renfrew as he stuck out his tongue tried to pull her head down to his face.

  Gasping, she strained to keep from meeting the man’s vulgar kiss.

  Footsteps slapped the mud behind. A deep, guttural roar thundered.

  Before Eva could blink, William barreled in and slammed the thug up the side of the head with a fist. “I’ll tolerate no pillagers of women in the ranks. Especially my woman.”

  The cur cowered, clutching his hands to his head.

  Eva skittered backward. William’s woman? How could she continue on with her charade? With a sharp gasp, she turned and fled for the open gate. Harder and harder she pushed her legs. Her side cramped as she cried uncontrollably, forcing her legs to run faster.

  Suddenly, her feet were whisked out from under her. The rushing in her ears started. The medallion? She clenched her fists. No! She didn’t want to return home.

  Or did she?

  As her head stopped spinning, strong arms cradled her against his powerful torso. Inhaling the scent of masculine spice, she realized she’d only been hysterical—not whisked away by the forces behind the medallion. Eva curled her head against William’s shoulder. Only a man as potent as Wallace could carry her in powerful arms and sprint for the seclusion of the trees.

  Once completely alone, William stopped in a clearing. Taking in a deep breath, he kissed her forehead and set her down upon the soft moss. “What happened to ye back there?”

  The medallion burned so hot, Eva ripped up from under her gown and rubbed her chest. God, sometimes she hated knowing. “Is Andrew’s wife here too?”

  William shrugged. “He didna mention that she was. And a man with property wouldna risk taking his wife away from his keep and lands.”

  Eva covered her face and rocked forward. “Send for her.”

  “Are ye serious?”

  The medallion burned through her clothing. She yanked it over her head and threw it on the ground. “Trust me, for God’s sake. What harm will it do to send for her?”

  William strode to the medallion and picked it up. He held it in front of his face, then wrapped his fingers around the metal. “’Tis hot.”

  Eva nodded.

  He swung his arm back. “I ought to—”

  “Stop.” She marched to him and grabbed the leather thong, clutching it tightly in her fist. “This lump of bronze is my passport home.”

  His face fell. “Ye want to go home?”

  Oh God. “No.” Not now.

  He thrust out his hand. “Then why dunna ye let me toss it into the brush? I hate that damned thing.”

  “I cannot, dammit.” She pulled the thong over her head. “You agreed to live for the now. Remember?”

  “Aye, but I didna ken how much I’d grow to…” He ran his palm across his mouth and looked away.

  An errant tear dribbled from her eye and Eva stepped into him, smoothing her hand around his shoulders. “I care deeply for you, too. I’ll be with you as long as you need me.”

  He grasped the middle of her bodice and tugged her against his body. “Ye’d best mean that.”

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Ninth September, the year of our Lord 1297

  Across from the fire pit, William reclined on a fur atop the Abbey Craig, his belly full of venison. Murray did much the same, but Eva kept an impartial distance when it came to Andrew. Her manner toward the knight was distant and tight-lipped. Wallace didn’
t want to know why. A few days ago, he’d capitulated to Eva’s request and sent for Murray’s wife, but something had told him to just let the lady’s arrival be a surprise.

  With luck, Lady Murray would arrive after the battle.

  And, och aye, a battle was coming for certain. This day William’s spies had delivered news that the Earl of Surrey had marched his great army thorough Edinburgh. In their company rode Edward’s underhanded treasurer, Hugh Cressingham, the very man who made a public demonstration of flaying Scottish prisoners one year prior.

  “I think we’re ready,” Murray said.

  Wallace grinned. “I still canna believe we’ve amassed over six thousand men in a fortnight.”

  “And every one of them armed and trained by our best.” Murray sipped from his tankard of ale. “Holy Moses, even your cavalry is impressive at a hundred and eighty.”

  William pursed his lips and nodded. “I wish it were more.”

  “We could always use more, but we’ll not fail this time. I feel it in my bones.” Andrew rubbed his palms together. “At Dunbar we not only didn’t have the numbers, verra few of the men who died that day had a lick of training.”

  “No sense dying for a cause when ye’ve nary a chance.” William reached for the ewer and poured for them both. “I’d rather fall back and build my strength, stand and fight when the odds are more in my favor.”

  “I couldna agree more.” Andrew drew his tankard to his lips. “’Tis why I started my rebellion in the north. The English have concentrated their forces between Stirling and Berwick. Now that we’ve driven them out of the Highlands, we’ll turn up the heat.”

  “Just as we did in Scone and Dundee. Drive them out one stronghold at a time.”

  John Blair stepped into the glow of the fire. “Riders await on the fringe of the forest carrying the flag of parley.”

  William turned to Andrew. The shake of the knight’s head confirmed Wallace’s sentiments. “Tell them unless they take their soldiers and march back across the border, we’ve nothing to discuss.”