by Amy Jarecki
He closed his eyes and let her take him to heaven.
***
By dawn the next morning, the air was still. William hated that Andrew had taken an arrow to the shoulder, but by the grace of God, none of his inner circle of men had been killed. The losses on the Scottish side were minimal compared to those on the English. He estimated a third of Edward’s men had drowned, being sucked under the current of the River Forth by their heavy hauberks.
William ducked under the flap of Andrew’s tent. The knight grimaced as he struggled to sit.
“How are ye feeling, my friend?” William asked, cringing at the blood soaked bandage wrapped around Andrew’s shoulder.
“I’m coming good.”
This was one time William hoped that Eva’s cryptic prediction was wrong. But the man who had grown to be his closet comrade-in-arms in a few short sennights looked like shite. “Ye’re a bit pale.”
“Nothing a tot of whisky willna remedy.” Andrew licked his cracked lips.
William found a flagon at the foot of the pallet. “Good thing ye’ve a bit of spirit right here.”
Andrew reached for the whisky with a pained grin. “Ye’re a man of great talents and a nose for fine spirit.” He took a long swallow.
“I’ve sent for your wife. She should be here anon.”
“Do ye think I’m that bad off?” Andrew swung his feet to the side of his pallet. “’Cause I’ll beat ye to Stirling’s gate.”
“No need. We secured the castle for Scotland last eve. But ye do need to mount for the triumphant ride through her gates for certain.”
Andrew chuckled. “We gave them a good run.”
“Och aye.” William sat beside his friend. “If only the bastards hadn’t destroyed the bridge, we would have given chase to Warenne and the rest of his sorry lot.”
“Not to worry.” Andrew took another drink. “With our victory, Scotland’s nobles will join us for certain.”
“’Tis music to my ears. The High Steward has dispatched criers to take the news throughout the land.” William shook his head. “Said this was the victory we needed to wash our hands of the English. Lord Stewart has even called a meeting of parliament.”
Andrew passed him the flagon. “At last our dreams have come to fruition.”
“Indeed.” William took a swig. “Did ye ken we sent Cressingham to his grave?”
“Now that’s the best news I’ve heard today. I only wish I would have been the man to run him through.”
“Och, aye. But the men had a bit of sport.” William shuddered and took one more tot. “They flayed him—just as he did to his victims in Dunbar.”
Andrew straightened a bit and winced. “Ye dunna look too happy about it. Why not let the men have their vengeance? After all, Cressingham was the worst tyrant of them all—aside from Edward himself.”
William let out a long sigh. “Ye’re right.” How could he stand in the way of a mob of three-thousand Scotsmen when they were hell-bent on repaying crimes committed against their kin? These were brutal times and why should he not settle up with the English in kind? “An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth.” He passed the flagon to Andrew.
“Ta.” Murray took a long drink this time. “We should mount his head above the castle gates.”
“I’ll see it done.” William patted the wounded knight’s elbow. “Are ye up to a triumphant march?”
“I wouldna miss it for all the gold in Christendom.” Andrew grimaced and started to stand, but William held up his hand.
“Rest for a bit longer. When ’tis time I’ll send in your squire, and when ye’re ready, we shall parade through Stirling’s gates and make merry.”
***
Eva’s toe nudged an arrow. She stooped to pick it up as Brother Bartholomew stepped beside her. “That’s the nasty thing I pulled from Sir Andrew’s shoulder yesterday.”
It was ghastly—three-dimensional with four barbs. “Is it made of lead?”
“Aye, like so many.”
Eva tested the jagged tip with her finger. “Did the point break off?”
Squinting his beady eyes, the Monk studied the arrow. “It looks as if it has. Regardless, Sir Andrew’s fighting days are over. He’ll never have full use of that arm again for certain.”
Eva threw the vile arrow into the wood. It made her sick. If Andrew didn’t die of infection, a chunk of lead in his shoulder would ensure a slow and painful death. “I hate violence.”
Brother Bartholomew patted her arm. “There, there lass. People like us canna do much about keeping the men from fighting. But we can provide support through healing and prayers.”
She nodded, staring down at the dirt.
“Miss Eva.” Robbie came running with Adam on his heels. “Lady Murray has arrived and is already in the tent with Sir Andrew.”
“Honestly?” asked the monk. “How did the lady arrive so quickly? She had to travel all the way from Inverness, no?”
Eva shrugged—no use telling anyone she’d insisted William send for her. “’Tis just good she’s here. Her presence will give Sir Andrew strength.” She looked to the lads. “Do you know where William is?”
“Last I saw, he was meeting with Lord Stewart down by the river.” Robbie threw his thumb over his shoulder. “I canna believe people are arriving in droves. Are ye ready for the grand march through Stirling’s gates?”
“Och, aye,” said Adam, clearly recovered from his shock from watching the battle. “’Twill be a magnificent parade. Willy says we’re making history.”
“True.” Eva patted his shoulder. The lad didn’t know exactly how well the Battle of Stirling Bridge would be remembered. “You are at that. Is your horse saddled and festooned with brilliant colors?”
The lad shot a panicked look to Robbie. “We need caparisons for our horses.”
The twelve-year-old threw up his hands. “Och, where will we find that much cloth?”
Eva looked to Brother Bartholomew and grinned. “Don’t each of you have mantles? I think they would look splendid adorning your horses.”
Robbie grabbed the younger boy by the arm. “Come. We must make haste.”
“Ye do have a way with the lads,” the little monk said.
“Thank you.” Eva scanned the grounds and spotted John Blair. She excused herself and headed toward the priest. “Father Blair, may I ask a favor?”
He turned and assessed her from head to toe. “From me?”
It was time to test the waters with the priest again. “William is by the river and I can find no one else suitable to introduce me to Lady Murray.”
He clasped prayerful hands together and bowed his head. “Of course. I’m sure the lady will be pleased to meet another woman amongst the rebels.”
“Thank you.” They strolled toward Andrew’s tent. “Congratulations on your victory.”
“God was with us.”
“Will you be marching through Stirling’s gates this afternoon?”
“Aye. I’ll be right behind William.”
“And I’ll bring up the rear with Lady Murray if she is willing to ride beside me.”
“Why would she not? Your father was a knight.”
“True.” Eva nodded. “May I ask you a question?”
“Verra well.” He cleared his throat and looked skyward. “If ye must.”
“Can we be friends?”
He frowned and met her gaze. “Priests dunna make friends with women.”
“I see.” She stopped outside Andrew’s tent flap. “But surely you must know by now that I’ll never do anything to compromise William’s success.”
“Dunna ye mean the success of the rebellion? Taking back our liberty is not about one man. It is about regaining freedom for Scotland.”
“I know.” She bit her bottom lip. The last time they’d talked, he thought her a traitor and warned her to watch her back. “But you and I are on the same side.”
He bowed his head. “I’ll give ye that, lass.” Then he rapped on the tent
. “Father Blair here. May we have a word with Lady Murray?”
“A moment.” A woman’s voice came from inside. In no time, the flap opened and Andrew’s wife stepped through. She wore a light green kirtle with a darker green mantle draped over her shoulders and fastened at her neck with an enormous, round brooch. She looked at Eva and smiled. With alabaster skin, she had natural beauty, and though her hair was hidden by a wimple, she had mahogany colored eyebrows.
“My lady.” Father Blair bowed. “Please allow me to introduce Miss Eva MacKay, the daughter of the late Sir David MacKay.”
Eva’s heart stopped for a moment. She’d never grow accustomed to anyone referring to her father as “the late”, but “the future” would make no sense to anyone but her and William. She reached out her hands. “I am ever so pleased to make your acquaintance.”
“And I yours.” Lady Murray offered an aristocratic smile. “Andrew mentioned William’s wife rode with the rebels.”
Wife? Eva clapped her hands to her burning cheeks and looked to the priest.
Sucking in his gaunt cheeks with a pointed glare, he imparted no sympathy whatsoever. “If ye’ll please excuse me, I’ve preparations to make.” The priest hastened away before Eva could thank him.
She returned her attention to the lady. There was no use correcting her. “William and Andrew will be leading the procession through Stirling’s gates and I was wondering if you’d care to join me at the rear?”
“I would be delighted.” Lady Murray looped her arm through Eva’s. “Would ye walk with me?”
“Of course.” Eva hadn’t expected the woman to be so amenable. “How was your journey?”
“Long.” She absently rubbed her hand over her belly.
“When are you due?” Eva asked.
“How did ye know I was expecting?” She looked down at her stomach, which showed no signs of pregnancy. “Ye cannot possibly tell.”
“William thinks I’m a seer,” Eva chuckled. “But you did just rub your tummy.”
“Tummy?” Lady Murray chuckled. “Andrew warned that your speech is odd.”
“Apologies. I traveled a great deal with my father.”
“How interesting,” the lady said with a warm smile. “So if ye are a seer, can ye tell me if my child will be lad or lass?”
Eva stopped and held up her hands. “May I?”
The lady grinned and nodded.
Making a show of placing her hands on the woman’s abdomen, Eva closed her eyes and hummed, noting no annoying heat from the medallion. “’Tis a lad for certain.”
“Honestly?” Lady Murray clapped her hands, beaming excitedly. “Andrew will be delighted.”
Eva forced a smile. “The bairn shall become a great man. I’m sure of it.”
“Please forgive me, but I must inform my husband at once.”
Eva curtseyed. “By all means. I shall see you anon.”
Chapter Thirty-Five
As planned, Andrew’s wife met Eva at the back of the parade. “Hello, Miss Eva.”
“You look stunning, Lady Murray.”
“Please call me Christina.”
“Very well, and I am just Eva.” She gestured ahead. “Are you ready? Even from here, people are lining the road to the castle. There must be thousands up at the top.”
“And so there should be. ’Tis time all of Scotland united in our cause.”
Eva looked away and rubbed a hand over her mouth while her gaze trailed sideways. Yes, Scotland would face many, many battles large and small before her people completely regained their liberty. But as with so many things, she couldn’t allow herself to fixate on the future. For today was one reserved for great celebration. Tapping her heels against her horse’s barrel, Eva followed the procession up the hill.
The crowd cheered wildly, throwing flowers onto the cobbled road, shouting Wallace at the top of their voices. Eva looked to Christina, but the lady showed no outward sign of concern that William’s name was the one being hailed.
And Eva had been right. The closer they moved to the castle, the more crowded the route became. The wall-walk was lined with guards standing at attention with bows and quivers of arrows over their shoulders.
Before they crossed under the portcullis, Eva spotted yet another gruesome medieval custom. Cressingham’s head hung above the Scottish coat of arms, flanked by the heads of other English victims.
She swallowed back her urge to be sick and looked to Christina. “Do those severed heads give you pause?”
“Oh no. That man received his due if ye ask me. ’Tis right to honor our men by displaying the spoils of their victory.”
Eva had never thought of it like that. “You mean everyone wants to see grotesque heads on the castle walls?”
The lady looked as if Eva had lost her mind. “Aye, lassie, it gives the men courage for the next battle.”
“Ah, of course.” Eva swallowed hard and averted her eyes from the gruesome sight.
Once inside the crowded courtyard, grooms took the horses, and Eddy Little approached. “Willy and Sir Andrew will be at the high table with the nobles, but he’s reserved a place for ye near the dais. Follow me.”
Eva looped her arm through Christina’s. “This is so exciting.”
The lady stumbled into her. “Aye, if we make it to the great hall without being trampled.”
“Just stay close to Eddy and we might live.” Eva laughed.
Inside the enormous hall, the ceiling had to be fifty feet high, supported by thick beams. A gallery surrounded the entire chamber, and aisles of tables filled the room. Joyous music resounded between the walls. The smell of roasting meat and baking bread wafted up from the kitchens, making Eva’s mouth water. “This should be a grand feast indeed.”
Eddy stopped at a table beside the dais. “Here ye are ladies.”
“Thank you.” Eva sat on the bench beside Christina, facing the dais.
She spotted William right away. Lord, what a grand picture he made, head and shoulders above them all. “I recognize Lord Stewart and the Earl of Lennox. But aside from Andrew, I cannot place a one. Can you tell me who each man is?”
Christina leaned in. “It has been a time since I was last at court. Hm. On the left is Robert Bruce, Lord of Annandale, and his son, the Earl of Carrick.” Christina giggled. “I see John Comyn, the Lord of Badenoch, is seated at the opposite end of the table. Ye ken their families hate each other?”
“Yes, I am aware.” Eva could scarcely believe she was seeing these great men in the flesh. If only she could play seer and tell the Earl of Carrick he’d one day become king. But, given the enormous egos at the high table, such a declaration could start a riot.
“Let us see, Father Lamberton is the Chancellor of Glasgow Cathedral, acting Bishop for the duration of Wishart’s absence.”
“My, he’s very young.” Eva bit her tongue, well aware that Lamberton would become pivotally important to William in the near future.
“Aye, but his father’s Lord of Kilmarus,” Christina said with reverence, and then pointed. “Beside him is Lord Campbell, Lord Eglington. I’m surprised not to see Sir Douglas. He has been verra active in the rebellion.”
Eva’s gut squelched. “I’m happy he’s not here. I had the misfortune of meeting that man and he is most disagreeable.”
Christina made a sour face. “I’ve heard the same. Though he is a good soldier.”
“And a good backstabber to boot.”
“Well then, ’tis fortuitous he is indeed absent.”
Eva stared at the Earl of Carrick. Broad shouldered with bold eyebrows, he was handsome with an aristocratic mien. He looked out over the throng with a hawk-like gaze. The man exuded intelligence and cunning. Though all the men seated at the high table wore fanciful airs, and fur-lined cloaks, the future Robert the Bruce had the most commanding presence. Even if she didn’t know it was he, she would have picked him out of a lineup to be future king.
“Is something amiss?” asked Christina.
Eva blinked. “Hmm?”
“You’re staring at the Earl of Carrick like his head is twisted backward.”
With a laugh, she reached for a ewer of wine. “Forgive me. I was deep in thought.”
“Did ye have a vision?” Christina held up her cup. “I understand seers have visions.”
Eva poured for the lady, then for herself. “No. Just being silly, I suppose.” Thinking or talking about the future would only land her in a world of trouble.
Servants processed up the dais carrying trenchers laden with food, while throughout the immense hall people made merry. Eva closed her eyes and listened to the delightful music and inhaled the delicious aromas swirling about the candlelit hall. Oh how lucky she was to be included in this momentous feast.
When she opened her eyes, William stared directly at her from behind his goblet. Robert the Bruce might be an imposing future king, but William’s dark stare took her breath away. No other man at the table was as tall, as broad shouldered, or as completely magnificent as William Wallace.
Then the High Steward stood and raised his cup. The men pounded the hilts of their eating knives on the table, demanding silence.
“This eve, I dedicate this feast to Mr. William Wallace and Sir Andrew Murray for their heroic seizure of Stirling’s palace. May they continue to lead our forces to drive out Longshanks and restore Scotland’s freedom.”
A triumphant cheer rose together with trumpeters atop the gallery. But it didn’t slip past Eva’s observation that Lord Stewart had omitted John Balliol from his toast, or any mention of the imprisoned Scottish king.
She looked again for William’s reaction, but her attention was drawn away when John Comyn stood, a slight, rather pale man. “My vote is to nominate Scotland’s two heroes as the new Guardians of Scotland.”
Nearly every man at the table frowned.
William glanced at Andrew, who had a sheen of sweat across his sallow brow.
The High Steward shot a stern nod Comyn’s way. “Your suggestion is a decision for parliament. We shan’t consider it now, for tonight we feast.”
***
When the meal was over, William bid good eve to Andrew and his wife. Turning to Eva, still seated at her table, he bowed and placed a tender kiss on the back of her hand. “Ye look like a queen.”
