The Time Traveler's Christmas (Guardian of Scotland Book 3)

by Amy Jarecki

  A yawn came from the dais. “I grow tired of empty alliances. And what of your lands south of the border? Are ye not bound by a blood oath to Edward?”

  “Ye know as well as I all great men hold land on either side of the border—yourself included. Let the de Moray lad marry my daughter—build the bond between our two great nations.”

  “And if Edward attacked—which the bastard oft threatens—what then? Would I have an army of traitors infiltrating my kingdom from the north?”

  Christina lunged forward.

  Lachlan caught her by the waist.

  She twisted, a heated whisper spewing from her lips, “I must—”

  “I believe ye are right, Your Grace,” Andrew’s young voice resounded across the hall. “This nobleman is holding me against my will and if I had use of a sword, I would challenge him to a fight to the death right here and now.”

  Tension fled from Lachlan’s shoulders like a cascading waterfall. Thank God. He released his grasp and followed Christina to King Robert’s throne.

  “Seize de Vere,” Christina shouted. “He is a venomed asp who spews nothing but lies.”

  Guards immediately moved in, subduing the earl with a dozen or more pikes trained on his heart.

  “My lady?” The king glanced between her and Lachlan. “What the devil?”

  “We were traveling from Ormond Castle to make good on our promise to present Andrew to ye this Yule. To present my son, the true heir to the de Moray lands so that he could pledge his fealty to the one true king of Scotland. The earl stole into our camp in the dead of night and captured Andrew from where he lay sleeping.”

  “Please, Mother, it is I who should be relaying this story.” Andrew boldly climbed the dais stairs. “De Vere threatened to hunt me down and murder me if I didna go along with his charade, but I canna in good conscience allow him to ruin our lives, as well as the life of his insipid eleven-year-old daughter.”

  “Have ye thought this through, lad?” asked the Bruce. “Such an alliance might benefit the kingdom if drawn with the appropriate language to ensure fealty.”

  “Exactly,” de Vere boomed from the floor.

  King Robert regarded the backstabber. “Ye no longer have leave to speak, m’lord.”

  “The Earl of Oxford has no honor,” Andrew continued. “He would do as ye suspected. Sign anything ye asked and then take my family lands. When I was his prisoner in England, he only kept me alive to use me as a pawn. He planned to take Ormond Castle for himself as soon as the war ended. Once ye negotiated for my exchange, his plans were thwarted—’tis why he staged the battle on the borders. Now he wants me to marry his daughter? Aside from the fact she’s as cruel as her father, de Vere aims to give away her hand when she is not yet a woman?”

  The king scratched his beard thoughtfully. “But many highborn marriages are sealed afore the bride sees her first menses.”

  “That might be, but if I took an oath of marriage, I wouldn’t sleep with de Vere under the same roof. He’d slit my throat for certain, and if not he, that wicked imp he calls a daughter would.”

  “I’ve heard enough.” King Robert sliced his hand through the air. “Take the earl away.”

  Christina clasped her hands in front of her heart. “Oh, praises be. Thank ye, Your Grace.”

  The Bruce held up his hand. “This young man has made quite a remarkable turnaround in a short time. I must ask him what changed his mind.”

  Andrew looked to Lachlan and took a deep breath. “’Tis true, I was angry, and I blamed my mother for my captivity, and my anger was fueled by words of hate from de Vere. I do not ken if I ever would have seen how much I had been persuaded to the English side if it weren’t for Mother’s champion, Sir Lachlan Wallace. He not only made me reach deep inside and discover who I am and where I’m from, but he made me believe in myself.”

  “The tournament knight did all that?” asked the king.

  “Aye.” Andrew bowed to Lachlan. “He told me he was a master of martial arts and that his life’s purpose was to train lads to become men. At first I thought he was full of shite.”

  The king chuckled.

  “Andrew,” Christina said. She quickly covered her mouth with her fingers. Indeed, her son was proving himself a man and she must allow him to continue.

  Andrew looked her way only for a moment, then his gaze returned to Robert the Bruce. “I am Andrew de Moray, named for and son of the great knight who fought beside William Wallace in the triumphant Battle of Stirling Bridge. I was born a Scot and I will be a Scot until I take my last breath.” Andrew dropped to his knee. “Ye are my only sovereign, the only man in all of Christendom who can call me to arms, and I pledge ye my undying fealty, Your Grace.”

  Lachlan managed to close his mouth and swipe a hand over his eyes. Christina’s cheeks shimmered with her tears as the hall grew completely silent.

  Robert the Bruce stood and drew his sword. “How old are ye, lad?”

  “Six and ten.”

  “Though ye havena reached your majority, I deem ye are a man. There are knights in this kingdom who are not as gifted an orator as ye. I do believe ye are your father’s son.” The king dubbed Andrew’s left shoulder, then his right. “And I knight ye into the Royal Order of Scotland, to be a member of my parliament. May ye carry this great honor in your heart and never turn your back on your duty.”

  “Ye honor me, Your Grace. I shall endeavor to make ye proud.”

  Lachlan slipped his arm around Christina’s shoulder and squeezed her tight, pressing his lips to her forehead. Dear God, this was the most rewarding moment of his life.

  But when King Robert turned and gaped, she hopped away from Lachlan like a frightened doe.

  “Ahem.” The king eyed them with a frown. “I shall meet with ye in my antechamber alone, m’lady. Precisely when the vespers bell rings and not a moment later.”

  Chapter Thirty

  Christina paced across her chamber floor while Lachlan watched her from his place, standing with his elbow on the hearth’s mantel. “How can ye possibly appear calm at a moment like this? Do ye realize the king saw ye with your arm around my shoulders?”

  “I’ve put my arm around your shoulders plenty of times and you never complained before.”

  “But the king needs to give his blessing first…and ye…ye.” She turned her back and pressed her face into her palms. Must she spell it out for him? He was a man who could make no commitments. He was a man who should be a lad of nine, not a man of one and thirty.

  Lachlan moved behind her and placed his hand on her shoulder. “Tell me what’s upsetting you.”

  “Too many things.” She spun and faced him. “First of all, why are ye still here?”

  A look of hurt filled his midnight blue eyes. “You don’t want me here?”

  “Nay, that isna it at all. ’Tis just Andrew couldna have impressed the king more this day. I dunna understand why ye havena vanished like Eva did—twice!”

  “Oh.” His teeth grazed over his bottom lip.

  Rubbing her hands, Christina started pacing. “King Robert doesna understand ye as I do.”

  Lachlan brushed one of her wily curls away from her face. “Why can’t you just tell him we’re a couple?”

  She stamped her foot. “Because that’s not the way things are done. Ye’ve been here long enough. Ye ought to have that figured out by now.”

  “Can you not choose whom you love?”

  “’Tis not so easy.” She wrung her hands. “It doesna matter if ye are the greatest fighting knight in all of Christendom, the king will demand a commitment.”

  “I see.” He stopped her and grasped her fingers in his very large palms—rough, protective palms. Palms she wanted to hold through eternity. Hands she never wanted to lose. What if he vanished in this very moment, in this chamber? She would melt and wither into a pile of worthlessness.

  Curses.

  He tugged her closer. “After you so eloquently pointed out that I was being too brash by as
suming things I had no right to assume—”

  “I must apologize for that.”

  He strengthened his grip ever so slightly. “I do not want an apology, m’lady. But I would be overjoyed if you would stand quietly whilst I try to explain.”

  She nodded, pursing her lips and trying not to cry.

  “After our little discussion. I went for a long walk—walked where my father once stood. Saw what my father saw. And I realized I am not here for Andrew.”

  “Then why?” Blast, the words slipped out before she had a chance to check herself.

  “I’m here because of my father. Because, in truth, I am half a medieval man and half-modern. That may not make sense to you, but by powers that defy the laws of physics I’ve been given a chance to experience life in his time, and I am certain I have a choice. I even think the medallion isn’t functioning quite the same for me as it did for my mother.”

  “So…” She hesitated, waiting to see if Lachlan was going to stop her this time. When he didn’t, she continued, “When are ye planning to leave?”

  “And go back to what? A cuckold woman who has left me? A dojo I haven’t seen in a year? I don’t even have a place to live.” He pulled her into his chest and wrapped those big, strong arms around her. “What I’m trying to say is, I love you, Christina de Moray, and there’s no place I’d rather be than by your side.”

  A cry caught in the back of her throat. He wasn’t leaving? She’d suppressed her feelings for so long they all bubbled to the surface with one effervescent trill. She buried her face against his chest, her stuttering heart flying as if it had wings. Tears of happiness flowed from her eyes as he hugged her close and kissed her hair.

  “Did you hear me?” he whispered. “I love you.”

  “And I love ye, Sir Lachlan Wallace,” she finally said in a shaky voice. Blessed be the stars, all of her hopes and dreams had come true upon this glorious day.

  “Then let’s go speak to the king together. Perhaps he will grant a Christmas wedding.”

  ***

  King Robert’s cranky expression was the antithesis of the bubbles effervescing through Christina’s insides. He sat in a padded chair elevated on a small dais with a red carpet runner at his feet and a gold embroidered canopy overhead. The epitome of a king.

  In fact, he seemed much more like a grouch rather than a king preparing to celebrate Christmas with a queen who had been returned to him after years in captivity. He drummed his fingers on his armrest. “Lady Christina, I specifically recall saying I wanted to speak with ye alone.”

  Lachlan cleared his throat. “Forgive me, but that is my fault, Your Grace.” He moved closer to the red carpet and bowed. “Please allow me to explain. I could not, in good conscience, allow Lady Christina to meet with you alone when I knew full well you’d be discussing her future nuptials. You see, I cannot possibly stand idle while any nuptials are discussed for the woman I love…unless they include me.”

  The king threw back his head with a belly laugh. “So ye think ye are worthy of this woman’s hand?”

  “Your Grace,” Christina hasted to Lachlan’s side. “This knight, this champion brought Andrew back to us in mind and body, and when no one else thought the lad would amount to anything.”

  “That he did,” agreed the king. “But ye are a beautiful woman, Christina. There are many nobles in the kingdom who would vie for your hand.”

  “Nay.” Christina shook her head. “I want no other. Ye ken what it is like to suffer alone for years and now I ken my heart. I have given the kingdom a fine heir. Please, Your Grace, allow me to choose love for once in my life.”

  Bruce looked to Lachlan and narrowed his eyes. “Do ye aim to marry her?”

  He shot a panicked grimace at Christina. She tried to give him a reassuring nod. They’d discussed this. Lachlan knew what to say. In a brash move, he took her hand and threaded his fingers through hers. “I wish to ask your permission for Lady Christina’s hand. I vow to care for her to the best of my ability for the rest of my life.”

  The Bruce stroked his fingers down his beard as if considering. “And ye, Christina, are ye absolutely certain this enormous knight is the man to make ye happy for the rest of your days?”

  The bubbles nearly effervesced right out of her bodice. “I would have none other.”

  “Verra well. I am allowing this union only because Andrew’s oration greatly impressed me this day. My word, if only all my knights would be so forthright, Scotland would rule all of Christendom.” The king rose to his feet. “When shall we celebrate this wedding?”

  “Christmas Eve?” Christina and Lachlan said together.

  The king looked rather taken aback. “Christ’s birthday? Is that done?”

  “Why ever not?” asked Christina. She was growing fond of breaking the mold and doing things otherwise forbidden by outdated and nonsensical rules.

  “Hmm. The pair of ye are eccentric, but I like that.” King Robert slapped Lachlan on the shoulder. “Besides, the queen will be over the moon. She is planning to green the castle on the morrow and this will give her even more reason to lavishly spare no expense. I’ll allow the ceremony…afore the feast.”

  Christina clapped her hands. “Would Sir Lachlan and I be able to contribute a gift of spectacular boughs for the great hall?”

  “A spectacular gift, ye say?” The king arched his eyebrows. “I’m certain Queen Elizabeth would agree. The more boughs, the better.”

  ***

  Christina needed to do one thing before another day passed. An enormous smile stretched her lips when she beckoned Andrew into her chamber and asked him to sit. “There’s something I’ve been wanting to give ye for over a year.”

  Andrew leaned back in his chair and crossed his ankles. Goodness, he’d grown tall. “A Christmas gift?”

  “Nay, ’tis even more important than that.” She’d hidden the items in an ornately carved wooden trunk at the footboard of the bed. Opening it, she pulled out a two-handed sword. “Every time I think of the strides ye have made in the past year, tears well in my eyes.” She faced him and held it out. “This is the sword of Clan Moray, wielded by your father and your father’s father. It was hewn in the Iron Furnace of Inverness with the purest ore in all of Scotland. Your father fought the English in Stirling and defended Ormond Castle with this weapon. Wear it with pride.”

  His face filled with amazement, Andrew stood and accepted the sword, reverently running his fingers down the flat side of the blade. “It looks new.”

  She beamed. “Malcolm honed it sharp for ye.”

  Holding it up, he took two hissing swipes through the air. “The balance is excellent.”

  “There is no blade hewn with better mastery than the weapon in your hands.” She held up her finger. “But there’s more.” She pulled another item from the trunk. “This is your father’s targe. Covered with oxhide, it is reinforced with strong iron rivets in the pattern of the sun. Follow the movement of the great ball of fire in the sky and ye will always find your way home.”

  “Holy Moses.” Taking the targe, he admired the studded pattern, then slid his arm through the leather harness at the back and brandished it like a warrior. “A sword and a targe? Together with Jupiter, I will be feared throughout Scotland.”

  “Ye will, my son.” She then took out a surcoat and brooch. “Wear the de Moray coat of arms emblazoned across your chest, and pin your cloak and plaid with your father’s brooch. For my pride for ye stretches from sea to sea, and I stand tall to call ye my son.”

  Setting the targe on the table, Andrew accepted the other two gifts and stared at them. “These also were Da’s?” he asked with a tremor in his voice.

  “They were. I only wish he could have been alive to see ye knighted. His heart would have overflowed with so much pride, he would have knelt and kissed your feet.”

  “I wish I could have met him, too.” Andrew rubbed his finger around the brooch. “What is the stone?”

  “A rose crystal. And th
e French motto Tout Prêt means finish everything.” She firmly grasped his arm. “But ye are a de Moray and this brooch will serve as a reminder of its true meaning: Go forth against your enemies, have good fortune and return with captives.”

  “I like it. Dear God, this is marvelous.” Andrew dropped to his knees and kissed his mother’s hem. “I am ever so grateful for your perseverance. Never once did ye give up on me and for that, I am truly honored to be your son.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  On market day, Christina and Hamish visited the fete below the castle walls and purchased all manner of baubles and ribbons for the tree whilst Lachlan and Andrew headed for the forest. With only two days before Yule, they needed to make haste, as the courtly feast of Christmas Eve was renowned to be the grandest in all the kingdom. And that would be their wedding day, their anniversary to celebrate for years to come.

  To her delight, the lads brought back a glorious Scottish Pine that stretched all the way up to the gallery in the great hall. The queen and her ladies of honor had organized an impressive greening of the entire castle, however, their efforts in the hall were astonishing. Cedar bows draped across the gallery rail, secured with enormous red bows, filling the chamber with fragrance. In the giant hearth behind the high table, yule logs were stacked and ready to be burned to further fill the hall with delightful smells of the season.

  Careful not to upstage the queen’s efforts, Christina chose a rear placement for the tree.

  The three of them stood back and regarded its pinecone shape. She grasped both her men by the hands. “’Tis perfect.”

  “I did a bit of trimming before we cut her down,” said Lachlan.

  Andrew inclined his head toward the crates of decorations sitting on the table. “I disagree, Ma. It willna be perfect until we’ve properly trimmed it.”

  Oh, how wonderful it was to have her son again. Possibly, last year, Lachlan’s idea of bringing a tree into the castle and trimming it with all manner of decorations was the turning point for the lad. He surely enjoyed the season.