by Amy Jarecki
Releasing Eva from their embrace, William held her at arm’s length. “I did not seek promotion of my own accord.”
“Well, thank heavens Sir Andrew did.” She grinned. “You may have due admiration from the ranks, but you also need respect from nobility. Now they have no reason not to give it.”
He took in a sharp breath. “My appointment to Guardian should have been enough.”
“Yes it should have.” Eva hesitated. With her next blink the Battle of Falkirk popped in her head. She froze. Why did bad thoughts have to always put a damper on her happiness?
“Is something amiss?” William was too perceptive.
Backing, she shook her head and steadied her nerves with a deep inhale. “It’s nothing.” Her gaze trailed aside. “I’ll fetch Robbie to help you prepare your armor.”
When she headed for the door, William grasped her elbow. “What is it?”
Gulping, Eva forced herself to smile. “I’m overcome with happiness for you. This is a night for celebration.”
Though his intelligent gaze reflected wariness, he gave her a nod. “That it is, and I intend to enjoy it with my woman beside me.” Now he glanced away. “Except…”
With a pinch to her brow, she stepped in. “What?”
“The Order strictly forbids women from entering the preceptory.”
Blinking, Eva folded her arms. “Are you kidding?”
With a shrug, William spread his palms. “I wouldna jest about something like that.”
He was serious. How unfair—William was going to be knighted and she would be banned from witnessing it? “For crying out loud, you are the Guardian of Scotland. Can’t you tell them to make an exception?”
“The Order of St. John doesna take direction from me. They pay fealty only to the Pope.”
She threw up her hands. “This is ridiculous. You’re being honored and I can’t even hide under a table and watch the ceremony?”
“Och, I’ll walk in, kneel, Lord Stewart will dub me on the shoulders, and it’ll be done. Then ye and Lady Murray can join us for the feast.”
“Brilliant. I can make an appearance for the food.”
He tugged her into his arms. “Come, Eva, dunna be like that. Ye kent no women were allowed in the preceptory afore we left Dirleton.”
“I have half a mind to don a monk’s robe and pull a hood over my head.”
William shook his head. “Nay, ye canna risk it. Ye’d only give the Earl of Badenoch more reason to urge the others to vote for my dismissal. I swear, if Andrew and I werena Guardians, that man would attempt to claim the throne for himself.”
She slipped her hands around his waist. “I have to admit I don’t trust Lord Comyn any more than you do.”
“’Tis difficult to trust the lot of them.”
His words rang true—more than he realized. But damn, she wanted to see William knighted.
He fingered one of her curls. “Promise me, ye’ll not do anything to give them cause to bury me.”
Groaning, Eva gave in. “Of course. I wouldn’t want to embarrass you.”
“Ye ken I would never be embarrassed with ye by my side.” He brushed a rough-padded finger across her cheek. “’Tis just there are men who would snatch any opportunity to see me fail.”
Closing her eyes, Eva sighed. This was too important for him. She’d just have to play along with it this time. “Then I’ll wait for you at the inn with Lady Christina.”
“My thanks.” He rubbed his big hands up and down her spine. “Ye are so fine to me, Miss Eva. I wish…”
“Yes?”
“I wish ye would marry me.”
God, that stung. Tears filled her eyes. A cry caught in the back of her throat. Why did everything have to be so difficult? Couldn’t she just have a six-month affair and leave her goddamned emotions out of it? Why did he have to feel so good pressed against her body? Hell, all William had to do was brush kisses along the curve of her neck and she’d do anything he asked. But marry him? “I can’t.”
“Ye mean ye willna.”
She closed her eyes, forcing herself not to cry. “Please,” she pleaded. “You know our days together are fleeting.”
“Because ye have to return to your time?” He grasped her shoulders firmly. “What if ye are here to stay?”
She shook her head, the dread she had pushed away so many times hit her full force. “I-I-I know I must return—j-just not when.” Her palms started to perspire, her head spun. Please don’t make a scene. Not now. Not when things are at their best.
He looked at her with eyes narrowing. “Ye want to leave. Is that it?”
Yes. “No. T-that’s not it at all,” she stammered—she hadn’t told him about her one-year plan. Besides, he wouldn’t understand it. “I’m already on borrowed time…and…”
“What say ye? Something terrible will happen? Does Lord Comyn murder me? My enemies will betray me?”
Eva blinked, completely dumbfounded. The medallion warmed against her chest, reminding her that if she answered him, she’d be gone in a heartbeat. “I-I’ll fetch Robbie and send him to you.”
William pursed his lips. “Ye canna tell me, can ye?”
“You know I cannot talk about the future.” Eva turned and dashed to the door.
“Wait.” William followed, placing his hand on her shoulder. “Who among these men are my enemies?”
Over her shoulder, Eva met his pointed stare. She hated secrets. They felt too much like lies. “Honestly, you have very few allies among the nobles. I’ve been around you long enough to know you are right to limit confidences to your inner circle.” Thank God the medallion didn’t get any hotter. “Be watchful at every turn. The coming years will challenge you like no others.”
“Years?” His voice sounded too hopeful.
She slipped her shoulder from under his grasp and reached for the latch. “Forgive me. I don’t dare say another word.”
***
Though thoroughly chapped that the knighting was for men only, Eva pinched herself. At least I’m able to celebrate with him. And I want this to be a night William will remember forever.
With her adjustment in attitude, Eva applied herself to organizing the evening’s events. Fortunately, the menu had already been established and the food preparation was under way—with Eva adding William’s favorite plum pudding to the menu. Finding musicians was another matter. Tucked away deep in the woods, Torphichen was more of a hamlet—an escape for the monks with one narrow road and an inn that was too small for such a great gathering of important men. Fortunately, most of them were given accommodations behind the forbidden walls of the preceptory. Only a handful had brought their spouses.
After making inquiries, Eva and Lady Christina were able to hire a lute and drum for music.
But the lady didn’t seem at all happy. “What do you mean no one plays the flute? Is this village not filled with knights? Surely there are a host of musicians behind the preceptory walls.”
“Aye, but none on this side, m’lady,” said the man with the lute.
“I’m sure it will be fine,” Eva said. “We only want a bit of music to entertain whilst we sup.”
“Pardon me?” Christina moved her hands to her hips. “This is a momentous occasion. There should be dancing and making merry.”
“Dancing?” Eva cringed. “Oh no, it will be far too crowded to dance.”
“Once the meal is over, we’ll have the servants move the tables aside. ’Tis how it’s done.” Taking Eva by the elbow, Christina pulled her aside. “Besides, ye’ve made great progress since we started practicing with young Robert.”
Eva had hoped to have a few more lessons with Robbie before trying to impress William, but he did like to dance after all. She bit her bottom lip. “Do you think so?”
“Unquestionably.”
“All right. If there is time and William is amenable to it, we shall dance.”
Lady Christina clapped her hands. “We most certainly shall.”
; Eva regarded the lady’s belly. “I’ll bet the wee one enjoys music and dancing as well.”
The woman’s face lit up like a beacon—a delightful combination of pride and embarrassment. “Indeed.”
The women didn’t have long to wait.
True to William’s word, the knighting ceremony didn’t take long, and soon the noblemen filed into the inn, calling for ale and whisky. First through the door, William strode straight to Eva. She dipped into a deep curtsey. “Sir William. May I be the first to congratulate you?”
He grasped her fingers and pulled her up, brushing feathery lips across the back of her hand. His breath tickled the fine hairs while shivers ran up her arm. The look in his eyes darkened. Lord, how the man could make her feel desired. “I am ever so glad to have ye with me to share this eve.”
“Ahem, I do believe there is a feast to be had,” said Lord Stewart, brushing past them.
Regardless of whether she wanted to lead William above stairs and enjoy a private celebration of their own, since there was no dais, she gestured toward the head table. “A feast awaits.”
“And dancing,” Lady Christina said as Sir Andrew escorted the noblewoman to her seat.
William placed his palm in the small of Eva’s back and smiled. “It seems her ladyship has a yen to pick up her feet.”
“Indeed she does.”
“And ye?” he led her to a chair and held it for her. “There’ll be no waltzing this eve.”
She slid into the seat trying to be as graceful as her ladyship. “I am yours to command, oh knight.”
“Aye?” His eyebrows shot up. “So all I needed to do to hear ye say that was gain a knighthood?” Cupping his hands around his mouth, he hollered. “Lord Stewart, ye should have knighted me afore we marched on Scone. ’Twould have made my life a fair bit easier, I’d reckon.”
The High Steward raised his tankard. “We’ve set ye to rights now, Wallace.”
“Och aye.” Andrew lifted his cup in kind. “I wouldna put it past him to sprit into England and bring King John home.”
Nodding to his friend, William took his seat and raised his tankard. “To King John.”
“Here, here!” At least everyone was inclined to toast the deposed king when the ale was flowing aplenty.
Eva’s insides bubbled as they dined. William was in high spirits, talking about the future of Scotland and sharing some of what he had planned for the army. He mentioned not a word about his unquenchable desire to invade England. Such bravado could very well end up in the wrong hands.
Eva regarded the faces and drummed her fingers against her tankard. “Where is Lord Comyn?”
“Made his apologies and left after this session.” William took a long pull on his ale. “I expect, with his absence, parliament may come to close a day sooner.”
Laughing, she thwacked his arm. “You are awful.”
“I am nothing but honest.”
The minstrels hovered in a corner, hopelessly failing to serenade the meal. They played their instruments as if in pantomime. Too many voices drowned them out.
“Oh dear,” Eva said, leaning into William. “I’m afraid we needed more musicians.”
“Bah.” He batted his hand through the air. “They’re fine.”
After William had two gargantuan servings of plum pudding, he patted his stomach and looked to Andrew. “Sir Murray, I believe your wife has a yen to dance this night.”
The knight regarded his wife, wiping his brow with his sleeve. “Then I canna sit idle when I have a duty to attend to my fair lady.”
“Clear the floor,” he shouted. Standing, William offered his hand to Eva. “Please do me the honor, m’lady.”
She loved it when he referred to her as his lady—though her proper title was miss, or missus since she was a widow. Though she hadn’t been bothered by it, William had never referred to her as missus. He’d assumed she was a miss when they first met—her mistake, really. Eva hadn’t been predisposed to talking much about her past. She’d been with him for about two months before Steve’s murder in a New York subway came up—and then they’d never spoken about it again.
Some of the other noblemen escorted their wives into the space hastily cleared by the servants. Eva stood across from William.
“Dunna be nervous,” he jested.
She winked. “Easy for you to say.”
The boisterous voices died down enough to hear the music. Lady Christina gave Eva a reassuring nod and all launched into a stately line dance that was ever so proper for a bawdy inn in the midst of a dense forest.
Eva followed along, only missing a step or two.
William grasped her hand for the circle and inclined his lips toward her ear. “Ye’ve had a wee bit of practice.”
“Thank you. Robbie and I’ve been taking lessons from Lady Christina.”
“And where have I been whilst ye’ve been kicking up your heels?”
“Chasing after the Earl of March among other things.”
“Well, I’m glad ye’ve been keeping yourself occupied.”
She laughed. “And out of trouble?”
“Aye.”
With a clatter of chairs, Eva and William stopped. Sir Andrew lay on his back, sprawled across the floorboards.
William rushed to lend him a hand. The proud knight brushed it away. “I’m dunna need mollycoddling.”
“He’s a wee bit tired,” said Lady Christina.
“I’m not bloody tired.” Andrew leaned heavily on a chair and pulled himself up, wincing all the while. “’Tis my battle wound that ails me.”
“Of course,” said William. “Mayhap an early night would benefit us all.”
“Och, enjoy yourselves.” The knight swayed until his wife slipped under his arm and helped him balance. “The ale must be potent.”
“That it is,” William said, sober as a judge.
Eva chewed the inside of her cheek. Andrew Murray grew weaker by the day and there wasn’t a damned thing she could do about it.
As Christina helped her husband to the stairwell, William frowned. “He needs a cure.”
“Aye,” Eva whispered, unable to watch the couple any longer. The lady’s pregnancy had started to show and the sadness of their plight twisted Eva’s stomach into a million knots. If only she could do something. Watching Andrew’s health gradually decline was agonizing for everyone.
Chapter Eight
After his fall at the inn, Andrew had accompanied Lady Christina to Dirleton, leaving William to finish the session of parliament. He and Eva had returned only last eve and this morn, seated upon the dais in Dirleton’s great hall, it pleased William to see Andrew exit the stairwell…until he started walking. Wallace chewed a bite of sausage while he watched the man who had grown to become a dear friend stumble and sluggishly approach the dais. Resisting the urge to lend a hand, William washed down his mouthful with a swig of cider.
At the top step, Andrew leaned on the rail, breathing deeply as if he’d just run a footrace. “Good…morrow.”
William gestured to the chair closest to the knight. “Good morrow.”
Andrew smiled, a sheen of sweat glistening across his sallow face. “How fared the remaining sessions?”
“Well enough. Once the Earl of Badenoch was off home, things proceeded more quickly at least. What’s better is we can now proceed with our plans to ride south.”
“Good to hear.” Andrew’s hand shook as he poured himself a tankard of cider. “Regardless, ’tis a shame I missed out on the fun.”
“By the looks of your coloring, ye’d best continue to convalesce during the next sortie.” William furrowed his brow and looked to ensure no one was near enough to overhear him. “Now tell me true, how is your shoulder? Any better?”
“Worse.” Andrew gestured to his arm hanging in a sling. “Canna even move my fingers now.”
Wallace knit his brows. “’Tis puzzling for certain. And ye look as if ye’re still fevered.”
“Have the chills, mostly.
Canna eat much either.” Andrew shook his head and sipped the cider, then coughed. “What—ahem—news?”
It twisted William’s gut to see such a braw warrior knocked down by injury and illness. If only he knew a cure. Hiding his concern, he scooped a spoon of apricot conserve from the pot at the center of the table. “Received a missive from St. Andrews. It has become imperative to appoint a bishop to oversee the completion of the new nave at the cathedral.”
Andrew leaned his forearms on the table and bowed his head. “’Tis of grave importance for certain.”
“William Lamberton has provided noteworthy service filling in at Glasgow in Bishop Wishart’s absence.” Wallace spread the conserve on a bit of bread. “And he supports the Patriotic Party.”
“Aye, there are not many holy men either side of the border who would oversee our consecration to Guardians.” Andrew’s tongue moistened his chapped lips. “Agreed. Lamberton would be an excellent choice, and God knows we need an ally in St. Andrews.”
“Then I shall offer him a provisional appointment whilst I scribe a missive to the Pope and pray for a swift agreement.”
Andrew nodded and again drank.
William held up a trencher of sausages. “Ye should break your fast. A bit of cider willna heal what ails ye.”
Andrew rubbed his stomach and grimaced. “I’ve no appetite. Merely smelling food makes me green.”
“Has Lady Christina consulted with a physician?”
“Aye. If anything, they’ve made me worse. Bled me till I couldna see straight.”
William cringed. He’d do anything to avoid a physician’s lancet. “There must be something we’re overlooking. Ye’re young—strong.”
Lifting the tankard to his lips, Andrew nodded. “Did ye hear about Lamberton being appointed the Bishop of St. Andrews?”
William stopped mid chew and stared. For the love of God, they’d just decided to send a missive to the Pope to request Lamberton’s appointment. Was Murray losing his mind? William pondered his reply for a moment, then opted to play along. “Ah…I believe there is no better suited candidate in all of Scotland.”
“Hmm?” Seeming disoriented, Andrew placed his palms on the table. “I’d best attend my mother.”
