by Amy Jarecki
“Go easy.”
He gave a nod, wishing he could grab the tankard and guzzle it. But instead, he coughed like an invalid. “Bloody hell.”
She offered him another spoonful. “You had quite a blow to the head. Father Blair said it’s a good thing you were wearing your helm.”
Licking his lips, William closed his eyes. Ah yes, the raid at Johnstonebridge—and that bloody, backstabbing Earl of Badenoch.
“Do you remember what happened?” she asked.
William looked at Eva’s face. God’s teeth, she was fresh as a newborn lamb in spring—so full of life—yet something wizened her face—a tad thinner, perhaps? “Och, I dunna want to talk about that now.” He brushed a finger over the back of the hand holding the tankard. “What is it about ye? I see no lines etched around your mouth or at your eyes. Like I said—’tis as if time has stood still for ye.”
“Oh, I’ve definitely aged. It’s just…” Her gaze drifted sideways as she set the tankard and spoon down. “I’m not running for my life at every turn.”
He grasped her hand. How in God’s name did the woman manage to keep her fingers softer than rose petals? “Aye. Ye come from a time of peace?”
“Yes.”
“Then why did ye come back after all this time?”
Her feminine Adam’s apple bobbed. “I wish I could say I willed it to be so.” Then she let out a nervous chuckle. “But it just happened. Much like the first time—I had no idea that I would even drift off to sleep, let alone awake in—” Her mouth drew down in a grimace.
“Did ye see a ghost?”
She shook her head and blinked rapidly.
“Are ye unwell?” he asked.
“No.”
“But something is troubling ye.” He knew it.
She pursed her lips and stared at him as if she, indeed, had seen a ghost.
He grasped her wrist. “What is it?”
“I cannot say.”
His gut squeezed. Ah yes, the secrets. But forcing her to reveal them is what had ripped her from his arms so long ago. “By the look on your face, ’tis grave.”
She nodded and wiped a hand across her lips. “There’s so much we have to talk about, but you need to rest. It will take you a fortnight or more to regain your strength.”
He moved his shoulder. Och—that hurt like nails driving it into the cross. “How long have I been abed?”
“Two days.”
That wasn’t good. “I’d best be mounted by the morrow.”
“You cannot be serious,” she coughed out.
“Longshanks has a hefty price on my head. The bastard willna rest until he sees it on a spike atop the tower.”
Lord, Eva turned green. “But aren’t you safe here? The men don’t seem overly nervous.”
“I’m safe nowhere. Spies lurk in every corner of the Kingdom. I’ve scarcely had a wink of sleep in three years—the bastards.”
“Is there no one to whom you can turn?”
A smirk snorted through his nose as he slipped his finger under the medallion around her neck and flicked it. “Not unless ye can spirit me to your time.”
“If only—I’d do it in a heartbeat.” She bit her bottom lip and looked up. “What about the Steward?”
“Bought—just like all the nobles—sold out for a bit o’ land.”
“All of them?”
“Aye. Every last one—even those who rode with me when we invaded England. And the common men are all afeard; hiding in their cottages, praying their families will be spared from further cruelty by that murderous English king.”
“He’s still razing Scottish towns?”
“’Tis worse than before—’tis a reign of terror.”
“What about the Earl of Carrick?” she said with all the solemnity of Job.
Now that made William’s head throb all the more. “Och, no one ever kens what side the Bruce is on. His mind changes like a swinging pendulum.”
Eva dunked a cloth in a basin and wrung it out. “I believe he’s an ally.”
“Well then now I ken ye’ve been gone eight bloody years. The only ally Bruce has is himself. He owns enough land on both sides of the border to command an army of reckoning.”
She ran the cloth down his arm. “If you had to choose between Bruce and Comyn, which one would you pick?”
Eva made the question sound innocent, but it gave him pause—and he hadn’t a mind to answer such a pointless query. He snatched her wrist and held it firm. “Ye ken I met King John in France?”
She nodded. “I thought you may have—I knew he was exiled there after Edward released him from the Tower.”
“Aye.” William swallowed. “Ye ken he refused my plea to return?”
“I am only aware that after his abdication, John Balliol never again set foot in Scotland.”
William stared at the stony ceiling of the alcove and let out a long sigh. “’Twould have been good to ken afore I spent an entire year imprisoned in King Philip’s dungeon.”
She pulled her hand from his grasp. “It pains me to see the years have not been kind to you, William.”
Suddenly bereft of fight, he closed his eyes. The years had been anything but kind—and not only to him. All of the Kingdom had succumbed to oppression. “Is there nothing ye can do to ease the pounding in my head?”
Reaching into her shiny satchel, she pulled out a white vile. “That, I can help with.”
***
Though John Blair acted his usual gruff self, eyeing her with distrust, fortunately he did unroll a hide that had protected all the clothing she’d collected during her last stay. She even found her mail-piercing sword in the middle of the bundle along with two pairs of shoes and a fur-lined cloak. Thank God. If only the powers behind the medallion would see fit to provide her with proper attire before dumping her in the midst of winter, seven hundred years into the past.
Regardless, once again, Eva was clad in a shift and kirtle, and hiding out with a band of rebels in a cave.
Robbie walked past carrying two buckets. “I’m off to fetch some water.”
“Would you mind if I come along?” Eva asked. “I need a bit of fresh air.”
One side of his mouth ticked up. “Are ye daft? ’Tis cold as ice out there.”
“I know. It’s just I’ve been cooped up in this cave for three days and I’m going stir crazy.”
“Huh?”
“I’m going mad,” she corrected.
He shrugged. “Och, if ye want to come along, I’ll nay argue.”
Eva pulled her cloak tight about her shoulders and hurried after him. Since her arrival, no one had been overly welcoming—pretty much looked at her warily. She couldn’t blame them. How often does a scandalously dressed woman arrive in the middle of a forest in the midst of winter? The high heels and stockings had to be the icing on the cake. In the fourteenth century? It was a miracle no one had a heart attack.
Jeez, she was lucky John Blair didn’t tie her to a stake and set fire to rushes beneath her feet.
Fortunately, William had slept most of the time since her arrival. True, he wanted to ride, but he’d been in no shape to do so. Even Blair agreed—said they had plenty of sentries posted and Leglen Wood was still the safest hideaway in all of Scotland. As long as they lay low—no comings or goings beyond the confines of the forest—people in the surrounding villages would be none the wiser.
Eva followed the young man out the cave and along the narrow path. Of all William’s men, Robbie had changed the most. Of course that wouldn’t have been difficult to guess. As a lad, he’d just accepted her, quirks and all. But now, he looked at her with wariness that almost surpassed Blair’s distrust. Well, Eva needed more than one ally—especially since William was in no shape to defend himself, let alone her. Once they were well away from the camp, she ventured to strike up a conversation. “I can’t believe how much you’ve grown. What are you? Six-two? Six-three?”
He stopped and faced her, his eyes filled with ire. “Blo
ody hell, ye talk like nothing I’ve ever heard afore.”
“Do you not remember?” she affected her Auld Scots as best she could. “My speech has always been different.”
“Aye, but I thought ye cared for us—cared for me—cared for William at least.” He spun and trudged onward.
“Did I hurt you when I left?” Eva kept pace.
“Nay.” By the clipped edge to his voice, she didn’t believe him for a minute.
“Did William tell you I had no choice?”
Robbie stopped and threw the buckets into the bushes, snow shaking from their naked limbs. “Ye vanished without a word. Ye didna even see fit to say goodbye.”
“I—”
He sliced his hand through the air. “And then ye show up in our secret camp—the only place Willy can go where he has a wee chance to rest. Ye appear out of nowhere. Bless it, there were no tracks. I ken ’cause come the morn, I searched for them myself.”
Eva glanced down and bit her bottom lip.
“What in the devil’s name were ye wearing when ye arrived? Ye looked like a harlot—though none I’ve ever seen.” He sauntered forward, narrowing his eyes. “And what were all those things in the box ye pulled from your satchel? Dunna lie to me.”
Jeez, he sounded too much like William. He’d not only grown up, he’d grown hard, just like any medieval warrior would. And Eva had no illusions. She must choose her words carefully, regardless if this was the lad she’d known years ago, he was a man now—a man who might sooner run a dagger across her throat than await her answer. “Don’t worry about that. I cannot lie to you.”
He wrapped his fingers around the hilt of his dirk. “Ye’d best not.”
“I couldn’t lie to William either, and then he still didn’t believe me for months.”
White lines formed around Robbie’s lips as he nodded.
Taking in a deep inhale, she pulled the medallion from under her shift. “I come from the future. My clothing, my medicine—everything I had when I arrived came from the twenty-first century.”
“I thought ye said ye wouldna lie.” After throwing up his hands, he grabbed the buckets. “Ye’re a witch. Blair always thought ye were a witch and now I ken it.”
“I am not.” She stamped her foot. “Bloody hell, I didn’t ask to be sent here—not after eight years of putting the pieces of my life back together.”
He continued to the river. “Then why are ye here? To build up Willy’s hopes and then smite them again?”
She looked away—what about her hopes? What about all the time she’d pined for him? “I have no idea—except…” Why in God’s name would the medallion send her there now? Would William have survived his wounds without the antibiotics she’d forced down his throat? Overwhelmed with a flood of possibilities, she shrugged.
“Except what?” he demanded. “I want to ken what ye were about to say.”
She folded her arms, clutching them tight to her body. So much for swaying the lad to her side. “Perhaps he needed me?” I most assuredly didn’t need him—or this.
Bending down, he scooped the first bucket, filling it with water. “Well, I think it would be best if ye returned from whence ye came. Blair and I both do. Willy has enough woes without having his heart carved out by a barbed-tongued lass.”
So that’s why Robbie was so hostile? He’d been talking to Blair. Well, this time he was right. The sooner Eva returned home the better. “I wish it were that easy.” Maybe she could deliberately do something to change the past. That should see her hurled home without so much as a blink.
He filled the next bucket. “Can I help ye?”
“I don’t know.” She shivered, suddenly noticing the cold. “Perhaps after William recovers?”
He gave her a heated glare, then started back, water sloshing out of the buckets.
“Robbie,” she called. Her idea just might work.
He stopped but didn’t turn. “Aye?”
“I must urge you to seek out the Earl of Carrick.”
“The Bruce?” He looked back and glared at her. “Now I ken your mind is addled.”
“One day he will become your greatest hope.” Damn. The medallion didn’t do a thing—just sat there like a cold lump of bronze.
When she looked up, Robbie had disappeared into the brush.
Damn. Damn, damn, damn.
Chapter Nineteen
William sat across the fire from Eva and watched her turn the oatcakes on the iron griddle. He didn’t like that the men had left without him. Bloody Blair had to go off and prove his point—make him feel like a worthless old relic. They’d argued, then the priest knocked William on his arse. With that, the men had left him behind whilst they headed for a raid.
He hated weakness. All his life he’d fought for the weak, the oppressed. He’d be damned if he would become one of them.
But, Jesu, his legs wobbled.
She glanced up. “Whatever happened to Paden and Adam Wishart?”
“Went back to serve their da after his release from Roxburgh gaol.”
“Ah.” She got a faraway look in her eye. “How is the bishop?”
“Forced to pledge fealty to Longshanks.” William pursed his lips and glanced aside. “He’s dead to me.”
“But he—”
Bile roiled in William’s gut. “What? Is a traitor?”
Eva shook her head and pressed the spatula atop the cake, making it flatter. “Never mind.” She said it like she disagreed.
Bloody oath, the woman hasna been in the midst of this hell in years. Wishart is a lost cause, just like the others.
“I’ll start training on the morrow,” he said more to himself than to her. God’s bones, it was awkward to see her again. She made him feel like an inexperienced pup—and he was nothing the like—he was bloody five and thirty and felt like sixty.
Why hasna she aged?
Aye, he couldn’t deny his fingers itched to touch her, to pull her into his arms and feel those breasts mold into his chest. But it had been too long. Too many battles and too many years—centuries separated them. And Lord knew his heart couldn’t withstand losing her again. It was best if he didn’t allow himself leave to succumb to her allure this time. Hell, he almost wished she hadn’t returned. But then he’d made a speedy recovery. The last time he’d endured such a grave injury, he’d been abed for a month—fevered with the sweat—delirious. Aye, he’d been close to death for certain.
William leaned back against the furs, resting on his good elbow. Why death continued to elude him, he had no idea. If Eva had not come, would he have survived? I suppose I’ll never ken.
She used the wooden spatula to remove the oatcake and placed it on a trencher beside a lump of cold mutton. Then she passed it to him. “I hope the men bring supplies when they return.”
“Aye.” He took the trencher and regarded her face. Could he still trust her? Had she turned like so many others? Days ago she’d talked about Robert Bruce. Why? What did she know? True, she had the gift of a seer.
William drummed his fingers. The man was nearly as large as he—a stout warrior for certain. But Willy didn’t trust him, couldn’t trust any nobles.
Bruce? The earl has a claim to the throne—mayhap weaker than Comyn’s, but nonetheless, a solid royal birthright.
She picked at her food as if nervous. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
Shifting his gaze to his food, William tore at the meat with his teeth and shoved the bite to the side of his mouth. “I’m trying to figure why ye’re spewing babble about the Earl of Carrick.”
She nudged the meat with her eating knife and shrugged. “Perhaps I’m wrong.”
“Ye made me think.” He washed his bite down with a bit of ale. “If King John willna return, the two men with the greatest claim to the throne are Bruce and Comyn.” He shuddered at the thought. Comyn had become a staunch supporter of Edward. And Bruce? Well, the bastard was an enigma.
“Didn’t Bruce lead a raid on Edward at Rosslyn?”
she asked with an intelligent arch to her perfectly formed ginger eyebrows. She knew something—was leading him toward some sort of insight. Everyone else would just blurt out what needed to be said—but Eva? She had a way of building her argument and then ramming it home once her sharp tongue had backed him into a corner.
But William could hold his own. Even with her. “Two years past. Since, Longshanks has teamed with the Earl of Ulster to quash the remaining rebels.” He held up his oatcake. “Ye ken Richard de Burgh is Bruce’s father-in-law?”
A delicate red eyebrow arched. “I know families have been torn apart by feuds for centuries.”
“Bruce was seen riding for Longshanks,” William drove his point. “I canna trust him.”
Her mouth twisted as if trying to piece together fragments of a puzzle. “Why do you think he took up the English side? Was Ulster there? Was that before or after he led the rising in Rosslyn?”
“Och, ye twist things about. Bruce is a traitor. Why would ye think he’s any different from the rest of the gentry? They’re all a mob of backstabbers—not a one proved his loyalty to King John or to Scotland. They signed the Ragman Roll, then sold out to Longshanks at Falkirk, and they’ll do it again. Mark me.”
She moved her fists to her hips and eyed him. “If you’re so sure the war is over—that England has won and there is no hope for Scotland’s nobles, why are you hiding in a cave? Why do you not sail for the Holy Land and go on a pilgrimage?”
He snorted. Now he remembered how maddening Eva could be—especially when she affected the self-righteous, fisted-hip pose. “Ye make it sound easy,” he grumbled. “I’ll never give up the cause. My countrymen are still suffering the yoke of tyranny. English armies are still leading raids into our villages, frightening everyone into submission—they’re still raping women and hanging men. And I’ll tell ye now. I. Will. Never. Submit.”
A tic twitched in her jaw as she shifted her gaze away. He sensed she didn’t care for his answer—would have been happier if they’d planned to board a galley for Jerusalem on the morrow.
“So, what are your plans?” she asked.
He’d hoped to gain the support of the clergy, but even Bishop Lamberton, who William had appointed to the Bishopric of St. Andrews had turned his back. “I’m still devising a plan.” Now a tic twitched in his jaw. Bloody hell, Eva had been gone for too long. She didn’t understand a damned thing—she had no idea what it was like to watch a thousand men be butchered while carefully laid plans were foiled by backstabbing earls and barons.
