In the Kingdom's Name (Guardian of Scotland Book 2)

by Amy Jarecki

  She crossed her arms—Lord, she wasn’t about to let it lie. “Was Bruce at the battle of Falkirk?”

  “Wheesht, woman. He may not have been there, but I swear on my da’s grave he’s a snake.”

  “Do you think he may have stayed away on purpose?”

  William stabbed his meat. “I’m certain of it.”

  “My guess is he stayed away because he couldn’t usurp Ulster, Longshanks…and Comyn all at the same time—he’d face anarchy.” Eva shook her head. “Lord Bruce and the Earl of Badenoch are no allies.”

  Losing his appetite, William threw his eating knife atop his trencher. “Ye see? They’ve all colluded to make themselves richer—at the expense of the common man.”

  “It is all so very tragic.” Her shoulders fell with her sigh. “But I ask you to think about Robert Bruce. What are his motives? What would happen if you showed him fealty?”

  Jesu, will she not give up on this mindless quest? “Have ye turned backstabber as well?” He gave her a pointed glare. “We’d best find something else to talk about afore your babble makes me lose my temper.”

  A hellacious battle warred inside Eva’s head. What did she care if the medallion hurled her home? That’s what she wanted, God dammit. But she couldn’t allude to too much—couldn’t tell William he only had six more months until…until the unthinkable. The mere thought made her want to retch. She still cared for him—couldn’t put the poor man through that kind of hell. But there was something else she could tell him that might be as strong. Sure, he’d told her to back off. Eight years ago she would have—the medallion would have burnt a hole through her heart by now, too.

  Who knew why it now sat cold atop her chest while she blabbed about Robert the Bruce.

  She took a sip of ale and then looked at him. His color had returned—the spark in his eye—the handsome grin…er, scowl. Lord how she’d missed him. No man back home could hold a candle to William Wallace and she’d dated plenty. Well, a few. After walking away from her third dinner date, she decided widowhood wasn’t so bad. Work became her lover, her one driving passion.

  Before she told him, she wanted to drink him in. There was no chance to rekindle the romance—no way on earth she’d allow herself to give her heart—be so stupid. She still couldn’t believe she was there alone with him. All the nights she’d gone to sleep begging the forces behind the medallion to send her back once more—give her the rest of that year she’d planned.

  God, I was an idiot.

  He knit his brows as she stared at him. “Do I have a pustule on my face?”

  “No.” She continued to stare. He may be a bit more time-weathered, but that only served to increase his allure. And his eyes. Lord, his eyes were the same crystal blues that could pierce through her soul.

  Tilting his chin up, he folded his arms. “Then why are ye looking at me like that?”

  “I want to remember.”

  His gaze softened. “I’ve never forgotten.”

  “Nor have I.”

  His eyes grew dark.

  “We can’t.” She tapped her top lip with her tongue.

  “I ken.” His mouth twitched. “Thank ye for setting me to rights with that newfangled tincture of yours.”

  “Any time.” Right—dumb response. She would have tended him every time he’d been injured if the damned medallion would have allowed it. And now he was well on the road to recovery, she really should be going. “What would you say if—” She covered the medallion with her palm. Odd, it still hadn’t warmed in the slightest.

  “Aye?” William asked.

  “What if I told you Robert Bruce would one day be crowned King of Scotland?” There. She’d said it—put the truth out there for him to ponder. And what the heck was she doing still sitting there? She yanked off the medallion and shook it.

  “Burned ye, did it?”

  “No.” She watched it twirl. “What I just said should have hurled me back home, dammit.”

  His grin fell. “Ye mean to say ’tis true?”

  “Did I ever lie to you?”

  “Well…”

  “I mean after I realized who you were.” Goodness, the man could hold on to a grudge forever. She’d fibbed about her identity when they’d first met, but at the time she’d thought he was a murdering nutcase.

  His teeth scraped over his bottom lip as he slowly shook his head. “Nay, lass.” He reached for the ewer of ale and poured himself another tankard. “Bruce?” he growled. “The maggot.”

  Eva slipped the medallion back over her head. Evidently, the lump of bronze had other plans for her this trip. “Yes.”

  “How?” William leaned forward. “He defeats Edward?”

  “In time he defeats his son, Edward the Second.”

  “God on the cross, I never would have guessed.” Picking up his tankard, he smoothed his fingers back and forth around the base, his brow pinched as if deep in thought. “Scotland will again be at peace?”

  “Eventually.” Eva didn’t want to talk about it anymore. Obviously mentioning Robert the Bruce was a dead end. Besides, William might ask questions she couldn’t bring herself to answer regardless of the medallion’s warning, or its ridiculous notion of going into hibernation just at the moment when it should be transporting her home.

  How long will I be stuck here this time?

  Chapter Twenty

  After breaking his fast, William lumbered outside. Donning his hauberk caused so much pain in his shoulder, he’d cast the heavy mail aside. Aye, he would need another day or so of healing and then he’d be right to wear his full kit.

  Bloody Christmas, he hated to be injured. Pain? If he could avoid it, he would, but this life brought agony that mounted with every passing day. If he gave in to it, he may as well slit his own throat.

  Sword in hand, he tried to hold the damned thing straight. Stars crossed his vision as the sensation of stabbing knives paralyzed his shoulder. The heavy weapon dropped to the ground. Christ, I’m abed a few days and I cannot hold on to my sword?

  Worse, neither shoulder worked now.

  For the love of God, aging sapped a man.

  Gritting his teeth, he closed his eyes and forced his mind to focus on one thing. Every twinge of pain had been caused by one power-hungry tyrant and William would never forget it. Either in this lifetime or in death he would face Edward Longshanks face-to-face, man-to-man, and that thought always infused him with strength. For nine years, the quest to liberate the Kingdom of Scotland had driven his every action. Hatred took his pain and honed it—drove it toward an unquenchable purpose. Come Judgement Day, they would both stand naked before their maker.

  He raised his sword with a steady hand and lunged. His blessed arm shook. Sharp jabs tortured him. Tremors wracked through the wounded limb. Steadying his weapon with both hands, he fought against his urge to quit.

  With a bellow, he raised the sword above his head, turned to the side and swung it down, then level with the ground. Recoiling, the sword flew from his grasp. His mouth contorted at the sensation of razors slicing open his sinews, so agonizing, his gut seized.

  Dropping to his knees, William’s spine curled and he balled his fists. “God in heaven, help me or take me to my judgement this day.”

  “No warrior suffers an injury like yours and immediately resumes fighting.” Eva stepped from the shadows of the cave. “You know that as well as I. Andrew Murray never did recover from the arrow wound to his shoulder.”

  William straightened and regarded her. “If I canna fight, I am worthless to the cause.”

  “Hardly.” She had the gall to snort. The last thing he needed was Eva’s sharp tongue. “You have one of the greatest military minds in history. Surely your value falls not in your physical strength, but in your ability to lead.”

  He hadn’t expected her to be complimentary—coax his arse back to bed, mayhap, but tell him he had a great military mind? If only he could believe it. His shoulders slumped. “Aye? My army has been reduced to a score of m
en.”

  “But the commoners still remember you. Your name is still on their lips. Perhaps it is no longer shouted, but they want to follow you.”

  William lumbered to his feet. “The only problem? Every time I show my face, I’m relentlessly chased by Edward’s brigands.” He raked his fingers through his hair. “Everyone who follows me puts their verra lives in peril.”

  “Do you fear being caught?”

  “Nay.”

  She stepped toward him. “Then what is it you fear?”

  A flame flared from his gut up through his throat. “I fear nothing, damn ye.”

  “I don’t believe that for a minute.” She bent down and retrieved his sword.

  “Ye seem to ken everything since ye’ve returned. If ye are so sure of yourself, then tell me: What is it I fear?”

  “Failure,” she said without hesitation, handing him the hilt. “And your own weaknesses.”

  He snatched it from her, the shooting jabs causing an unwelcome grimace. “Failure is not an option.”

  “What about failure for the common good?”

  “Now what are ye on about? Jesu, Eva, a man needs a cypher map to unravel your prattle.”

  Rubbing her outer arms, she glanced back to the cave. “Forgive me. I spoke out of turn.” She dipped into a quick curtsey. “I interrupted your misery. Carry on.”

  He watched while the hem of her cloak swung with her turn. Ballocks, she could raise his ire like no one else. Aye, the nobles had tested him, but they were men. He could reconcile any differences with a good sparring match. But Eva? She toyed with his mind—his thoughts. She twisted everything he believed to be true, chewed it up and spat it on the ground. Lord, she should have been knighted—should have been the damned Guardian.

  Interrupted my misery? Cheeky wench, I’ll not allow such a barbed-tongued remark to pass.

  Sheathing his sword, he marched after her. “I’ll have ye ken I’ve failed plenty, and every time, I’ve faced it like a man.”

  Her foot slipped on the damp, uneven surface. “Yes, you have.”

  “Then why the blazes did ye say I fear failure?”

  She stopped and whipped around—those spiteful fists jamming into her hips. “Because you have closed your heart—you no longer have allies. How do you expect to win with a score of men? Huh? I tried to give you a tidbit of information, but you are so bull-headed, you’ll just bumble on without paying me a bit of mind.”

  He chopped his hand through the air. “Did I say I wouldna listen? So ye want me to seek out the Bruce even though I dunna trust the man? Is that it?”

  “Who do you trust, William? Anyone outside of your inner circle?”

  She hastened toward him.

  “Careful!” He pointed at a rock.

  Before she could stop, her toe caught.

  William opened his arms.

  Squealing, all five foot eleven inches of her fell into his body. Breasts molded to his chest as if she’d been made to fit his form and his alone. His arms closed around her as Eva’s breath skimmed his cheek. A fragrance sweeter than a field of wildflowers consumed his mind. God’s bones, he’d missed her. Missed holding her in his arms every night—listening to the sound of her voice—sitting beside her in front of the hearth while a storm brewed outside.

  But those days of glory were but a passing dream.

  And now he felt like a wet-eared lad. They’d been so distant, so awkward, since she’d returned.

  Nonetheless, he chanced dipping his head to inhale the heavenly scent of her hair. Only Eva smelled sweeter than a vat of simmering honeyed mead.

  “God, I’ve missed ye,” he heard himself say. Fear of failure? Mayhap when it came to her. He’d endure a mangled shoulder any day if he never had to suffer losing Eva again.

  Her inhale spluttered as she looked up into his eyes, moving her hand to his whiskered cheek. “I—”

  Dipping his head, he kissed her. Aye, finally kissed her, like he’d been aching to do for three days.

  And God bless it, she kissed him back.

  Lord, his mind filled with everything Eva. The soft length of her body flush against his, the scents, the wisps of hair tickling his face, the warmth of her skin. The little sucks of her tongue, plying his just the way he liked it.

  Aye, he’d missed her. Needed her every night, needed to be inside her and let her take him to a place of release where every man became a king. Plunging into her mouth, he never wanted to let go. He could lean against the cave walls and kiss her for the rest of eternity, rub his hardness into her body, listen to her sweet sighs of desire.

  God had given him a gift when he opened his eyes to see her smile and the lovely glimmer of fathomless green pools. Her gaze reminded him of the rolling hills of his beloved Scotland. With Eva, he was home. With her in his arms, he could achieve anything—fear nothing. If only...

  Taking a shaking breath, she pulled away, her eyes shifting. “I can’t.”

  “What?” No, no, William wasn’t ready to release her.

  When she again met his gaze, he read fear in her eyes. Something wasn’t right.

  She bit the side of her lip. “I—”

  “Is there another man?” Gulping, he forced himself to hold her at arm’s length. He’d been so wrapped up in his own problems he hadn’t asked her how she’d fared all this time. Hell, she could have married—could have had bairns. His gut squeezed.

  But she shook her head. “I’ve never re-married.”

  Aye, she’d been wed before they’d first met—she’d been a widow.

  She slipped a hand over her mouth and inclined her head toward the cave. “I’d best see to the evening meal.”

  William nodded dumbly. She was afraid. And it didn’t take him but a moment to realize why.

  ***

  Eva trembled as she made her way back to the fire pit. God, she’d kissed him. Oh, man, how she’d kissed him. And it had felt so damned good—too good. Heaven help her, she was in trouble. She must never fall into that man again. Yes, he could make her knees turn to wobbly jelly with his blue-eyed stare. His musky scent confused her. She was too weak to resist him when their bodies touched—when he wrapped his powerful arms around her, inclined his lips toward hers with a faint hint of spice on his breath.

  No, no, no.

  This—they—were not going to happen again.

  Thank God she’d put on the brakes.

  Her lips still tingled from being pressed against his seductive mouth. In a blink, all the memories, the passion, came flooding back. What kind of masochist was she? Why hadn’t she dated? Married? Had children? Jeez, she was thirty-five already.

  Heaven help her, his rock-hard body made her want him—want to hike up her skirts and let him take her right there against the cave’s wall. What kind of whore was she? She’d had her IUD removed five years ago. She hadn’t slept with a man since William—hadn’t wanted to—hadn’t met anyone who stirred her blood like he’d just done with one kiss.

  But boy, could he kiss. Delectable swirls of his tongue instantly harmonized with hers as if eight years had never passed. His big hands sliding down her back. The blast of heat from the length of his body pressing against hers. The hard column of flesh teasing her—God—just a tiny bit north of where she needed him.

  No!

  Stepping beside the fire, she clutched her fists beneath her chin and closed her eyes. Please take me away from here! God, what do you want from me? You know how difficult it is for me to resist him.

  She wandered over to the pallet she’d fashioned to sleep upon since William occupied the alcove. She needed a bath and her computer and a good steak dinner with a baked potato slathered in butter, and broccoli and a salad and a piece of double chocolate cake for dessert. Three days of leathery venison and bland oatcakes was enough to make any modern girl long for home—or lose her mind kissing a condemned seven hundred-year-old Scotsman.

  She plopped down on the musty furs. Everything was musty, just as it had been before
William had started taking back Scotland’s castles. The food had been bland then as well, yet she didn’t seem to mind as much. Last time she’d been too excited about the opportunity for a story and mind-blowing adventure.

  So, the medallion was in no hurry to send her home? There must be a reason. Perhaps this new quest would yield another book. She hit her head with the heel of her hand. Cripes, Eva had so many speaking engagements to attend before the film debut in late August. Then a gasp caught in her throat. She couldn’t miss the red carpet—not for the world.

  Reaching into her purse, she pulled out her phone—her calendar was synched with her laptop. Damn, the battery was dead. But then? She grabbed the leather satchel that had been with her things. Whew—her solar charger was still there. She’d upgraded her phone, but…she gave the connector a shove. Cooler yet, the micro fittings hadn’t changed. She might be able to snap a photo or two.

  She chuckled.

  Maybe I’ll get caught and the medallion will take me out of here.

  “What have ye got there?” William asked from behind.

  With a spike of her heartbeat, she shoved the phone into her satchel, then smirked and pulled it out again. “I found my solar charger.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Remember my telephone?”

  “Och, the shiny black box.” He folded his arms, not coming too close. “Dunna tell me ye still have it.”

  She held up the phone. “A newer model. Takes even better pictures.”

  “That’s all we need.” He sat on the rock across from her. “Just keep it hidden when the lads are about.”

  “Okay.” She frowned. If only the thing were charged now, she’d snap a photo of him. Walter would love it—so would her publisher—though no one aside from Walter really believed she’d traveled through time.