by Amy Jarecki
Oddly, she didn’t want to go right now.
“Is something amiss, m’lady?”
“Ah, no, nothing at all,” Eva said, stepping inside.
“Is there anything I can fetch for ye?”
“Just the bath.” Eva looked down at her dirt encrusted kirtle. “You wouldn’t suppose there’d be a spare dressing gown about?”
The lass curtseyed. “I’m certain her ladyship will have something to suit. ’Tisn’t often we have visitors as important as ye and Sir William, m’lady.”
Eva dipped her head respectfully and held her breath until the door closed behind the chambermaid. As quickly as she could, Eva fished in her satchel and pulled out her smartphone.
I must snap some photos of this!
***
Eva sat in a plush dressing gown belted around her waist while Tara gently brushed her wet hair. She’d sighed about a gazillion times since dousing herself in the wooden tub of warm water infused with lilac oil. Enjoying the luxury, she’d soaked until the water turned cold. Medieval baths might be few and far between, but a girl sure did appreciate one when she had it, especially in a beautiful bedchamber that felt so much like home.
“I wish I had thick ginger tresses like yours,” said Tara.
“Mm?” Eva eyed the lass. Pretty, she couldn’t be older than seventeen. “Aye? But ye have lovely eyes—the color of the sky.”
A rap came at the door.
Tara set the brush on the table. “A moment.”
Watching, Eva smoothed her hands over the soft wool of her robe. Oh yes, if she had been born in the Middle Ages, she would have had to be an aristocrat. Being pampered was far more enjoyable than starving and freezing in a broken down, old shed, or in a cave for that matter. She didn’t abhor hard work, but when given an option…
“I need an audience with Miss Eva,” William’s voice echoed from the passageway.
Tara glanced back and cringed. “Apologies, but my lady is not dressed to receive callers.”
Eva stood and tightened the belt on her dressing gown. “I’m covered. ’Tis all right.”
Wearing a pair of clean leather breeks and a linen shirt, William bowed to the chambermaid who was dwarfed by his immense height. “If ye’ll please leave us, miss.”
The lass turned scarlet as she dipped into a curtsey. “Verra well, sir.”
Once the door closed, he cross the floor and wrapped Eva in his brawny arms. She took in a deep inhale—mm—spicy male and rose oil soap. Quite a provocative combination. “You had a bath.”
“Aye.” He twirled a lock of her damp hair around his finger. “As did ye.”
“It felt wonderful.” She reached up and stroked her fingers over his neatly cropped beard, cut close enough to accent the bold line of his jaw. “How did your meeting with Lord Forrester go?”
“Verra well. He’s agreed to host the meeting with Lord Bruce.”
“Fantastic news.”
William kissed her forehead, then took her hand and led her toward the hearth. “Is your chamber to your liking?”
Eva again chuckled and spread her arms wide. “I must say, this is much preferable to the decrepit shieling we camped in.”
He faced the fire and wrung his hands—not to warm them, but as if he was nervous. “Or a cave,” he muttered.
“That, too.”
“Would ye prefer to live in a castle…ah…or with me?”
She chuckled. So that was what was bothering him? “Of course, I’d rather be where you are, William. The only reason I’ve returned is to be with you.” That, I can say for certain.
He splayed his fingers and rubbed his palms, staring into the fire. Perhaps there was more to his worries?
“Is something troubling you?”
“Ah…” He glanced at her with a pinch to his brow, then fished in the purse at his waist. Goodness, his hands were shaking. “I ken when ye were here last, ye wanted to live for the now.”
“True.” She tried to peer inside, but the pouch was too dark. “We agreed. I’m here on borrowed time and…” Lord, thinking of anything beyond tomorrow gave her the willies.
He removed his hand, then crossed his arms. Was he holding something in his fist? “What if I want more?” He looked at her with that determined stare—the one Eva had never been able to resist.
Clutching the dressing gown closed at her chest, she scooted back, shaking her head. She guessed what he was doing. How can I stop him? “N-n-n-no.”
His eyes grew darker than coal as he sauntered toward her. “Ye’ve said that afore.”
“Yes. I-I’m from another time. Who knows when I’ll be spirited to the future?” She backed into the bed’s footboard. “We could be separated again at any moment.”
“Is that what ye want, lass? To go home to be alone with nothing but your memories?”
“No.” She shook her head. “I mean yes.”
“I think not.” William grasped her hand and dipped down to one knee. She tried to tug her fingers away, but he gripped her just tight enough that she couldn’t pull away.
Oh God, no. No. No. No. No.
“Bonny Eva, I have loved ye since the first day I chanced to espy ye cowering under that altar.” He brought the back of her hand to his lips and bowed his head, his breath ever so warm and soft as he kissed her. “I have never loved a woman the way my heart pines for ye. My soul was but an empty shell when ye left me—I ken it was my fault the black magic took ye away, but without your tenderness I was nothing but a fighting engine, existing like a hairy beast.”
“But—”
He squeezed her hand again. “I dunna ever want ye to leave me again, though I ken it could happen. I, too, want to live for the now, but every time we come to a great man’s home, it pains me to have to tell them ye are not my wife.”
She nodded, clenching her teeth. Tears burned the back of her eyes. Lord, he was right.
“Eva, ye are my wife in every sense of the word, except we have not pledged our love before God. Please. I ken our time together is fleeting. I ken ye could be taken from me on the morrow. I ken my own days are numbered, for I can no longer fight with the strength of Goliath. And though I ken all this, I still want ye to be mine in the eyes of God. No matter how long we have together, even if only a day, I want to make things holy and pure between us.”
A lump the size of her fist formed in Eva’s throat. She could scarcely see his handsome face through the blur of her tears. God, why did she have to come back? How could she deny him? She loved him with a passion that burned so deep it scorched her soul. Would she spend an eternity with William? Yes. In a heartbeat she’d marry him—if this man kneeling before her was not...
He opened his palm and revealed a silver ring woven in a Celtic knot. “I had this made for ye at Dirleton ever so long ago, and I would be honored if ye would agree to be my wife.” His hand shook and his eyes pleaded. “Please, I want ye to be my lady.”
He slid the ring over her finger—a perfect fit.
Eva stared at it with tears streaming down her cheeks. So intricate, such detailed work. How did he know my size? And he’s been carrying this all these years?
“Yes,” her voice said as if it had grown a mind of its own.
Wrapping his arms around her, he pulled her into his body and rested his head against her abdomen. “Praise be to God. I dunna ken if I would have been able to live if ye had denied me.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
William considered it a blessing when John Blair and the men arrived the next day. He wanted to wed Eva as soon as possible before the lass had a change of heart—or did something that would return her to the future.
He might be completely daft to marry, but something deep inside his soul told him the black magic behind that damned medallion would be crushed by holy matrimony. He’d spent many a day in quiet repose thinking about this, searching for answers in the lines of his psalter, and marriage was the only answer. What God hath joined together let no man put asunder
. Yes. Marrying the lass was the only way he knew to keep her. He should have insisted they wed ages ago.
He stood beside John Blair and Sir Forrester on the dais tapping his toes inside his boots. Hell, if the men had any inkling of the extent of his jitters, they’d never let him live it down.
“Have ye a mind to settle nearby?” asked Forrester. He was a crusty sort with rheumy eyes and a bulbous nose, but he had a forthright and honorable mien.
William stared at him blankly. He couldn’t settle anywhere—not until he booted Edward out of Scotland. Lord, had he been selfish to ask for Eva’s hand? Would she want to settle? Blast, he should have asked her.
“Perhaps up north,” William mumbled.
“Good choice. Ye might have a chance of living the family life up in the isles—somewhere out of reach of English galleys.”
Family life? If only William could allow himself to dream of such luxuries. He was marrying Eva to keep her by his side. Of course if bairns came, he’d be overjoyed—and terrified. What if she did birth a bairn? What was that she’d told him? She wasn’t barren but had a way of preventing pregnancy. Like a simpleton, he’d accepted her explanation without pursuing it further.
A bairn? Good Lord, no one could ever know about it. The child would never be safe.
By the time Eva descended the stairs and exited the stairwell, William had worried himself into a simpering pile of worthless bones. A man who faced death and stabbed it in the guts near every day, stood staring at his bride while pure terror pulsed through his veins. He could call the whole thing off right there and now. Probably should.
“Holy Jesus save us all,” said Blair.
William blinked. Good God, if his knees were a pile of worthless bones before, they just turned to complete mush. Aye, he’d expected her to clean up well—to look like a queen. But this—this woman looked more like a goddess. Jesu, she embodied a vision. Never in his life had he seen a woman look bonnier.
Blair elbowed William and turned his lips toward his ear. “If ye didna believe her a sorceress afore, I reckon ye ought to now.”
He’d given the tailor a few pieces of silver and told the man to have her ready by vespers. But holy merciful Mary and all the saints, she looked so beautiful. Dressed in gold from her veil to a gown lovelier than anything he’d seen at the French court, a glowing aura surrounded her. A snug fitting bodice, the low, square neckline framed her breasts like gifts for the unwrapping.
A radiant, golden goddess.
Better, her vivid green eyes regraded him as if they were the only two people in the hall. His heart leapt when she smiled. No woman could ever take control of his heart with a mere smile. No woman but his Eva. His. Och aye, she would finally be William’s wife to have and to hold, and God willing, till death draws them apart.
With a swish of her skirts, Eva climbed the steps and joined him on the dais. He took her hand, so petite in his beefy mitts. At five foot eleven, Eva might be tall, but she lacked nothing in femininity from the wispy curls of red framing her face, to her slender neck, to the lithe fingers resting in his palm.
“Ye look ravishing,” he managed through his arid voice box.
“As do you.” Her gaze trailed down his doublet and chausses as the tip of her tongue snuck out and tapped her upper lip.
“Ahem,” Blair cleared his throat. “Are ye ready?” William loved the priest like a brother, but he lacked a genteel nature—always the gruff warrior-monk.
Nonetheless, he nodded. “Proceed.”
Holding both of Eva’s hands in his, he watched her eyes as Blair launched into a litany of Latin prayers. The green flickered with gold from the candelabra above as she boldly met his stare. Their gazes bonded, as if an invisible current connected their souls, as if they would never be parted and live as one throughout eternity. Two souls brought together from different ages. What were the chances of their meeting? Nil, for certain.
Whatever brought them together carried power beyond William’s reasoning. Something so supreme and mighty could not be ignored. Their love exceeded all bounds. Faith, hope, love…and the greatest of these is love. In the depths of his heart, William knew the passage he’d read over and over in his psalter to be true.
Suddenly the hall became silent. Eva inclined her head toward Blair.
Right. The vows.
His mouth suddenly dry, William licked his lips. “I take ye as my wife.”
“I receive you,” Eva said, her voice sure.
“I give my body to ye, Eva, in loyal matrimony.”
“And I receive it.”
William glanced at Blair, who, ever the somber warrior, couldn’t manage a wee grin. The priest gestured to Eva.
She took in a deep inhale. William tensed. She’d agreed to recite the vows from his time, though she’d chewed her nails a bit when they’d discussed it.
“I take you as my husband,” she said.
Sunshine radiated through his chest. “And I receive ye.”
“I give my body to you, William, in loyal matrimony.”
“And I receive it.”
Together they recited the rest, “I will keep you in health and sickness and in any condition it please our Lord that you should have, nor for worse or for better will I change toward you until the end.”
But there would be no end. William knew it to the depths of his soul.
***
Floating, Eva still couldn’t believe she’d gone through with it. She’d actually married William Wallace, the man of her dreams.
But this was no dream.
And she’d never been happier in her life.
Or more afraid.
What if she ended up pregnant? A lump of ice spread throughout her chest and made the back of her neck tingle. She already could be. But what if? Would it be so bad?
Blinking in rapid succession, Eva pushed her thoughts to the back of her mind. She refused to allow herself to think of the long term.
Tonight she would cast her fears aside and enjoy the celebration. She’d finally pledged her love to William and sealed it with an everlasting bond—and the medallion had remained cool against her skin. Living for the now took on new meaning. The present was all that existed. There could be no past, no future.
Only by adhering to this creed would she cling to her sanity.
“What say ye, Eva?” William asked beside her.
Unable to fake her way out of obliviousness, she looked up with a blank stare. “Pardon?”
Everyone at the table laughed.
“Perhaps she isna as talented as ye say, William,” said Sir Forrester.
“Och, she sings prettier than a meadow lark,” said Blair. Her singing was about the only thing the priest approved of.
His lordship made a sweeping gesture toward the musicians accompanying the feast with flute, drum and harp. “Well then, haste ye to the gallery and sing us a wee ballad.”
Eva clung to William’s arm. “But this is my wedding day. Is the bride to provide the entertainment? Is she not supposed to be regaled, instead?”
“She does have a quick wit about her, Wallace. Are ye certain ye can handle such a woman in the bedchamber?” said Forrester, guzzling yet another tankard of ale, his medieval humor making the hairs on the back of Eva’s neck prickle a bit.
“Come.” William gave her a nudge. “Sing us the one about being raised up.”
“You remember that?” she asked.
“Aye. ’Twas the first time I couldna take my eyes off ye.”
“How can a lass refuse when her spouse pays such a compliment?” said Forrester.
Eva sighed.
William patted her hand. “There’s a goodly wife.”
Climbing the winding steps to the gallery, Eva recited the modern Irish folk tune You Raise Me Up in her head. She hadn’t done much singing in the past eight years. Hopefully she still had a voice.
“Good evening gentlemen,” she said, stepping onto the gallery platform. “Ah, I’m going to sing a wee tune f
or my husband. You’re welcome to chime in…”
Before she started, Eva gazed out over the great hall filled with tables lined end-to-end. One face stood out in the crowd. Robbie Boyd met her gaze, his mien expressionless. The young man was one of the few in the hall who’d heard her sing before. At one time he’d been a good friend, a young lad Eva had nurtured.
But now he held her at arm’s length—didn’t trust her just like John Blair. Well, now she and William had married, perhaps the time had come to rekindle their friendship. If only she knew what to do to make him trust her again.
Closing her eyes she took a deep breath and cleared her mind of all worries before she began. “When I am down and, oh my soul’s so weary…” How could she have doubted herself? The old pipes didn’t let her down. All banter in the hall ceased. William watched her throughout the duration of the ballad—the look on his face reverent, yet predatory. She sang for him because she knew how much he loved this song. She sang for him because he’d asked her to do so. She would not deny him.
If nothing else, she vowed to make the coming months the happiest of his life.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
A fortnight later, William sat alone in Sir Forrester’s chamber with the Earl of Carrick, Robert Bruce. The man was broad-shouldered and comely with a hawkish gaze. William didn’t know Bruce well, but aside from Eva’s confidence, he didn’t trust the earl. Ever since Falkirk, he’d learned to hold the nobility at arm’s length altogether. Probably a foolish notion. Scotland would never again stand on her feet if a lofty nobleman did not step forward.
At least the man across the table looked the part.
But does he have the heart of a lion?
Lord Bruce placed his arms on the table and leaned forward with a commanding glint in his eye. “I received your message—now ye’d best make haste to tell me why I am here. Torwood is too bloody close to Stirling for my tastes.”
William liked Bruce’s unrest—it spoke volumes that the earl harbored no deep-seated love for Longshanks. The English had more spies between Edinburgh and Stirling than anywhere in Scotland. “What better place to hide than under their noses?”
