by Amy Jarecki
Chapter Thirty
By the time the first of August arrived, Eva couldn’t sleep, eat, or function. She’d tried to act as if nothing was afoot, as if the end would never come. But August arrived with the speed of a brakeless freight train and she now must do everything in her power to ensure William remained on the isle.
For the past few months, men had been trickling to Eynhallow under the pretense of becoming monks—some coming from the Highlands as a result of Lady Christina’s efforts. William trained religiously during the days and succumbed to Eva’s massages and warm baths at night. Though he worked tirelessly, his past injuries plagued him. In her time, a rugby player would often retire at the age of thirty-five. William had been battle scarred and wounded year after year—and not just muscle tears and sprains, which were bad enough. He’d suffered cuts to his every appendage, not to mention his abdomen, back and shoulders. Every inch of the man’s flesh was crisscrossed with puckered scars. Eva could only imagine the damage he’d sustained beneath the skin.
But today was Sunday, a day of rest even observed by Wallace. Eva found him facing the sea, the wind in his hair as he sat reading his psalter. She stood still for a moment and watched, her breast swelling as if the waves crashing into the shore roiled inside her.
God bless it, the man defined magnificence. In quiet repose, alone with his maker, he looked gentle, content, at peace. If not for his deep-rooted passion to emancipate his people, he might have been suited for a life in the clergy. But then again, William was the type to find a cause—drawn to the persecuted—driven to unfetter their shackles no matter the cost.
How such a man could be so desirable in every way, she could not fathom. His bold profile punctuated by a straight nose, angled mouth, the coppery fullness of his beard—she adored everything about him. Could observe him for hours.
Licking her lips, she pulled her smartphone from her pocket and snapped a couple of pictures. Ever so peaceful, this was the man who’d claimed her heart, the man she would never forget no matter what. No other could possibly fill his shoes.
He turned the page. Eva smiled inwardly. The leather binding of his psalter was nearly worn, brown leather showing through the black where his hand gripped it. Several leaves had long since separated from the binding, but though William had the means, he refused to purchase a new one. No, this book had been his constant companion since the days when he’d studied to be a Templar knight. He kept it whole and secure with a leather thong. A more ardent soldier of God did not exist. Truly, William’s passion came from his faith and his love for the oppressed.
If only men like him existed in my time.
Marking the page with his finger, he looked out to sea as if contemplating something profound in the text.
Just a few more days. She must ensure he stayed on the isle. In a week she could sleep. Even if the medallion sent her home, it would be worth it as long as she succeeded.
I’m convinced this is why I’ve been sent back. Not to heal William, but to save him.
He glanced her way and grinned—the charismatic smile with the white teeth that never ceased to make her knees crumble. “How long have ye been standing there?” he asked, his deep voice carrying on the wind.
“Not long.” Eva strolled to his side and sat. “Would you like some company?”
He opened his arm and enfolded her in his plaid beside him. “’Tis always a pleasure to have ye by my side, wife.”
She leaned her head on his shoulder. “It warms me inside to hear you call me wife.”
“And all that time ye feared marrying me.” Inhaling through his nostrils, he kissed her cheek. “Is it so awful?”
She curled into his warmth. God, she loved this man. “I never thought it would be.”
“But ye ken something. I feel it in my bones—something ye canna speak of.”
A knot the size of a fist clamped in her neck. Jesus Christ, she couldn’t speak of it…couldn’t even think about it. She looked down.
“Ye see?” he pressed, lifting her chin with his pointer finger. “I ken your heart, Lady Eva, and whatever it is has ye rattled.”
She closed her eyes. “It is too awful to speak of.” Though tucked away in her satchel, she couldn’t stifle the medallion’s warmth as if it were flush against her skin. Heaven help her, she had to stay—had to save him.
William’s arm squeezed around her shoulder and drew her close. “I’ve seen enough death and brutality for a hundred lifetimes. Do ye not think I canna stomach any vileness no matter how wretched?”
“But what of a heinous crime against you?” Cold chills seeped across her skin. “What of unconscionable suffering—a hideous death?”
He brushed his lips across her temple with a tender kiss. “Och, lass. I’ve been tortured within an inch of my life. Cut open by the claws of a lion. Ye think I fear death?”
“Doesn’t everyone? I mean the end is so final.”
“Is it?” He held up his beloved psalter. “This life is but a passage to the next.”
She gazed at him in awe. “You are so secure in your belief.”
“If I wasna, I’d have gone completely mad by now. Mark me, wife, there is a greater glory waiting for those who take up the sword and fight for justice. Blair spoke true when he said ‘rebellion to tyrants is obedience to God.’”
“Well then I expect you to be an exalted commander in heaven’s army.” Jeez, she almost bit her tongue off when those words escaped her mouth. She didn’t want to talk about death—didn’t want to even acknowledge it.
He crossed his ankles as if this conversation were idle chat. “I would be happy to be a servant who washes the feet of the great men who have gone before me.”
For the love of God, they were both only thirty-five. They could grow old together on this tiny island. William could build a cottage. There were plenty of fish and rabbits. They needed nothing else. She hugged his arm. “Promise me something.”
“What is that, mon amour?”
“You will not leave the island in the next month at least.” She wanted to say never, but that would have been met with a sharp rebuttal.
He narrowed his gaze. “Why a month?”
Because I aim to rewrite history. “Can you just promise me this once?”
He shrugged. “A promise for my Scottish rose?”
“Please.”
“I’d promise ye the moon if I owned piece of it.” Pulling her into his lap, he softly brushed his lips over hers, his crystal blue eyes reflecting the waves. “Ye mean more to me than anyone in all of Christendom. But I canna make promises I mightn’t be able to keep.”
He covered her mouth before she could speak, his kiss melting into her like succulent chocolate. Showing him the depth of her love with fervent sweeps of her tongue, Eva’s heart swelled until she could burst.
As a tear slipped from the corner of her eye, she clutched him to her for dear life. This man was her savior. His breath alone commanded her heart to beat. She must not give up. She moved her fingers to his psalter and made a silent vow.
I swear I will watch over my husband and keep him safe from harm.
Chapter Thirty-One
When William looked up, it was no surprise to see a galley approaching, flying the pennant of the Earl of Carrick. He’d known something was afoot for sennights. His wife mightn’t be able to predict small events, but Eva couldn’t hide it when she knew something big would happen. Only he’d never seen her so distraught before.
The color drained from her face as she straightened in his lap, digging her feet into the stones on the beach. “Lord Bruce,” she whispered as if suddenly chilled.
“Aye.” He stood, pulling Eva to her feet with him. “Go to the kitchens and ensure a feast is prepared for our guests.”
“But.”
“Do it, I say.” He pointed back toward the cloistered walls. “Doubtless, the earl and his company will have a sore hunger.”
Pursing her lips, she gave a sharp nod. “I shall s
ee you in the dining hall anon.” Her voice took on a commanding tone William didn’t care for, though he chose not to argue. He just pointed, urging her to obey.
He didn’t know why, but he wanted to meet the Bruce alone. In the past sennights, Eva had been too outspoken and uppity. Whatever news the earl brought, William needed to hear it with a clear head, without Eva’s opinionated comments making him doubt his convictions. Aye, he loved her more than any person in all of Christendom, but no matter how much he wanted to, he could not place her or any mortal ahead of his duty. The image of his father lying lifeless in the mud, his sinews sliced as if he were worth no more than a slab of meat on the butcher’s block burned into William’s memory. On that day long ago, he’d committed himself to the patriot’s cause and would live by its creed.
Dressed for battle, the earl alighted from the galley unassisted. Most men of his affluence would have their men-at-arms carry them through the knee-deep surf, but not Robert Bruce. The man bore his nobility with an air of command, of strength. Something William hadn’t found in the others.
Wallace bowed deeply. “M’lord, it pleases me to see ye havena forgotten us.”
The hearty warrior took Wallace’s hand with a firm grip. “Och, Sir William, the memory of our last meeting weighs on my conscience with every passing day.”
“’Tis music to a weary soldier’s ears.”
“Weary? Ye’ve been in repose for the past four months.” Lord Bruce gestured forward, leading him away from his retinue. “Tell me, how goes our army?”
“We need more men for certain.”
“What are your numbers?”
“Five hundred.” William’s shoulder ticked up. “They’re trickling in and, with them, bringing tales of oppression and fear.”
Lord Bruce strode thoughtfully, his hands clasped behind his back. “I’d hoped for greater numbers by now. Ye’re right. We need ten times that to put an end to the senseless raids.”
William stopped. “Ye mean to say after all this time, things have not yet settled—even on the borders?”
“’Tis grave and the borders are suffering the worst of it.” A dark shadow passed over the good man’s face. “More villages are being put to fire and sword than before, all the while the marauders are calling your name. The murders and hangings have grown out of hand. ’Tis as if Longshanks’ madness increases with every passing hour.”
William’s fingernails bit into his palms as he clenched his fists. “I thought my disappearance would serve to settle the bastard’s ire.”
“As did I.”
“Is there someone else inciting the English garrisons playacting in my stead?”
The earl chuckled. “No one would be brave enough to take on your mantle.”
“Ballocks.” Scratching his beard, William looked toward the courtyard. It was eerily quiet, even for a Sunday. “We need an act so powerful, ’twill provide a spark to ignite a fire in the Kingdom’s breast.”
“I agree. If only we had the numbers we could strike now. God kens we need a miracle.” The earl heaved a heavy sigh and looked to the heavens. “After all this time, the people still love ye. Still long for the day when Wallace—their savior—will ride on the heavens and bring them liberty.”
Such a verbose assertion made William scoff. “No mortal man is capable of such heroism.”
“Nay?” Lord Bruce bowed. “Not even William Wallace, sir?”
Looking the earl directly in the eye, William’s gut clamped with the power of his conviction. “Mayhap a young king with cods of iron could rise up in my stead.”
The Bruce’s hawk-like stare narrowed. “What are ye saying?”
“Your time has come, m’lord. It is up to ye to take up the gauntlet and rise above the mire.”
“Take a stand against all of England?” He spread his arms wide and raised his chin. “Now? When we have been beaten and burned through eight years of tyranny? How will I find an army of forty-thousand brave Scots who can stand against the greatest fighting machine in all of Christendom?”
“Ye will, ’cause I will start a riot so grandiose nary a tiller of the land will be able to step away from his sword.” William stepped in and held his pointer finger under the earl’s nose. “And ye must let nothing and no one stand in your way.”
The Bruce folded his arms. “What is this grandiose plan of which ye speak?”
“I’ll tell ye once we are on our way.” William inclined his head toward the galley. “We’ve a good wind, m’lord. We’d best take advantage of it.”
***
“His lordship’s galley has set sail,” a crier bellowed from the tower.
The bowl of apples dropped from Eva’s hands, crashing to the floor, shattering into hundreds of pottery shards. With a shrieking gasp her hands flew to her mouth. “William!”
The monks in the kitchen stopped and looked her way.
“Where is William?” she demanded.
One shrugged his shoulders.
Eva didn’t wait for his response. Running to the courtyard, she grabbed the front of Father Blair’s black vestments. “Have you seen William?”
“I thought he was with Lord Bruce.”
“Aye, and the ship’s sailed.” Shoving the priest away, Eva raced out the gate. Tears burned her eyes. In the distance, the sea galley’s sail billowed with wind, heading away at full tilt.
“William!” she screamed, scanning the shore for his robust form—his dark hair blowing in the wind, his physique in repose, reading his psalter as he’d been doing only an hour before.
“No! You cannot leave me here. What in God’s name are you thinking?” Her mind spinning, Eva ran into the surf. “What did the earl say to make you board that ship?”
Icy water soaked her gown and slowed her progress, but onward she went. “Come back! I am your wife. Come back to me—” The undertow whipped around her legs and drew her downward with the ebb of the tide.
As water filled her mouth, a large hand clamped onto her shoulder. A burst of hope shot through her heart until Blair’s grey-eyed scowl met her gaze. He dragged her toward the shore as she tried to wrench from his grasp.
“We must stop him,” she shouted, sputtering saltwater out of her mouth.
“Why in the blazes did ye not stay with him?” He pushed her onto the stony beach.
“Me? I told you he sent me to the kitchens.” She clutched her arms tight to stave off the shivers and her chattering teeth. “Why did you not follow him?”
“Bloody hell, ye said they needed a meal.”
“Jesus Christ.” Eva’s stomach convulsed, her breathing grew shallow. “He cannot be on that ship.”
Blair grabbed her by the shoulders and shook. “Dammit, woman. Ye’ve spoken in cryptic gibberish long enough. Tell me what has ye so riled.”
With a burst of ire, she twisted out of his grasp. “I know you do not believe that I am from the future, and honestly, I no longer care what you think. But trust me when I say William will be captured by the English on August third, the year of our Lord thirteen hundred and five.”
Dropping his hands, Blair looked to the sea galley, now only a speck on the horizon. “Good God, that is only two days hence.”
“Exactly.” Her teeth chattering, she tugged on his arm. “We must leave immediately. He will be betrayed by Sir John Menteith, taken to Dumbarton Castle for one night before they haul him to London for a mockery of a trial.”
The friar didn’t budge. “Ye kent all this and yet didna tell me?”
“If I had, the words would not have escaped my mouth before I would have been swept away for good.” Eva ran her palm over the spot where the medallion should be. Her damned skin was as icy cold as the droplets of water sprinkling from her hair. What if she had tried to tell him? Would William still be there?
“There is only one rule.” Walter Tennant’s voice rang in her head. Those were the words he used when he gave her the medallion.
Her sudden disappearance when she’d tried to
help Andrew Murray was an experience she could ill afford to repeat. She must tread with utmost care—must not divulge too much or she’d run the risk of losing William. Eva curled over, her fists tight against her forehead. Why couldn’t she stop him from going? Why couldn’t she convince him to stay?
Would he have done so if she’d revealed the whole truth? She knew the answer, though she wasn’t about to accept it.
She started toward the monastery to collect her things—including the damned medallion. “Gather a crew. We must sail after them straight away.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
After their galley set sail, the wind changed and with it came a violent tempest. Refusing to turn back, Eva and William’s most loyal men suffered the ire of the Atlantic as they tacked through thirty-foot waves toward Glasgow.
Two days it took them to negotiate the angry swells, all the while Eva prayed they’d catch up to Lord Bruce’s galley. The storm cleared as their boat headed up the River Clyde.
As soon as they alighted onto the pier, they were intercepted by the Earl of Carrick. “Sir Wallace told me ye would follow.”
“You’re bloody right I would.” Eva reached into her satchel and pulled out a handful of shillings. “We need horses. We must haste to Robroyston a once.”
Bruce frowned. “Ye are too late.”
“Then to Dumbarton!”
The earl knit his brows with a menacing glare. “How do ye ken this?”
“She’s a seer,” said John Blair, stepping beside her.
“And William’s wife.” Robbie Boyd hopped on her other side, gripping the hilt of his sword. “Lady Eva will gain an audience with her husband anon.”
“Ye’d best watch your backs.” Lord Bruce eyed each one. “Ye men all have prices on your heads. If ye’re seen within a mile of Dumbarton ye’ll not live to tell tale of it, mark me.”
