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

by Amy Jarecki

  “What about me?” Eva asked. “Is there a price on my head?”

  “I didna ken Wallace had married,” said Bruce.

  “Only his most trusted men were a party to the ceremony,” said Blair.

  Eva took Robbie by the elbow and pulled him forward. “You must stay with Lord Bruce. He will need your sword and your fealty.”

  The young man yanked his arm from her grasp. “No. Not while Willy is in peril.”

  Eva looked to the man who would seize the Scottish crown in less than a year. Placing her palm in Robbie’s back, she led the lad toward him. “Sir Robert Dominus Boyd is named for his father. A knight hanged by Edward the Longshanks. During his youth he acted as squire to William Wallace who taught this young man to be a knight and to keep him, a lad of noble birth, from King Edward’s grasp.” She dipped into a deep curtsey. “There would be no greater sword at your side than Sir Boyd. He knows how to fight like Wallace—he is bred to guard a king.”

  The Bruce’s eyes widened as he assessed the young warrior. “William wed a wise woman.”

  Robbie took a step back. “But—”

  “Go,” commanded Blair. “’Tis your destiny, lad.”

  The promising knight threw out his hands. “I canna leave William behind.”

  Taking Robbie’s hands in her palms, Eva squeezed. “Remember what I told you? Your time has come. You must follow the path of your future.”

  The lad’s face flushed red. “I—”

  Lord Bruce gripped Robbie’s shoulder. “Come, Sir Boyd. We’ve a new rising to plan.”

  Shifting his gaze to the future king, Robbie’s Adam’s apple bobbed. But he nodded.

  Eva wasted no more time. Beckoning the priest, she inclined her head toward the stables. “Go find us some horses.”

  Crossing the street, Eva glanced over her shoulder. Robbie made wide gestures of disbelief until the future king placed his hand on the lad’s shoulder and spoke. Something happened then—the Bruce’s words must have been profound because the young knight took one step back and bowed deeply.

  ***

  By the time she arrived at Dumbarton Castle it was dark. Father Blair and Eddy Little hid in the shadows of the trees while Eva climbed the stairs and pounded on the gate.

  The screen opened and a helmed head popped through. “Go away. The gates are sealed closed until the morrow.”

  “Please. I must see the prisoner William Wallace.”

  The guard cackled with a rueful laugh. “That sorry bastard is headed for a public execution, he is.”

  “Please just let me speak to him.”

  “Too right, Sir Menteith will receive lands and riches for ensnaring that slippery eel,” the guard spewed in a brogue sounding thick like cockney English. “But ye’re too late, wench. They set out hours ago. Menteith didn’t want to chance on risking a raid by Wallace’s men—not when we have the traitor in our grasp.”

  If only she could reach through the panel and wrap her fingers around the guard’s neck. “Sir William is not a traitor. He is a patriot. And you, sir, are trespassing on Scottish lands.”

  He shoved his ugly face further out the window. “Ye’re one them are ye not? Off with ye afore I haul your arse into the dungeon and lock ye away for the rest of your days.”

  Backing away, Eva gaped. The panel slammed closed. She took in consecutive gasps while clutching her heart. Not there? The history books got it wrong, goddammit.

  ***

  Eva thought they’d never reach London. When they crested the last hill, the smoke hanging above the medieval city gave the impression of hell—it had a sulphur stench, too. Only Satan himself would enjoy wandering the streets of such a cesspool. But she would tread through hell and sell her soul to see William. She could not allow him to go through this madness—not while she remained in this century.

  Pointed spires jutted toward the sky, surrounded by the slate roofs of wooden townhouses. The twin gothic towers of Westminster Abbey stood as prominent as the Tower of London nestled by the Thames. The river itself had a green tinge, and as they neared, the stench became unbearable. Eva held her cloak across her nose, but it did little to allay the burning of her eyes. The streets grew narrower, sloppy with mud and excrement. Hogs wandered freely, gnawing on the rotting flesh cast aside from the butchers’ blocks.

  Eva had experienced the filth of medieval cities before, but nothing compared to London. She thanked God a horse carried her toward the tower. She’d loose her meager breakfast of oatcakes if forced to sink her feet in the mire. But even sickness from revulsion would not sway her determination.

  Dressed in a nun’s habit, Eva slipped to the gatehouse of the Tower. John Blair and Eddy Little remained behind at an inn while they awaited her return. Again she hailed the guard, but this time she knew William was locked away in one of the dank chambers. She would not leave until she saw him.

  A panel slid aside. “Who goes there?”

  “It is Eve, a holy woman who wishes to pray over the prisoner William Wallace.” She purposely called herself by the first woman to allay doubt of her being a nun.

  The soldier gawked, looking her from head to toe. “Are ye daft? That beggar is a vile beast. Such a man could do ye harm.”

  “I am a bride of Christ. The Lord’s mercy is watching over me. Surely you would not deny the vilest of men an opportunity to atone for their sins.”

  “But he has seen a priest.”

  “Ah yes, but a man will confess more to a woman.” She held up Blair’s bible. “Please, I have selected a scripture to ease his troubled soul.”

  The door creaked with the sliding sound of the crossbar. “I’ll allow it, but only for a moment.”

  As it opened, Eva made the sign of the cross. “God will look favorably upon you come the Day of Judgement.”

  Following the stocky guard through a maze of dank passageways and wheel stairwells, more than one rat scurried through the shadows. Eva recoiled at the filth. When he stopped at a thick wooden door, reinforced with blackened iron nails, she peered through the crossbars in the tiny window.

  William sat on a cot, his head bent over his psalter. Eva swooned as she clutched a hand over her heart. When the door opened, she curtseyed to the guard. “Leave us.”

  “But—”

  “I will be unharmed. The prisoner needs solitude.”

  With a nod, he shut the door behind her and bolted it.

  William didn’t look up. He merely held a finger to his lips while footsteps clapped and faded down the passageway.

  Then his eyes met hers. The same eyes that could see to her soul and carve out her every secret. But she’d never seen such an expression on William’s face before. Yes, there was bold determination, strength, intelligence, but this was the first time she’d ever read defeat.

  He set his psalter aside. “I wish ye hadn’t come.”

  She moved further inside. “Did you think for one moment that I would not?”

  “Nay. I kent ’twas a matter of time.”

  Choking back a gasp, Eva rushed to him, falling to her knees and clutching his hands between hers. “You cannot go through with this.”

  “I have made up my mind.” His eyes pleaded. “One man’s life for an entire Kingdom. The people will rise at the outrage. I ken they will in my heart. It is what Lord Bruce needs to rekindle the Scottish spirit.”

  She suddenly wished she’d never uttered the Earl of Carrick’s name. “Do you know what they will do to you?”

  His head dropped forward. “I have an inkling. After so many years of chasing me, Longshanks willna make my death easy.”

  “It will be the most atrocious, painful death imaginable.” She took off the medallion and wrapped it around both their wrists. “Go back to the twenty-first century with me. Please. I will show you everything. I-I-I never told you that men can fly.”

  He snorted and shook his head. “Och, Eva…”

  “They can. In airplanes. Planes can ferry a great number of people like a
ship at sea.” She closed her eyes tight and concentrated, squeezing William’s fingers. “Take us back. Take us to a gentler time. I want to show William my world. Please!”

  He wrenched his hands out from under the leather thong. “Nay, lass. It is done. I stand firm on my conviction. This old warrior’s bones are weary.”

  “Old? Why, you might very well have fifty more years to live—over half your life.”

  “And then what? Die an old man in my bed? That is not a death that will inspire a nation to arms.”

  A tear streaked down her cheek. Her mouth quivered. “Please, William. I cannot lose you. You will be tried on the morrow. Once the sentence is passed they will drag you behind a horse and—”

  “Hush.” He held his fingers to her lips. “I ken what they will do and I will meet my end.”

  Shaking her head, she couldn’t breathe. “No—”

  “Wheesht, now.” He pulled her into his arms and silenced her mouth with a deep kiss. Raw passion surged from him, for the fear he could not express with his words electrified her with the intensity from the pressure of his lips and the desperate swirling of his tongue.

  Inhaling deeply, he leaned his forehead against hers. “Our souls are one, m’lady. We will meet again in heaven and ye will be my bride through eternity.”

  How can he say this? Be so calm when my every nerve ending is on fire? “I cannot let you go.”

  “Ye have no choice. I want ye to return to your time. Go now, for there is nothing left for ye here.”

  He placed her on her feet and hollered for the guard.

  ***

  All three disguised in peasant’s garb, Eva attended William’s trial with Eddy and John.

  Dark paneled benches in two tiers and filled with English noblemen lined the Westminster courtroom walls. Onlookers were allowed to stand in the public gallery beyond the justice’s table. People crammed into the space, shoulder to shoulder, the air heavy with the sickly pall of unwashed humanity.

  Eva’s entire body shook as they led William into the courtroom in chains and forced him to stand inside a cage tipped with sharp iron spikes. She reached out toward him, her throat thick and dry. Boos and rumbles of dissention rolled between the chamber walls.

  The justice hammered his gavel, demanding silence. “William Wallace of Scotland, ye have been accused of sedition, homicides, plunderings, fire-raisings and a litany of other felonies and crimes.”

  William stared at the black-robed man, his face devoid of emotion.

  “Ye are not allowed to speak during these proceedings as ordered by His Grace, King Edward of England.”

  “That’d be right—not allow a man a defense,” grumbled Blair under his breath.

  “All hear the case and evidence against the felon who stands before ye. The charges are lengthy. The evidence irrefutable.” Lord Justice stood, unrolled a scroll and cleared his throat. “The King of England in hostile manner conquered the land of Scotland over John Balliol. The prelates, the earls, the barons and other Scottish enemies of England were in forfeiture along with the same John, and by the conquest of him submitted and subjugated all the Scots to right of ownership and Edward’s royal power as their king. After which, Edward of England received in public the homages and pledges of the prelates.”

  Eva frowned. The Ragman Roll was signed by Scotland’s nobles under duress.

  “The King made his peace to be proclaimed through the whole of the land of Scotland. He appointed and set up Guardians of that land, including sheriffs, provosts, bailiffs and other ministers to maintain his peace and issue justice to all according to the laws and customs of England. The aforesaid William Wallace, forgetful of his fealty and allegiance—”

  “I did not pledge fealty to the English king,” William’s deep voice resonated across the chamber.

  Boos and shouts of vile discord came from the gallery.

  “No!” Eva shouted at the top of her lungs, only to have Blair slap a hand over her mouth.

  The justice hammered his gavel on the board. “Silence. The prisoner is not permitted to speak.”

  William stared at the man, his eyes dark, his lips in a hard, thin line. Though he was not allowed to speak in his defense, Eva doubted he would. Someone must stand up for him.

  “Forgetful of his fealty and allegiance, Wallace unlawfully raised up all he could by felony and premeditated sedition against our lord and King. Having united and joined to himself an immense number of felons, he invaded and attacked the guardians and ministers of the same King. He insulted, wounded and killed William de Heselrig, Sheriff of Lanark, without reason or provocation.”

  After panning a scowling gaze around the courtroom, the Lord Justice continued reading the scroll. “Thenceforth he invaded the towns, the cities and the castles of that land and sent his orders through the whole of Scotland as if they were the letters of the superior of that land. He held and appointed parliaments after the guardians and ministers appointed by the aforesaid lord, the King of the land of Scotland, had been evicted by William himself. He decreed to all prelates, earls and barons they were to press for the destruction of the Kingdom of England. William Wallace then proceeded to invade the Kingdom of England, laying to fire and sword the counties of Northumberland, Cumberland and Westmorland. All whom he found who were in fealty to the King of England, he feloniously put to death in various ways. He seditiously slaughtered religious men and monks dedicated to God. He burned and laid waste to churches constructed for the honor of God. And it is clear that after such outrageous and horrible deeds, the aforesaid lord, the King, together with his great army, invaded the land of Scotland and defeated the aforesaid William who bore his standard against King Edward in mortal warfare.”

  Lord Justice made a verbose gesture, swinging his arm over his head. “William Wallace seditiously and feloniously, whole-heartedly and undauntedly preserving his above noted wickedness, disdained to submit himself to the King’s peace. He was publicly outlawed as a traitor, robber and felon according to the laws and customs of England.”

  The man paused, deepening his scowl. “On these charges the accused stands guilty without recourse and will hereby be sentenced.”

  Again, the crowd’s angry voice rose with dissention, feet stomping the floorboards.

  “Silence,” bellowed the bailiff, pounding his staff on the floorboards.

  “For the inarguable sedition which William committed against our lord and King and trying to bring about His Grace’s death, the attempted destruction and weakening of the crown of its royal authority by bringing his standard against his liege lord in war to the death, William Wallace will be tied to a horse and dragged from the palace of Westminster as far as the Tower of London, and from the Tower as far as Aldegate, and thus through the middle of the city as far as Elmes, and for the robberies, murders and felonies which he carried out in the Kingdom of England and Scotland, he shall be hanged there and afterwards drawn. Furthermore, for the measureless wickedness which he did to God and the most Holy Church by burning churches, vassals and shires, the heart, liver, lung and all the internal parts of the same William by which such evil thoughts proceeded should be dispatched to the fire and burned. And because he had been outlawed and not restored to the King’s peace, he will be beheaded. And also because he had committed both murders and felonies to not only the King but to the entire people of England and Scotland, the body of said William Wallace will be cut up and divided into four quarters. The head shall be affixed upon London Bridge in the sight of those crossing both by land and water. One quarter should be hung on the gibbet at Newcastle Upon Tyne, another quarter at Berwick, a third quarter at Stirling and a fourth quarter at Perth as a cause of fear and chastisement in all who pass by.[1]”

  When Lord Justice stopped and gazed out over the crowd, not a soul uttered a word.

  Breaking away from Blair, Eva pushed through the gallery—her eyes streaming with tears, her head spinning so fast the chamber spun. “No! William is a patriot,” she scr
eamed at the top of her lungs. “Scotland is oppressed by Edward’s sadistic tyranny! You are the murderers—”

  As the words escaped her mouth, the medallion burned a hole in her chest, earsplitting screeches deafened her ears. Her entire body ripped apart in a spiral of agonizing darkness.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  William ~ The Calm of the Condemned

  When Eva’s voice rose over the roar of the crowd, I glanced her way for the first time. Though I’d asked her to leave, I kent she’d come. If I have any regrets from my decision, it is saying adieu to my sweet Eva and seeing her bereft with grief. But Scotland needs me more—needs my end.

  Heaven help me, I loved that woman more than any earthly being.

  As the bailiffs tugged my arms, her tall figure was soon swallowed by Blair and Little while guardsmen pushed their way toward her. But I knew she was gone. I felt it. A wee puff of air skimmed my face, and I kent she’d vanished—returned to her time. Why the magic allowed her to remain for so long, I could not fathom.

  Mercifully, the medallion’s powers swept her away, just as they had done the day Andrew died. With that silent wisp of air, my wife went to a better life—one in which I pray she will live fully, peacefully.

  Lord Clifford held my psalter high as the bailiffs marshalled me out of the courtroom and into the street. I didn’t fight. There was no sense in doing so. My actions this day were for my beloved Scotland. I gladly gave of myself for the Kingdom. Praise God a new king will rise. I will not see her restored to greatness, but I go to my death knowing my sacrifice will be a catalyst for change.

  Eva was right about Lord Bruce. I, too, felt his greatness in my bones more than once.

  The angry jeers from the crowd met me like a wall of soaring arrows. My heart thundered in my chest, betraying me. I did not allow fear to creep into my consciousness often, but her evilness seized me in her hands and a cold sweat covered my skin.

  I harbored no illusions. I would endure horrendous pain—pain I had inflicted on others during this war. I’d watched men die at the point of my sword. Their faces stunned at first, followed by listlessness.