by Amy Jarecki
“Well,” he said, running his pointer finger around the ring. “I don’t think you should walk the red carpet alone.”
The fluttering stopped. “But I cannot possibly miss it.”
Stroking his chin, his eyebrows shot up. “Look. I have some leave coming.” His eyes turned hopeful. “I’d like to go with you.”
She drew a hand over her mouth. “You’re serious?”
He nodded. “My heart is telling me yes.”
“And your head?”
He thumped his temple. “My guess is that it’ll catch up—you said Walter Tennant gave you the medallion?”
“Yes.”
After he stood, Bill removed the leather thong from around her neck. “I think we should return this to the professor.” He pulled her up into his arms. “I don’t want you going anywhere that’s not in this century, mon amour.”
Oh yes. Oh yes, yes, yes. “I like the way you think.” Eva let her hands slide around to Bill’s back. Her body molded to his, forming that perfect fit—the one she craved. “Sh-should I buy you a ticket to Los Angeles?”
He nuzzled into her neck. “Can you postpone for a day? Give me a chance to apply for leave…then I’ll pay for my own ticket.”
“Okay.” She closed her eyes and swooned into him. “No problem cutting it short. They gave me a couple days to account for jet lag.”
“Excellent.”
He captured her mouth, his eyelids fluttering closed. With slow swirls of his tongue, he allowed her to savor him, grow to know the modern man—a great warrior she had loved in another time and now would love again.
Taking in a deep inhale, Bill lightly rested his forehead against hers. “Och, I canna believe how much ye feel like home, lass.”
Epilogue
One year later
After typing “the end”, Eva sat back and regarded those two words with a long sigh. This manuscript was late to her publisher, but having a baby at home took so much time—even with a nanny.
The past year had been one of reflection, filled with new beginnings but not without its share of trepidation. The medallion was safely locked away in Professor Tennant’s safe and miraculously Bill had stayed by her side through everything. The best part? He’d picked her up and had taken her to every single Lamaze class. He’d been in London when Eva went into labor, but by the time wee Lachlan decided he was ready to come into the world, Bill had arrived and was holding her hand.
God bless him. God bless them both.
The second miracle of the year, of course, came with Lachlan, a healthy bairn with chestnut hair and blue eyes just like his father. And just like Bill. Since the wee lad had been born, whenever Bill hadn’t been away on Special Ops business, he’d spent every weekend with Eva and Lachlan. Eva had chosen the bairn’s name as a tribute to a young orphan who’d befriended Robbie Boyd, a brave young archer who never had the chance to make his mark on the history books. Eva swore over the lad’s grave that she would make sure the world heard his tale. And now she had the honor of naming William Wallace’s son for the brave boy.
Things were almost perfect. Too often she longed for the days on Eynhallow when she and William walked along the shore holding hands and talking about important matters like Robert the Bruce and King Edward of England.
But she had a new life now. A rich life. One that she could share with her son and a modern William Wallace—yet another man who could make her heart soar with the eagles.
The doorbell to Eva’s townhouse rang.
“I’ll get it,” called Cora, the nanny.
Eva clicked “save” on her computer as Bill’s deep voice cut through the corridor. “Good evening, Cora. Would you mind staying late with Lachlan? I’ve a dinner planned with Eva.”
“Late?” The nanny didn’t sound too certain.
“I’ll pay you double.”
Eva checked her calendar. She didn’t have anything marked for the evening. What was Bill up to?
“Very well,” Cora agreed. “Who could resist such an offer?”
“You’re a lifesaver.”
Eva poked her head out her office door. “What’s this? You’re keeping my nanny late?”
Wearing his dress uniform, Bill stood a bit taller and flashed a wide grin. Dear Lord, every time Eva saw that smile, she melted. He could ask her to fly to the moon and she’d probably agree. “I made reservations…ah…” He looked like a lad trying to hold in a secret he didn’t want to keep. Striding forward, he took her hands. “I’ve some news and the only person I want to share it with is you.”
“Sounds intriguing. I just finished the last chapter of my manuscript—so I suppose I have reason to celebrate too. Where are you taking me?”
“Torwood.”
She looked sideways. “Just the two of us?”
“Aye.”
Arching one eyebrow, she looked him from head to kilt. Oh, how well he wore that kilt. “What are you up to?”
He pulled her key from his sporran and held it up. “You’ll see.”
She swiped it from his hand. “You took that from my dressing table.”
“I borrowed it. Forgive me?” His pleading blue eyes could make any woman turn into a mushy pile of gush, but Eva wasn’t about to let him get off too easily.
“Not sure.” The key to the castle was hers and no one else’s. He should have asked first. She gave him a practiced stern look. “This had better be good.”
“We’ll be home by ten,” Bill said as he ushered Eva out the door.
The trip to Torwood didn’t take long and soon they were in Eva’s chamber up on the fourth floor.
The table sported two formal settings, a candle and on one plate, a red rose. A waiter stood beside it in a tuxedo with a white towel draped over one arm. He pulled a bottle of champagne from the bucket. “Would you like champagne now, sir?”
Bill held the chair for Eva. “Yes, thank you.”
“This looks lovely.” Eva picked up the rose and held it to her nose. “But you’re killing me here. What’s this big news?”
The waiter showed Bill the label, and he motioned for him to pour. “That will be all for now.”
“When would you like the first course?” the man asked.
“Give us fifteen minutes.”
“What’s on the menu?” Eva asked.
The waiter bowed. “Seven courses, compliments of Her Majesty.”
Bill leaned forward. “I don’t even know what we’re eating—but I’ve no doubt it will be exquisite.”
Eva watched in amazement while the waiter took his leave. “The queen? You cannot possibly keep this from me any longer.”
Bill held up his glass. “First I’d like to make a toast. To us.”
A butterfly flitted in her stomach. “To us.”
He set his glass down. “I can’t tell you everything about my work, but I can say my squadron and I have made enormous strides toward assuring world peace.”
“But you said you weren’t doing anything dangerous.”
His eyebrows slanted downward. “I think I said I wasn’t doing anything that would get me killed.”
“But your work is dangerous?” Oh God, no. Please not again.
“I mostly gather intelligence—occasional danger, but nothing like riding into battle with a sword strapped to my back.”
“Nothing that will get you killed?”
He crossed his heart. “Promise.”
Releasing a deep breath, Eva reached for her glass. “So you’ve made a major breakthrough?”
“We’ve prevented our enemies from gaining nuclear weapons.” He took a sip of champagne while Eva cogitated the news.
“You’re serious? Oh heavens, that is big.”
“And I will be knighted by the Queen in London, two months hence.”
Eva gasped. “A knighthood? Congratulations!” She clapped her hands. “Please let me be the first to call you Sir Bill.”
Chuckling, he slipped out of his chair and kneeled in front of her. “But I want you
to go to London with me.”
“Of course, I wouldn’t miss it for the world. I am over the moon excited for you.” In a blink, Eva recalled the last time she’d been to London—her visit to the dank tower, and worse, the trial. She shuddered. Seven hundred years have passed. It’s time to get over it.
Bill didn’t seem to notice her reaction. Digging his hand in his sporran, his eyes twinkled with the candlelight. “When I am knighted, it is my greatest wish for you to attend not as my girlfriend, but as my wife.”
She clapped a hand over her mouth as he pulled out a black velvet box and opened it. Inside was a platinum ring in the same design as the one she still wore—the one Bill remembered, but that William had given her. The difference? This one had an enormous diamond in the center.
“I don’t expect this to replace that one.” He nodded to her hand—to William’s ring. “I hope you will always wear it too. But this ring—well, I’d be honored if you would wear it on your left finger. From the first time I set eyes on you, I knew you were the only woman in the world for me. I want to make Lachlan my son. I want to see you pregnant with our child and I want to love you until I take my last breath.”
Her hands trembling, Eva removed William’s ring for the first time and put it on her right finger. After losing William, she never thought she could love anyone again—but this man who kneeled before her was William Wallace—Bill was her William as only he could be in this century. “Yes,” she said with conviction. This was right. Joining with Bill would make her whole again. “I will marry you. And you’d best promise me you will have a long life. Because my heart cannot endure another loss, not ever.”
A tear slid from her eye and splashed the back of her hand as Bill slid on the beautiful ring. The perfect ring to pledge his love.
“I promise to care for you for the rest of my life.”
Eva held up her hand. “It’s beautiful.” Tears now streamed from both eyes. “You’re beautiful.”
Wrapping her in his arms, he stood and together they twirled across the floor. “You’ve made me happier than any man in Scotland.”
“And I’m ever so happy to be with you. I love you.”
“I’ve always loved you, mon amour.”
When the waiter opened the door, they were joined in an embrace, kissing like teenagers. “Shall I come back, sir?”
“No.” Bill grinned, staring into Eva’s eyes. “My lady needs her sustenance, for our celebrations this evening will be strenuous, indeed.”
“I like the way you think.” Eva kissed his cheek then rose to her toes, pressing her lips to his ear. “I want a girl this time.”
The End
Author’s Note
Thank you for joining me for William and Eva’s story. When I first plotted this saga, I planned to have Eva figure a way to spirit Wallace from the brink of death. But as the story came together, I felt as though I would be cheating history if I changed it for the sake of a good yarn. I couldn’t do that. So, I took a cue from Jude Deveraux’s Knight in Shining Armor, and conjured up Bill Wallace, a modern day hero.
I laughed and cried while researching and writing both books in this series. Historians dispute many facts about Wallace’s life and book two was a bit more difficult to write as there was a wide void in William’s history after the Battle of Falkirk in 1298 until his execution in 1305. It is known that he did travel to France in his efforts to raise help for the Scottish army and he was imprisoned by King Philip for about a year. By that time, the king of France had entered into a treaty of peace with England, and thus William’s pleas for assistance in Europe fell on unsympathetic ears.
There is no record of his visiting the exiled John Balliol. In 1300, King Philip wrote a letter to the French representative at the court of Pope Boniface in Rome to aid Wallace, but it is unknown exactly what William accomplished in Rome. I should also mention the poet, Blind Harry, wrote that William was forced to fight a lion while in the French court, which may or may not have happened.
After William’s return to Scotland, he was pursued by Edward who maintained a driving, psychotic lust to capture him at all costs. The English king pardoned a great many nobles who fought in the Battle of Falkirk, but refused to consider such pardon for William Wallace. Perhaps the big Scot haunted him. Perhaps Edward the Longshanks feared William more than anyone else in Christendom.
As I said, I did take more literary license writing In the Kingdom’s Name. The connection that arose between Wallace and Bruce developed out of my imagination.
There is no question that William’s life was epic. He represented and stood for those common folk who had no voice. He took the weight of a faltering nation upon his shoulders, and with his martyr, became the catalyst for Scotland to regain her freedom under the leadership of Robert the Bruce. Wallace’s execution marked a beginning. A new age of hope.
My research for both Rise of a Legend and In the Kingdom’s Name took months and included a trip to Scotland. Aye, Scotland owns a piece of my heart and I hope I can make many more journeys there in the coming years.
Excerpt from Amy’s Next Book
The Fearless Highlander
Highland Defender Series, Book One
Chapter One
Fort William, Scotland, March, 1691
The door of the surgery burst open and two sweaty dragoons scooted inside, straining to carry a Highland prisoner sprawled atop a canvas stretcher. Charlotte clasped a cloth between her hands and watched while the soldiers rolled the enormous man onto a cot and chained his leg irons to the metal footboard.
“Another one?” asked Doctor Munro, Fort William’s army physician.
“Fevered just like the blighter yesterday and he smells worse than a heap of sh—” The soldier looked at Charlotte and cringed. “Apologies, Miss Hill, but this lump of rancid mutton stinks.”
Charlotte’s cheeks burned as she looked down at the cloth in her hands and nodded, her fingers twisting the piece of Holland so taught, fibers frayed. Her father’s men could be overly insensitive when it came to the Scottish prisoners—and there she stood nodding in agreement. Blast my shy streak, I cannot allow this heartlessness to pass. “Truly?” She stepped forward. “And this man is so dangerous he must be chained to the bed? He’s unconscious, for heaven’s sake.”
“I’d not be taking any chances with a blighter the size of Goliath.” A gutless dragoon raised his palms. “Who knows what he’ll do when he wakes?”
The physician held a kerchief to his nose while he bent over and examined the Highlander. “Why in God’s name did you bring him here? He’s half dead already.”
The two dragoons inched toward the door. One carried the stretcher upright and inclined his head in the direction of the fevered man. “The prisoners made such a ruckus, hauling him to the surgery was the only thing to get them to shut their gobs.”
Doctor Munro snorted. “So now we’re allowing murderers and thieves to tell us what to do? Colonel Hill received orders to send the lot of them to the gallows—and in short order.”
“No!” Charlotte snapped. “Papa is awaiting a pardon from the king.”
The physician smirked. “You think the king cares about a handful of bedraggled Jacobites rotting in a remote outpost? Why let these criminals run free? A dead man cannot return and thrust a knife into your back.”
A twitch of his eye was the only outward sign the Highlander may have heard Doctor Munro’s caustic opinion. By the saints, he was unusually large. The soldiers had propped up his shoulders to prevent the man’s legs from overhanging the cot. Oh yes, they were well formed, quite muscular legs at that.
Blinking away the image of the Highlander laying atop the cot like an effigy of Richard the Lionheart, Charlotte picked up the ewer and poured a stream of water into a bowl. “I daresay they were right to demand he be seen,” she whispered, hoping no one could hear. So unpopular her point of view, any public expression of it would only invite a terse rebuttal. But her insides roiled with a tempest. Ho
w could they all be so unfeeling? Was she the only person at Fort William who cared an iota about the living conditions of the poor prisoners? It wasn’t the Highlander’s fault he smelled a tad unpleasant. She’d continually asked her father to provide water and lye for the prisoners to bathe, yet he always responded with the same terse remark. Dear Charlotte, you are too kindhearted. These men are convicts—animals. And Fort William is no bathhouse of luxury.
The physician stood, and with brisk flicks of his fingers, folded his kerchief and replaced it in his sleeve. “You men are dismissed.” He watched them leave, then turned to Charlotte. By the pinched purse of his lips, he’d overheard her remark. “If I may be so bold Miss Hill, you are too gentle to be tucked away in such a disagreeable outpost. In my opinion, a young woman such as yourself should not be exposed to foul lowlife akin to this man, or any of the other riffraff incarcerated in this prison. ’Tis just not proper.”
“Oh please.” She dared meet his gaze. She hated looking Doctor Munro in the eye because he always stared at her with the most intense expression—just as he did right now. Curse his gunmetal-grey eyes. But rather than shy away, Charlotte squared her shoulders. “You speak to me as if I’m but a delicate flower.”
He stretched his fingers toward her cheek, but when she leaned aside, he quickly snapped his hand to his hip. “Oh, how delicate you are, indeed.” He took a step closer. “Your father should have at least sought a post nearer to Edinburgh where civilized people reside. This outpost is no place for a lady as well-bred as you.”
Charlotte regarded the bowl she’d just filled with water and bit the inside of her cheek. “Indeed?” After taking a hesitant look at the patient, she hastened for the door. The unconscious man could use tending, but presently she wasn’t about listen to the physician utter another word about what he thought of her gentility. The man had been growing bolder with such remarks. She took in a sharp breath. “Pardon me, but my father serves the king where he is needed, not where it best suits me.” Besides, if Charlotte moved anywhere away from Papa it would be London—where she was born. Placing her hand on the latch, she curtsied. “I shall see you at the evening meal.”
