In the Kingdom's Name (Guardian of Scotland Book 2) (12 page)

Dirleton?

One thing was an absolute certainty. William needed her as much—perhaps more than she needed him. Eva raced back to her bedroom and threw open the wardrobe.

I have an idea
.

Wallace wrenched his blade from the attacker’s belly and spun in place, ready for the next assault. His muscles burned, torturing him from endless exertion, but he dared not blink, lest he lose life or limb.

“
William!
” Eva’s voice rang in his head. “
Fight well, my love. I am trying to return to y—
”

“Eva,” he roared, spinning again, praying she wasn’t in the midst of the battle, but frantic to find her all the same. He could spare only a glimpse across battlefield.

Thank God she was not in harm’s way.

A battleax whooshed through the air, straight for his temple. As if a bolt of lightning flashed inside his arms, Wallace regained his strength and swung his sword with brutal force, deflecting the attack, the ax’s wooden shaft splintered in two. Maintaining his hold on the broken stick, the brigand hefted it over his head and swung it downward with both hands. Wallace caught the pole with his palm, then used its momentum to flip the swine onto his back and finished him.

On and on the battle raged with William in the lead, sometimes fighting three at once. With attackers targeting him from every side, on any other day he’d be dead. But he’d heard Eva call his name. She existed out there somewhere. As he fought, all he could think of was her—her love, her strength, her support and understanding of Scotland’s cause. He needed her like he needed the air he breathed. Her memory would infuse him with courage until he once again held her in his arms.

A break in the wall of the attackers came all at once. Ahead, a loud roar rang out as the English fled over the bridge and across the Tweed. William turned to Sir Ramsay. “Seize the town.” Waving his great sword above his head and running for his horse, he beckoned the others. “Scotland until Judgment!”

Roaring the battle cry, the men sped behind him.

The pennants of the Earl of March and the Earl of Surrey flapped in the wind as William and his men made pursuit. South and west the brigands rode, fleeing like a herd of timid sheep.

William’s heart raced with the prospect of catching two of the nobles who were eating from Longshanks’ palm. Blair and Little thundered beside him, leaning over their horses’ necks, demanding more speed.

But the English mounts galloped just as fast. Ahead, the sandstone walls of Norham Castle came into sight. Before William and his men could close the distance, the bloody English bastards clomped over the barbican.

Wallace dug in his spurs, determined to blast through the bailey gate before they dropped the portcullis.

As his horse’s hooves hit the wooden slats of the bridge, the black iron teeth of the gate boomed, shuddering through the ground. William reined his horse to a halt. “Ballocks!”

Blair stopped beside him. “What now?”

William looked to the top of the ramparts. Archers were running along the wall-walk, moving into place. “Fall back,” he bellowed, reining his horse around. “We mightn’t have the siege engines to attack a fortress, but we can wreak havoc everywhere else. No man who takes up arms against us is safe. We shall invade the lands of our oppressor!”

“To Rothbury Forest and beyond,” he shouted over and over as he rode though his ranks and led them on the journey south. The forest was his greatest ally. He’d rid Northern England of all fighting men—anyone who posed a threat would flee or meet their end.

***

The foot soldiers soon followed and, within a day, William had established his military base high on a crag in the thick wood of Rothbury. When finally he had the plans for the invasion laid out with his lieutenants, he headed to his tent. Fatigue hung on William’s limbs like a heap of sodden blankets.

The last time he’d had a decent night’s sleep? He closed his eyes.
Ah yes, it was the last night I slept with Eva in my arms
.

With a sigh, he lumbered to his pallet and sat, resting his head in his palms. The battle at Berwick flashed before him. This was the first time he’d had a chance to think on Eva’s voice—the one he’d heard in the midst of hell. Yet the words had come from an angel, had uplifted him, renewed his strength.

He rubbed his eyes.
She said she was trying to return to me. But where is she now?

She hadn’t told him much about her world. He’d even discouraged it for the most part. A few times she’d tried to explain things—he remembered telephones, motorcars that burned fuel to run without horses, and trains that would take a man from Edinburgh on the lauds bell and have him in Glasgow well before prime an hour later.

And oh, how Eva loved her baths. She’d said heated water ran straight into the bath with no need to boil pots and dump them into a wooden tub as his mother had done for him. Eva could recline in a bath for ages—had even told him about whirlpool jets that massaged sore limbs.

William dropped his hands and cringed. Though her father was a knight, he had no need to carry a sword or weapon of any sort. He’d once heard her say that people were free to worship the religion they chose and that all children went to school to learn mathematics and to read and write. She could read and write like no one he’d ever seen. In truth, he was beginning to realize her education surpassed even his own.

She’d gone to university in the United States of America—a place yet to be discovered.

With so many comforts, why would she want to return to a war-torn land?

But I ken I heard her. Clearly she said she was coming back.

William’s heart clenched tight. He never should have insisted she try to help Sir Andrew. No wonder she avoided the knight.
She kent—God damn me to hell—she kent saving him would mean the end of her time here. And I wouldna bloody listen and she did my bidding. Such a bitter tonic to swallow. Now I’ve lost them both
.

William pulled his psalter from the purse he wore on his hip—the very leather pouch Eva had given him in Renfrew when they visited Lord Stewart. God bless her. He held his most precious possession between his hands and bowed his head. “Dear God in heaven, I beseech thee with all my soul. I do not understand how she came to me, but now that ye have brought Eva MacKay into my heart, please dunna keep her away. She grounds me, completes me as a man. To do your will, and restore Scotland to the great Kingdom it once was, I ask for this one thing. Though no small matter it may be, I beg of ye…”

William prayed until so overcome by fatigue, he could no longer sit upright. Reclining on the pallet with his psalter tucked under his arm, he drifted off to sleep with Eva’s words repeating in his head:
Fight well, my love. I am trying to return…

An eerie sense of déjà vu made goosebumps rise across Eva’s skin. She stood on a footbridge in the exact spot where a grand and menacing barbican once had crossed the ditch at Dirleton Castle. She’d ridden Ryn across that very motte only days ago. So vivid her memory, Eva could still hear the clop of horse hooves on timber.

Though ruined, the castle appeared in relatively good condition. Astonishingly, the tower she’d stayed in with William still stood, though it looked dilapidated in comparison to the sturdy fortress in her mind’s eye. In better condition stood a tower house to the west of the main gate, built in the sixteenth century—called the Ruthven Lodging. When she’d stayed at Dirleton, the space had been taken by a wooden structure comprising the great hall.

She leafed through the guide book she’d purchased at the gift store. They did a nice job explaining the thirteenth, fourteenth and sixteenth century additions, though they missed all the wooden outbuildings. No surprise—any remains of earlier construction would have been hidden by the remodels. The only mention of the Wars of Independence was the damage done, which would have happened after the Battle of Falkirk.

The fine hairs prickled the back of her neck. She didn’t want to think about Falkirk. Not ever.

“Excuse me, are you giving tours?” asked a middle-age woman with an American accent. Though Eva had spent ten years in the United States, the accent now sounded grating, broad and completely foreign to her ears. But the woman and her companion grinned with friendly expectation.

Eva dropped her gaze to her gown and realized she indeed must look like a tour guide—or a complete loon. She stared at the couple a moment, at a loss for words. “Uh…sorry, no. I—I’m a medieval history zealot, you might say.”

“Too bad,” said the man with a quirky look. “These old castles are fascinating.”

“Well, have a good day.” The woman offered a faint wave and followed her husband across the footbridge.

Eva waited for them to pass, then took a deep breath and slowly proceeded across the bridge. Her hands began to tremble as she strode beneath the grand arch and guardhouse. At least it had once been grand. The uppermost part where the best archers were stationed had been ruined. Right above her head was the kill hole used as a last resort to drop boulders or boiling oil onto intruders.

Once inside the courtyard, her stomach sank to her toes. The mighty fortress was but a shell of its former glory. Crumbling and broken walls surrounded her.

I guess seven hundred war-torn years isn’t kind to even the grandest of fortresses.

Eva cast her gaze up to the remaining battlements and turned in place. She hardly recognized anything. Pressing the heels of her hands to her temples, she tried to picture it—the great hall, the gardens, the donjon. She wandered into the oldest remaining tower, now a roofless shell. Closing her eyes, she focused on deep breathing. The last time she’d been there, she’d stayed in a chamber on the third floor. Ah yes, she could picture it now. She opened her eyes and looked at the very spot were her chamber had been. Though the tower floorboards had all rotted ages past, the masonry still remained. The hearth surrounding her fireplace looked much the same, and further along, the window embrasure still cut into the stone. Eva pictured the heavy furs that covered the pane-less windows to stave off the cold, and the red satin cushions she sat upon to take advantage of the sunlight when writing.

She’d been a guest at Dirleton for only a few weeks, but it seemed more like home than any of the other castles she and William had visited during his rise to greatness. The wind blew a gale off the Firth of Forth, but she didn’t care. She spent the day climbing over the ruins and reading the placards with historical tidbits. Odd, not a one mentioned that William had been there—or that Andrew Murray had died there.

If they only knew, they’d make a mint
.

At least she reckoned Sir Andrew must have passed away not long after she’d traveled back to the present. He certainly was too sick to move elsewhere.

Fortunately the weather didn’t invite a horde of tourists, and after the American couple left, Eva had the place to herself. Slipping back into the old tower, she moved to where she could see her chamber and sat in the middle of the gravel that covered the missing floor.

She stared up at the empty hearth. It looked odd suspended in the middle of the stone wall, about thirty feet up. She’d warmed herself beside that hearth, watched Madeline light or stir the coals to life every morning. Yes, the carved granite mantel suspended above connected her to William. They’d sat in front of that very hearth, held hands and kissed. They’d talked about politics and the weather. He’d given her the mail-piercing sword in that very place. Unfortunately, her sword hadn’t made the journey with her—lost like her scrolls.

If only she’d been able to hold onto the important things—things that connected her to Wallace.

Eva stared up until her eyelids grew heavy and her neck sore. With a deep inhale, she closed her eyes and pictured William grinning. He’d looked almost innocent when he’d presented her with the sword—excited to give her such a treasure. And she’d been a stupid lout and shirked from it at first.

Eva then pictured him leading the garrison when they returned from their sortie to Dunbar. No greater warrior could there be. He sat his horse like a king. Though humble. William would never be so presumptuous as to covet the throne, but he would protect it with his last dying breath.

William Wallace was nothing like the man she’d studied when attending NYU. Oh no, he was so much more.

Love swelled in her heart and she reached out her hands.
Where are you, William?

Her mind jettisoned to a walled-in city in flames. Shouting, men with torches galloped horses through cobbled streets, igniting thatched roofs as they pillaged. Women shrieked and ran from burning homes with bairns in arms.

“Spare the innocent,” William’s voice rose above the pandemonium.

Eva’s mind’s eye honed in on the source of his familiar bellow. His features drawn, he drove his horse hard, shouting orders as his men sacked the town.

Durham?

He circled his hand over his head. “Let this be a warning to all English who march against Scotland. We will not be beaten. We shall tolerate the tyranny of King Edward no longer.”

He rode on, slapping his reins against his steed’s neck. “Return King John to Scotland!”

The men echoed William’s demands with fervent cheers as he led them northward from the burning city.

“William,” Eva whispered.

Riding at breakneck speed, he looked all around him, even to the sky. “Where are ye?”

“Dirleton—but in my time, not yours.”

“Come to me in Rothbury—”

“Miss?”

Eva jolted when someone touched her shoulder. Her heart practically beat out of her chest as her eyes flew open. “Jesus Christ, you shouldn’t walk up behind someone and scare them like that.”

“With all due respect, I’ve been trying to gain your attention for a while now.” The man from the gift shop pointed his thumb toward the main gate. “We’re closing.”

Eva’s heart raced. “Now? Can’t you wait a while longer?”

“Actually, it’s well past time I locked up.” He gave her a concerned look. “You weren’t trying to hide or anything, were you?” He assessed her gown. “Are you homeless?”

Yes, I’m bloody well without a home at the moment
. She wanted to tell the man to leave her alone. She’d actually exchanged words with William. Surely she was closer to time traveling again. She just had to figure it out—like she was missing a key element to this whole thing.

“Are you ill?” the man asked.

Blinking, she regarded him. “I’m fine. I saw a bed and breakfast up the road. I’ll stay there for the night.”

“Do you need a lift?”

She’d left the Fiat in Walter’s parking garage beneath his flat and had taken a train and a bus. Damn, she’d been absolutely positive Dirleton would hold the answer to send her back to William. She felt it in her bones. All she needed was more bloody time.

“Miss?” Damn he was persistent.

“Yes, thank you. I took the bus here.” Eva stood, slinging her bag over her shoulder. At least she’d had the wherewithal to pack some things for overnight just in case.