In the Kingdom's Name (Guardian of Scotland Book 2) (16 page)

Eva glanced down and bit her bottom lip.

“What in the devil’s name were ye wearing when ye arrived? Ye looked like a harlot—though none I’ve ever seen.” He sauntered forward, narrowing his eyes. “And what were all those things in the box ye pulled from your satchel? Dunna lie to me.”

Jeez, he sounded too much like William. He’d not only grown up, he’d grown hard, just like any medieval warrior would. And Eva had no illusions. She must choose her words carefully, regardless if this was the lad she’d known years ago, he was a man now—a man who might sooner run a dagger across her throat than await her answer. “Don’t worry about that. I cannot lie to you.”

He wrapped his fingers around the hilt of his dirk. “Ye’d best not.”

“I couldn’t lie to William either, and then he still didn’t believe me for months.”

White lines formed around Robbie’s lips as he nodded.

Taking in a deep inhale, she pulled the medallion from under her shift. “I come from the future. My clothing, my medicine—everything I had when I arrived came from the twenty-first century.”

“I thought ye said ye wouldna lie.” After throwing up his hands, he grabbed the buckets. “Ye’re a witch. Blair always thought ye were a witch and now I ken it.”

“I am not.” She stamped her foot. “Bloody hell, I didn’t ask to be sent here—not after eight years of putting the pieces of my life back together.”

He continued to the river. “Then why are ye here? To build up Willy’s hopes and then smite them again?”

She looked away—what about
her
hopes? What about all the time she’d pined for
him
? “I have no idea—except…” Why in God’s name would the medallion send her there now? Would William have survived his wounds without the antibiotics she’d forced down his throat? Overwhelmed with a flood of possibilities, she shrugged.

“Except what?” he demanded. “I want to ken what ye were about to say.”

She folded her arms, clutching them tight to her body. So much for swaying the lad to her side. “Perhaps he needed me?”
I most assuredly didn’t need him—or this
.

Bending down, he scooped the first bucket, filling it with water. “Well, I think it would be best if ye returned from whence ye came. Blair and I both do. Willy has enough woes without having his heart carved out by a barbed-tongued lass.”

So that’s why Robbie was so hostile? He’d been talking to Blair. Well, this time he was right. The sooner Eva returned home the better. “I wish it were that easy.” Maybe she could deliberately do something to change the past. That should see her hurled home without so much as a blink.

He filled the next bucket. “Can I help ye?”

“I don’t know.” She shivered, suddenly noticing the cold. “Perhaps after William recovers?”

He gave her a heated glare, then started back, water sloshing out of the buckets.

“Robbie,” she called. Her idea just might work.

He stopped but didn’t turn. “Aye?”

“I must urge you to seek out the Earl of Carrick.”

“The Bruce?” He looked back and glared at her. “Now I ken your mind is addled.”

“One day he will become your greatest hope.” Damn. The medallion didn’t do a thing—just sat there like a cold lump of bronze.

When she looked up, Robbie had disappeared into the brush.

Damn. Damn, damn, damn.

William sat across the fire from Eva and watched her turn the oatcakes on the iron griddle. He didn’t like that the men had left without him. Bloody Blair had to go off and prove his point—make him feel like a worthless old relic. They’d argued, then the priest knocked William on his arse. With that, the men had left him behind whilst they headed for a raid.

He hated weakness. All his life he’d fought for the weak, the oppressed. He’d be damned if he would become one of them.

But, Jesu, his legs wobbled.

She glanced up. “Whatever happened to Paden and Adam Wishart?”

“Went back to serve their da after his release from Roxburgh gaol.”

“Ah.” She got a faraway look in her eye. “How is the bishop?”

“Forced to pledge fealty to Longshanks.” William pursed his lips and glanced aside. “He’s dead to me.”

“But he—”

Bile roiled in William’s gut. “What? Is a traitor?”

Eva shook her head and pressed the spatula atop the cake, making it flatter. “Never mind.” She said it like she disagreed.

Bloody oath, the woman hasna been in the midst of this hell in years. Wishart is a lost cause, just like the others
.

“I’ll start training on the morrow,” he said more to himself than to her. God’s bones, it was awkward to see her again. She made him feel like an inexperienced pup—and he was nothing the like—he was bloody five and thirty and felt like sixty.

Why hasna she aged?

Aye, he couldn’t deny his fingers itched to touch her, to pull her into his arms and feel those breasts mold into his chest. But it had been too long. Too many battles and too many years—centuries separated them. And Lord knew his heart couldn’t withstand losing her again. It was best if he didn’t allow himself leave to succumb to her allure this time. Hell, he almost wished she hadn’t returned. But then he’d made a speedy recovery. The last time he’d endured such a grave injury, he’d been abed for a month—fevered with the sweat—delirious. Aye, he’d been close to death for certain.

William leaned back against the furs, resting on his good elbow. Why death continued to elude him, he had no idea. If Eva had not come, would he have survived?
I suppose I’ll never ken
.

She used the wooden spatula to remove the oatcake and placed it on a trencher beside a lump of cold mutton. Then she passed it to him. “I hope the men bring supplies when they return.”

“Aye.” He took the trencher and regarded her face. Could he still trust her? Had she turned like so many others? Days ago she’d talked about Robert Bruce. Why? What did she know? True, she had the gift of a seer.

William drummed his fingers. The man was nearly as large as he—a stout warrior for certain. But Willy didn’t trust him, couldn’t trust any nobles.

Bruce? The earl has a claim to the throne—mayhap weaker than Comyn’s, but nonetheless, a solid royal birthright
.

She picked at her food as if nervous. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

Shifting his gaze to his food, William tore at the meat with his teeth and shoved the bite to the side of his mouth. “I’m trying to figure why ye’re spewing babble about the Earl of Carrick.”

She nudged the meat with her eating knife and shrugged. “Perhaps I’m wrong.”

“Ye made me think.” He washed his bite down with a bit of ale. “If King John willna return, the two men with the greatest claim to the throne are Bruce and Comyn.” He shuddered at the thought. Comyn had become a staunch supporter of Edward. And Bruce? Well, the bastard was an enigma.

“Didn’t Bruce lead a raid on Edward at Rosslyn?” she asked with an intelligent arch to her perfectly formed ginger eyebrows. She knew something—was leading him toward some sort of insight. Everyone else would just blurt out what needed to be said—but Eva? She had a way of building her argument and then ramming it home once her sharp tongue had backed him into a corner.

But William could hold his own. Even with her. “Two years past. Since, Longshanks has teamed with the Earl of Ulster to quash the remaining rebels.” He held up his oatcake. “Ye ken Richard de Burgh is Bruce’s father-in-law?”

A delicate red eyebrow arched. “I know families have been torn apart by feuds for centuries.”

“Bruce was seen riding for Longshanks,” William drove his point. “I canna trust him.”

Her mouth twisted as if trying to piece together fragments of a puzzle. “Why do you think he took up the English side? Was Ulster there? Was that before or after he led the rising in Rosslyn?”

“Och, ye twist things about. Bruce is a traitor. Why would ye think he’s any different from the rest of the gentry? They’re all a mob of backstabbers—not a one proved his loyalty to King John or to Scotland. They signed the Ragman Roll, then sold out to Longshanks at Falkirk, and they’ll do it again. Mark me.”

She moved her fists to her hips and eyed him. “If you’re so sure the war is over—that England has won and there is no hope for Scotland’s nobles, why are you hiding in a cave? Why do you not sail for the Holy Land and go on a pilgrimage?”

He snorted. Now he remembered how maddening Eva could be—especially when she affected the self-righteous, fisted-hip pose. “Ye make it sound easy,” he grumbled. “I’ll never give up the cause. My countrymen are still suffering the yoke of tyranny. English armies are still leading raids into our villages, frightening everyone into submission—they’re still raping women and hanging men. And I’ll tell ye now. I. Will.
Never.
Submit.”

A tic twitched in her jaw as she shifted her gaze away. He sensed she didn’t care for his answer—would have been happier if they’d planned to board a galley for Jerusalem on the morrow.

“So, what are your plans?” she asked.

He’d hoped to gain the support of the clergy, but even Bishop Lamberton, who William had appointed to the Bishopric of St. Andrews had turned his back. “I’m still devising a plan.” Now a tic twitched in his jaw. Bloody hell, Eva had been gone for too long. She didn’t understand a damned thing—she had no idea what it was like to watch a thousand men be butchered while carefully laid plans were foiled by backstabbing earls and barons.

She crossed her arms—Lord, she wasn’t about to let it lie. “Was Bruce at the battle of Falkirk?”

“Wheesht, woman. He may not have been there, but I swear on my da’s grave he’s a snake.”

“Do you think he may have stayed away on purpose?”

William stabbed his meat. “I’m certain of it.”

“My guess is he stayed away because he couldn’t usurp Ulster, Longshanks…and Comyn all at the same time—he’d face anarchy.” Eva shook her head. “Lord Bruce and the Earl of Badenoch are no allies.”

Losing his appetite, William threw his eating knife atop his trencher. “Ye see? They’ve all colluded to make themselves richer—at the expense of the common man.”

“It is all so very tragic.” Her shoulders fell with her sigh. “But I ask you to think about Robert Bruce. What are his motives? What would happen if you showed him fealty?”

Jesu, will she not give up on this mindless quest?
“Have ye turned backstabber as well?” He gave her a pointed glare. “We’d best find something else to talk about afore your babble makes me lose my temper.”

A hellacious battle warred inside Eva’s head. What did she care if the medallion hurled her home? That’s what she wanted, God dammit. But she couldn’t allude to too much—couldn’t tell William he only had six more months until…until the unthinkable. The mere thought made her want to retch. She still cared for him—couldn’t put the poor man through that kind of hell. But there was something else she
could
tell him that might be as strong. Sure, he’d told her to back off. Eight years ago she would have—the medallion would have burnt a hole through her heart by now, too.

Who knew why it now sat cold atop her chest while she blabbed about Robert the Bruce.

She took a sip of ale and then looked at him. His color had returned—the spark in his eye—the handsome grin…er, scowl. Lord how she’d missed him. No man back home could hold a candle to William Wallace and she’d dated plenty. Well, a few. After walking away from her third dinner date, she decided widowhood wasn’t so bad. Work became her lover, her one driving passion.

Before she told him, she wanted to drink him in. There was no chance to rekindle the romance—no way on earth she’d allow herself to give her heart—be so stupid. She still couldn’t believe she was there alone with him. All the nights she’d gone to sleep begging the forces behind the medallion to send her back once more—give her the rest of that year she’d planned.

God, I was an idiot
.

He knit his brows as she stared at him. “Do I have a pustule on my face?”

“No.” She continued to stare. He may be a bit more time-weathered, but that only served to increase his allure. And his eyes. Lord, his eyes were the same crystal blues that could pierce through her soul.

Tilting his chin up, he folded his arms. “Then why are ye looking at me like that?”

“I want to remember.”

His gaze softened. “I’ve never forgotten.”

“Nor have I.”

His eyes grew dark.

“We can’t.” She tapped her top lip with her tongue.

“I ken.” His mouth twitched. “Thank ye for setting me to rights with that newfangled tincture of yours.”

“Any time.”
Right—dumb response
. She would have tended him every time he’d been injured if the damned medallion would have allowed it. And now he was well on the road to recovery, she really should be going. “What would you say if—” She covered the medallion with her palm. Odd, it still hadn’t warmed in the slightest.

“Aye?” William asked.

“What if I told you Robert Bruce would one day be crowned King of Scotland?” There. She’d said it—put the truth out there for him to ponder. And what the heck was she doing still sitting there? She yanked off the medallion and shook it.

“Burned ye, did it?”

“No.” She watched it twirl. “What I just said should have hurled me back home, dammit.”

His grin fell. “Ye mean to say ’tis true?”

“Did I ever lie to you?”

“Well…”

“I mean after I realized who you were.” Goodness, the man could hold on to a grudge forever. She’d fibbed about her identity when they’d first met, but at the time she’d thought he was a murdering nutcase.

His teeth scraped over his bottom lip as he slowly shook his head. “Nay, lass.” He reached for the ewer of ale and poured himself another tankard. “Bruce?” he growled. “The maggot.”

Eva slipped the medallion back over her head. Evidently, the lump of bronze had other plans for her this trip. “Yes.”

“How?” William leaned forward. “He defeats Edward?”

“In time he defeats his son, Edward the Second.”

“God on the cross, I never would have guessed.” Picking up his tankard, he smoothed his fingers back and forth around the base, his brow pinched as if deep in thought. “Scotland will again be at peace?”

“Eventually.” Eva didn’t want to talk about it anymore. Obviously mentioning Robert the Bruce was a dead end. Besides, William might ask questions she couldn’t bring herself to answer regardless of the medallion’s warning, or its ridiculous notion of going into hibernation just at the moment when it should be transporting her home.

How long will I be stuck here this time?