In the Kingdom's Name (Guardian of Scotland Book 2) (17 page)

After breaking his fast, William lumbered outside. Donning his hauberk caused so much pain in his shoulder, he’d cast the heavy mail aside. Aye, he would need another day or so of healing and then he’d be right to wear his full kit.

Bloody Christmas, he hated to be injured. Pain? If he could avoid it, he would, but this life brought agony that mounted with every passing day. If he gave in to it, he may as well slit his own throat.

Sword in hand, he tried to hold the damned thing straight. Stars crossed his vision as the sensation of stabbing knives paralyzed his shoulder. The heavy weapon dropped to the ground.
Christ, I’m abed a few days and I cannot hold on to my sword?

Worse, neither shoulder worked now.

For the love of God, aging sapped a man.

Gritting his teeth, he closed his eyes and forced his mind to focus on one thing. Every twinge of pain had been caused by one power-hungry tyrant and William would never forget it. Either in this lifetime or in death he would face Edward Longshanks face-to-face, man-to-man, and that thought always infused him with strength. For nine years, the quest to liberate the Kingdom of Scotland had driven his every action. Hatred took his pain and honed it—drove it toward an unquenchable purpose. Come Judgement Day, they would both stand naked before their maker.

He raised his sword with a steady hand and lunged. His blessed arm shook. Sharp jabs tortured him. Tremors wracked through the wounded limb. Steadying his weapon with both hands, he fought against his urge to quit.

With a bellow, he raised the sword above his head, turned to the side and swung it down, then level with the ground. Recoiling, the sword flew from his grasp. His mouth contorted at the sensation of razors slicing open his sinews, so agonizing, his gut seized.

Dropping to his knees, William’s spine curled and he balled his fists. “God in heaven, help me or take me to my judgement this day.”

“No warrior suffers an injury like yours and immediately resumes fighting.” Eva stepped from the shadows of the cave. “You know that as well as I. Andrew Murray never did recover from the arrow wound to his shoulder.”

William straightened and regarded her. “If I canna fight, I am worthless to the cause.”

“Hardly.” She had the gall to snort. The last thing he needed was Eva’s sharp tongue. “You have one of the greatest military minds in history. Surely your value falls not in your physical strength, but in your ability to lead.”

He hadn’t expected her to be complimentary—coax his arse back to bed, mayhap, but tell him he had a great military mind? If only he could believe it. His shoulders slumped. “Aye? My army has been reduced to a score of men.”

“But the commoners still remember you. Your name is still on their lips. Perhaps it is no longer shouted, but they
want
to follow you.”

William lumbered to his feet. “The only problem? Every time I show my face, I’m relentlessly chased by Edward’s brigands.” He raked his fingers through his hair. “Everyone who follows me puts their verra lives in peril.”

“Do you fear being caught?”

“Nay.”

She stepped toward him. “Then what is it you fear?”

A flame flared from his gut up through his throat. “I fear nothing, damn ye.”

“I don’t believe that for a minute.” She bent down and retrieved his sword.

“Ye seem to ken everything since ye’ve returned. If ye are so sure of yourself, then tell me: What is it I fear?”

“Failure,” she said without hesitation, handing him the hilt. “And your own weaknesses.”

He snatched it from her, the shooting jabs causing an unwelcome grimace. “Failure is not an option.”

“What about failure for the common good?”

“Now what are ye on about? Jesu, Eva, a man needs a cypher map to unravel your prattle.”

Rubbing her outer arms, she glanced back to the cave. “Forgive me. I spoke out of turn.” She dipped into a quick curtsey. “I interrupted your misery. Carry on.”

He watched while the hem of her cloak swung with her turn. Ballocks, she could raise his ire like no one else. Aye, the nobles had tested him, but they were men. He could reconcile any differences with a good sparring match. But Eva? She toyed with his mind—his thoughts. She twisted everything he believed to be true, chewed it up and spat it on the ground. Lord, she should have been knighted—should have been the damned Guardian.

Interrupted my misery? Cheeky wench, I’ll not allow such a barbed-tongued remark to pass
.

Sheathing his sword, he marched after her. “I’ll have ye ken I’ve failed plenty, and every time, I’ve faced it like a man.”

Her foot slipped on the damp, uneven surface. “Yes, you have.”

“Then why the blazes did ye say I fear failure?”

She stopped and whipped around—those spiteful fists jamming into her hips. “Because you have closed your heart—you no longer have allies. How do you expect to win with a score of men? Huh? I tried to give you a tidbit of information, but you are so bull-headed, you’ll just bumble on without paying me a bit of mind.”

He chopped his hand through the air. “Did I say I wouldna listen? So ye want me to seek out the Bruce even though I dunna trust the man? Is that it?”

“Who
do
you trust, William? Anyone outside of your inner circle?”

She hastened toward him.

“Careful!” He pointed at a rock.

Before she could stop, her toe caught.

William opened his arms.

Squealing, all five foot eleven inches of her fell into his body. Breasts molded to his chest as if she’d been made to fit his form and his alone. His arms closed around her as Eva’s breath skimmed his cheek. A fragrance sweeter than a field of wildflowers consumed his mind. God’s bones, he’d missed her. Missed holding her in his arms every night—listening to the sound of her voice—sitting beside her in front of the hearth while a storm brewed outside.

But those days of glory were but a passing dream.

And now he felt like a wet-eared lad. They’d been so distant, so awkward, since she’d returned.

Nonetheless, he chanced dipping his head to inhale the heavenly scent of her hair. Only Eva smelled sweeter than a vat of simmering honeyed mead.

“God, I’ve missed ye,” he heard himself say. Fear of failure? Mayhap when it came to
her
. He’d endure a mangled shoulder any day if he never had to suffer losing Eva again.

Her inhale spluttered as she looked up into his eyes, moving her hand to his whiskered cheek. “I—”

Dipping his head, he kissed her. Aye, finally kissed her, like he’d been aching to do for three days.

And God bless it, she kissed him back.

Lord, his mind filled with everything Eva. The soft length of her body flush against his, the scents, the wisps of hair tickling his face, the warmth of her skin. The little sucks of her tongue, plying his just the way he liked it.

Aye, he’d missed her. Needed her every night, needed to be inside her and let her take him to a place of release where every man became a king. Plunging into her mouth, he never wanted to let go. He could lean against the cave walls and kiss her for the rest of eternity, rub his hardness into her body, listen to her sweet sighs of desire.

God had given him a gift when he opened his eyes to see her smile and the lovely glimmer of fathomless green pools. Her gaze reminded him of the rolling hills of his beloved Scotland. With Eva, he was home. With her in his arms, he could achieve anything—fear nothing. If only...

Taking a shaking breath, she pulled away, her eyes shifting. “I can’t.”

“What?” No, no, William wasn’t ready to release her.

When she again met his gaze, he read fear in her eyes. Something wasn’t right.

She bit the side of her lip. “I—”

“Is there another man?” Gulping, he forced himself to hold her at arm’s length. He’d been so wrapped up in his own problems he hadn’t asked her how she’d fared all this time. Hell, she could have married—could have had bairns. His gut squeezed.

But she shook her head. “I’ve never re-married.”

Aye, she’d been wed before they’d first met—she’d been a widow.

She slipped a hand over her mouth and inclined her head toward the cave. “I’d best see to the evening meal.”

William nodded dumbly. She
was
afraid. And it didn’t take him but a moment to realize why.

***

Eva trembled as she made her way back to the fire pit. God, she’d kissed him. Oh, man, how she’d kissed him. And it had felt so damned good—too good. Heaven help her, she was in trouble. She must never fall into that man again. Yes, he could make her knees turn to wobbly jelly with his blue-eyed stare. His musky scent confused her. She was too weak to resist him when their bodies touched—when he wrapped his powerful arms around her, inclined his lips toward hers with a faint hint of spice on his breath.

No, no, no
.

This—
they—
were not going to happen again.

Thank God she’d put on the brakes.

Her lips still tingled from being pressed against his seductive mouth. In a blink, all the memories, the passion, came flooding back. What kind of masochist was she? Why hadn’t she dated? Married? Had children? Jeez, she was thirty-five already.

Heaven help her, his rock-hard body made her want him—want to hike up her skirts and let him take her right there against the cave’s wall. What kind of whore was she? She’d had her IUD removed five years ago. She hadn’t slept with a man since William—hadn’t wanted to—hadn’t met anyone who stirred her blood like he’d just done with one kiss.

But boy, could he kiss. Delectable swirls of his tongue instantly harmonized with hers as if eight years had never passed. His big hands sliding down her back. The blast of heat from the length of his body pressing against hers. The hard column of flesh teasing her—
God
—just a tiny bit north of where she needed him.

No!

Stepping beside the fire, she clutched her fists beneath her chin and closed her eyes.
Please take me away from here! God, what do you want from me? You know how difficult it is for me to resist him.

She wandered over to the pallet she’d fashioned to sleep upon since William occupied the alcove. She needed a bath and her computer and a good steak dinner with a baked potato slathered in butter, and broccoli and a salad and a piece of double chocolate cake for dessert. Three days of leathery venison and bland oatcakes was enough to make any modern girl long for home—or lose her mind kissing a condemned seven hundred-year-old Scotsman.

She plopped down on the musty furs. Everything was musty, just as it had been before William had started taking back Scotland’s castles. The food had been bland then as well, yet she didn’t seem to mind as much. Last time she’d been too excited about the opportunity for a story and mind-blowing adventure.

So, the medallion was in no hurry to send her home? There must be a reason. Perhaps this new quest would yield another book. She hit her head with the heel of her hand. Cripes, Eva had so many speaking engagements to attend before the film debut in late August. Then a gasp caught in her throat. She couldn’t miss the red carpet—not for the world.

Reaching into her purse, she pulled out her phone—her calendar was synched with her laptop. Damn, the battery was dead. But then? She grabbed the leather satchel that had been with her things. Whew—her solar charger was still there. She’d upgraded her phone, but…she gave the connector a shove. Cooler yet, the micro fittings hadn’t changed. She might be able to snap a photo or two.

She chuckled.

Maybe I’ll get caught and the medallion will take me out of here.

“What have ye got there?” William asked from behind.

With a spike of her heartbeat, she shoved the phone into her satchel, then smirked and pulled it out again. “I found my solar charger.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Remember my telephone?”

“Och, the shiny black box.” He folded his arms, not coming too close. “Dunna tell me ye still have it.”

She held up the phone. “A newer model. Takes even better pictures.”

“That’s all we need.” He sat on the rock across from her. “Just keep it hidden when the lads are about.”

“Okay.” She frowned. If only the thing were charged now, she’d snap a photo of him. Walter would love it—so would her publisher—though no one aside from Walter really believed she’d traveled through time.

William took the armor piercing sword from amongst her things. “I never did teach ye how to use this.”

She smiled—the memory of his face when he’d given it to her was priceless. “It’s a whole lot lighter than your two-handed sword.”

“Aye, but with a great sword a man doesna have to move too close to his opponent to lop off his head.”

She grimaced. “How charming.”

His shoulder ticked up. “’Tis the way of war.” He twirled her pointy blade in his hand, then set it down. “I’ll give ye a lesson on the morrow. It’ll keep me from going mad whilst the lads are off on their raid.”