Rise of a Legend (Guardian of Scotland Book 1) (11 page)

He eyed her dubiously, then shifted his wide-eyed gaze to the phone as if afraid it might scorch his eyeballs. “Why, that’s just a pile of rubble. It looks nothing like the monastery.” He leaned closer. “And there’s no forest surrounding.”

“Most of Scotland’s forests were cleared in later centuries.” She pointed to the rose window. “Though not much remains, do you recognize the window? It is the same.”

He crossed his arms. “I am not convinced. Most abbeys and monasteries have round windows.”

She brushed her finger over the screen and displayed another picture she’d taken the first day of the dig. “This is Loudoun Hill.”

He sucked in a sharp inhale. “’Tis sorcery.”

“No, the deforestation, and the erosion happens over time, but the rock still looks the same.” She swiped over to the picture she’d taken of the Wallace monument. “This was erected in your honor.”

He looked closer. “Is there an inscription?”

She pulled the phone away. “Yes, but it is not meant for your eyes.” She shook her aching head. “Remember, I cannot do or say anything to affect your future.”

He growled. “It seems ye’re willing to tempt me, but when I dig deeper, ye canna say. ’Tis the forked tongue of a soothsayer.”

“Do you honestly think so? You are enterprising enough to realize that’s not it at all.” Eva held out the phone and inclined her head toward him. “Smile.”

She snapped a picture before he had a chance to say a word.

William clapped his hands over his eyes. “Are ye trying to blind me now?”

“It’s just the flash. Blink a few times and your vision will clear.” She held up the still, praying he wouldn’t freak out. “See? I’ve just taken of photo of us—in my time it’s called a selfie.”

He said not a word, but his eyebrows formed straight lines while he looked closer.

“You’re a handsome man.” But Eva cringed as her gaze slid to her mangled face. “Oh my God, I have a black eye. Why didn’t you tell me?”

William gaped as if he hadn’t heard her. “’Tis witchcraft for certain.” He seemed none too concerned about the condition of her face.

She groaned. “You’re not understanding me.”

He grabbed the phone and held it two inches from his nose. “What other images have ye on this thing?”

She snatched it back. “Can I see your stamp—the one you use to seal documents?”

He eyed her. “Why?”

“Because I need to see it first.”

“I suppose there’s no harm in it. But ye best have sound reasoning behind your request.” With a distrustful scowl, he untied a worn leather pouch from his belt and slipped his hand inside.

When he held it up, Eva’s heart skipped about five beats. Clear as her nose, it was a brand new version, exactly the same with a backward inscription of
Filius Alani Walais.
She selected the picture Walter had taken of her with the seal. “I unearthed this at Winny Wizzen four days ago.”

William sprang to his feet hovering in a crouch with his back inches from the low ceiling. “That is preposterous!” he bellowed, his eyes so wide they nearly burst from his skull.

Unwilling to lose the battle now she braced her hands beside her. “You are a smart man—a man with vision and purpose. Above all people in this century, I would expect you to be able to understand all I have shown you.”

He thrust out his palm and held it in front of her face. “Ye will stop this immediately. Ye’re an apparition of my imagination.” He shook his finger at her phone. “And that sorcery must be destroyed afore it consumes the minds of good men. God willing, I have not been soiled by your display of witchcraft.”

Shit!
She’d pushed him too far—shown him too much.
I am so stupid
.

“William,” someone called from behind the furs hanging in the alcove entrance.

Still crouching, Wallace lumbered over and pulled them aside. “What is it?”

John Blair held up a folded piece of parchment. “A missive from the High Steward of Scotland. He’s requested a meeting at his keep in Renfrew.”

He glanced back at Eva, then to Blair. “How do ye ken ’tis not a trap?”

“His messenger said to travel at night. Said all of Scotland is talking about Lanark, and the English are plundering every standing hovel looking for an outlaw the size of Goliath—say he’s seven feet tall and wields an enormous sword the length of a poleax.”

“The gossipers are always blowing tales out of proportion,” Wallace groused. “At six-foot-eight, I’ll disappoint them for certain.”

“Bloody hell, most people canna see that high, let alone worry about a hand.”

William took the missive. “Go ready the horses. I’ll be with ye shortly.”

After glancing at the writing, he turned to Eva and crossed his arms. “Tell me what James the Steward wants with the likes of me. Is it a trap?”

“No.” A flicker of hope made her grin. “Bishop Wishart might be there with him. They will pledge their support and offer you troops. They could mention Sir Andrew Murray to the north and Sir Douglas to the south.” She clapped a hand over her mouth, terrified she could reveal too much. “That’s all I can say.”

“Bishop Wishart is the man who approved my entry into Dunipace in Dundee. I studied under him as a lad.” He reached for his sword from where it rested against the wall and gave her a pointed stare. “If ye’re wrong, I’ll expect ye to be gone afore I return. Else I’ll have no recourse but to burn ye.”

Setting out with a small band of his closest men, William took Blair’s advice and traveled at night. Moving through darkness slowed the pace, but any man his size would be suspicious to English patrols, especially now with news of the slaying of Heselrig spreading like wildfire. Regardless, William knew this country better than any scout in the shire. He’d be able to pick his way to Renfrewshire blindfolded if forced.

And this eve in particular, he welcomed the quiet ride. Listening to Eva’s story had riled him more than he cared to admit. And regardless of what she’d said, the woman was a vixen. Even with the bruise expanding beneath her eye, her beauty intoxicated him. Nothing about the lass was natural. And the Almighty knew he could not entertain courting any woman, let alone a hellcat who possessed inexplicable things she claimed to be from the future. How could he ever believe her?

Seven hundred bloody years?
He guffawed.

Worse, things grew more precarious by the day. Last eve when he and his men had struck the English garrisons at Lanark, he’d crossed the line. Aye, he’d battled with the English and killed in the name of King Balliol before, but Heselrig was the first member of nobility who’d fallen under William’s blade. Willy may have been a wanted man for leading a score of resistance warriors, but now that Heselrig was dead, Wallace would be an outlaw with a price on his head. Showing his face in public would bear greater risks than ever before.

As he rode his mind kept drifting back to Eva. The further they rode from Leglen Wood, the more William recounted all the disturbing things the lass had shown him.
Is she truly from the twenty-first century? I cannot imagine someone wanting to travel back in time to be my chronicler. Of all the great men Eva could have sought, why would she choose me? I’ve no title, no lands to my name.

Nothing about the woman made sense. Yet the pictures she’d shown him were so visceral. It was as if he could reach into her small rectangular telephone and touch the miniature scene. And how unnerving to see his seal without the wooden handle, rusted and decayed like it actually had been in the ground for seven hundred years.

Though she’d blinded him taking a
picture
of them together, he couldn’t believe she’d captured their faces. Couldn’t bring himself to comprehend all she had shown him. Aye, her clothing and trinkets were not of this world—that she was a sorceress was the only logical explanation for certain.

Even her name was synonymous with the first woman—the very enchantress who’d tempted Adam in the Garden of Eden.

William shifted in his saddle unable to pinpoint exactly what made him so damned uncomfortable.

On one hand, nothing Eva had shown him was meant for evil.
Shampoo?
What harm was there in wanting one’s tresses to be clean and to smell nice? The
telephone
, however was a different matter. She’d said she used it to communicate with others from a distance.
Surely that defies God’s holy order? Are the people in the twenty-first century playing God?

Pushing a button and capturing their faces at a moment in time? He never would have imagined it possible if he hadn’t seen it with his own eyes.

But how does that compare to capturing a picture on a canvas or tapestry?

He didn’t care to examine her side. He’d built his life, his honor, his code of chivalry around the firmly set rules of Christendom. He’d be a man of the cloth at this very moment if Scotland hadn’t come under attack by the oppressor to the south. William believed in the word of God, freedom, and the right of every man to live at liberty without the yoke of tyranny.

He could not abide sorcery of any kind.
Never
.

Riding into the open lea, Wallace drove his mount harder. He had no time for a damned woman, no matter where she hailed from, and no matter how much he wanted her. No sorceress could sink her wiles into his heart. He’d sworn his duty to Scotland and to rid the kingdom of English rule. He’d pledged his life to the cause and would die with a sword in his hand.

If Eva was still at the cave when he returned, he would send her away. Nothing would change his mind this time.

***

They camped in the wood beside the High Steward’s keep in Renfrew, and after a few hours’ sleep, William roused the men at dawn. Before breaking their fast, he pounded on James Stewart’s thick wooden gates.

A guard opened the viewing panel and his eyes popped wide. “I didna expect to see ye so soon.”

William looked toward Blair and shrugged. Fancy knocking on the gate of one of the most powerful men in Scotland and being recognized afore he opened his mouth. Something was afoot.

The gate opened. “I’ll notify Lord Stewart of your arrival immediately.” The guard gestured toward the keep. “Ye can wait in the great hall.”

“My thanks.” William glanced over his shoulder at Eddy Little. “Do ye think ye might find a bowl of porridge for my men? We rode all night and haven’t had a morsel.”

“I’ll tell Cook straight away. Not to worry, there’s food aplenty, especially for ye and your men.”

William led his band into the great hall with a swagger.

“It appears our raid in Lanark tipped the scales in your favor,” Blair whispered.

“I pray the lord of the castle greets us with the same sentiments. Meanwhile, fill your bellies while there’s food aplenty.”

Stepping inside, William couldn’t remember seeing such opulence outside of an abbey or cathedral. He’d not much occasion to visit a castle that hadn’t been plundered by the English. Rich tapestries lined the walls, woven with silk so brilliant, the scene could have been outdoors—not unlike Eva’s pictures. Sturdy tables lined the hall, spotted with groups of guardsmen breaking their fasts. At the far end, a raised dais displayed a table with ornately carved legs and velvet padded chairs to match.

The Steward has the means to assist us
.

After they’d found a table and helped themselves to the abundant fare, William spooned his last bite of porridge when the same guard who’d met him at the gate approached. “Lord Stewart will see ye now.”

Blair and Little stood with William.

The guard held up his hand. “My lord asked to see only Wallace.”

Blair wrapped his fingers around his hilt—a greater warrior of God did not exist in William’s mind. But he patted the priest’s arm. “We are among friends.”

“Ye’re too bloody trusting.”

“And I’d expect a man of the cloth to be more so.” William nodded to the guard. “Lead on.”

As usual, Wallace had to stoop to climb the tower stairs. He never cared to be in a stairwell. They were too narrow and didn’t leave enough options for escape. If he ever had the opportunity to build a keep, he would ask the mason to make the stairwells as wide as the structure would allow, and most definitely wider than his shoulders so he didn’t have to ascend sideways.

They exited on the first landing, ventured down a passageway until the guard stopped and opened a sturdy door, fashionably rounded at the top. “My Lord Stewart and Bishop Wishart, allow me to present William Wallace.”

The back of William’s neck tingled.
Eva said Wishart might be here.

He ducked under the lintel and entered. God’s bones, if he’d considered the great hall to be opulent, this chamber was befitting of royalty. The hearth alone was crafted of white marble. Rich greens adorned the tapestries displaying hunting scenes. The oaken table had been polished to such sheen, it could have been used as a mirror.

An older man stood, dressed in a red doublet with a blue mantle closed at his throat by a large brooch fashioned with the Stewart coat of arms. “Thank you for coming, Mr. Wallace.”

William bowed deeply. “The honor is mine, m’lord.” Still bent, he looked to the bishop. “Your Worship.”

“’Tis good to see ye again, William.” The bishop remained seated. “It warms my heart to hear ye’ve taken up the mantle for Scotland.”

“Please sit.” Lord Stewart gestured toward a chair, so ornate it appeared far too fragile for sitting.

William tested the velvet seat for soundness before he sat. Already uncomfortable amid such wealth, he preferred not to further embarrass himself by breaking the chair with his immense size and end up sprawled across the floorboards.

Lord Stewart slid into his chair at the head of the table. “I see by your girth, ye are as great a man as the rumors tell it.”

A servant appeared from a side room and placed silver goblets of wine in front of each.

“Pardon, m’lord?” William leaned over his goblet and inhaled the fruity bouquet, examining the craftsmanship of the stems, fashioned in the shape of lion’s claws.

“Do ye not ken?” The High Steward slapped his palm on the table. “Since ye and your men rained havoc on Lanark but two days past, all of Scotland is agog with your action against that barbarous sheriff.”

Wallace pulled his gaze away from the goblet. “Truly?”

“Aye, reports claim ye leapt your horse over a line of guardsmen, and plunged into the gaol, dispatching anyone who stood in your path.”

“Nothing to put fear in the hearts of a line of pikemen like jumping a warhorse over their ranks.” William grinned. “Besides, I had a bit of help. I’ve a score and ten men who ride with me.”

Lord Stewart waved a dismissive hand. “Merely a score and ten? That might suffice for a quick raid, but ye need an army behind all that brawn.”

William leaned forward. “What are ye saying?”

Bishop Wishart held up his goblet. “I was just apprising Lord Stewart of your tutelage in Dundee.” He sipped and looked to the High Steward. “I’ve never seen a prospect more naturally skilled with a great sword. Though ’tis a shame his exemplary skills are not being put to use with the Templars in Jerusalem. William would have been my choice to put the fear of God in the hearts of the infidel.”

“But we need him in Scotland.” Lord Stewart assessed Wallace like he was a prize bull on the auction block.

“The bishop kens I left the order to drive the invader from our lands.” William drank and savored the smooth taste sliding over his tongue.

“And have ye a title of any sort?” Lord Stewart asked. “A knighthood, perchance?”

“I am a man of the land.” William unclasped his belt and held up his great sword and scabbard. “This is the only title I need. Not a man can best me.”

His Worship gestured his palm toward Wallace. “His uncle on his mother’s side is the Sheriff of Ayr. His grandfather was a knight as well. Wallace may not be nobly born, but he was raised a gentleman.”

William didn’t care to have the bishop speak in his stead. “If ye are looking for a nobleman, ye’d best set your sights elsewhere.”

“Hmm.” Lord Stewart circled his pointer finger around his gold brooch. “And your men, are ye their leader, or…”

“The men follow me because they choose to do so. We have but one goal, and that is to rid Scotland of Longshanks to restore the true king to the throne.”

“I see.” Lord Stewart cleared his throat.

Wishart rolled his hand through the air. “Go on James. This is what we agreed.”

“Very well. As ye are aware, I am the High Steward of Scotland, and as such, my position is…” Lord Stewart brushed his velvet mantle as if cleaning it of lint. “
Political
. There are a great many eyes upon me and a great many nobles who have sided with King Edward.”

Never before had the opportunity to question a high ranking noble presented itself so fortuitously to William. Though he knew the answer, he wanted to hear it explained for himself. “I heard ye also signed the roll pledging fealty to Longshanks.”

Wishart removed his miter, as if to again speak in his lordship’s stead. “True. Many men applied their seals to the roll, but under duress.” The bishop placed the hat on the table. “How else were the nobles to retain their lands and keep their families safe from the wrath of the English army?”

The High Steward simply nodded in agreement.

William picked up his goblet and sipped. Then he looked from one man to the other. “I’m not faulting ye for protecting your lands and riches, but I have no tolerance for any man who sits idle while King John remains imprisoned in the Tower of London and his gaoler moves English tyrants in place to seize our castles, to plunder our towns and churches. Men like Heselrig have gone too far. Worse, we’ve stood idle and watched Cressingham flay our countrymen. My own father was murdered at Lochmaben. Have ye witnessed the tyranny for yourself? Women are raped, their throats cut, left dead with their skirts up around their hips. Children are hanged alongside their fathers.” William again looked from Wishart to Stewart and swallowed back the churning bile in his stomach. “The nobles must unite their armies and make a stand.”

“Your concerns have been duly noted,” Lord Stewart said. “But as I mentioned, this is a war that must be fought by the heart and soul of our nation. To be blunt, Edward Plantagenet has the Scottish nobility by the cods.” He pointed at William. “Ye own no lands, have pledged fealty to no one as far as I can tell.”

William nodded. “The true king of Scotland is the only man to whom I will pledge my sword.”