Rise of a Legend (Guardian of Scotland Book 1) (14 page)

Sitting up with sultry, half-cast eyes, her fingers fumbled to unbuckle his quilted doublet. William started to help, but she brushed his hands away. “I’ll do it.” God’s teeth, even her voice seduced him.

His desire heightened with her every movement. When the last buckle released, she shoved the doublet from his shoulders. Tugging his shirt up from under his belt, William helped her pull it over his head. His chest heaved while she stared at him—lips parted—taking in quick stuttered breaths.

Her trembling fingers traced a line down the center of his chest. When she passed his navel, gooseflesh sprang across his skin. Willy’s breath caught when she stopped at the belt holding up his chausses—Lord it was only an inch above the tip of his erection. He groaned and pinched his bum cheeks already feeling her hands upon him—Christ, not touching it nearly made him loose his seed.

She pulled the buckle.

In a moment of sanity, he placed his hand atop hers. “Now ye, lass.”

She stopped, her green eyes turning dark as midnight. Rolling to her knees, she allowed him to tug her shift over her head. Bare to him, her breasts formed the most perfect feminine flesh he’d ever seen. Och aye, he’d ached to touch them at the river—had been able to think of nothing else since he’d seen her naked, those delectable rosebuds demanding he taste them. Unable to resist, he cupped them with his hands. God Almighty, her skin was softer than silk—softer than anything his rough fingers had ever caressed. He plied her flesh, aching to taste the tips that had teased him so unashamedly. Slowly he bent his head and captured heaven. Lord, he didn’t think he could grow harder, but the tip of his manhood strained and pushed out the top of his braies.

Eva arched toward him with the moan of a hellcat. As if she could read his mind, she straddled his lap and let him explore her perfection. Her hips rocked against his aching member while he suckled her. God on the cross, it took an iron will to contain his raging desire.

Gradually, her fingers slipped down and released first the belt holding his chausses, bless her—she was not a vixen, but an angel. Then she loosed the rope holding his braies. Unrolling the linen, she exposed all of him. Heaven help him, her fingers touched him—tempting him beyond all imagination. She rose up on her knees and William glanced down.

She wore something pink—something like braies. He slid his fingers down and tugged them out from her body, revealing the perfectly shaped triangle of red curls. Licking his lips, he swallowed his urge to pull them down. “What is this?” The material snapped back in place.

“Panties.”

“Pan—t—ies?” He said, emphasizing the T.

“Um hmm, I wear them for comfort. But right now I want you to tear them off me.”

Oh Lord of lords, his ballocks squeezed with the stretching of his erection. How could she make him spill simply with words? All that separated them was the thin strip of cloth she called panties. William blinked. “I could get ye with child.”

“No.” She leaned forward, growling in his ear, rubbing up and down the length of him.

“Are ye barren?”

“No.” She captured his mouth and kissed. “I have an IUD—a device that prevents pregnancy.” Deepening her kiss, she swirled her hips faster as if she feared her words would give him pause.

But blessed be the saints, “no” was the only thing William needed to hear—at least for now. William tugged the thin strip of cloth. Eva lifted her hips and let him pull the panties free.

She wrapped her hands around him and kneaded, massaging her fingers like nothing he’d ever experienced. “God’s bones.” His voice quavered.

“I want you.”

William couldn’t talk. The seductress had spoken. He could think of nothing but his own deep-seated desire to claim her. Now. He grasped her shoulders to roll her onto her back, but Eva did something completely unexpected. Rising up, she slid over him—took him inside her right there straddling him.

Her molten, soft core milked him. William buried his face in her neck and moaned. She worked her hips up, down, side to side. Eva’s every movement took him soaring to new heights of pleasure. Her breathing sped. Her arms clung tighter around his shoulders. With no choice but to let her dictate the pace, William gave himself over to her wiles.

Och aye, no ordinary woman could fill him with such mind-consuming desire.

A gasp caught in Eva’s throat. She arched back, her breasts heaving. William could withstand no more. He clenched his teeth to keep from bellowing as together they rode the wave of passion.

Awaking in the dim light, Eva moved ever so slightly, spooning her body tightly into William’s chest.

Did last night really happen?

Her skin sizzled where he pressed against her. Deep inside, her breasts swelled again, just as they had when he’d finally placed his hands on her. If only there could be a future for them. But she couldn’t allow herself to think beyond the present.

She blinked and listened.
What time is it?

Sleeping inside the cave, Eva had difficulty discerning the time. Since she’d hidden her phone with her satchel, her internal clock totally twisted around. Normally, she preferred to sleep late. She didn’t know why she’d suddenly started waking early. Her candle had burned out, but a faint glow shone in through a crack in the fur curtain. The lack of voices beyond the shroud indicated that dawn hadn’t yet arrived. William’s inordinately warm body beside her was another clue. In the short time she’d known him, he’d been an early riser—and yet he slept.

Eva’s cheeks grew hot as she rose up on her elbow and studied him. She didn’t have to be a mind reader to know he hadn’t accepted her story. Regardless, she’d stand by the truth from here on out. She mightn’t be able to answer his every question, but she’d be honest about that, too.

Ever so peaceful rolling to his back, William’s lips were closed, though they pursed slightly with every exhale. Eva loved his profile. With an angular forehead, his nose slightly bent at the bridge, forming a straight line all the way down to the tip. His nostrils flared as he inhaled. Like most of the statuary and paintings of men she’d seen in this century, he wore his red beard cropped close, not long and bushy like some. He kept it neatly groomed around his mouth, and his masculine lips pursed slightly—as if always waiting for her to kiss him.

In my dreams. This can only be a fleeting liaison
.

Eva tried to picture what he’d look like shaved clean. That he had a strong chin beneath those wiry curls was certain and she imagined a dimpled cleft as well.

Mm. No thirteenth century man should be so sexy
.

The plaid covered his lower extremities, but his chest remained bare. In slumber, his muscles still looked sculpted like a Greek statue. The curls on his chest, thickest in the middle, were also red. During their frenzied moment of passion the night before, that he’d been red
down there
hadn’t gone unnoticed. Though the hair atop William’s head was chestnut brown, she loved the fact the rest of him was a ginger just like her.

Did I honestly sleep with him?

From the tingling throughout her entire body, Eva didn’t need to ask. It had been too long since she’d made love with a man. And the rugged Scotsman sleeping beside her could rock her world in ways she’d never dreamed.

She refused to allow her mind to make comparisons, however. Her heart welcomed this new experience as if starting life afresh. No one here knew her. She could be anyone she desired. She could lust after a seven hundred-year-old man if she chose—a least for a little while.

Compelled to make an entry in her journal, she continued to be religious about daily notes. Her leather-bound journal looked adequately dated. Eva opened it and recorded most of the previous day’s events, omitting the details of her blossoming affair. That was private—something she’d never include in an article for any major magazine.

Sucking in a deep, hissing breath, William opened his eyes.

Eva set the pen and journal aside and slid down onto her elbow. “Good morning.”

He swiped a hand over his face. “Good morrow,” he said in an authoritative tone.

“Oops. I beg your pardon.” She giggled. “Good morrow.” She’d been trying to use more medieval words and phrases. Every time she ended up separated from William, she could be in danger if she spoke like a twenty-first century Scot. She swirled her fingers through the hair on his chest. “Did you sleep well?”

“Better than I have in a long time.” He sat up and scrubbed his knuckles over his thick, shoulder-length hair. “I’ve a great deal to do this day.”

Eva gestured toward her journal. “And I need to get serious about writing your story.”

He knit his brows. “What in the blazes is that?”

She picked it up and turned to her most recent notes. “My
chronicler
—I use it to jot down notes.” She reached for her pen and underlined the date. “See, I’ve just started today’s entry.”

Frowning, he snatched it from her fingers and thumbed through the pages. “This is not how we keep records.” He held the book closer to his face. “How did ye make the ink so even? I see no light or dark, no splotches. Is this another example of your witchcraft?”

Eva’s face grew hot. “For crying out loud, no.”

He pointed to her notes. “I cannot read these scratchings.”

She rolled her eyes. The man could be like Jekyll and Hyde. “I thought—”

“What? Because ye beguiled me last eve, I would turn a blind eye to your sorcery?”

Her blood pressure skyrocketed so high, Eva’s ears thundered. Snatching the journal from his grasp, she glared at him. “I did no such thing, you heartless brute. You’re the one who came in here after I’d gone to bed.” She tossed the damned thing aside by her pen and grabbed her bra, clasping it and shoving her arms through.

“Ye harness your udders?” The man was insufferable.

“For your information, it’s a bra—short for brassiere, something that wasn’t invented until the twentieth century.” Eva groaned with sarcasm and yanked her shift over her head. “But then you’re so pigheaded, you wouldn’t believe that, either.”

William’s lips pursed though he didn’t say a word. He reached over, grabbed her pen, snapped it in two and threw the pieces against the wall. Then he opened a small wooden box and made an exaggerated gesture toward it. “If ye’re planning to scribe anything whilst ye remain in my company, ye’ll find vellum, ink and a quill right there. I meant it when I said I dunna want to see any of your newfangled bits of sorcery.” He lowered his voice. “Even if they are not of the devil, every other soldier in my army will see your trinkets as an omen for evil.” He snatched her wrist and squeezed. “Can ye not understand me, lass?”

Nodding, Eva yanked her arm away and rubbed her wrist. “I hid everything but my journal. I do not want to be responsible for jeopardizing your chances of success.” Though she figured she would have been hurtled back to the twenty-first century by now if she had.
And
, he’d not said anything about sending her away—even talked about remaining for a bit.
Yippee
. She tried not to grin.

“’Tis good to hear.” William pulled on his shirt. “Now tell me, how did ye ken Bishop Wishart would be with Lord Stewart, and that they’d offer their support?”

Eva’s mind raced. What should she say? She’d vowed not to lie to him again. On the other hand, he didn’t believe anything she uttered. If she told him she’d read countless articles and books about his life, he’d freak. Taking a deep breath, she met his soul-piercing gaze. “I know
some
things, major events, but not all.” There. She’d told the truth without mentioning anything from the future.

“Now I think I can believe that.” He grinned. Wow. He had the most captivating, broad grin with healthy white teeth. “Ye’re a seer.”

A cough caught in her throat as she threw up her palms. “What’s the bloody difference?”

His grin twisted into a smirk. “Ye dunna ken?”

She snorted. “Not in this century.”

“First of all, seers are valued by commoners as well as the gentry.” He shook his finger, nearly hitting her nose. “But most importantly, they are good-hearted. They do not worship the devil or cast hateful spells.”

Shifting her gaze to her shattered pen, she nodded. “Ah—if that’s what you want to call it, I suppose
seer
would make more sense, especially since I cannot incant a spell to save my life.”

“Why didna ye say so in the first place?”

Because I can see about as far as you
can
.

If William accepted her presence as a seer and wouldn’t cast her out of the camp, she’d resolve to play along. “Honestly, the thought hadn’t crossed my mind.” Still, his assumption didn’t sit well. Why couldn’t he trust in the truth? That would make things so much easier.

With a sigh, she reached in his box, pulled out a sheet of vellum, and the quill. She removed the cork from the small bottle of ink and dipped it in. At least
seer
was a step toward gaining his acceptance. “My first entry today will include this conversation. I do not wish for either of us to forget it.”

Using a script that she hoped would appear something like Auld Scots, she wrote:
William Wallace has decided I am a seer, though I am not convinced of it. However, we both agree I am not a witch.

She read it to him, panning her finger under the words to help him follow her modern penmanship.

His eyes met hers and held her gaze, connecting lightning to earth. His drew in a sharp inhale—one that made hot blood thrum beneath her skin. For a brief moment, the passion from last night returned full force. But William cleared his throat. “Agreed.”

“Let us make it official, then.” Eva dribbled a bit of ink onto the parchment. “Affix your seal.”

“In the ink, not wax?”

“Aye, it’ll make a mark. But hurry before the ink dries.”

***

Great sword in hand, William walked down the line of bedraggled men. A few showed up with swords, most rusty and looking like they hadn’t seen a smithy’s rasp in a score of years. “The first lesson is to care for your weapons.” He held up his well-oiled sword. “Does anyone see a speck of rust?”

“Nay,” all agreed.

“Too right. A man’s sword should be his most prized possession.” William swung a cross cut through a blade of grass. “Your sword and your dirk should be deadly sharp at all times. Any knife ye carry on your body has the potential to be used to kill an attacker.” He stopped and scanned each face in the line of men. “Who here would prefer the best odds for survival to be in his favor?”

The men held forth with exuberant ayes.

“On the morrow, every one of ye will have a well sharpened and oiled blade, else I’ll send ye back to your mas. And every day henceforth ye’ll allow nary a speck of rust to soil your weapons.” William pointed at a soldier. “Agreed?”

“Aye, m’lord.”

William stepped past the man, then batted the fool’s chin with a flick of his elbow. “I am no man’s lord. I am a murdered crofter’s son—studied for the priesthood, and drawn into this war upon the invasion of our land and wrongful imprisonment of King John.”

“Here, here!” the men bellowed, some pumping their swords in the air.

“In battle, your blades and your wits are the only things that will save your lives. Your sword and your pike will become an extension of your arm. Your feet will dance and your legs will be as solid as oaks. This day I will teach ye the foundation of a fighting man. Before any solider can wield a sword, he must first make his body strong.” He glared at the staring faces. “Cast aside your weapons.”

A bull of a man stepped forward, rusty blade held in challenge. “I can fight with the best of them.” He flexed an arm. “I dunna need a lesson in gaining strength.”

“Nay?” Wallace faced the braggart and beckoned him. “Ye’re bigger than most, I’ll give ye that, but still a good two hands shorter than me.”

The man shrugged. “But I’ve a greater girth.”

“Aye?” William assessed the man’s form. “Mayhap around the middle.”

“Ye’re a smug bastard. I’d like to see ye prove ye’re as good as they say.”

God knew William needed every able-bodied soul he could recruit—even a vainglorious codfish such as this measle. “Verra well. Come, let’s give it a go.” He crouched, readying himself for attack.

Bellowing, the man raised his weapon above his head and barreled in with a downward hack. Exerting little effort, William lifted his great sword and deflected the blow. With a grunt, he used the man’s momentum, slid aside, and continued to circle his hands downward in concert with the man’s blade. Then snapping up his arms, the beef-witted goat flipped head first and landed on his back.

His eyes stunned, the puffed-shirt clutched at his chest, gasping for air.

William faced the men, their mouths agape. “Let this be a lesson to ye all. Put it in your heads this verra day—there is always someone who can best ye. The only way to overpower a man with more size or skill is to outlast and outmaneuver him.” He slapped his hand to his chest. “That kind of doggedness takes stamina—air in your lungs and quickness of feet.”

The man on the ground sat up, his head dropped between his knees with a fit of coughing.

William offered his hand. “What are ye called, soldier?”

“Graham of Peebles.”

“Well then, Mr. Graham, I suggest ye step back into line and pay heed to the lesson.”

William started at the beginning, just as he and Blair had been trained by Brother MacRae, the old Templar monk in Dundee. The timeworn knight had driven William hard and now Wallace knew why. He’d been born to be a leader in a rebellion against a tyrant. He would drive these men harder and longer than he himself had been driven in Dundee and nary a soul would have cause to complain because William would work alongside them every step of the way.