Rise of a Legend (Guardian of Scotland Book 1) (21 page)

Thank goodness Robbie had selected an old sorrel gelding for Eva to ride. The horse even had grey peppering his muzzle. Yes, riding double with William had been fun, but they couldn’t do it for long. Though Wallace was a hearty warrior, Eva was five-foot-eleven with hips like a female to match. She imagined his thighs grew awfully sore by the end of the day.

Though her nag ambled along at a snail’s pace, the last thing Eva could handle was a spirited mount. Horses were so darned enormous and nowhere near as predictable as a car.

When the tower of a church came into view, a commotion rose with the clang of the bells and a blast from a ram’s horn. Eva turned to Robbie and Lachlan, still riding double. “Where are we?”

“Kilmarnock.” Robbie thumped his chest. “My family lands are here.”

She had to bite her tongue. It seemed like eons ago when she’d done some touring before joining the dig team. One of her stops was in Kilmarnock to visit Dean Castle, built on lands Robbie would be granted for his service to Robert the Bruce. In the near future, the lad’s holdings would grow exponentially, but she dared not speak of it.

Before they crossed the bridge over the River Irvine, townsfolk came running, flinging fern branches and petals onto the pathway. A chant of “Wallace, Wallace, Wallace!” rose over the throng. Eva’s heart soared.
How unbelievably fantastic to be a part of his rise to fame
.

A man ran in and grasped William’s bridle. “Ye’re a hero to us all.” His grin split his face wide. “We kent ye’d be riding this way. I’ve been watching out for ye all day.”

William glanced at Eva.

She waggled her brows. “They’re lining the streets to see you.”

He grinned—God, she always had a fit of butterflies when he smiled. “Then let us not disappoint.”

Waving and greeting everyone as they continued on, William led the retinue through the city gates and into the town square. He dismounted and handed a boy his reins. “Will ye mind my warhorse, lad?”

The young fellow beamed. “Aye. I’ll hold him throughout the eve if ye want me to.”

Head and shoulders above the crowd, William marched up the stairs of the stone platform while people reached out to touch him. At the top he turned, raising his hands to request silence. “’Tis good to see my countrymen filled with vitality and hope.”

A deafening roar rose. Still mounted, Eva looked at the faces with her mouth agape. The mob was as frenzied as a mosh pit at a rock concert and they all shouted “Wallace” at the top of their lungs. Goosebumps tickled her outer arms.

It took William ages to get them to quiet down enough for him to speak, but he showed no sign of upset. He grinned beneath his auburn beard, nodding at his adoring fans, holding his hands out as if welcoming every one of them. “We have only begun,” he finally shouted. “This will be a long road, but we will drive out the oppressor and fight for our freedom!”

As William thrust his fist into the air, the crowd again launched into a boisterous chant, but this time, Wallace quieted them easily by pushing his palms down to request silence. “The English have committed unconscionable crimes against our families—good men, women, and innocent children have perished for no sound reason. And I
refuse
—” He stopped and panned his gaze across the crowd of hopeful faces. “I
refuse
to stand aside and watch England strip away Scotland’s liberty.”

Another roar filled the square. Eva laughed. William commanded a natural presence with a crowd and they adored him.

He planted his fists on his hips, looking like a born leader. “We will be victorious. Scotland needs every man who can wield a sword, brandish a pike, or shoot arrows.” He eyed their faces as if he were intimately speaking to each soul. “And for those of ye who are not able to fight, we need food. Spread the word throughout the kingdom: Feed Scotland’s sons and starve the English. As a nation we must join together and stand against Longshanks and his tyranny. Without food they will be weak. Without food they will be unable to fight!”

The uplifting shouts grew deafening. Even Eva’s old nag stutter stepped, sending her heart flying to her throat. Relaxing her seat as she’d been taught, she smoothed her hand down the horse’s neck. “Easy boy.”

William pointed directly into the crowd. “Who among ye is Kilmarnock’s crier?”

A man stepped forward with his bonnet in hand. “I am, sir.”

“Go forth and spread the word. Scotland’s sons and daughters will no longer tolerate the yoke of tyranny. Not for another day!”

The frenzied crowd parted as Wallace descended the stairs.

Tears welled in Eva’s eyes.
Wow. They love him
. Undoubtedly, William could win the hearts of a gathering of multitudes.

“Long live the king!” William shouted and boldly strode to his horse. He gave the lad who’d been holding the reins a coin and hopped aboard in one fluid motion.

Eva watched in awe.
Lone Ranger, eat your heart out
.

The retinue marched north in a whirlwind of excitement, picking up countless recruits. Onward they headed to Paisley, where outside the abbey, William and his men were met with the same fervent support. By the time they reached Renfrew, their numbers had tripled.

Riding at a pace to match the foot soldiers, Eva stayed beside William with Robbie and Lachlan right behind. She glanced over her shoulder and chuckled at the sea of men. “I hope Lord Stewart will be able to feed them all.”

William gave her a pointed look from beneath his helm. “As do I.”

***

The ride to Renfrew sped past quickly, and once inside the city gates, William left Eva with the tailor and made his way to the keep where he requested an audience with Lord Stewart. The valet told him to wait in the hall, but William hadn’t a mind to pull up a bench and drum his fingers.

The valet regarded him over his shoulder. “I bid ye to sit and await his lordship’s summons.”

“Aye?” William asked. “A man could wither away whilst he waits. I’ll see him forthwith.”

“Oh no.” The valet shook his head, though he continued up the stairwell. “’Tis improper to barge into his lordship’s apartments demanding to see him.”

“I’ll take my chances.”

At the landing, the valet held up his palm and frowned. “Wait here.”

William stopped for a moment just to appease the beetle-eyed weasel. Then he watched the man open the same solar door William had entered sennights ago.

“M’lord, William Wallace has requested an audience.”

William strode forward and planted his palm against the door. “We’ve near enough to a thousand mouths to feed, though it could be closer to fifteen hundred. Men are flocking to the rebellion by hill and glen.”

“Sir!” the valet admonished.

Lord Stewart dropped his parchment on the table and stood. “That many?”

William pushed into the solar, grinning like a lad. “Och, aye.”

The valet wrung his hands. “I shall summon the guard at once for this impertinence.”

“Nay,” Lord Stewart dismissed the little man with a flick of his wrist. “Go to the kitchens and tell them to start cooking.”

William pulled out a chair and sat. “Ayr was a massacre.”

Lord Stewart also took his seat, a sharp arch of his brow the only indication that William’s brash behavior annoyed him. “From the report I received, Ayr was exactly what we needed on the heels of Lanark.”

“I agree, but Sir Douglas is raving mad. His tactics are as reprehensible as Longshanks’.”

“I don’t disagree there.”

“I dunna trust him. He undermined me and turned backstabber. He’s out for his own glory, that one.”

“What man isna?”

“Ye’re serious? I, for one, put the needs of Scotland above my own. I expect everyone under me to do the same.” William pounded his fist on the table. “Douglas is a cold-blooded killer. After watching him pillage in Ayr, I reckon the man is excited more by the opportunity to murder—and not only the English. He’d kill his own kin if he didna need their muscle behind him.”

Lord Stewart reached for a flagon and poured two tots of whisky. “As ye said, he has good men supporting him—cavalry.”

“Aye, but if the Douglas willna adhere to the plan, his men are worthless to me.” William picked up the cup and drank. “The people of Scotland are ready for battle. I saw it on their faces as we traveled from Kilmarnock to Renfrew today. I canna risk losing momentum because of a backstabber.”

“I’ve heard report of the same.” Lord Stewart narrowed his gaze. “If I agree to have a word with Sir Douglas, where will ye next strike? With Murray growing stronger in the north ye must take the south.”

William thumped his chest. “Then we should march on Stirling.”

“Not yet. With so many new recruits, ye couldn’t possibly be ready to take on Edward’s forces in Stirling—’tis the heartbeat of the English garrison. No, no. We can ill afford a misstep.” Lord Stewart stroked his fingers down his long, pointed beard. “I’ve received word of excessive brutality inflicted by Sir Ormsby at Moot Castle in Scone. His atrocities mirror those of Heselrig. Ridding Scotland of yet another of Edward’s high-ranking executioners will further promote the cause of the Patriotic Party.”

Narrowing his eyes, William leaned back in his chair. “Patriotic Party?”

Lord Stewart waved a dismissive had through the air. “A term Bishop Wishart and I agreed to with a few other like-minded nobles.”

“Well, I suppose ’tis good to hear. If ye could unite the nobles, ye’d make my job all the more painless.” Though William saw this as good news, his hackles stood on end. He swiped his hand across the back of his neck, brushing away the warning.

“Right ye are.” Lord Stewart raised his cup. “To Scone?”

“Agreed.” William drained the rest of his tot and set the cup on the table. “We’ll remain here for a fortnight. That’ll give Blair a chance to train the new men.”

“Here?” Lord Stewart’s eyes bugged out—not a becoming expression for the man.

Pushing back the chair, William rose. “Aye, and as ye’re lord and master, I’ll expect ye to feed us.”

His lordship’s noble chin ticked up. “Ye are quite sure of yourself for a commoner.”

“Possibly. But unlike others, I’ll not rest until His Grace, John Balliol, is returned to the throne. Only then will I settle and farm the land as my father did. Then I’ll be more than content to sit back whilst the Scottish aristocracy quibbles about their borders. Until that day, I’ll continue to lead this rebellion, unless a man who can best me with a sword earns the right to take my place.”

***

When William left Eva with the tailor with orders to create a wardrobe fitting for a knight’s daughter, she’d hoped she would end up with another complete change of clothes. She’d even offered to pay with her gold and silver rings, but William would hear none of it.

Mr. Tailor eyed her from head to toe. “Your gown is the most hideous woolen garment I’ve ever seen in the twenty years of my trade.”

Eva could only laugh. The man’s gaunt face was entirely serious, but he reminded her of a weathered accountant who wore a visor and crouched over a desk all day. The only thing missing was a monocle or a pair of glasses. She brushed her hands over her dingy skirts. “This
gown
was loaned to me by a Good Samaritan, and I assure you, you don’t want to see what I was wearing before that.”

“I couldn’t agree more.” The man frowned and shoved a handful of pins in his mouth.

For the next several hours, Mr. Tailor measured, pinned, cut and stitched all the while grumbling about Eva’s ill-fitting and completely unstylish gown.

When he finally allowed her to sit, to her astonishment, the speed at which the man’s fingers worked the burgundy damask was practically as fast as her grandmother’s Singer sewing machine. Eva leaned forward and studied his impeccable craftsmanship.

“Must ye crowd me?” he asked.

She straightened. “Sorry, but your stitches are so perfect, they look like they could have been sewn by a machine.”

“Och. That will be the day.” He shook his head. “Young people come up with the most harebrained ideas.”

Eva covered her mouth with her palm. If only he knew what a treasured skill he had.

He flicked his wrist her way. “Remove that godawful veil. I’ve a snood made of gold thread to match this fabric. It’ll suit your coloring nicely.”

Before she thought, she pulled off the cord and veil and scrubbed her knuckles through her hair. Jeez, it always felt good to take off her veil.

The old man’s fingers stopped. “God on the cross, what happened to your hair?”

Eva cringed.
Might as well use the same old story
. “Lost it during the battle of Dunbar.”

He clapped a hand to his chest. “Glory be, ye dunna mean to say ye survived that massacre.”

Her gaze dropped to her hands as her eyes rimmed with tears. She may not have been in Dunbar, but she’d been through enough strife to warrant his sympathy. With a deep inhale, she looked up. “Will I be able to wear that tonight? I cannot be seen by his lordship wearing this old rag.”