Rise of a Legend (Guardian of Scotland Book 1) (4 page)

After riding away from the church, the sky turned to dusk, and then dark. In an attempt to regain her sanity, Eva closed her eyes and forced herself to take in consecutive calming breaths.

Who were these men and what did they plan to do with her? And why the hell had she just climbed onto the horse without asking questions?

But, holy hell, she’d been scared out of her wits. What else could she have done? Take on an armored man wielding an enormous sword?

She could have run.

And run to where?

The man had said he’d take her home once they were sure they were not being followed. When would that be and where were they heading now? And who would be following—bad guys or good?

Eva squeezed her eyes shut and tried to think. How had she ended up in a church in the middle of nowhere? What happened to her car? Thus far, she hadn’t seen a single road, no houses—nothing but trees. The Ayrshire Eva knew undulated with rolling pastureland—not forest.

How did I end up here?

The sun had set behind them, so they must be heading east.

East to where?

She slipped a hand into her pocket and wrapped her fingers around her smartphone. Before she pulled it out, Eva glanced back over her shoulder.

You must not change the past
, Walter’s voice resounded in her head. “What in God’s name did he mean by that?” she grumbled under her breath.

Just to be cautious, Eva unzipped her vest enough to slip the phone inside to hide the light. Then she pushed the “on” button. Her screen lit up and she slid her finger across to unlock it, just like she always did.

Shit. No service
. She tapped the GPS, only to receive an offline message.
Damn, damn, damn
.

About to put the phone back in her pocket, her gaze strayed to the upper right corner of the screen. Eight forty-five Wednesday, 1
st
May, 1297. Eva blinked and looked closer. There had to be some sort of explanation. She pushed the “off” button and slipped it into her pocket.

Had Walter played a trick on her? The professor didn’t seem like the type who would—and how could he get her phone to read May, 1297?

Presently, the problem with the date didn’t matter. It was dark and Eva didn’t have her bearings. The men she traveled with had killed people in a church—who were also killing people—had even tried to kill her, an innocent bystander.

They’d been riding so long, they had to reach a town soon. Once Eva found
normal
people, she’d cry for help, but until then, she had no choice but to ride along with this band of medieval freaks.

Her stomach growled. Jeez, she was hungry. Surely they’d stop for food soon.

Please.
She rummaged in her pocket. At least her three two-pound coins were still there. She’d be able to buy a toasty if they
ever
passed a café.

They traveled about another mile through even thicker forest when the trees opened to a clearing.

“Brother Bartholomew,” called the ginormous man in front of her. “Have ye some food for us?”

Eva’s mouth watered.

A little, brown-haired monk emerged from the darkness, holding a flaming torch. “Aye. I’ve been worried the English caught ye this time.”

Do they ever let up with the show?

The warrior man dismounted. “Come, lad.” He patted the horse’s shoulder. “The big fella’s put in a hard day. ’Tis time to turn him out to pasture.”

Eva held out her hands for help, but the man brushed past and headed behind the bushes with the others. Clothing rustled. Water hit the ground. Eva didn’t need to look to know what they were doing. She needed to pee herself.

Lord, the ground seemed so far away. Clamping her fingers onto the rear of the saddle, she reached her foot forward and caught the stirrup. Taking her weight, she wobbled a bit, clutching the saddle for dear life.

The horse snorted.

With a rush of courage, Eva slid her leg over the steed’s butt and managed to lower herself to the ground, only stumbling a little bit. Her gaze shot to the men, hoping no one noticed.

The leader adjusted himself and stepped from behind the brush. “Dunna be shy, lad, else ye’ll be freezing your cods out here in the wee hours.”

Eva nodded and headed behind a bush on the other side of the clearing, well away from the men. Squatting, she peered around the scrub and watched them head into the hazy glow radiating from the cave’s entrance. Oh, no. They weren’t going to leave her alone in the middle of nowhere.

“Wait,” she yelled, finishing and yanking up her panties and skinny jeans together.

Her riding partner stopped and turned with his fists on his hips. “Ye’re awfully tall for a lad whose voice hasn’t yet changed.”

She buttoned and zipped. “You’re the one who keeps calling me a lad—with hips like mine, no one ever confuses my gender.”

Though darkness veiled his face, the whites of his eyes grew round. “Bloody hell, ye mean to say ye’re a woman?”

Eva glanced down at her breasts. Concealed beneath the down vest, she could forgive him for not noticing those, but honestly. Did she look that bad?

He took a step toward her.

She scooted back. “Am I in danger?”

“What tongue do ye speak?” His eyes narrowed. “Are ye an English spy?”

“Of course not. I’m a Scot. Born in Edinburgh.”

He folded his arms and tipped his chin up. “Nay, ye speak like no Scot I’ve ever heard.”

“I-I studied abroad.”

“Och aye? Ye’re full of drivel. A woman who studied abroad? Now I ken ye’re a spy,” he growled, sauntering forward and wrapping his fingers around the hilt of the dirk sheathed in his belt. “I ought to cut out your tongue for telling tall tales.”

“No!” Eva waved her hands in front of her face. “Y-you cannot tell my nationality by the way I talk. My father is…” She faltered, recalling the date on her phone. “…
was
an ambassador. I’ve spent most of my life overseas.” Screaming sirens in the back of her mind told her not to divulge too much. First she needed some answers of her own.

“What were ye doing at Fail Monastery?” The moonlit shadows intensified his glower.

“That was—” She stopped herself from repeating the word Fail and sounding like a complete idiot.
Oh my God. It couldn’t be
. “I—ah—what is the date?”

“The first of May, but ye havena answered—”

“The year!” She stamped her foot. “I need to know the year.”

“The year of our Lord twelve ninety-seven.” The man drew his dirk and took another step toward her, his white teeth flashing with his sneer. For the love of God, he was huge. “But ye best start making some sense, else I’ll not only cut out your tongue, I’ll carve up your liver and feed it to the pigs.”

Squealing, she squeezed her arms into her chest and scooted away until the brush poked her behind. The steel of the knife flickered. “Gah! Does everyone have to threaten me with inordinately sharp objects? I’m telling the truth. Surely you can deduce I don’t speak anything like a bloody English subject. I’m as Scottish as you are, you big brute.” Eva shoved his shoulder—God only knew what prompted her to do that. The giant asshole could kill her with one swipe of the oversized knife he brandished.

Keep your hands to yourself
. An involuntary shudder coursed through her entire body as she cringed at the weapon.
It’s a freaking dirk—very sharp and deadly
.

“Och, ye should be afraid of my wee blade.” He latched on to her shoulder with fingers hewn of iron, his dirk angling toward her neck. “Answer me. Why were ye at Fail?”

“I—I
…” Jesus Christ, what should I say?
“I was lost. The Trinitarians took me in. I still cannot remember the past few days. One minute I was sitting alone and-and the next, I awoke to someone trying to kill me.” She inched her head away from the knife, her voice growing shrill. “Just like you are now.” She told most of the truth, at least the part that wouldn’t get her burned at the stake.

“Why didna ye say ye were lost?” Narrowing his eyes, the man lowered his blade. “What are ye called?”

“Eva—Eva MacKay.” Taking in a gulp of air, she squared her shoulders, eyeing the damned dirk as he sheathed it. Something told her not to trifle with this man. He was the type who’d respect others more if they didn’t cower. She glanced up at his eyes—piercing like arrows. She took a nerve-steeling breath. Backing down now might just get her throat cut and her liver carved out.

Oh, Lord, help
.

“I doubt you want me to call you
Beast
for the duration of our association—which I hope will not be long.” She cringed—maybe she’d been a little too confident with the Beast comment.

“William.”

Then again, maybe not.

“I wish I could say it’s been a pleasure making your acquaintance.” She inclined her head toward the dim light. “Did you mention there’s something to eat in that cave?” The thought of wandering inside with a man a good nine inches taller and ninety pounds heavier,
and
confronting his band of upstarts made shivers skitter up her spine. But Eva didn’t care for the alternative either. If she indeed had landed in the thirteenth century, fending for herself in the dead of night in God knew where wasn’t an option either—especially without food.

Once she had a chance to think, she’d figure a way out of this mess, but for now, she needed this William on her side.

“Aye, we’ve food aplenty.” He gestured forward. “But tell me, why are ye dressed like a lad?”

Eva had no reply that would make a bit of sense, so she just shrugged. “I wish I knew.”

“Ye must have suffered a nasty blow to the head.” William grasped her elbow with a surprisingly gentle hand and led her inside. A golden glow flickered on the cave’s walls, a hum of deep voices echoed from within. Inside a narrow passageway, he stopped and clamped those powerful fingers on her shoulder. “If ye do anything to cross me, ye’ll not live to tell about it.”

“Jeez.” Eva sucked in a gasp. “You’re not only a brute, you’re paranoid.”

He shoved her against the wall. “What language are ye speaking now? Attempting to pull a veil over my eyes are ye?”

“No, no, no.” Eva gulped. She must choose her words carefully—paranoid was definitely too modern. “I meant to say—ah—if I wanted to kill you, I’d have done it whilst I was riding double on your horse. You had your back to me for hours.” She quaked inside, praying she’d used the right tact. Lord, the barbarian could turn hostile before she had a chance to blink.

“All right, then,” he whispered, leaning a bit too close and smelling like a pine forest. “I think it best if the men believe ye a lad. That way I’ll not have to stand guard over ye all night. Then I’ll see to it ye’ll be on your way on the morrow.”

“All right.” Eva placed a hand on the wall to steady her dizziness. Maybe something did hit her head.

They rounded a bend and the cave opened into a large cavern. Smoke from the coals made the air hazy, but Eva could see well enough. The entire retinue reclined on furs. A man skewered a slab of meat with a knife and tore off a bite with his teeth while juice dribbled into his beard. Beside him, the holy man in the black robes who’d ridden with them assessed her with a dour frown.

Eva shoved her hands in her pockets.

Across the fire William gestured to a lad who couldn’t have been more than twelve or thirteen. “Sit with Robbie. He willna cause ye any mischief—if ye ken my meaning.”

Surrounded by a mob of unwashed heathens? Eva knew exactly what William meant.

“Fetch him a portion of meat and a pint of ale,” William ordered.

Robbie jumped up. “Straight away.”

Eva sat on a pile of furs clumped between the rocks. “Thank you.”

“Eat your fill, then sleep.” William threw his thumb over his shoulder. “We’ll be riding early come matins.”

She watched him make his way toward the priest. Dumbfounded, she couldn’t tear her gaze from his powerful legs. Wrapped with wool chausses, his muscles flexed with his every step. A broad, powerful frame devoid of fat supported his mail. William stopped beside the holy man, removed his helm and combed his fingers through thick, wavy hair. Then he glanced her way. Damn. The devil had to look like Adonis incarnate.

Robbie tottered back and set a wooden trencher in front of her. An unappetizing lump of meat dribbled juice over the side while the lad passed down a pint of ale. “This’ll see ye fixed right up.”

“Ta.” Eva could have eaten a chunk of cardboard if forced. She sipped the ale and coughed. And she thought an IPA was bitter? This stuff tasted worse than pure quinine. She took another sip. Yep. It was awful.

With her pincer fingers, she lifted the well-cooked meat, then leaned down and clipped a bit with her teeth and swirled it in her mouth.
No too bad, but at least it’s not rancid
.

“Where’s your eating knife?” Robbie asked, plopping back onto his seat.