Rise of a Legend (Guardian of Scotland Book 1) (6 page)

“Dead.” What else could she say? Her parents wouldn’t be born for about six hundred and sixty years.

William didn’t respond right away. “Do ye have any recollection of how ye ended up in the monastery?”

“I wish I did.” Eva unzipped her vest and clasped her fingers around the medallion.
It must have had something to do with Walter Tennant and this piece of bronze. But how do I explain that? I fell seven hundred years through some sort of wormhole and here I am? Right. Might as well tell him to stop the horse and string me up in the nearest tree
.

“What was the last thing ye remember?” His deep voice rolled—sexier than…

Damn, she needed to think. She’d said she was born in Edinburgh—told Robbie she’d traveled to the Holy Land. Thank God she and Steve had toured the Mediterranean with her folks a few years back. She pulled her pen and notebook from the inside of her vest and started writing blind.
The only way to keep my facts straight is to write them down
.

“What are ye doing?” William asked.

“Trying to remember.” Writing without sight was near impossible, but it helped her think. She scribbled as best as she could:

In May of 1297, a common woman could hope for little more than to be a servant—if that. One year prior, the towns of Berwick and Dunbar were savagely attacked by the English. Since then, King Edward has wasted no time besieging castles, instilling his tyrannical government and ensuring the Scottish nobles and landowners paid him fealty. Everyone is scared. Many nobles sided with Edward to retain their lands.

She stilled her pen for a moment, biting her bottom lip, then finished her entry:

These are among the most barbaric times in the history of Scotland.

Too many sharp objects!

Eva rubbed her thumb over the medallion as ice pulsed through her veins.
I may not survive the next twenty-four hours, let alone make it home to tell my story
.

She took a deep breath to steady her nerves. “Ma died giving me birth.” She stole that line from Robbie. “Da fought with the Knights Hospitallers and was killed by the Mamluks in Egypt.” She’d learned that tidbit from her vacation. “After I returned to Edinburgh, I found employment as a chambermaid for Lady Comyn and moved to Dunbar…and you know what happened there.” Thank God she’d studied history in college.

William’s saddle creaked with the sway of the horse’s gait. “Aye, but that doesna explain why ye were on the other side of the country in Fail.”

Eva guessed the distance between Dunbar and Fail to be about ninety miles—not too far a distance to travel on foot over a year. “After the English attack, I wandered. Times are lean and there’s not much work for the daughter of a knight. Though I can read and write, it is heresy for a female to be a cleric.”

“So, ye became a tinker…”

“Aye.” Eva scribbled the word, synonymous for a Scottish Gypsy. She couldn’t have said it any better. “I was set upon by outlaws and that’s the last thing I remember.”

“Ye’re lucky to be alive.”

Eva groped to slide her notebook and pen into her inside pocket. “I surely am.” She let out a long sigh, satisfied that she’d woven a believable story—at least one that a thirteenth century Scotsman could believe. On the other hand, she hated lying. She wanted to be the journalist who always reported the truth and to do that she must live by a code of ethics with honesty at the top.

Perhaps she’d be able to reveal the truth in time. Today, however, she set her priorities for this quest: first, stay alive, and then somehow weave her way into Wallace’s confidence.

A good hour after William allowed Eva to remove her blindfold, they neared a stone longhouse. To the east, the smell of hay wafted from a stable. Beyond, tilled fields sprouted shoots promising good crops. As they rode closer, the sound of a woman’s wail sent a woeful knell cutting through the breeze.

Her stomach clenched. Lord knew she was familiar with the sound of a widow’s lament.

The tension emanating from William’s back demanded that Eva remain quiet. This was a time of mourning. Any questions she might have must wait.

William dismounted and reached his hands up to her.

She peered out the corner of her eye to see if anyone was looking. He’d become more gentlemanly now he knew her gender. Ignoring his gesture, she slid her foot forward into the stirrup and grasped the saddle like she’d done the day before. “I can do it.”

At least that’s what she thought. When she leaned forward to dismount, her heel dug into the horse’s flank. The animal swung his hindquarters aside and reared. Shrieking, Eva flew backward and landed on her backside. “Ow.”

“Ye should have let me help.” Wallace pulled her up. “If my men didn’t ken ye were a lass, they do now.”

Eva caught John Blair’s stunned expression—then Robbie’s wide-eyed, gaped-mouthed stare. “Sorry,” she apologized, trying to shrink.

Robbie scratched his head. “Why didna ye say ye were a lass?”

“Wheesht,” William said over his shoulder, then led Eva toward the cottage. “I’ve a great many things to do, the first to see to my mother. I’ll have Wynda find ye something suitable to wear. I’d ask Ma to help ye gain employment, but I cannot lumber her with such a task when she’s in mourning.”

Eva hurried to keep up with his long strides. “You don’t need to worry about me. I’m…I’m a very helpful person. I could ride along with you and your men. You know—be your chronicler. Yep. That would be the perfect employment for me.”

He stopped and grasped her shoulders. “The last thing ye are cut out for is to ride with a mob of patriots. I’ll make some inquiries on your behalf and that’s all I the assistance I can offer ye.”

He didn’t understand. With her training in journalism, she could record events as they happened like no one else. A little rejection? Oh no. She couldn’t back down. “But—”

“Keep quiet and mind yourself.” William opened the door.

Eva followed, pushing her agenda aside—but by no means letting it go.

“Wynda,” he called, leading Eva across the threshold into a dimly lit room. A hearth with blackened iron pots filled the far wall, but Eva’s gaze immediately snapped to a body wrapped in linen, lying atop the rectangular table. A woman sat in a chair, her head bent toward the deceased while she dabbed her eyes with a kerchief.

Before Eva could observe more, another woman dressed in a roughhewn blue dress with a linen apron bustled forward. She curtseyed and bowed her head, topped with a servant’s coif. “Aye, Mr. Willy?”

“This is Eva. She’s lost—suffered a blow to the head. Please find her something more suitable to wear.”

The woman gaped at Eva’s legs. “Ye’ve brought a wayward tinker to your father’s house when we’re all overcome with grief?”

William placed his hand on the woman’s shoulder. “The lass barely escaped an English sword yesterday. I couldna stand by whilst he slit her throat. Now be a good matron and find her a gown.”

And a bath and a toothbrush…and a cup of coffee
. Eva bowed her head to Wallace. “Thank you for your generosity.”

Wynda rolled her eyes. “Ye not only bring a tinker into the cottage, ye bring a foreign heathen.” She grabbed Eva by the arm, none too gently. “What are ye thinking, ye fool-born lad?”

William flicked his wrist as if to shoo them away. “Just see to her needs whilst I comfort Ma.”

Wynda pulled Eva down a narrow passageway and into a room with a pallet and three trunks lining the walls. “Ye’re fortunate the Wallace’s are a charitable lot. If it were up to me, I’d send ye on your way.”

Eva’s face burned. “I apologize for the intrusion. Unfortunately, I’ve found myself in a very awkward situation.”

“I’ll say. The gall to be running around the countryside dressed in chausses.” The woman huffed at Eva’s skinny jeans. “Ye ought to be taken out back and have the hide beat out of ye.”

Eva opened her mouth to argue, but decided against it. Breaking sumptuary laws in medieval times was a serious offense. She let out a whoosh of air and clasped her hands under her chin. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

“Aye, ye’ll earn your keep as long as ye are under the Wallace’s roof.” Wynda pulled a wrinkled blue dress from one of the trunks and held it up. “This ought to cover ye at least, though I’ve never seen a woman so tall.” She shook her finger. “And dunna be asking me to take out the hem for ye. I’ve nay enough time for that.”

Eva reached for the musty smelling garment. “This will be fine. I can manage from here, thank you.” If Wynda got a peek at Eva’s bra and panties, she’d probably have a heart attack.

The old crow frowned and held out a linen apron. “Have ye anything to cover your head?”

Eva ran her hands over her hair and grimaced. “I’m afraid not.”
Darn
. The shoulder-length cut would also make her stand out—not only as a lowlife, but people would be suspicious that she’d received public punishment for some misdeed.

“How did your tresses end up shorn?” the servant asked.

Eva thought fast. “English soldiers took a knife to my hair in Dunbar. After serving Lady Comyn, I barely escaped with my life.”

“You attended Lady Comyn, the Countess of March?” she asked with a bit more respect in her tone.

“Aye,” Eva dabbed the corner of her eye for added effect. “After my father was killed fighting with the Hospitallers.”

Wynda patted her chest. “My heavens, why didna Willy tell me your da was a knight?” The serving maid grasped Eva by the elbow and led her to a rickety wooden chair. “It seems ye have been hard torn for luck, lass. Forgive me for being gruff. The news of Master…” Her eyes rimmed with tears.

Eva patted the maid’s hand, her stomach twisting from the lines of lies spewing from her mouth. “I know. I am so sorry to burden you at such a difficult time.”

Wynda shook her head and fanned her face. “’Tis to be endured.” She dug in the trunk and pulled out a blue linen veil and a cord. “This will hide your hair.”

Eva accepted it and sat. “Thank you ever so much. I cannot express how much I appreciate your kindness.”

“We’ll see ye set to rights.” She drew a white linen garment from one of the other trunks. “Ye’ll need a shift as well.”

“I suppose I will.” Leaning forward, Eva cradled her forehead in her hand. “I’ve no idea where I am.”

“Ye’re at Ellerslie, the family croft.” Wynda shook the shift like a rag rug.

Eva snapped upright. “The farm’s named Ellerslie?”

“Aye.”

That explains Blind Harry’s account
. They hadn’t even ridden through a village—at least none she’d seen. “What’s the nearest town?”

“Kilmarnock is up the road and a bit to the east.”

Oh my goodness, that’s just north of Fail Monastery
.

Wynda gave her the shift and patted her shoulder. “This isn’t much but it will see ye looking presentable.”

Eva looked at the bundle of clothing in her lap and tapped her foot. “Thank you for helping me.”

“’Tis no bother, lass.” Wynda walked toward the door. “Be mindful of the melancholy this day. The funeral will begin soon.”

Offering a thoughtful nod, Eva watched the woman leave.

Immediately, she dug into her inner vest pocket, pulled out her journal and recorded her conversation with the servant. Then she stared at the stone wall. This being the first time Eva had been alone since awaking to a madman with a sword, she breathed a heavy sigh. She’d just survived a night surrounded by men with swords. Come to think of it, she’d even slept soundly.

How did I get here?

A tingling sensation jittered inside her chest.

How do I get home?

She unzipped her vest and pulled out the medallion.
Truth is like a beacon…but few choose to follow
.
What is Walter up to? Did he know I would meet Wallace? Probably. He’d even commented on the magic of the crumbling walls.
Is this why he selected me for the dig team?

She shuddered. Lord knew how much she feared sharp objects. Undeniably, everyone in this century armed themselves to the teeth. But she wanted to stay—absolutely had to discover more.
This is one chance in a billion.
She looked closer at the medallion, hoping for some fine print with instructions on how to transport herself back to the twenty-first century.

Finding nothing, she groaned. Fail Monastery was her only clue. She must make it back there soon.

Right?

In a fluttering heartbeat, she stood and shook out the dress.
I’m going to face my fears and stay.
And this story’s too good to worry about how I’ll get home—yet. Besides, I can only agonize over one thing at a time.

Reluctantly, she removed her NYU sweatshirt and donned the linen shift. True to its era, the underdress was no more than a loose-fitting smock with a corded tie to close the scooped neck. And as Wynda said, the gown fit well enough. A bit baggy, Eva was grateful for the loose fit rather than tight—and doubly grateful stays weren’t in style yet. She put on the apron and tied it around her waist. Not sexy, but at least it gave the dress a bit of shape.

She pointed her booted toe to the side. The gown hung about ten inches too short. With unknown danger lurking at every turn, Eva wasn’t about to discard her jeans. Besides, Wynda hadn’t offered any woolen stockings.
Thank God
. Wearing wool directly against her skin gave Eva a rash.

Without a mirror, she did her best to secure the veil atop her head. Though she could live without her NYU sweatshirt, she needed her vest with its pockets. Maybe she could find an old satchel in which to keep her things. She lifted the lid to one of the trunks and rummaged inside.
No bag of any sort
. Well, the vest would have to remain zipped atop her gown.

She stood in the middle of the room, smoothing her hands over the garments to ensure everything was in place. Lord, the musty smell hadn’t improved, and rather than feeling refreshed, her skin crawled. She even checked the weave for fleas.

Gross
.

Sucking it up, Eva shook off her dread. Yes, she’d jump at her first opportunity to bathe, but if she wanted to stay—to get her story, she had to fit in.

Cementing her resolve, she opened the door and listened. Hushed voices came from the main chamber. Uneasy, as if she were crashing a funeral, she crept down the passageway and waited at the edge of the passageway.

Facing her, William kneeled over the body of his father with his head bowed and his eyes closed. Clutching a black book, his lips moved in silent prayer. A few other men encircled the table, but Eva studied only one. The anguish etched on Wallace’s rugged face was undeniable. Over the past year, she’d looked in the mirror enough times to be all too familiar with the pinch between the brows, the drawn mouth—a face in the depths of grief.

I should leave the family alone
.

Eva tiptoed to the door. William looked up before she reached for the latch. Never in her life had she seen eyes so expressive. Yes, the misery she’d read in his features was there, but his eyes bore something far deeper. Honor, pride, courage were all conveyed in a look. The most alarming? Deadly determination.

Eva didn’t even want to consider what William Wallace was capable of. Goosebumps rose across her skin as she took in a stuttered breath. She bowed her head, curtseyed and hastened out the door.

              ***

As the mass ended, black clouds moved in from the west—just like the black mood hanging over the gathering of mourners at Da’s gravesite. William could have sworn iron rods drilled between his shoulders while he listened to his mother weep during Blair’s chanting of the Latin funeral mass. With his mother’s every tear, William’s gut twisted tighter. Blaming himself for his father’s death would never bring back Da, but he was to blame nonetheless. He hadn’t arrived in time, but by God he’d ensure the murderers would be punished. On that he made his silent vow.

William scooped a handful of earth into his palm and sprinkled it over Da’s white death linens. “I will vindicate your murder if it is the last thing I do on this earth.” Sloppy droplets of rain wet the newly turned soil as if the angels wept with him.

Uncle Reginald Crawford, the Sheriff of Ayr gave him a stern look as the funeral procession headed back down the hill. “You’d best leave it be, lad.”

It was a good thing William’s sword had been left with his saddle. In the past year, his uncle’s show of support for King Edward’s cause grew thin. To maintain his appointment as sheriff, Reginald needed to pay fealty to Edward, though William suspected the sheriff turned a blind eye to his small group of rebels. As long as William didn’t cause too much of a stir, his uncle demonstrated his true loyalty by keeping silent.