by Amy Jarecki
“No. I’ve had quite enough, thank you.”
William held up his goblet. “I’ll have more and her share as well.”
“Aren’t you gorged to your teeth?” she asked.
“Me?” He took a healthy sip of wine. “Never, and when prosperity presents itself, a man learns to take advantage and store up as much food as possible.”
She chuckled. “I wish it worked that way, but I know I’ll be hungry come morn.”
He poked her waist. “Aye, but if ye had a wee bit of fat on your bones, ye might not fall to hunger sickness so quickly.”
Eva folded her hands and nodded. How different the medieval mind when it came to food—and health. Though without a grocery store nearby, she might do well to gorge herself at every opportunity.
On the gallery, a drummer and a piper joined the minstrels.
William clapped his hands. “Do ye fancy a dance, Miss Eva?”
“No, no.” She shook her palms. “I wouldn’t know what to do.” Nothing like the Cupid Shuffle, I’m sure.
Lord Stewart leaned forward and regarded her. “I would assume a daughter of a knight would be well versed in all manner of dancing.”
A Norwegian peasant would have been a preferable occupation for my father. Eva feigned a smile. “It has been ever so long.”
Sitting erect, Lady Stewart clapped her hands together. “If not dancing, are you skilled in any of the other finer arts?”
Eva started to shake her head, but William placed his big palm on her shoulder. “Miss Eva sings like a meadowlark.”
She kicked him under the table.
He knit his brows and gave her a dark frown.
“Honestly?” Lady Stewart looked like she’d just slipped a Godiva Chocolate in her mouth. “You must sing for us.”
Leaning toward William’s ear, Eva considered kicking him a lot harder. “The minstrels won’t know my song.”
“Please do entertain my guests,” Lord Stewart said, gesturing toward the center of the dais.
William squeezed her arm. “Ye cannot refuse,” he whispered.
Eva stood, giving a timid wave to the minstrels. “I’ll be but a moment.”
They bowed.
She gagged like her mouth had suddenly filled with cotton. There was no use trying to give medieval musicians a key. She’d just sing You Raise Me Up and slink back to her chair. Hopefully the song would buy her the pardon she needed to avoid dances with intricate steps she’d never seen before.
***
William sat back and closed his eyes. He could listen to Eva sing all night. Once she opened her mouth, the entire hall fell silent, and now her voice rang out even clearer than it had in the cave.
If only he’d met her at a different time—a time when he could make a firm commitment and pledge his love. True, the lass continued to be a quandary, insisting on traveling with him. He should ask Lady Stewart if she needed a lady’s maid, though Eva had repeated she had no interest in staying behind.
She was so different, so independent, yet needy in some ways. She was intelligent, yet lacked sensibility when it came to the most elemental of practicalities.
By her education and manners, she obviously grew up in a knight’s home. But she cannot ride a horse, and claims that she does not dance—that is truly puzzling. She writes endlessly, though her penmanship is quadratic and full of words I can only surmise as Pagan. For all that is holy, I dare not let Blair lay eyes on any of her writings. His distrust of the lass would be compounded tenfold.
William opened his eyes and watched her while his heart swelled. A woman any man would be proud to have on his arm, he’d put her oddities out of his mind and simply accept her. She’d said more than once she wanted nothing from him that he couldn’t give. For a rebel, Eva MacKay made an ideal companion.
But why do I feel guilty?
He had no answers for his internal strife, but deigned to hold on to two things. Eva was welcome to remain beside him as long as she wanted and he would put no harness upon her. William could not pledge marriage and she did not desire such a pledge. Regardless of her mysterious past, he trusted the lass almost as much as he trusted Blair—the only thing that kept him from trusting her fully were those damned trinkets in her satchel and the sorcery she’d shown him. The only option to forget about what he’d seen was to block it from his mind.
But how long will she stay?
William pushed his doubts aside as Eva finished her song to a rousing applause. Bloody oath, the woman amazed him.
Lord Stewart clapped louder than anyone in the hall. “My word, William, ye were not jesting when ye said she could sing.”
He bowed his head in gratitude as Eva returned to her seat. “Well done.” He grasped her hand. “Your singing brings me joy.”
Smiling, she squeezed his fingers. “Thank you.”
The drum rasped from the gallery and William pulled Eva to a stand. “But now we must dance.”
Shaking her head she gasped. “I don’t know how,” she groused in a strained whisper.
Lord Stewart clapped his hands. “What’s this ye say? A knight’s daughter truly does not know how to dance? Preposterous.”
William pulled her behind him. “Miss Eva—”
“Apologies my lord.” She twisted her wrist from his grasp and faced his lordship. “I am able to dance, ’tis just I’m afraid I have not been taught the local dances. My father took me away from Scotland at a very young age.”
“Most intriguing.” Lord Stewart twirled his finger around the point of his beard and looked to his wife. “A talented vocalist who can also show us new dances from the Holy Land.”
William closed his eyes and shook his head. He shouldn’t have pushed her.
“Perhaps you should join a traveling band of minstrels, Miss Eva,” said Lady Stewart, fanning herself. “What do you call your form of dancing?”
“Um.” Eva’s cheeks turned as red as the color of her gown. “A waltz.”
“Waltz? Truly?” questioned her ladyship. “That sounds so inexplicably foreign. By all means, do give us a demonstration. I should like to see how people dance in other parts of Christendom.”
“Yes, my lady.” Eva curtseyed and grasped William’s hand. “But I’ll need a partner.”
“Och, this time I dunna ken the steps.” He tugged his hand away.
Lord Stewart chuckled. “Wallace, a warrior such as ye should not be afraid of anything.”
William’s brows pinched. “I didna say a word about being afraid.”
“Then it is settled.” Eva looked up to the minstrels on the gallery. “Can you play a tune in three-three time?”
The flutist looked at her like she was daft. “Pardon?”
“One, two, three.” She swayed and rose up on her toes. “One, two three. One, two three. Preferably with a strong downbeat on one.”
The musicians leaned their heads together and mumbled. Finally the flutist rolled his hand through the air. “Verra well.”
Eva grinned. “Come, William, you wanted to dance.”
He ground his back molars and allowed her to pull him to the floor. “What the bloody hell are ye on about?”
“Just count and you’ll be fine.” She was all too chipper when she placed one hand on his waist and held his left out to the side.
“Touching?” he grumbled. “This feels most awkward.”
“Oh?” She smiled as if she were enjoying his discomfort. “A bit like I felt when you were planning to pull me into a medieval line dance.”
“A country dance, mind ye. Something with which everyone in Christendom is familiar.”
“I’ll have to keep that in mind.”
The minstrels started, and Eva pulled him side to side. “One, two, three. One two, three. Down, up, up. Down, up, up.” She smiled like she’d just had a taste of plum tart. “Good. See, it is easy.”
William tried not to trip. “Mayhap for ye.”
“Now let’s waltz in a circle.”
&nbs
p; “What?” Before he could stop her, she led him down, up, up-ing in two complete circles.
“And now we go around the room.” She headed off as if she were the Queen of Sheba.
“Och, aye?” he growled, stumbling over his feet. “When ye least expect it, I’ll pay ye back for this.”
She chuckled. “Sounds like a promise.”
“’Tis a bloody oath.”
But by the time the music ended, William’s feet had managed to come up to tempo. Though this was the most confounding dance he’d ever attempted.
Eva dipped into a deep curtsey. “Thank you, Mr. Wallace.”
He offered a stiff bow. “Remind me not to dance with ye again.”
The crowd’s applause was slow to come. On the dais, their lordships were staring with open mouths.
Eva leaned into William’s shoulder. “It appears waltzing will not become popular in Scotland for some time.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
With Lord Stewart providing the food, William was able to spend more time training his new recruits—at least those who’d shown up with a weapon and armor. Blair was in charge of sending the outcasts home—those who had only arrived in hopes to be fed. God bless it, the day prior, William had watched Blair turn away a blind man and another with a peg leg. Next thing the lepers would be coming to fight. William didn’t even want to think about how to quarantine the infirmed—though mayhap a mob of lepers would instill enough fear among the English ranks that they’d all turn tail and go home.
William assessed a new recruit who brandished a two-handed sword like it was a dagger. “If ye’re planning to hold your blade like a lassie, I may as well slit your throat now and be done with it.”
The young pup lowered his weapon and snorted. “I ken how to fight as well as the next man.”
“Och aye?” William strode toward the braggart, watching him out of the corner of his eye. When near enough, he clamped his fingers around the man’s wrist. With a sharp twist, he disarmed him.
“Bloody hell.” The recruit looked at his hand with disbelief.
“Your weapon’s too heavy to wield with only one hand.” William jutted his face down to the man’s to ensure he had his attention. “If ye’re hell bent on joining the rebellion, ye’ll do as I say, else I’ll have Father Blair give ye a blessing and send ye on your way.”
The lad hung his head. “Apologies, sir.”
That was better. William motioned to the fella’s sparring partner. “Go again.”
As the pair faced off, Bishop Wishart lumbered around the corner of the bailey. “William,” he called. “Would ye walk with me?”
Wallace bowed. “Indeed, your Worship.”
The bishop pointed his staff toward the trees. “Let us take a turn along the burn, away from prying ears.”
“Is something bothering ye, m’lord?”
“I am a vassal of God.” He chuckled. “There is always trouble causing me grave concern.”
William knew better than to press the holy man before they reached the soft babbling of the burn, so he opted for pleasantries first. “How are the lads?”
“You mean my nephews?”
William cringed. He deeply respected Robert Wishart, but his indiscretions with his leman were no secret. The lads were his sons, regardless. “Aye.” William continued along the stony path. “’Tis why I said the lads.”
“Ah. They are well enough—hidden at my manor in Ancrum.” The bishop smiled. “Paden is now four and ten.”
“Almost a man,” William said. “What are his aspirations?”
“The boy likes music.” Wishart sighed. “I’m afraid he won’t make much of a warrior.”
“Och, with a bit of training with Brother MacRae in Dundee, he ought to come good.”
The bishop shook his head. “Ye ken as well as I God makes warriors. A man must be born with the heart of a lion—like ye, Willy. Another man of the same size wouldna be half as effective if he didna have your heart.”
“I suppose I’ve seen it in my ranks as well. There are men I choose to be on my flank because I ken they’ll stand and fight until they draw their last breath.” Nearing the burn, William turned the discussion to more pressing matters. “’Tis good to see ye have the ear of The High Steward.”
“The time for action is nigh.” Wishart stretched his arms out from the long sleeves of his vestments and clasped his hands. “There are a great many nobles who have come to me and voiced their disapproval of Edward’s tactics.”
“Disapproval? I’d say ye used too soft a word. Outrage is the first that comes to mind.”
“Aye, Willy.” The bishop patted William’s shoulder. “’Tis the lion’s heart from which you speak, but the nobles must tread verra, verra carefully.”
“I ken, though I’d prefer to see a united Scotland.”
“Perhaps we will soon.”
“Who are those who have come to ye?” William needed to know.
The bishop peered left then right. “’Tis best if I didna say.”
Wallace’s gut twisted. “Och aye? Ye asked me to lead the rebellion, but canna tell me who is for and against?”
Wishart licked his lips. “Ye ken as well as I, with lands on either side of the border, ’tis a verra dangerous path we walk.”
“I grow weary of hearing about men who put their holdings before king and country. Who?” William demanded. “I ken Douglas. Bruce? Comyn? Eglington?”
“Those are all names with which I am familiar.” Bishop Wishart swiped his hand across his wet lips, his movements stilted, nervous.
“Aye, and ye’re talking out both sides of your mouth, with all due respect.” William would be made a fool by no man. “I’ll assume that’s a yea to all parties I named.” He kicked a stone into the burn. “United, we’d be strong enough to invade England, march all the way to London and free our king.”
Wishart expressed his dissention with a tsk of his tongue. “I’ve been to the tower. ’Tis the most impenetrable fortress in all of Christendom.”
Squeezing his fist so tight, his knuckles cracked, William made a quick decision. “Then we must first drive the English out of Scotland—weaken their forces here.”
“Agreed.” The bishop stopped and placed his hand on William’s shoulder. “And your rise in popularity has been most impressive. Seize this opportunity. Let nothing stand in your way.”
“Ye ken, I will.” William swallowed. “But above all, I need your support.”
“Ye have it. I brought ye out here to affirm that the church is behind your rebellion wholeheartedly. I want ye to drive out the enemy and show no mercy.”
“I’m ready to make a stand. But I cannot stress enough that all of Scotland needs to be united behind me in this uprising.”
Bishop Wishart firmly patted Wallace’s shoulder. “Leave that to me, my son.”
“Verra well.” William let out a long breath. “I will expect ye to act swiftly. The nobles will pay heed to ye and the High Steward. With God’s help we will rid our home of the oppressors afore autumn’s end.”
“Well said, lad.” The bishop turned and started back. “Now let us go see how your new recruits are faring.”
***
Oh yes, living the life of an aristocrat in the Middle Ages definitely had its advantages. Eva could sleep as late as she desired in her four poster bed made blissful by a feather mattress, which was exactly what she did this morning. The room served as a perfect example of a medieval bedchamber, with a red canopy above the bed, a window embrasure with furs that could be pulled across the glassless window. And since it was summer, Eva could sit on the bench in the embrasure and write, enjoying both fresh air and natural light.
The most glorious thing of all was privacy. Living in a cave with a mob of rebels for a month sure did reestablish a girl’s priorities.
At the moment, she stood beside the hearth and watched the serving boys carry pails of water to fill the enormous oblong tub they’d brought up for her bath. Sarah
, Eva’s chambermaid oversaw the parade, standing by the door with her hands on her hips. “Mind ye don’t splash water on his lordship’s floorboards.”
Eva liked Sarah and they were close in age. Better yet, she didn’t ask many questions and treated Eva like she was royalty. With her own bedchamber equipped with a garderobe and a personal servant, all the food she could eat in the hall, or room service if she asked, it was akin to staying in a five-star hotel in any major city.
Sarah even provided turndown service.
Watching a lad pour in an iron pot of steaming water, Eva couldn’t help but question, “What do you do with the water after the bath?”
“Take it out the same way it got in—scoop it out with the buckets, except we toss the water out the window so the lads dunna have to haul it all the way back down the stairwell again.” Sarah moved her hands to her hips. “I’m surprised ye need ask, Miss Eva.”
“Of course, it was the same in my father’s keep.” Eva pretended to brush some lint from her shoulder and took a seat in one of the two padded chairs near the hearth. She folded her hands atop the round table. “Is there a bathhouse on the premises?”
“Aye, for the servants, though. His lordship and the family all bathe in that basin right there.”
The last lad finished pouring his portion of water and walked out the door.
“Off with ye, now.” Sara gestured to the tub. “Can I help ye wash your hair, Miss Eva?”
“Oh no. I can handle it from here.”
“Truly?” Sarah wrung her hands. “His lordship and lady make a grand occasion of their baths. We set up a privacy tent around the basin and a board across for food. The minstrels play whilst they have a grand feast and all manner of servants attend them.”
Eva chuckled. “I assure you, no such display is necessary for me. I’d simply like to have a good soak and I need no one attending me for that.”
The chambermaid curtseyed. “Verra well. I suppose I’ll leave ye be, then.”
“Thank you, Sarah.”
After the chambermaid took her leave, Eva disrobed and stepped into the warm water. Though cooler than if she’d run a bath with a tap, it still caressed her feet with heavenly luxury. She lowered herself in, releasing a long sigh. Ah yes, she could languish there all day.