by Amy Jarecki
“Aye, ye may need to hide, but not me.”
“Hmm.” William clenched and unclenched his fists. “Playing with two decks are ye?”
“That, sir, is none of your concern.” The earl pushed back his chair. “I assume ye didna send for me for a discussion about avoiding the English.”
“Nay.” William stroked his fingers along his cropped beard. “Why did ye not fight at Falkirk?”
Lord Bruce tugged on his jerkin, frowning like the question gave his stomach unease. “Why should I be inclined to reveal my hand to the likes of ye? Ye’re no longer Guardian.”
“Aye, but I still have the ear of the commoners.” William shifted in his seat. “I lost a great deal at Falkirk and Scotland lost more. If nothing else, I am due an answer.”
Pursing his lips, the earl nodded. “I suppose ye are right, damn it all. ’Twas my father’s request—and my future father-in-law’s as well. I was in negotiations with the Earl of Ulster when he received the order to march with Edward.”
“So ye opted to remain impartial?”
“I couldna exactly throw away negotiations to win Lady de Burgh’s hand and take up arms against her father. ’Twas far too advantageous an alliance.”
Putting lands and titles afore duty to king? “Did ye ken the outcome of the battle?”
Frowning, Lord Bruce studied his fingernails. “I kent your position was precarious.”
“Because certain nobles would turn backstabbers?”
The earl looked him in the eye and nodded.
“So ye sat idle while Scottish blood soaked the battlefield?” William’s fists clenched into balls.
“I didna come here to be interrogated by the likes of ye, sir. I acted and continued to act in the best interests of the Kingdom.”
“Is that so?” William sat back and crossed his arms. “Yet ye own lands on both sides of the border.”
“I was born in Scotland.” The man sat square and smacked his pointer finger into the table. “My alliances on the other side of the border only serve to strengthen our defenses along the boundary of Galloway. If I did not employ loyal men across the border, my lands would undergo endless raids.”
William couldn’t argue Lord Bruce’s point. The earl had suffered more than most trying to protect his lands against the senseless border reivers. Yet, Wallace needed more. “What is your quarrel with the Earl of Badenoch?”
Bruce threw back his head and laughed. “Aside from John Comyn being a sniveling arse?”
William didn’t smile. “Aye.”
“There is no noble in all of Scotland more loyal to Edward than Badenoch. As Guardian, he’s no more effective than the puppet king. I couldna tolerate Comyn’s milk-livered deference when I served beside him. God’s blood, I’ve sworn on my first wife’s grave I will never pay heed to that tyrant again.”
“Strong words.” William moved to the sideboard and pulled the stopper from a flagon of whisky. “I must say your actions make it difficult to determine which side ye’re on.”
The earl flung his arms to his sides, the span nearly the breadth of the oblong table. “Do ye not think that is by design? Damnation, man, England has us by the cods. My position is perilous. There are times when it is best to lay low so a man can live to fight another day.”
William poured two drams. “That’s what worries me.”
“Pardon?”
After placing one in front of Lord Bruce, William returned to his chair. “Do ye agree Scotland is in worse condition now than when I ruled as Guardian?”
“Aye, especially now that Comyn is eating out of Edward’s palm.” The earl sipped.
“But still there are unanswered raids against our countrymen. Our people are huddled in their homes at night afeard the bastard will next turn on them. Do ye plan to sit idle whilst Longshanks further sinks in his talons until he has bled us dry—until all of our sons have died fighting his battles on foreign soil?”
“I—”
William slammed his fist on the table. “Or have ye a plan to do something about it?”
Bruce leaned forward, both hands splayed wide as he eyed Wallace. “Ye are the cause of much of the bloodshed.”
William shoved back his chair and stood, his fingers itching to draw his dirk. “Explain yourself and ye’d best do it quick afore we come to blows.”
The earl smirked, folding his arms. “Think on it. Every sennight the price for your head rises a wee bit higher. With every plunder of Scottish villages, the soldiers are demanding, ‘where is Wallace?’. Do ye believe with your petty raids ye are doing the commoners a service—running the English out of Scotland?”
William threw up his hands. “Bloody hell, someone must take a stand and I seem to be the only man bold enough to do so.”
“Aye?” Bruce stood and sauntered around the table, hand resting atop his sword’s pommel. “Ye canna stay anywhere without being hunted. To be perfectly clear, my presence here is a threat to my life.”
William narrowed his eyes and examined the earl. “Then why’d ye come?”
“Because I respect ye.” Bruce lowered his hand to his side. “And because I am as sick as ye are, watching Longshanks’ tyranny unfold time and time again.”
Tension shed from his shoulders as William resumed his seat. “I need someone—a nobleman who is strong enough to commit to end Longshank’s madness—a man who willna turn his back on Scotland no matter what.”
“England’s army is too strong.” Following William’s lead, his lordship shook his head and sat. “As ye said, Comyn has allowed Edward to sink his claws deep. There is no corner of Scotland without its spies or well-trained English soldiers within a day’s march.”
William took a long sip of his whisky and slowly lowered the cup to the board. “We stopped them afore.”
The earl leaned back and scrubbed his fingers through his beard. “We must build our numbers.”
“Aye, but first we need commitment from a man like ye. A man with the pedigree to become king. A man brave enough to push the Comyn line aside and take the crown—not for himself, but to save his people.”
Robert Bruce, Earl of Carrick, stared at Wallace for a long while before he blinked. Then he opened his mouth and took in a sharp gasp.
William’s heart squeezed. He knew his words struck deep. “Can ye unite the nobles—bring together their armies?”
“It will take time.” Lord Robert drummed his fingers against his lips. “Ye may have been efficient at dispatching the matters of state, but ye didna make alliances when ye were in Stirling.”
“I ken, and the more I’ve thought on it, the more I realize I should have smoothed a few feathers, especially after we invaded England.” Shaking his head, William looked to the ceiling. “If I had stopped and rallied them behind me—played the political game—perhaps we might have won at Falkirk.”
“It sounds like ye’ve put a great deal of thought into it.”
“Aye. I had an entire year to ponder the error of my ways whilst I rotted in King Philip’s dungeon.”
“I dunna ken.” Thoughtfully, Lord Bruce stroked his fingers, smoothing his whiskers. “I fear ye burned too many bridges.”
“’Tis all the more reason to have ye behind us—keep my role quiet.” Tension again clamped William’s shoulders. He’d brought Robert Bruce here for a reason and now was the time to reveal his hand. “I aim to travel to the far north. Build a secret army.”
“Ye mean to disappear?”
“Aye, give Longshanks time to forget his hate.”
Bruce reached for the flagon and poured himself another dram, his expression pinched as if thinking. “That man is insane with loathing for ye. It burns so strong, he’ll take it to the grave for certain.”
“If the reports of sightings ebb, do ye think the English raids will stop?”
“There’s no way of knowing until we try. I reckon the problem is now that the war in France is over, Edward needs somewhere to focus his bloodlust. Unfortunate the
man has chosen ye to pursue with relentless insanity. At least France had a fighting chance. ’Tis an entire country.”
“So is Scotland.” William chuckled—but the reality of Edward’s lust for vengeance struck a chord in his gut. “What would Longshanks do if he took my head? Would one man’s life save a nation?”
The earl shrugged with a hiss. “Dunna ken. He needs Scottish coin and men.”
“Aye, but as ye said, with every raid, the soldiers are demanding information seeking my whereabouts.”
Bruce narrowed his eyes. “If we used ye as bait…perhaps ’twould quell his bloodlust long enough for us to move against him.” Drumming his fingers, he continued, “But your plan to assemble an army to the north has merit.”
“Only if ye can send me men—with the English none the wiser.”
“’Twill be a challenge keeping your whereabouts a secret.”
“Aye.”
William topped up Bruce’s cup and poured more for himself while they formulated their plans to secretly send men to Orkney. Only the best warriors would go—hand-picked by the earl. And all the while, Bruce would send out spies to watch Longshanks’ officers. God willing, this would be a giant leap toward taking back the Kingdom.
A loud boom shook the walls in the solar. Muffled shouts hailed from above.
The door swung open. Sir Forrester barreled in with sword in hand. “Haste ye to the postern gate. We are under attack!”
William’s hand flew to his sword. “To the battlements!”
“No!” Lord Bruce clapped his meaty palms on the board. “If ye have learned nothing from our discussion, do ye not understand there is a time to fight and a time to flee? Let us build our forces so we can fight another day. Fight to win!”
William gritted his teeth and jammed his weapon deep into its scabbard. “I will hold ye to your promises.”
***
Eva sprang to her feet with a jolt of alarm. Though she’d heard the boom from the portcullis before, it hadn’t closed with so much force the whole castle shook. Clipped shouts came from above and rose from the courtyard below.
Whipping around, she spotted her satchel with its contents spread across her bed. Taking in a sharp gasp, she raced for it and started shoving her things inside.
The chamber door burst open. “We must haste!” William snatched their cloaks from the hooks and ran to her as he swung his mantle around his shoulders. “’Tis the English. Quickly now.”
After slinging the satchel over her shoulder, Eva tied her mantle closed. “Where is the earl?”
“Gone.” Clasping his fingers around her arm, he pulled her toward the door. “We’ve not a moment to waste.”
Eva stumbled over her skirts and fell into him. Damn. If only she had a pair of practical shoes. Her slippers were but thin strips of pigskin with hardened leather soles. A good pair of running shoes would come in handy about now.
As she straightened, William bent his knees and grasped her waist. Before she could skitter away, her enormous husband hefted her over his shoulder.
She kicked her legs. “Put me down. I can run!” His shoulder digging into her gut, she smacked him on the back.
William didn’t even slow down. “I can run faster,” his deep voice growled.
Eva had no choice but to hold on to his belt as she flopped, draped across his shoulder like a sack of oats. William crouched as he entered the stairwell, winding down the servants steps. Her head thudded into the wall.
“Ow.” Just as she clapped a hand to her temple, her bum hit even harder. “Easy!” she yelled.
“Nearly there.”
Dashing outside into the mud, William threw her over a horse’s withers as if she were a bedroll. “Are the men ready?”
“Aye,” Blair said. “We must haste.”
Eva slung an arm around the horse’s neck and kicked her leg, only to be met by something hard.
William mounted in the saddle behind her. “Hang on, lass. ’Twill be a bumpy ride.”
Bumpy wasn’t the half of it. With a firm jab of William’s spurs, the horse lurched into a thundering gallop. Eva’s body bounced like a flopping fish out of water. Worse, her gut hit hard with the stallion’s every stride, making each breath whoosh from her lungs.
“Latch on to my leg,” he barked with such intensity, Eva dare not question him. Good God, why did she always end up upside down across William’s mount with her ass in the air?
Hoofbeats boomed toward them from the flank.
With a hiss, William drew his sword.
Gasping, Eva tried to reach for her mail piercer with her free hand, but the relentless pounding gave her no chance. The horse beneath them lurched and spun. William’s enormous hand latched on to her bum while a bloodcurdling bellow ripped from his throat. “I’ll cut out your liver, ye mongrel dog!”
Iron screeched with a clash of swords.
Gritting her teeth, Eva held on, ducking her head as low as possible, praying for their lives. The horse jerked as it responded to William’s cues—a tap of his spur, a squeeze of his knee, the rocking of his seat. His expert horsemanship seemed effortless as he battled his opponent with broad, striking glances of his weapon.
Eva had never been so close to a swordfight. Her every heartbeat thundered in her ears. Time slowed.
She turned her head. William bared his teeth. His great sword cut through the air with a whoosh. A dull thud hit bone. The attacker’s eyes bulged beneath his helm. His mouth gaped. Momentum ripped him from his mount.
William didn’t hesitate. He slammed his heels against his horse’s barrel, hissing through his teeth.
Eva clutched William’s leg, squeezing tight in a desperate attempt to stay the pounding against her abdomen. Stars darted through her vision as she opened her eyes to glimpse the path ahead. Shrieking, a clump of broom slapped her cheek.
“Ow!”
With her next breath, William’s arm gripped around her waist and wrenched her up, settling her across his lap. Her head spun so fast, she toppled backward.
“Hold there, lassie,” he said, nudging her upright with his shoulder. Lord, the warhorse didn’t miss a step.
She glanced around his shoulder. “Are they after us?” she shouted over the rush of running horses and the wind howling in her ears.
William inclined his mouth toward her. “Ye can wager your life on it.”
“Can we outrun them?”
“Isna that what we’re doing?”
“Yes, but how do we know when we’ve lost them? Won’t the horses tire?”
“Theirs will tire sooner. They had to ride to Torwood afore they attacked.” William slapped the reins, demanding more speed.
“How long will you drive this pace?”
“Until we hit the Forth.”
“We’re sailing?”
“Aye.”
Eva crouched as they rode under the branches of an enormous sycamore, then dashed into the open lea. On and on the horses raced, snorting through their enormous nostrils. Ahead, a shimmer of blue flickered off the waves of the Firth of Forth. Behind, the enemy made chase, galloping into the sunlight.
“There they are!” Eva shouted.
“How many?”
She counted then searched beyond for more. “Only six.”
“Good. If they dunna turn back, they’ll meet their maker this day.”
Curling into the warmth of William’s chest, Eva sought the comfort of his brawny arms. With eight in their escort, their English pursuers didn’t stand a chance. She prayed they’d gain their senses and turn back. She hated fighting—hated blades even more. If she never saw another battle it would be too soon for her.
“Weigh anchor!” Blair shouted from the lead.
A sea galley bobbed in the water, its sail unfurled—looking like an ancient ship Eva had seen in a museum, eighteen oars and all. Was such a vessel seaworthy?
Queasiness twisted her gut at the mere thought of climbing up the narrow gangway.
Chapter Tw
enty-Eight
“Orkney,” William said, answering Eva’s question as to their destination. Jesu, he would have fought a hundred men with one hand tied behind his back to see her face turn from seasick green and light up like a sunburst.
“You took my advice?”
He shrugged. After all, he couldn’t let the woman think it was all her idea. Her head might swell so large it mightn’t fit through the neck of her gowns. “It seemed a logical move. At least one worth trying. If reports of my whereabouts stop, there’s hope Longshanks will put an end to his mindless pillaging.”
A crease formed between her ginger eyebrows. “Who else knows where we’re headed?”
“The Bruce. Lord Forrester.” William flicked a lock of hair away from her cheek with his finger but the wind snapped it back with a vengeance. “Hell, the master of the ship didna ken where we were off to until Blair told him. Dunna worry, lass. The Orkneys are a part of Norway.” He thumped the missive tucked under his jerkin. “And I still have the letter from King Philip requesting safe passage—a kindness not extended to the English.”
“Aye.” Father Blair waddled toward them in concert with the rocking galley, then leaned against the hull between the pair. “Besides, ’tis too cold for Longshanks’ men to attempt to invade Norway.”
Eva pulled her cloak tighter around her shoulders. Indeed, white puffs of air escaped her nostrils. “I do believe you are right.”
Blair scoffed. “That’d be the first time.” He thwacked her shoulder. “Would ye mind saying that again just to appease an old friar’s ears?”
She gave him a solid punch in return. “You heard me, you turkey.”
He pulled back with a snort. “What is this? Turkey?”
“It’s a stout, gobbling bird they eat—uh.” Her eyes shifted to William.
He glanced at the others. The boat was too small for her to start spewing gibberish about the future. “Enough.”
Looking out to sea, she nodded. “How long will the passage take?”
“Depends on the wind and the sea.” He looked at the sail, filled with air. “Mayhap a day—especially if the breeze continues to favor us.”