Exiles in Time (The After Cilmeri Series)

by Sarah Woodbury

  These Guardians had held the throne in trust on behalf of Alexander’s last legitimate heir: his six-year-old granddaughter, Margaret. Fearful to wait until she grew up, her father, Erik of Norway, had sent the girl to Scotland to stand before her people as their queen. Margaret had died during the journey from Norway, however, before she could be crowned.

  The girl’s death had happened in the old world too, and King Edward had stepped in to mediate the succession. As the new King of England, it was David’s task now, and all of Britain was counting on him to stop Scotland from going off the rails.

  David tapped a finger to his lips. “I promised the Scots I would ride north to meet Margaret and speak before their Parliament, but I was hoping to put it off until the summer. Now that she’s dead, I’m stuck with that promise and have a pressing need for a delegation. The Scots are still expecting me to come, but I can’t go. You’ll have to convey my regrets to them.”

  Callum went up on the balls of his feet and came down. “It’s important to be here for the birth of your first child.”

  David scoffed. “You and I are the only men who think so. You should have heard the uproar among my advisors when I told them I wasn’t going.”

  “The Scots might appreciate your lack of interference,” Callum said.

  “That’s exactly what I explained to my council.” David laughed. “The good news is that I have managed to turn my selfish desire into kingly magnanimity. By not journeying to Scotland now, I show the Scots that I mean what I say: I do not want their throne.” He eyed Callum, still smirking. “You will have to do.”

  “What about Gilbert de Clare?” Callum said. “He could speak for you instead of me.”

  “He is overseeing his estates in Ireland,” David said. “I sent him a message that he’s needed, but communication being what it is, he may not have received it yet. I can’t predict when he will arrive in Scotland.”

  “I will do my best for you, my lord.” Callum bowed. He didn’t bow before David very often, but this moment seemed to call for some formality.

  “I trust you more than any of the other men I’m sending in the delegation,” David said. “I’m counting on you to be my eyes and ears in Scotland. Bishop Kirby thinks he’s the primary ambassador and will take all the responsibility for the mediation if he can—as well as all the credit for its success—but I don’t trust him.”

  Callum met that statement with the silence it deserved, taking a moment to pour David a cup of water from a pitcher and hand it to him. Callum poured a cup for himself too, and they both drank. David had told Callum about the behind-the-scenes machinations that had taken place leading up to David’s crowning as King of England. Kirby had forged documents attesting that Meg was the daughter of King Henry and Caitir, an illegitimate daughter of King Alexander II of Scotland.

  Although David had declared time and again that the documents were fake, nobody seemed to believe him, especially since the Church had gone ahead and crowned him King of England anyway. Other claimants to the throne of Scotland now feared that those same documents gave David a right to the Scottish throne too, and that David would back up his supposed claim with military might.

  “I have ordered Kirby to leave my rights out of this, no matter how acrimonious the negotiations become among the Scots.” David poured the last of the water in his cup over his head and then brushed the wet hair back from his face with both hands. “Kirby has assented. I’m not getting involved in a war in Scotland. As you and I know, it would be a quagmire. Do try to head one off if you can.”

  “You’re sure about asking Kirby to lead your delegation?” Callum said.

  “The task should have gone to Archbishop Peckham, but he has been ill since the winter and is still recovering. Kirby begged for the job, and while his desire for it concerns me since it appears to me to be a thankless task, I don’t want you to get sucked into the dispute. You are to stay free of bias towards any faction. Your job is to be a calming influence among the Scottish nobility, to ferret out what’s happening behind closed doors and in the underbelly of the royal court, and—I want to know who killed Princess Margaret.”

  “She died of what sounds like the flu or pneumonia,” Callum said.

  David shrugged. “So they say. I’m reluctant to believe in so coincidental a death, even if it would take an awfully cold heart to murder a small child.”

  “It has happened before,” Callum said. “Maybe recently.”

  “That’s exactly my concern,” David said. “It’s bad enough that I never discovered if my predecessor, little Prince Edward, died of smallpox or was murdered. I don’t want to place the crown of Scotland on the head of the man who ordered Margaret’s death.”

  “I can’t promise—”

  “I’m asking too much, I know. Do what you can.”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  David smirked. “My title never sounds right coming from you, though it’s not as bad as when my sister says it.”

  Callum smiled. “Yes, my lord.”

  Then David held up a hand, having one more thing to say. “To give you the stature you require in order to move freely throughout the north, I am awarding you the earldom of Shrewsbury.”

  All the air left Callum’s chest. It was an outrageous gift and one he didn’t deserve. David’s advisors must have nearly had apoplexy when he suggested it. “My lord—you can’t!”

  “The Earldom of Shrewsbury was allowed to expire almost two hundred years ago,” David said. “I can bestow it upon whomever I wish.”

  “I know for a fact that Humphrey de Bohun covets it for his son, William,” Callum said.

  “I’ve given Worcester to William. He didn’t complain so I don’t see why you should. It’s a done deal. I signed the document this morning.”

  Callum was still staring at David, his mouth agape.

  Then Lili appeared through the archway that led from the courtyard to the kitchen garden. She glanced at Callum and grinned. “I gather you told him?”

  David stood, clapped a hand on Callum’s shoulder, and strode past him towards his wife. As an excuse for David not to ride to Scotland, she was a good one. Less than a month remained in her pregnancy, and he was determined to be with her for the birth.

  David had moved the court from Westminster Palace to Kings Langley so she could have sunshine and quiet as she waited. He had little of either himself no matter where he resided, although this was better than the stink and press of London. Even through Callum’s very modern eyes, the London of the Middle Ages was crowded and polluted. Kings Langley couldn’t compare to the mountains of Wales, but it was more like them than the city.

  David took Lili’s hand. “Are you well? Is there something you wanted?”

  “I’m fine. I’m fine.” Lili laughed at David’s attentiveness. “I won’t break, you know. I just came to tell you that the men on the wall can see Ieuan’s banner in the distance.”

  “Finally!” David gestured that Callum should come with him.

  Callum had met the rest of David’s family at Christmas, after David’s tour of England as the country’s new king, but he hadn’t seen any of them since then. In the Middle Ages, travel was dangerous and difficult. While David’s rule had brought peace to England and its roads were for the most part safe, to travel a hundred miles still took three days on horseback. It was too much of a challenge for a woman with a new baby, of which David’s family suddenly had quite a few.

  A few weeks ago, David’s sister, Anna, and her husband, Math, had welcomed a second son. They’d named him Bran after the original ruler of Dinas Bran, Math’s seat in northeast Wales. Before that, in March, Meg had given birth to her twins, Elisa and Padrig. Neither woman felt comfortable leaving her children to travel to England.

  Thus, the only family members who could make the journey from Wales for the birth of Lili’s baby were Bronwen, a fellow time traveler; her husband, Ieuan (who was also Lili’s brother); and their six month old daughter, Catrin.
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br />   Callum knew that childbirth was one of the events that seemed to precipitate time travel. He’d spent approximately one minute scheming as to how he might attend the births, on the off chance that one of the women did time travel home, but then discarded the idea just as quickly. What could he have done? Hovered over Anna or Meg as they labored, waiting for that moment when they might take him back to the modern world? It would have been an obscene request and he’d stayed in England rather than be tempted.

  Callum accepted the clean shirt Lili had brought for him, slipping it on and buckling his real sword around his waist, before following David towards the gatehouse of the castle. They reached it just as the visitors came to a halt in the outer bailey.

  Bronwen shot Callum a grin from the saddle as she handed Catrin down to Ieuan, who had dismounted first. “You’re here!”

  Callum moved to help her to the ground. “Why does that surprise you?”

  “I don’t know,” Bronwen said. “You had the look a few months ago of someone whose feet were itching to hit the road.”

  “And so they are,” Callum said.

  Aaron, the physician for the Welsh royal court, held his hand to his lower back. “The journey from Caerphilly to London was quite enough for me.”

  “You are a steadfast companion, nonetheless, Aaron,” Bronwen said, and then looked past him to smile at his son, “as is Samuel.”

  If Callum had thought the day couldn’t be improved upon, he was wrong. Thanks to a long-term (clandestine) relationship with a Scottish woman who now lived in Carlisle, Samuel spoke Gaelic. Because Callum did too, Samuel had been one of the few people with whom Callum could communicate in the first months he’d lived in Wales. Like English and French, Gaelic had changed between the thirteenth century and the twenty-first, but Callum had more easily navigated those changes, and Samuel had been willing to help.

  Although Samuel was of Jewish descent, at six feet tall, with light brown hair and the body of a soldier, he could be mistaken for a run-of-the-mill Englishman. Very often, he meant to be. Until the death of Edmund of Lancaster, King Edward’s brother in whose company Samuel served before 1285, Samuel had denied his Jewish heritage and passed for an Englishman. In the new world David had created, such deception was no longer required. Not surprisingly, Samuel now served David instead of any English baron.

  Samuel had lived his life on the outside looking in, pretending to fit in with Gentiles—and doing it so well that he’d never been found out. Despite the vast difference of time and culture between Callum and Samuel, Callum had found that he could relate to Samuel more than to any other medieval man and counted him as one of his few friends.

  Callum strode over to Samuel and the two men clasped forearms. “Sir.” Samuel bowed his head slightly.

  “Welcome,” Callum said.

  “Thank you for coming, all of you,” David said.

  “Thank you for inviting us, sire,” Samuel said, “but to what do I owe the honor of your invitation?”

  “Earl Callum has agreed to join my delegation to Scotland.” David shot Callum a grin. “He is to be my eyes and ears. I want you to be his.”

  Callum looked at David. “You’ve been planning this for a while, haven’t you? Why didn’t you tell me—?” He snapped his mouth shut as David tilted his head and gave him a questioning look. “Right.” Callum turned back to Samuel.

  “It would be my pleasure to serve you, my lord,” Samuel said, and then paused, his eyes glancing towards David. “Did you say, Earl?”

  David grinned. “Callum is the newly installed Earl of Shrewsbury.”

  “A wise choice, my lord.” Samuel bowed, a smile twitching at the corner of his lips. “May I ask why you chose me for this journey?”

  David narrowed his eyes. “Do you object to the post? You speak Gaelic and English, you’re loyal to me, and you’re good with a sword. Why not you?”

  “You have other talents as well that make you particularly suited to the job,” Callum said.

  “Such as what?” Samuel said, but then nodded as he caught on. “Oh yes. That would be lying.”

  “It’s a useful skill, whether or not the leaders of our respective religions would agree,” Callum said.

  David clapped a hand on each of their shoulders and shook once. “I, on the other hand, am very bad at it. Lili despairs of me because I turn red, stammer, and look down at my feet.”

  “I’m not sure that’s such a bad thing,” Callum said.

  “When would you have us leave, my lord?” Samuel said.

  “Tomorrow,” David said. “Can you two work together?”

  “Yes, my lord,” Samuel and Callum said in unison.

  “Good.” David nodded at Samuel, indicating he was dismissed. With a final bow in the king’s direction, Samuel and his father went into the hall. Then David turned to Callum, switching to American English. “He’s a common soldier and can ask questions where you cannot. Between the two of you, I have a chance of getting at the truth.”

  Callum sensed that David had mentally checked Scotland off of his list of things to do. Callum had seen him create the lists, scribbling on scraps of paper he carried around with him at all times. Without warning, he would pull one from an inner pocket to tick items off or add new ones. Callum didn’t know how David managed to keep so many balls in the air at once, even with two very efficient secretaries.

  Meanwhile, Ieuan had fallen into a conversation in rapid Welsh with Lili. It would have proved too much for Callum, even if they had wanted to include him. Lili squeezed David’s hand and went off with her brother, following Samuel and Aaron. That left Callum alone with David and Bronwen, who had been watching the various exchanges with little Catrin on her hip.

  Now, Bronwen came over to hug Callum. “I see you have a job. I’m glad.”

  “You may note that it appears to be the worst one David could think of.” But Callum smiled as he said it.

  “I’m standing right here,” David said. “I speak American too.” The three time travelers stood in a little circle. It was as if they’d created their own cone of silence in the center of the bailey while the activity of the castle went on around them.

  Bronwen laughed and elbowed David. “Those jobs are the ones he gives to people he trusts the most. Besides, Scotland is a mess and getting more dangerous by the day. You could hardly do worse than King Edward did in the old world.”

  “King Edward chose John Balliol to be king because he thought Balliol was weaker than Robert Bruce and could be manipulated,” David said. “Having never met either man, I can’t say which I prefer. Callum will just have to figure it out when he gets there.”

  “I can’t believe I’m going to have to deal with three Robert Bruces,” Callum said. “How am I to keep them straight, much less keep track of everyone else who claims the throne?”

  “Easy,” Bronwen said. “The one who’s claiming the throne now is Grampa Bruce, his son is Daddy Bruce, and the boy, the one who becomes the Robert the Bruce a few decades from now, is Baby Bruce.”

  “Given that he’s fourteen years old,” David said, “I suspect he wouldn’t take kindly to that nickname. I believe they call him Robbie.”

  “Whatever.” Bronwen patted Callum’s hand. “Just be grateful they’re not all named something unpronounceable like they would be if they were Welsh.”

  David laughed. “More than anything, I’d like to avoid war. In the old world, King Edward died of dysentery while campaigning in Scotland. That isn’t going to be my fate. We’re going to figure this out without bloodshed.”

  Bronwen bit her lip. “You’re more worried about this than I expected, David. Do you think it’s going to be dangerous for Callum?”

  “I hope not,” David said.

  “We’re talking about Scotland, right? We have no idea what’s going to happen,” Callum said. “And honestly, that’s a good thing. If it comes to a fight, I can handle myself.”

  Bronwen turned on him. “What’s with you guys? Yo
u come to the Middle Ages and within six months, swinging a sword at an enemy’s head is the most fun you can think of.”

  “Bronwen,” David said, “Callum didn’t mean anything—”

  “Didn’t he?” Bronwen glared at David. She was one of three or four people on the planet who could get away with it.

  “It’s okay, Bronwen.” Callum touched her arm with one finger and then moved it up to allow Catrin to wrap her whole hand around it. “I know soldiering. I asked for this job.”

  “Callum has even learned to curse like a medieval man,” David said. “‘By St. Gwendolyn’s ear’, and ‘St. Kentigern’s bones’ are his new favorites. I’ve heard him myself.”

  Bronwen tsked under her breath. “We haven’t lost any of us yet and I don’t want to start with you. Meg feels guilty enough as it is.” She abruptly kissed Callum’s cheek, and then David’s, and left, though not before Callum saw the tears in her eyes.

  David looked after her for a long moment and then back at Callum. “Callum—”

  “I spoke the truth,” Callum said. “When I first arrived here, your mother told me that I had come to the Middle Ages for a reason. I don’t know if this is it, or even what she meant, but as long as I’m here, I mean to make something of my life. I think I can make a difference—to you and to the people here.”

  “I knew I was right to choose you.” David stepped closer. “You don’t know my father well, but when I first came to Wales, he spoke to me of what it meant to be a man, to lead, and to rule. He talked to me of honor.”

  Callum gazed into David’s eyes, thinking that this king knew far too much about too many things for a boy his age, and that despite Callum’s best efforts to see him with clear eyes, David had pulled him under his spell as he had everyone else.

  “As did my father,” Callum said. “Honor is an easy word to throw around without a true understanding of its meaning.”