Steward raised his tankard. “We’ve set ye to rights now, Wallace.”
“Och aye.” Andrew lifted his cup in kind. “I wouldna put it past him to sprit into England and bring King John home.”
Nodding to his friend, William took his seat and raised his tankard. “To King John.”
“Here, here!” At least everyone was inclined to toast the deposed king when the ale was flowing aplenty.
Eva’s insides bubbled as they dined. William was in high spirits, talking about the future of Scotland and sharing some of what he had planned for the army. He mentioned not a word about his unquenchable desire to invade England. Such bravado could very well end up in the wrong hands.
Eva regarded the faces and drummed her fingers against her tankard. “Where is Lord Comyn?”
“Made his apologies and left after this session.” William took a long pull on his ale. “I expect, with his absence, parliament may come to close a day sooner.”
Laughing, she thwacked his arm. “You are awful.”
“I am nothing but honest.”
The minstrels hovered in a corner, hopelessly failing to serenade the meal. They played their instruments as if in pantomime. Too many voices drowned them out.
“Oh dear,” Eva said, leaning into William. “I’m afraid we needed more musicians.”
“Bah.” He batted his hand through the air. “They’re fine.”
After William had two gargantuan servings of plum pudding, he patted his stomach and looked to Andrew. “Sir Murray, I believe your wife has a yen to dance this night.”
The knight regarded his wife, wiping his brow with his sleeve. “Then I canna sit idle when I have a duty to attend to my fair lady.”
“Clear the floor,” he shouted. Standing, William offered his hand to Eva. “Please do me the honor, m’lady.”
She loved it when he referred to her as his lady—though her proper title was miss, or missus since she was a widow. Though she hadn’t been bothered by it, William had never referred to her as missus. He’d assumed she was a miss when they first met—her mistake, really. Eva hadn’t been predisposed to talking much about her past. She’d been with him for about two months before Steve’s murder in a New York subway came up—and then they’d never spoken about it again.
Some of the other noblemen escorted their wives into the space hastily cleared by the servants. Eva stood across from William.
“Dunna be nervous,” he jested.
She winked. “Easy for you to say.”
The boisterous voices died down enough to hear the music. Lady Christina gave Eva a reassuring nod and all launched into a stately line dance that was ever so proper for a bawdy inn in the midst of a dense forest.
Eva followed along, only missing a step or two.
William grasped her hand for the circle and inclined his lips toward her ear. “Ye’ve had a wee bit of practice.”
“Thank you. Robbie and I’ve been taking lessons from Lady Christina.”
“And where have I been whilst ye’ve been kicking up your heels?”
“Chasing after the Earl of March among other things.”
“Well, I’m glad ye’ve been keeping yourself occupied.”
She laughed. “And out of trouble?”
“Aye.”
With a clatter of chairs, Eva and William stopped. Sir Andrew lay on his back, sprawled across the floorboards.
William rushed to lend him a hand. The proud knight brushed it away. “I’m dunna need mollycoddling.”
“He’s a wee bit tired,” said Lady Christina.
“I’m not bloody tired.” Andrew leaned heavily on a chair and pulled himself up, wincing all the while. “’Tis my battle wound that ails me.”
“Of course,” said William. “Mayhap an early night would benefit us all.”
“Och, enjoy yourselves.” The knight swayed until his wife slipped under his arm and helped him balance. “The ale must be potent.”
“That it is,” William said, sober as a judge.
Eva chewed the inside of her cheek. Andrew Murray grew weaker by the day and there wasn’t a damned thing she
“Och aye.” Andrew lifted his cup in kind. “I wouldna put it past him to sprit into England and bring King John home.”
Nodding to his friend, William took his seat and raised his tankard. “To King John.”
“Here, here!” At least everyone was inclined to toast the deposed king when the ale was flowing aplenty.
Eva’s insides bubbled as they dined. William was in high spirits, talking about the future of Scotland and sharing some of what he had planned for the army. He mentioned not a word about his unquenchable desire to invade England. Such bravado could very well end up in the wrong hands.
Eva regarded the faces and drummed her fingers against her tankard. “Where is Lord Comyn?”
“Made his apologies and left after this session.” William took a long pull on his ale. “I expect, with his absence, parliament may come to close a day sooner.”
Laughing, she thwacked his arm. “You are awful.”
“I am nothing but honest.”
The minstrels hovered in a corner, hopelessly failing to serenade the meal. They played their instruments as if in pantomime. Too many voices drowned them out.
“Oh dear,” Eva said, leaning into William. “I’m afraid we needed more musicians.”
“Bah.” He batted his hand through the air. “They’re fine.”
After William had two gargantuan servings of plum pudding, he patted his stomach and looked to Andrew. “Sir Murray, I believe your wife has a yen to dance this night.”
The knight regarded his wife, wiping his brow with his sleeve. “Then I canna sit idle when I have a duty to attend to my fair lady.”
“Clear the floor,” he shouted. Standing, William offered his hand to Eva. “Please do me the honor, m’lady.”
She loved it when he referred to her as his lady—though her proper title was miss, or missus since she was a widow. Though she hadn’t been bothered by it, William had never referred to her as missus. He’d assumed she was a miss when they first met—her mistake, really. Eva hadn’t been predisposed to talking much about her past. She’d been with him for about two months before Steve’s murder in a New York subway came up—and then they’d never spoken about it again.
Some of the other noblemen escorted their wives into the space hastily cleared by the servants. Eva stood across from William.
“Dunna be nervous,” he jested.
She winked. “Easy for you to say.”
The boisterous voices died down enough to hear the music. Lady Christina gave Eva a reassuring nod and all launched into a stately line dance that was ever so proper for a bawdy inn in the midst of a dense forest.
Eva followed along, only missing a step or two.
William grasped her hand for the circle and inclined his lips toward her ear. “Ye’ve had a wee bit of practice.”
“Thank you. Robbie and I’ve been taking lessons from Lady Christina.”
“And where have I been whilst ye’ve been kicking up your heels?”
“Chasing after the Earl of March among other things.”
“Well, I’m glad ye’ve been keeping yourself occupied.”
She laughed. “And out of trouble?”
“Aye.”
With a clatter of chairs, Eva and William stopped. Sir Andrew lay on his back, sprawled across the floorboards.
William rushed to lend him a hand. The proud knight brushed it away. “I’m dunna need mollycoddling.”
“He’s a wee bit tired,” said Lady Christina.
“I’m not bloody tired.” Andrew leaned heavily on a chair and pulled himself up, wincing all the while. “’Tis my battle wound that ails me.”
“Of course,” said William. “Mayhap an early night would benefit us all.”
“Och, enjoy yourselves.” The knight swayed until his wife slipped under his arm and helped him balance. “The ale must be potent.”
“That it is,” William said, sober as a judge.
Eva chewed the inside of her cheek. Andrew Murray grew weaker by the day and there wasn’t a damned thing she
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