Laird of the Wind (19 page)

James stepped into the house cautiously, balancing the goshawk. "Hush, Lady Ragnell. I've brought a friend."

"Aye, be polite, you silly bird," Alice said to her hawk. "I do not want to hood you, though 'twill calm you. Gentle, now." She spoke to Ragnell for a few moments, then turned to fix James with an intent stare.

"Ho," James said, holding up his hand. "I know that look."

"Aye, I want the truth," Alice said. "Why is Sir Ralph Leslie looking for you? Does he hold Margaret for ransom now?"

James shrugged. "The English want me, and Leslie has joined them. 'Tis widely known that I attacked the party who took Wallace. And you know that Leslie was with those who took Margaret and I to Carlisle March." He glanced at Isobel, as if explaining in part to her. "When I escaped the English guard weeks ago, he took Margaret into his custody."

"'Twas enough that they killed my Tom," Alice said quietly. "I cannot bear to lose my niece too. Sh insisted on joining her male kin in the forest and fight with them, but I hoped they would release her when they learned she was a woman. I hope you mean to go after her, Jamie. Naught would please me more." She peered at him. "But now tell me how it is that you have the prophetess, when Leslie thinks her dead?"

"The Southrons besieged her castle, so I took her out of there," James said. "We had to go down the cliff side."

"After setting the castle on fire," Isobel said.

Alice gasped. "This is a grim tale indeed!"

"And gets worse," James said. "Alice, we need your help. The lass needs care and rest."

"Sir Ralph will want to know that she is alive."

"Oh, he will find out," James said grimly.

"He cares for the lass. I'm certain of that, at least."

"Aye," James said. "I believe he wants the lady."

Something in his low, quiet voice sent shivers through Isobel. She wished, suddenly, that James was the one who wanted her. A swift, intense memory of shared kisses beneath the fern fronds rushed through her. She drew in a breath and turned away. "But Leslie will not have her," James continued, looking at Isobel, "until we have Margaret back."

"You mean to barter her for Margaret?" Alice asked.

"I had that in mind."

Alice frowned, hands on hips. "Aye, if he wants her, and she wants him, and we want Margaret, who loses in the trade?"

"Who, indeed?" James murmured, his gaze steady on Isobel.

"Let me go to Wildshaw and ask him to release Margaret," Isobel offered wearily. "I must see my father. He may be at Wildshaw. I must find out."

"Nay," James said in a flat voice.

"I will go there," she said, summoning boldness.

"Is that a prediction?" he inquired softly.

Alice stepped between them. "Let this go for now. Isobel has been too long in the hands of ruffians. She's exhausted. You are both weary."

James nodded as he watched Isobel. She sighed and pushed her fingers through her tangled hair. She curled forward and buried her face in her hand. "I am tired," she admitted.

James turned toward the door. "I'll take the gos to the cave, and I'll tend to the horses."

"Good. Ragnell will not tolerate that gos in the house," Alice said. "She looks ready to bate again." As if she understood, Ragnell uttered a squawk and lifted her wings. "I wonder what has gotten into her."

"We named the gos Gawain," James said. "Mayhap she knows she's met her match, and she does not like it."

"Hah! She'll never meet her equal," Alice said.

"We all do, Alice," James said. "Soon or late, we meet the one who will do our heart in." He inclined his head briefly to Isobel, turned, and left the house.

Isobel stared after him, her heart pounding.

"
Benedicite
," Alice said softly. "Will you look at that."

"She snores, your prophetess," Alice observed. "Near as loud as Nigel did. He could shake the bedcurtains with his snores, that man."

James laughed softly and swallowed ale from a wooden cup. He looked at his aunt, who sat beside him on the bench near the hearth fire. Her thick fingers wielded a needle as she repaired a rent in Isobel's gown.

The firelight flickered over her face, which creased in a frown. "You and Margaret are all I have left in this world," she said. "Nigel has been gone four years, and our two oldest sons died at Stirling, seven years back. Now young Tom, last spring." She stopped and bit her lower lip.

"I know it has been hard for you," James said softly.

"You must get Margaret back, Jamie."

"I will."

The needle flashed. "I hoped you might marry our Margaret someday. You are cousins by marriage only. She is a good lass."

"Margaret," James said, "has a will like an ox."

Alice chuckled. "Tom said that of her once," she said. "`Margaret has the will of an ox, and a rump to match, and I do not want to play with her.' Och, I beat him about his own rump with my broom when I heard that!" She laughed again, and James chuckled with her.

She stitched the cloth, and James finished his ale. Then he heard an audible, wet sniff and looked up to see his aunt blinking back tears. He sighed.

"Alice—"

"I am fine, lad," she said. "So long as I have you and Margaret, I am fine." But a shadow passed over her eyes.

James nodded, aware that his aunt deeply mourned the loss of her husband and all three of her sons to the cause of Scotland. But she loved James, her sister's son, and Margaret, her husband's niece, as if they were her own children.

Something warm shoved against James's leg. He reached down to pet the large, white cat. "Ho, Cosmo," James murmured, as he stroked the long back. "Have you been out catching mice for Lady Ragnell? Mayhap you'll find a few extra for Gawain."

"He only brings mice to Ragnell because he is terrified of her and tries to appease her," Alice said. "You'll have to catch mice yourself for that gos of yours. Sparrows, too. Gosses love sparrows." She glanced up. "Cosmo, come away from the bed. You'll wake the lass. Shoo!" She waved at the cat, who turned and settled by the hearthstones.

James glanced toward the curtained box bed built into the north wall of the main room, where Isobel still slept, and would likely slumber until morning. Perhaps then she would be rested enough that he could finally ask questions of her.

By the time he had returned to the house after tending to the hawk and the horses, Isobel was asleep in Alice's own box bed. Alice had treated the girl's wounds with herbal ointments, had prepared a bath for her, and had given her a supper of porridge. While James ate, Alice refreshed the remaining bathwater with a hot bucketful, and James had stripped and stepped into its luxury.

The water was still scented with lavender and foamed with the herbal soap that Isobel had used. James had scrubbed his hair and shaved his unkempt beard, ignoring thoughts of Isobel's cream-skinned body, slick and nude, sharing the same water.

He forced himself to think about other, simpler matters. He was used to bathing in a cold pool near his forest home. But the warmth and fragrance of the heated water eased his weariness as little else could.

After changing into a tunic and trews of brown serge—the clothing had belonged to his tall, large-boned cousin Tom—he had settled by the fire to explain to his aunt what had happened since he had escaped English custody several weeks before. Alice had listened quietly, and offered steadfast praise for his attempt to save Wallace—though he viewed it as a failure—and the rescue of the besieged inhabitants of Aberlady Castle.

Alice had scolded him regarding Isobel's condition, but James knew that she expressed only fleeting disapproval. No matter what he did, his aunt believed in his integrity.

He was glad that someone did.

Now, as the night deepened to true darkness, they sat quietly together. He associated peaceful moments with Alice's warm hearth, either here in the forest house, or years ago in the Crawford home in Dunfermline.

"She does snore, that one," Alice commented, looking up from her sewing.

James hid a smile. He found the soft snores emanating from behind the curtain scarcely audible. But Alice had lived in near isolation for a long while, with only her animals for company; she had grown unused to human noise.

"If you tilt her head, she'll quiet," he said.

Alice gave him a sharp glance. "And how do you know that?"

"We slept in the forest last night. I learned it then."

"Ah, I did notice how gently you spoke to her, and how careful you were of her comfort." Her brown eyes twinkled suddenly. "What about our Margaret, eh?"

"Och. 'Tis not the way of it. For either lass," James said sternly. "Isobel is in my safekeeping."

"If that is what you want to call it." Alice stitched the cloth. "How long do you intend to keep her?"

"I'll send word to Leslie soon."

"I think you do not want to let her go," Alice said softly.

He pressed his lips. "She is far more trouble than you can imagine. I just did not expect her to be injured. She needs some time to recover," he finished lamely. He could not explain to his aunt the tangle that formed his feelings toward the prophetess. He could hardly sort through the threads himself.

"Black Isobel is younger than I would have thought. So young, such a gentle girl, to make such predictions."

"Aye." James leaned forward, fingers spread toward the warmth of the hearth. "She foretold Will's betrayal and his execution, and her prediction laid the blame on me. The hawk of the forest. The Border Hawk. Why, Alice? Who told her to say what she did about Will, and about me?"

"Mayhap she is a genuine prophet," Alice suggested.

"She may be," he said softly, remembering what he had witnessed in the forest. "She may be. But some there are who would have done anything to stop Wallace—and to stop those of us who still fight for Scotland's independence."

"You think Isobel knows who these men might be," she said.

"I wonder if she can name them. Sir Ralph Leslie, for one. But she might know of others who were after Wallace."

"Sir Ralph wears a black armband for Isobel. He loves her."

"I doubt about his sincerity," James said. And he can love and commit murderous deeds. I have been purposely blamed for Will's betrayal. If there is a scheme, I will learn the truth."

Alice nodded. "You must vindicate your name."

He shook his head. "'Tis too late for that. I owe this to Will," he said quietly. "Just that."

"Leslie said that he has proof that you betrayed Will. What did he mean? 'Tis a lie."

James sighed. He knew that he should tell Alice the truth. But he hesitated, fearing that she would no longer revere him once she learned what he had done. He said nothing.

"Jamie," Alice said quietly. "I would never believe treachery of you. Never."

Unable to speak, James let the silence linger. "'Tis late," he finally managed. "I must see to the goshawk. He has been in the mews too long without me. I had to hood him to quiet him. With luck, he slept and did not bate."

"I hope you will get some sleep, too, and not stay up the night watching that hawk to train him."

"I'll sleep," he said. "We will begin training in the morn."

"You swore never to take on another hawk."

"I found this one hanging in a tree by his jesses. I could hardly leave him there. I'll keep him only until he recovers."

"Aye, well," Alice said philosophically, "mayhap he's a wee gift from the Lord."

"Or a wee trial," James answered.

"You've had too many trials, Jamie. 'Tis time the Lord gave you a gift."

"The Lord does not seem to agree," he said wryly, and opened the door to step out into the night.

Chapter 13

The goshawk's gaze was captured by the bright candle flame as James crossed the dark cave. Years ago he had sometimes used the tiny, wedge-shaped cave as a mews for Astolat and Ragnell.

He set the candle on a natural alcove in the dark stone wall, and angled it so that the hawk could see it. Then he bent down to check the fire in the small iron brazier set in one corner; he had set the peat coals glowing earlier, when he had first brought the hawk to the cave, and the fire was steady now. He knew the hawk would benefit more from warmth and dryness than from cold and damp.