Laird of the Wind (24 page)

"And he was," James said. "He was much like an eagle."

"As you are much like a hawk," she said. "But how did your name become involved? I did not say Lindsay, or Border Hawk."

"The English have called me the Border Hawk for years," he said. "I live in the forests. I ran with Wallace, at his side. And I fletch my arrows with white goose feathers."

"And the hawk of the tower?" she asked.

"`Hawk of the tower' is a term falconers use to describe the high flight of a hawk just before the dive for the quarry. So hawk of the tower could refer to me, also, you see, if the eagle was the quarry here."

She nodded. "And the laird of the wind?" she asked.

He shrugged. "That one I do not understand. But word went round fairly quickly that the Border Hawk had betrayed Wallace."

"Dear God, Jamie," she whispered, stunned by what she had learned, shocked at her part in it. "I did not mean to put the blame on you. I never even heard your name until weeks ago. I am sorry if the prophecy fit you." She bit her lip as regret flooded through her.

"I know. But I had a hand in what happened to Will."

"How?" she whispered. "You tried to save him."

He shook his head as if to silence her. He turned his hand over, where her hand rested on his arm, and folded his fingers over hers. "What is done, is done," he murmured. "Do not fret over this. 'Tis my matter. I do not hold a grudge against you for your prophecy. I regret the loss of a friend far more than the loss of my name."

Isobel sighed miserably. "Jamie—"

"Hush," he said. The hawk squawked on his fist, and James jiggled his hand gently. "Soft, you bird." He glanced at her. "Isobel, I know you might be angry with me, but I still must ask you to help me keep awake. Just through this night, and through the morrow, and then we will have our hawk trained."

"I am not angry." She glanced up at him. His eyes were midnight blue in the flickering light inside the cave, and deeply shadowed beneath. She felt the slow current of his fatigue, as if it flowed between them. "But—our hawk? Will you let me hold him, then, so that you can rest?"

He considered that. "I suppose I could. Hawks are solitary creatures, but they often accept both falconer and owner at the same time."

"And so why not you and I at the same time? He does not seem to mind my voice, or my presence. Well, Gawain?" She looked at the hawk. "What do you think, laddie?"

The bird tipped his head at her, his bronze eyes glowing.

"We can find out," James said. "In that chest over there are gloves and suchlike. Go through it, if you will, and find a glove to fit your left hand."

Isobel got up and went to the little chest, sifting through its contents until she found a worn, thick leather glove. She slipped it on, stretching her fingers inside its padding. The glove was large, nearly reaching her elbow, and heavy, made of stout leather with thick cloth padding inside. She returned to the bench and sat beside James.

"Sit this way," he said, and circled his right arm around her shoulders to bring her close, so that her shoulder was supported against his chest. With his direction, she raised her left arm to echo the line of his arm, her wrist cocked and offered as a perch.

"Sir Gawain, will you accept a master and a mistress both?" James asked softly. The close, low murmur of his voice nearly melted her bones.

The bird blinked dumbly at them. Isobel held her left arm up and held her breath. The hawk watched them for a moment.

Then he stretched his wings and went into a furious bate.

* * *

The hawk sat quietly on her fist at last. Isobel shifted softly, so as not to wake James, who dozed beside her, after a long while spent convincing the hawk to calm down and accept the woman's hand as another perch. Isobel propped her left elbow on James's bent arm, and watched Gawain.

He looked at her, his eyes shining in the low light of the brazier. He dipped his head to tuck it toward his shoulder sleepily.

"Ho, bird," she said into the silence. Gawain lifted his head to look at her. "Ho, there. Jamie said to keep you awake. But then he fell asleep himself, though I do not think he planned to do that," she murmured. "Those were mighty bates you threw for us, Sir Gawain. I am impressed. How is your shoulder?"

She reached out with a fingertip and tickled his breast feathers as she had seen James do. The white and speckled gray feathers were divinely soft and warm underneath. Gawain chirred, and she felt the rapid vibration of his heart in his chest.

Not long ago, she had been surprised when, after a sequence of bates and another treatment of warm bread on his wing joint, Gawain had finally stepped onto Isobel's offered fist. He behaved as if he had always done it, puffing his feathers and blinking at her calmly.

Recently, though, the bird had grown more restive, lifting his wings and flattening his feathers. The grip of his talons on her fist was stronger, and she sensed his increasing anxiety. Isobel plucked a bit of raw meat from the pouch James wore, laid it on her thumb, and watched the bird dip to eat it. All the while, she hoped he would not bate, or try to foot her, while she sat with him.

On impulse, she drew a breath and began to sing the
kyrie
. Although she lacked James's gift for true notes, the sound was soft and serene as it echoed around the cave.

The bird, finishing his food, cocked his head curiously. His eyelids came together like lightning flashes, and he stilled.

Isobel smiled and looked at James, but he only shifted and tipped his head toward hers in his sleep. Isobel rested her brow against his head, his hair a thick cushion, his breath soft on her cheek.

"Oh, Jamie," she whispered. "Look at our bonny gos. He has decided to trust both of us. And here you are asleep, and did not even see it."

Gawain roused his feathers, turning himself into a calm puffball, as if he was content to sit the fist without protest.

Isobel held the hawk, and let James sleep while she waited for dawn. As light began to stream through the cave entrance, she suddenly realized that she was a few steps away from freedom.

Beside her, James slept soundly, his breaths long and full, his body utterly relaxed. He would not know if she quietly got up, set the bird on a perch, and slipped out the door. She could be on the way to Wildshaw before he ever woke.

The faint morning light began to glow like a pearl. If she was going to escape captivity, she would have to do it now.

She eased her left arm away from James. Gawain blinked at her and sat calmly, despite the movement she made. The simple trust and reliance in the bird's gaze and posture stopped her.

She glanced at James, and saw on his strong, beautiful face a true vulnerability, a state of faith. He trusted her enough to sleep beside her. He trusted her with the care of his tempestuous, frustrating, fragile hawk. And although he was a secretive, quiet man, he had begun to share some of his innermost thoughts with her.

She remembered what the lad Geordie had told her—that James needed someone to trust him, someone to have faith in him again. She had begun to do just that, as had the goshawk as well. If she left now, in stealth, she would feel as if she had betrayed James. Her heart told her to stay, when her head said she should leave and seek certain protection.

Dawn bloomed outside, and Isobel sat quietly with the hawk and the man, and heeded the whisper of her heart.

Chapter 16

An early morning breeze whispered through his hair as James stood by the cave opening, leaning a shoulder against the rock wall. He murmured to the hawk perched on his fist, then glanced behind him.

Isobel slept on the bench, covered by her cloak. James had eased her there earlier when she had fallen asleep, exhausted, after a simple meal of bread and ale. Now he returned his gaze to the vast expanse of treetops and a pale sky filled with clouds.

In the forest below was a flash of movement. James moved forward for a better view. The hawk fluttered his wings. "You'll soon be flying," James murmured. "I promise."

"He longs to be free," Isobel said behind him. She came forward to stand with him, cupping her hand over her injured arm, rubbing as if she soothed pain.

He glanced down. The light gave her face a delicate clarity, and her hair flowed smoothly down her back with the sheen of polished jet. He longed to touch that silkiness, and wanted far more—but such impulses were dangerous. He must be cautious regarding the prophetess.

Last night he had succumbed to an overwhelming desire to touch her, and would have taken it beyond a simple kiss. Showing neither good judgment nor discipline, he was now determined to avoid that temptation again.

"Look there," he said, pointing downward. "Two runners, coming along the path."

"I do not see them," she said, squinting.

"Wait." His sharp vision often showed him details that others did not see. He watched the figures run through the forest, blond and dark heads bobbing as they came onward. The two men cleared the forest and began to climb the slope.

"Quentin and Patrick?" she asked.

"Aye, back from Stobo. Alice must have told them that we were up here."

"And what will you do now that they are back?"

"I will send a message to Wildshaw," he said, "offering to barter one woman for another." He could not look into her wide blue eyes just then.

Isobel sighed, and gazed down the slope at the two men. "Your Margaret is a blessed lady, to be loved so well," she murmured.

"My Margaret?" he asked, dumbfounded.

"I would give all for such a blessing," she said, stepping forward. "Quentin! Patrick! Here!"

James had no chance to ask what she meant, or to explain about Margaret. Quentin and Patrick came toward them and they all entered the cave, while Isobel greeted them with a smile. Quentin winked at her, and Patrick went red in the cheeks.

But Gawain, on the fist, lifted his wings as if ready to bate. James scratched his feet gently, and the bird calmed.

"What word of Geordie?" James asked. "Is he recovering?"

"He'll be fine," Patrick said. He was not tall, but his barrel chest and heavy limbs made him seem large as he fisted hands on his hips and looked at the hawk. "Jamie, we have some trouble....but what are you doing with that goshawk?" He sounded astonished.

"Training him. What trouble?"

"We came through the forest—and we were chased by a Southron patrol of about ten men," Quentin said. "Henry and Eustace were with us. Both were caught by arrows. We took them to Alice Crawford's house. She told us we would find you here."

"Are they badly hurt?"

He shook his head. "Both will be fine. Alice sent you some food—Patrick has it in that sack. And this sack," Quentin said, handing James a bulky cloth bundle, "is for the hawk. Alice said you might have a hungry hawk here. She sent meat for him."

"My thanks," James said. He turned to Isobel. "Gather your cloak. We must leave here."

"Leave?" she asked, surprised.

"Hurry. And you lads—go back to Alice's house and guard it well. If those were Ralph Leslie's men, they will return. Alice and the others will need protection."

He went to the back of the cave and returned with his bow and sword. With Patrick's help, he looped the quiver on his belt, slung the bow over his back, and slid the long broadsword into the sheath between his shoulders. James then gathered a few hawking items—a hood, jesses, Isobel's glove—and shoved them into a large pouch at his belt.

He fed Gawain a chunk of fresh meat from the bag Alice had sent, and turned to help Isobel put her cloak over her shoulders. She picked up the bundle of wrapped food.

"Do we go back to Alice's house?" she asked.

He shook his head, took her elbow, and turned to Quentin and Patrick. "Lads, go down and see that Alice and the others are safe. I will take Isobel up to Aird Craig."

She turned to him, her look questioning. He tightened his grip on her arm.

"Leslie's men will not find you up there so easily," Quentin said, nodding. "Jamie—you mean to hide the lass there?"

"I do," James said tersely.