Laird of the Wind (46 page)

During the ordeal of a wedding supper with Ralph, Father Hugh, and a few English knights, she had considered the matter of what to do with the hawk. Aside from kind words from Sir Gawain, she had heard little from the other men. Her thoughts had strayed continually to Jamie, who had his freedom, and to his hawk, who did not.

Now that she knew what it was to be trapped, jessed, and hooded, she could not keep him against his will. If the goshawk stayed with her, he must chose to do so. She did not expect intelligent loyalty from a hawk. But she had to know.

She stood by the window, raised her gloved hand, and gave him the choice. With lifted chin, she chanted the melody of the
kyrie
. After a moment, she sang again. Then she stood quietly, and let the wind call him, too.

She heard the goshawk rouse his feathers and chirr. Then came the rustle of lifted wings, and the soft whooshing rhythm as he flew toward the window.

He landed on her glove with a sure settling of wings, the grip of his talons strong.

Isobel blinked back tears and whispered praises to the bird as she carried him back to the perch. She slipped the jesses on his feet with quick, certain fingers, even in darkness.

* * *

"My advice to you, my son," Father Hugh said, "is to wait."

"Wait!" Ralph protested.

Isobel listened from her seat upon the edge of the bed. She folded her hands in her lap, sat silently, and felt immense gratitude toward the priest.

"Wait," Father Hugh said. "The blindness does not last long. A day or two, mayhap only a few hours, and she will be sighted again, and willing."

Never willing,
Isobel thought to herself.

"She isn't even a virgin," Ralph whined. Isobel knew that he was surely drunk, judging by the amount of wine and ale he had consumed at supper.

"We cannot change that," Father Hugh said. "Although if I were you, I would have avenged myself rather than release the knave who did that to her. But remember this, Ralph. Her prophetic gift is fragile in nature. As long as she is blind, I believe that she is still in the state of grace brought on by the holy word of God that comes through her."

"Damn," Ralph muttered.

Isobel sat straight and demure, and kept her eyes wide open, hoping to appear saturated in grace. The idea occurred to her that she could keep Ralph away from her as long as she remained blind—or claimed that she was.

Then she sighed. Both men knew the blindness would go away in a day or so. Her reprieve, even if she managed to extend the time, would end.

She heard Ralph cross the room, and sensed him standing in front of her. "One kiss," he said. "She is my bride."

"One chaste kiss to celebrate the marriage," Father Hugh agreed. "But we cannot offend the integrity of her prophetic gift. You will not touch her until the blindness passes."

"By then we'll be in Carlisle, visiting the king," he said.

"A fine place for a nuptial celebration," the priest said.

Ralph grunted without enthusiasm. Isobel felt his fingers slide along her chin, felt him tip her head up as he bent forward. His lips touched hers, pressed, opened slightly. She closed her eyes instinctively, and kept her mouth tight and flat beneath his. He renewed the kiss, slanting his mouth over hers, sliding his hand along her neck. The kiss did not stir her, but it was not unpleasant, wine-flavored and gentle, if full of need. She gave him neither protest nor response.

He lifted his mouth from hers. "Good night, wife." She heard his booted step as he left the room, heard the door close behind both men. Her eyes flew open.

For once, she was deeply glad that the blindness lingered.

Chapter 30

Mist hung between the trees as the group made their way along the forest path. Leather trappings, chain mail, and the stomp and snort of the horses created layers of sound as they traveled through the cool, silent morning. Isobel rode at the center of a group of fifteen men, flanked by Ralph and Sir Gawain. Father Hugh rode in front with several soldiers, and another six were armed and mounted behind.

She glanced at the hawk perched on her fist, and then at the fog-shrouded forest. As always in the hours after the blindness departed, she savored whatever she saw. A night's sleep had restored her vision completely, but she had been unable to hide the fact from Ralph and Father Hugh. She could only try to ignore Ralph's eagerness, and her own dread, as they readied for the journey to Carlisle and set out.

Ralph was wary about riding through this part of the forest, she knew; he had ordered a full patrol. As they rode, he seemed anxious, his eyes scanning, his hand on the hilt of his sword.

"Did the guards I sent out yesterday before the wedding return yet?" he asked Sir Gawain as they rode.

"Nay, sir," the knight replied. He kept his eyes ahead.

Isobel stared at him and then at Ralph. "You sent an ambush after James and my father and Margaret?" she asked, horrified.

Ralph slid a glance at her. "No need to concern yourself."

"Since the guards did not return, my lady," Sir Gawain said, "We should likely worry more about them than about the outlaws." His firm tone helped to reassure her that James was unharmed.

As they rode along, a cloaked figure suddenly stepped onto the path ahead of them, holding a large hawk on a gloved hand. The hawk had a silver foot, and the figure was statuesque and bosomy. The soldiers at the front of the group halted.

"Alice!" Isobel mouthed to herself, and craned to see.

"Sir Ralph," Alice called. "I beg a word with you, please."

"Do not stop here," Ralph said. "She is—ah!"

He ducked as Ragnell came flying toward them, cutting through the double column of men. Soldiers leaned sideways in alarm as the huge red tail hawk swooped past and slanted sideways to disappear between the trees. Alice slipped away, too.

Frightened out of his wits by the female bird, the tiercel fell into a ferocious upside-down bate, squawking and flapping. Isobel held out her arm to accomodate him, while Ralph snarled and looked around, his hand at his sword.

A slight rumble of sound gave the only warning. An enormous log burst out of the treetops, suspended sideways on long ropes, and swung down toward the front group of guards and the priest. The men had no chance to jump aside as the log crashed into them, sweeping them off their horses like chessmen off a board. Among the mist-veiled trees, a few men scattered like deer.

"After them!" Ralph screamed, as he tried to control his startled horse amid the chaos. Isobel struggled to hold both her horse and the frantic hawk, who still hung from her arm.

The soldiers of the rear guard galloped off in pursuit, leaving Ralph, Sir Gawain, one guard, and Isobel still mounted. Father Hugh and several others lay moaning or unconscious on the ground, while their horses stomped and circled on the path ahead.

Isobel saw three men and a woman walk out of the forest and come toward them. She gasped, and Ralph swore, grabbing the hilt of his sword. Isobel barely remembered to shift the calmed goshawk back to her fist as she watched them come forward, her heart beating in anticipation and sudden, wondrous joy.

James strode between the trees, a bow in his hand, a sword at his back. Beside him, Quentin and Patrick carried bows, and Margaret followed, wearing a tunic and trews, a loaded bow in her hands. She stopped a short distance away and raised the bow. Patrick and Quentin trained their arrows on the men still lying on the ground, while James advanced toward Isobel and Ralph.

"What are you waiting for?" Ralph yelled at the soldier mounted behind Sir Gawain. "Use your crossbow, man!"

The guard looked at Gawain, then shook his head in refusal.

"God's bones!" Ralph snapped. "Gawain! Take care of them!"

Sir Gawain shoved back his chain mail hood, his thick dark hair whipping in the breeze. "I find that I cannot do that, sir," he said, and circled his horse to ride toward the outlaws. The guard followed. Ralph gaped, then snarled curses after them. James came closer, his stride long and sure. Quentin, Patrick, and Margaret came behind him, their bows aimed at Ralph. Isobel then saw her father standing at the edge of the path, and saw Sir Gawain and the other soldier halt their horses near him.

Ralph grabbed the hilt of his sword. Instantly three arrows pointed directly at him, and he lowered his hand without a word.

"What do you want?" he demanded. "Do you mean to rob us?"

"We might," James said. "You do carry a treasure—the famed prophetess of Aberlady." He stopped on the path, gripping his upright bow. Isobel read wariness in every line of his body, and saw a fierce, cool glint in his dark blue eyes. She felt a desperate urge to leap from her horse and run to him, but the restrained power she saw in him made her uncertain. She wondered if he was furious with her for marrying Ralph.

"If you mean to take her, you directly offend King Edward," Ralph growled. "And myself. She is my wife—as you know."

"I wish to speak with Lady Isobel," James said bluntly. Isobel gazed at him, eyes widened, heart quickening.

"She does not speak to robbers." Ralph slid his gaze around, as if looking for the return of his guards, or for the recovery of the men still on their backs on the ground. "Step aside." He urged his horse forward. "Come, Isobel."

Patrick released his arrow. The bolt slammed into the ground, and Ralph pulled his horse back quickly. "The man said he wishes to speak with Lady Isobel," Patrick snarled.

He nocked another arrow. Behind him, the others stood guard over the fallen soldiers, some of whom began to stir.

James stepped toward Isobel and looked at her, his gaze keen and penetrating. His stance was easy, but the hand wrapped around the upright bow was white-knuckled. She held the hawk on her fist and gazed down at him, maintaining only an outward calm. "Lady Isobel, tell me this," he said formally. "Will you choose safe passage through the forest this morn"—his quiet, mellow voice seemed to resonate in the core of her being—"or will you follow a different path... with an outlaw?"

She caught her breath, her heart bounding wildly. "Jamie—"

"Let us pass," Ralph interrupted. "The king awaits her as his honored guest. If you think to harm the prophetess, you will be hunted down by the king's own men. Isobel, all of them will die if you leave me," he added in a growl. "I will see to it."

She hesitated, biting at her lower lip, glancing at Ralph. His dark, malicious glare underscored his promise.

"I have had Edward's men after me before, and I have been threatened by you before," James said in dismissal. "Isobel, let me hear from your own lips what path you choose to follow."

Yearning welled inside of her. "Jamie," she murmured. "I made a choice yesterday. You are free now because of it."
And I am trapped,
she thought. She closed her eyes in anguish.

"She has answered you," Ralph said. He took the reins of her horse and pulled her ahead with him. "Clear the way. You promised safe passage if she made her choice. Even a forest rogue has to keep such a promise."

James snatched her bridle. "Not necessarily," he growled. "Isobel—do you travel willingly to see the English king?"

"Nay," she said. "'Tis much against my will."

"Ah," James drawled, "you must be in need of a rescue."

"I am!" she said breathlessly, grasping the hope he offered.

He yanked out his dagger and sliced through the taut rein that Ralph held. Then he shoved her horse aside, and squared his stance in the path as Ralph came toward him.

Isobel circled her horse, murmuring distractedly to the agitated hawk on her fist, and halted by the edge of the path to watch anxiously. John Seton, on foot, and Sir Gawain on horseback, flanked her protectively.

Ralph grabbed the hilt of his sword and tried to draw it free. In one swift, powerful motion, James angled his bow and hit Ralph in the chest, unseating him. The man fell, slamming down on the ground with a loud grunt.

Isobel had never seen such fury on James's face before. He strode toward Ralph, who lay on his back, awkwardly attempting to pull his long, heavy sword from its scabbard. When the blade came loose, James flicked it deftly with his bow and sent it spinning. Ralph rolled to scramble away, and James bent down to haul him to his feet by a handful of wine-colored surcoat.