Laird of the Wind (11 page)

Isobel gasped. "Thomas and Richard Gibson?"

"Aye." His hand was gentle on the horse, and his gaze was steady on hers. She saw keen regret in his eyes. "Eustace and Henry are taking their bodies to Stobo with Geordie."

She nodded. Tears stung her eyes and she looked away, feeling a piercing sadness. "Thomas and Richard fought well at Aberlady, only to lose their lives after—after escaping."

James's long fingers traced through the horse's mane. "Sometimes life is bitter, lass," he murmured. "We must have faith that the sweetness will return someday."

"Aye," she whispered. His fingers grazed over hers, warm and dry and strong, pressing her hand briefly.

"Eustace said you know this priest in Stobo," he said.

She nodded. "Father Hugh has been priest at Aberlady all my life. He will see that Thomas and Richard are honored, and he'll see to Geordie too."

"Good." James stepped sideways and leaped up behind her in one quick, lithe movement. His torso was warm and solid against her back, his arms encircled her, and his long thighs pressed hers. When he reached past her to lift the reins, she allowed herself to lean back against his strength.

He tightened the reins and directed the horse to turn. The animal responded easily to his command and carried them down the slope and along the path.

"We'll go back where I left my horse," he said. "Are you well enough to ride on? 'Twill be dark soon, and the going will be hard after that."

"I can continue." In truth, she felt dizzy and weak, and wondered if she could ride another ten feet. His nearness was reassuring, as was his gentle manner toward her. She could not have borne more coolness from him just now. "Stobo is not far."

"Stobo? We will not go there." His voice vibrated low and mellow at her ear, sending an odd echo deep into her body. "You and I go elsewhere, lass."

"But—you arranged to meet Eustace at Stobo," Isobel stammered, turning to look at him.

He shook his head. "Southrons could be patrolling the entire area. 'Tis dangerous enough to go back for my horse. I will not risk another attack by riding to Stobo. We will go south into the Ettrick Forest, the way we headed before we were ambushed. I will take you to my aunt's house. She lives across the river, in the forest."

Isobel looked at him in alarm. "But I must go to Stobo. Eustace promised to take me there. Now I must ask you to do that. I have nowhere else to go, no home, no kin nearby."

"Have you family at all to take you in?" He spoke brusquely. She half turned, puzzled by his demand, and decided that he, too, tried to think of somewhere suitable to take her.

"My father is in prison, and my mother is dead," she said quietly. "I do not have brothers or sisters. But I have Seton uncles in Fife, and my cousin Sir Christopher Seton is in Perth. My mother has a sister in Jedburgh. But I scarcely know them. Still, I suppose you could take me to one of their homes."

"Those places are too far," he said bluntly.

She blinked, stunned by his unexpected refusal. His manner had hardened again, and she did not know why. She frowned. "Stobo is closest," she argued. "Father Hugh will take me in."

"I will not go to Stobo." He had turned to stone again in the space of several heartbeats.

She sighed. "Then take me to Castle Wildshaw," she said. "The constable there will help me, even if you will not."

Tension gathered in the strong hand that circled her waist.

"That place is west, beyond the forest, a few hours' ride from here." His tone was flat.

"Sir Ralph Leslie is constable there. He will help me. If you will not take me to Stobo, then please escort me to Wildshaw."

"Leslie," he said in a flat tone. "He is your betrothed."

"Aye," she admitted. "How do you know that?"

"I have heard it. Leslie is a Scottish knight who has changed allegiances—what, twice now? Three times?"

She heard the edge in his voice and frowned. "Many Scotsmen have pledged to King Edward. Sir Ralph is a worthy knight who has ties through kin to both England and Scotland. He says this is a complex war, and he tries to remain neutral."

Lindsay laughed, short and curt. Though she had no real love for Ralph Leslie, Isobel's temper flared. "'Tis said that you yourself changed—" she began.

"You know naught of my fealty," he snapped. "When do you plan to wed this paragon?"

"Sir Ralph and my father wanted the wedding to take place at Lammastide, a few weeks past."

"And you? When do you want it?"

Never
, she thought to herself. "The marriage did not happen because my father was in English captivity, Aberlady was under siege, and Sir Ralph was away searching for my father."

"All good reasons to cancel glad nuptials," James drawled. She did not like this cold, dark side of him, or the bitterness she heard in his voice. "I do not understand why you will not help me in this," she said carefully. "It might have to do with the wars and with your loyalty—whatever that may be. But remember that I, too, have loyalties and desires."

"And what are those?" he asked in a low, even tone.

"I want to see my father again," she said. "He may be at Wildshaw even now. Sir Ralph promised me, before the siege had begun, that he would retrieve him from an English dungeon."

"And your loyalty?"

"I am loyal to my father," she said.

He sighed. "Do you favor England or Scotland?"

"I am a Scotswoman," she said, lifting her chin, certain that would answer any question of loyalty.

"Betrothed to a Scotsman with English fealties."

She looked away from him. The matter of her betrothal had confused and tormented her for months. "I will do what my father asks," she said quietly. "And I want to be with him now, if he is free. Surely you understand that."

"I do," he said. "And I imagine that you want to be with your betrothed as well."

She sighed. "I need welcome somewhere, James Lindsay. Those at Wildshaw will provide it. Please take me there."

"I would sooner take you to your grave," he growled.

A shiver ran down her spine. She turned back to look at him. His gaze seemed hard and cold as steel.

"Why do you bear Sir Ralph such vehemence?" she asked.

"Wildshaw," he said calmly, "belongs to me."

She stared at him in surprise. "But the English king made Sir Ralph its captain—Ralph did not take it from you."

"Once it belonged to the Lindsays. I inherited it upon my brother's death." He stared ahead. "The English took it."

"I understand," she said. "I do. I will not trouble you to go there yourself, but I have no other refuge. If you take me in that direction, I can find it myself."

"Nay," he said flatly. "I will not do that."

She turned her head to frown at him, but he stared ahead. Sighing, puzzled, she turned back.

Within moments she saw his black horse tied to a hazel tree. James slid down, mounted the black, and drew up beside her. He had the leather satchel with her spare clothing, which Eustace had carried, tied to the back of his saddle. Without a word, he took up her reins to guide her stallion alongside his own horse.

As they rode along the path, she tried again to persuade him to take her to Stobo. "Father Hugh and Eustace will help me. I will be in their safekeeping, and off your hands."

"You are in safekeeping already," he said. "Mine."

"You behave as if you hold me hostage." Sudden apprehension made her voice tremble.

"I do exactly that." Bold words, spoken quietly. His gaze was even and hard, and his grip pulled her reins taut.

Her heart thudded like a wild thing in a cage. She lifted her chin to disguise her panic. "What do you mean? Surely you do not want to ransom me. I have scant value as an heiress now, with Aberlady destroyed."

"Your value, for me, has naught to do with Aberlady."

"Then what—" She drew in a sudden breath. "King Edward wants me brought to him. That is why you came to Aberlady! You mean to escort me to the English king, and make a profit for yourself in coin and land and privilege!"

"If I intended that," he said, "I would have walked you out the gate of Aberlady and into English keeping, and saved myself the bother of descending a cliff in the night."

"Then what do you want with me?" she demanded. Anger and fear struck through her with hot, quick force. She yanked on the rein. "You cannot take me where I do not want to go!"

He did not relinquish his hold. "Isobel," he said, not unkindly. "For now, I only want to take you where your wounds can be looked after properly."

"And then you will barter me for coin to the English!"

He cocked a brow. "If you prove a wearisome guest," he said, tugging on the rein, "I will give you to them for naught."

"Ah, so you
do
mean to barter me!" She yanked back.

"Possibly," he said. His grip was firm on the leather.

Panic struck through her. "Why? I have done naught to you! You treated me with kindness at first. I do not understand you!"

"Must you?" he asked, sounding exasperated.

"Aye," she said. Suddenly she wanted to know him, very much; his thoughts, his past, his feelings. Her heart pounded with a heady combination of fear and fascination. "Aye! Why do you do this? What do you want of me?"

He sighed. "We cannot stay here, Isobel. Come ahead." He pulled on the rein. She held on to it stubbornly.

"You helped me with a gentle hand when I was injured," she said, the words spilling forth as her temper boiled. "You gave me time in my mother's garden for my farewells. And I was sure that you regretted setting Aberlady afire."

"I did. Let go of the rein."

She would not let go, though it took all of her weight and strength to hang on to it. "This is unchivalric. I thought you felt some kindness toward me!"

"And I thought you were a gentle, well-bred lass," he muttered in irritation. He pulled on the taut leather strap that linked them in a silent struggle. "Unhand the rein. I do not want to topple you off.
That
would be unchivalric."

She held her end of the rein though her arm ached to do it. The horse shifted uneasily beneath her. "You would not topple me."

"I would." He yanked, and she jerked forward. He relaxed his hold, and sighed. "I would not," he admitted, but did not release his grip. "You are stubborn as that warhorse. Surely you realize the danger in lingering here for a wee chat."

She rushed on, ignoring his logical point; she felt no need to obey logic just now. Her temper, rarely stirred to this degree, was in full flare. "I wanted to think kindly of you," she said through clenched teeth, as she tugged on the rein. "Even though the Border Hawk is said to be a wretched traitor. But all this day, you have treated me coldly. And now you take me hostage and will not say why. When we came down the cliff side together, I thought that the rumors were wrong about you. But now I think they may be right!"

"You do a good deal of thinking," he said, slinging her a grim look. "Come ahead."

"Nay." She glared at him. "What will you gain from keeping me? Tell me why, or I will not budge from this spot. I would rather go with Southron soldiers than go with you. I would rather be lost in this forest than go with you!"

She knew that outburst sounded spoiled and petulant, but it was the best she could do. Confrontation was not her strength. And she had never met a man with his powerful force of presence. She had scant experience with resisting another's will through the strength of her will—until the siege.

She did not lack determination, and weeks of siege had taught her skills she had hitherto not possessed. She called on those now. She mustered a look of stony fury and held on to the rein out of pure stubbornness, though her arm ached and her body trembled. "What will you gain from this?" she repeated.

His gaze filled with an inner storm, deep and dark. "You, Black Isobel," he said pointedly, "are the only hope I have for gaining someone's freedom. I intend to barter you for a life."

"Barter me?" She gaped at him, barely taking in what he told her. "To whom, and why?"

"Ralph Leslie holds my cousin at Wildshaw," he said.

She blinked in astonishment. "He holds no one there!"

"He does. I want her back unharmed. I trust that Ralph will trade one woman for another."

"A woman?" she squeaked. "He would not hold a woman prisoner. Unlike you!"

James slid her a long look. "He has her. And I will shortly let him know that I have you. You see, then, Lady Isobel," he said smoothly, "we will both get what we want from this. You want to go to Sir Ralph. But it must be on my terms."

"You lack honor," she snapped.

"So they say of me. Come ahead." He pulled on the reins.

She pulled back so hard she thought the stretched leather strip would break between them, thought her arm would come out of its socket. "Why do you do this to me?" she asked, panting. "I have done naught to you! If you have a quarrel with Ralph Leslie, 'tis not my doing. Let go!" she burst out in frustration.