Laird of the Wind (21 page)

"Jamie would do anything for you," Isobel said softly, feeling a deep tug at the thought that James loved this Margaret so well that he was willing to risk all to gain her back.

Alice smiled. "He is like one of my own sons, though he's a brigand and a rogue."

"Alice, is he a traitor?" Isobel asked. The question had troubled her ever since James had implied that he was.

Alice shook her head. "Nay. He does not have that in him."

"Ralph claims there is proof of it."

"There cannot be." She frowned. "But Jamie looks haunted, as if he keeps a secret to himself. But then, he has carried a heavy burden ever since Wildshaw was taken by the English."

"What do you mean?" Isobel asked.

"He has many deaths on his conscience."

Isobel frowned. "Do you mean those he killed in battle?"

"Such deeds bother him, but he is a warrior, and nae the priest his father wanted him to be. Battle deaths are deemed righteous deaths by the Church, and I am sure he confesses those and is absolved. But what sits upon Jamie's shoulders like a yoke are the deaths of... those he loved, though he did not cause their deaths." Alice got to her feet to set the bird on a perch. She took off her glove and turned. "That bread will be done now," she said crisply. "Come outside with me, lass."

She lifted a cloak from a wall peg and threw it around her shoulders, then held out Isobel's own cloak and waited while she came forward to put it on.

"We'll take the bread to Jamie and his gos," Alice said. "And we'll hope that the rain will keep Sir Ralph away for now."

Isobel followed Alice out into an increasing rain, her heart thumping wildly as she anticipated seeing James again. And she wondered what would happen after that. Would he insist on keeping her captive—or would he let her go? She wondered if she should try to escape.

For now, she thought, as she walked through the wet grass, she had no choice but to stay with Alice and James. She hardly limped at all now, and soon her foot would be strong enough for the long trek through the forest to Wildshaw Castle.

As she passed between the trees, cool raindrops sprinkled over her cheeks and hair, and the damp breeze filled each breath. She inhaled deeply and sensed the freedom, somehow, in the scent. Most of her life had been spent inside castle walls, effectively imprisoned by the will of those who would protect her. Now, for the first time in her life, she tasted freedom and independence, and craved more.

Yet ironically, she was still a captive.

Chapter 14

Isobel clutched a loaf of hot bread, wrapped in coarse cloth, and savored its warmth as she followed Alice through the murky rain. They climbed up a long, rocky slope, and halted near the top. A massive rockface soared beyond the earthen crest of the hill, a bleak stone surface covered with scrub and vines.

Alice walked toward the craggy rock. At first glance, Isobel saw several deep crevices. Alice edged along between the rock and huge clumps of prickly gorse.

Isobel, following, saw that one of the deep shadows was actually a narrow opening, obscured by thick green growth. Alice put a finger to her lips as they approached the cave.

From out of the rock came an unexpected sound. Mellifluous and deep, a singer created a resonant, low harmony with the silvery patter of the rain. Isobel looked at Alice in amazement.

"Jamie sang with the Benedictines at Dunfermline, in a choir the angels themselves would have praised," Alice murmured proudly. "When he was a lad, he sang alone for King Alexander. Now he sings to his hawk, I think." She called out his name.

The chanting stopped. "Come in, Alice," James said.

Alice turned sideways to squeeze her bulk through the small opening. Isobel followed her into darkness. The cave was a narrow at the entrance, and widened somewhat toward the back.

Gray light filtered through the opening, and a glowing brazier gave out a dry heat. A wooden perch stood on a floor that was covered in sand and earth to absorb the bird's mutes.

James sat on a long bench, his back leaned against the dark stone wall. The goshawk perched on his gloved fist.

"Alice," James said softly. He and the goshawk both fixed their bright gazes on Isobe. "Lady Isobel," James said. She nodded.

"We brought the bread," Alice said.

"Fresh baked, still hot?" James asked, sitting up. Isobel noticed he kept his voice soft and low for the bird's benefit. She perceived, too, the undercurrent of fatigue in his slumped shoulders and in the shadows beneath his eyes. The goshawk stirred restively, and James shushed him.

"Certes, hot, or 'twould be of little use to the bird," Alice said. "And here's a loaf for yourself." She came close to James to set a wrapped loaf on the bench.

The goshawk bated, throwing himself from James's fist, flapping his wings and kakking. James extended his arm with a resigned expression while the bird beat the air furiously.

"'Twill not last long," he told them. "He is exhausted."

"As are you," Alice said sternly. "Have you slept at all these two days?"

He shrugged. The goshawk stilled, and James lifted him back to the fist. "Some."

"Hmph," she said. "You will kill yourself for that bird. I thought Ragnell was the queen of the ruined birds, but that tiercel is almost worse."

"He is not as bad as you think," James said.

She grunted doubtfully. "Well, Nigel taught you well. If anyone can reclaim that ruined, gone-to-wild gos, 'tis you."

Gawain flapped his wings in agitation, and opened his beak repeatedly to squawk. Isobel thought he might bate again.

"What is bothering him?" Isobel asked.

"Alice makes him nervous," James said.

"Aye, he sees me and remembers that great fright Ragnell gave him yesterday," Alice said. "Gosses do learn quick, but they can be stupid, just the same—there, Gawain, go easy, the rude lady red-tail is not with me," she told the hawk. "Och, there he goes again." Gawain batted his wings, and James held him out patiently. "I will not stay and ruffle him further. Do you need anything more, Jamie? We'll be back to bring food later."

"I want Lady Isobel to stay here," James said.

"Stay?" Isobel asked. "Here?"

"I need help tending the bird, and Alice cannot come near him." He gave his attention to the hawk. Isobel and Alice watched until the bird finally settled down. James put him on the fist and fed him a strip of raw meat. "There, that for going back to the fist, laddie," he said. He looked at Isobel. "Are you stronger? You walked up here, so your foot must be better. Can you help me with Gawain?"

His quiet voice, as compelling as his gaze, sent curious shivers through her, and a hot blush rose in her cheeks. Her heart beat grew heavy, suddenly, as if in anticipation. "I am well enough," she said.

"She slept all this time, so she's rested," Alice said. "If you have any wit left, Jamie—which I misdoubt after so long without sleep—you will let her watch that gos for you while you nap. I'll be back." She went to the cave opening, squeezed out with a mutter and a grunt, and was gone.

Isobel lifted the wrapped, warm loaf that she held in her hands. "Shall we feed this bread to him?"

"He is not going to eat it. Come here." He patted the bench. "Sit beside me. The bird will have another fit if he cannot see you clear."

She sat where he indicated. Her left shoulder brushed against his arm. With his free hand, James withdrew his dirk from the sheath at his belt and handed it to her. "Cut the loaf in two," he directed.

She did so, a bit awkwardly, with her left hand. Hot steam rose into the air between them, and she closed her eyes briefly, smiling as she inhaled the comforting smell of fresh bread.

"Are you hungry?" James sounded amused. "We'll share my loaf later. Cut one half, slicing partway through. Aye, good. Now slide the split bread over his left wing."

Isobel hesitated. "You want me to put the bread on his wing?" she asked, incredulous.

"Aye. He has a sprained wing. See the way it droops at the top? When he spreads his wings, he does not lift that one quite so high. His bates are making the sprain worse. The damp heat from hot bread is a good, simple treatment."

"Ah." Isobel lifted the cut loaf toward the bird. Gawain screeched, striking out with his talons. Isobel snatched her hand away and nearly dropped the bread. "I make him nervous, too. Should I go?"

"'Twas not you that alarmed him. He is used to your voice and face. But he does not know if the bread is friend or foe."

Isobel chuckled. James smiled, a quick dazzle that set her heart to thumping. He turned to murmur gently to the hawk. Then he rose to his feet, carrying the hawk, and took an object from among a tangle of leather things on top of a small wooden chest. He returned to sit beside her.

"Hush, now, you bird," James said to Gawain. With deft, quick fingers, he dropped a leather hood over the hawk's head.

Gawain fluttered his wings, stretched his neck as if to protest the hood, and became utterly still and silent.

Isobel gasped. "Nay," she whispered. "You blind him with the hood—nay!" She reached out.

"Careful!" James grabbed her fingers. She lowered her hand. James sighed. "Isobel, my pardon. I did not think about the hood. But look, he is not troubled by it at all."

The goshawk did seem content. Isobel told herself that she was foolish to react with alarm over blindfolding the bird.

"He does not fight it," she said, watching the tiercel.

"Hawks are quieted by darkness, so hoods help to calm them," James explained. "Falcons tolerate them more easily, but they can be used sparingly with short-winged hawks. Some hawks resist hooding, but Gawain has obviously been hooded before." He glanced at her. "'Tis not cruel, Isobel."

"I know," she murmured. "'Tis necessary sometimes."

"Aye. We cannot tend to his shoulder unless he's calm. I would not mistreat a bird. They only accept gentleness and patience. These creatures cannot be forced."

She felt her cheeks warm under his gaze. "There are other creatures who cannot be forced," she said.

"Och," he murmured. "Now why did I expect you to say that?" She wondered if his quiet, affectionate tone was meant for the bird's benefit, or was directed at her. "I have not shown you cruelty, or tried to force you to my will," he pointed out.

"You've been kind. For a brigand," she added.

His eyes twinkled. "I've learned well from hawks."

"Aye, you have." She smothered a smile. James looked at the goshawk, scratching the bird's puffed-out breast with a fingertip.

True, she thought. His calm, patient manner, his low, soothing voice, even the agile way he moved had all been influenced by years of caring for hawks. Her father's falconers, and her father, too, had that same way about them, of purposefully gentled strength. She watched as James adjusted the tiny strap of the hawk's hood with long, nimble fingers. All the while, he murmured soothing phrases to the hawk.

"My father sometimes said that falconers would make excellent mothers," she said.

He huffed a low laugh. "Aye. 'Tis like mothering, in a way. We must care for a young thing with endless patience, and we often must put its needs before our own."

He began to hum the chant again. The notes rose and fell in mellow, creamy nuances. Isobel leaned her head back against the rock wall and listened, succumbing to his deliberate magic. Yesterday, when he had waved his hand in languid patterns over the hawk's head, seducing her into this same dream-like state. Now he wove the spell with his beautiful voice. As the hawk surrendered, so did she.

"Ah," James whispered after a while. "He is calm. Place the bread over the top of his wing, if you will."

If he had asked her to set the loaf on her own head, she might have done it without question. She stirred herself out of her reverie and raised the bread toward the bird.

James lifted his free hand to guide her, his long fingers warm over hers. Together they eased the warm bread over the joint of the bird's wing and shoulder. Gawain shifted a little beneath their combined touch.

"Easy, bonny gos," James said softly. Isobel kept her hand on the bread and James let his hand rest over hers. Steamy heat gathered between their fingers.