Laird of the Wind (25 page)

"So," Quentin said after a moment. "I thought as much. You think to trade her for Margaret."

"What?" Patrick asked. "Trade her for Margaret? 'Tis not an honorable thing, Jamie, holding women like this."

"Tell that to Leslie, who keeps Margaret," James said. "But he may trade her for his betrothed."

"Eagerly," Quentin drawled. "'Tis a wonder he's kept Margaret this long. That lass can be a trial."

"It would not be easy to keep Margaret against her will," Patrick said. "She's a clever lass, and has the strength of two men."

"You ought to know," Quentin drawled. "She was after you often enough. And I saw you go off into the greenwood with Margaret a time or two, lad." He wiggled a brow.

Patrick blushed a deep red. "She were never after me. She were after Jamie."

"She favors both of you," James said. "Quentin for his bonny face, and Patrick for his, ah...."

"For me courtesy," Patrick supplied. He grinned.

"If you truly favor the lass, you'll help me reclaim her."

"Aye, bold as she is, she needs our help," Quentin said.

"Then meet me on the height this even." James led Isobel through the cave opening as he spoke. "I will have a message prepared for Ralph Leslie, which I'll want you to deliver." He nodded to them and slid through the crevice, hawk in hand.

* * *

"There," James said, pointing westward, "is the Craig."

He glanced at Isobel as he stood beside her on a hilltop overlooking the forest. They had already walked a good distance from the cave in relative silence. Now, as they stood side by side, the wind whipped at their cloaks and hair. Two grouse flew overhead, and the bird on James's fist suddenly pitched off the fist in a wild bate.

James sighed and extended his arm. "We may have to begin again with this laddie," he muttered. He did not want to stand out in the open for long, but while the bird fussed, he pointed toward the enormous crag that rose high above the forest, dominating its western side.

"'Tis called Aird Craig—the high crag," he said. Jutting out of the side of a mountain, whose high slopes were pale blue in the morning light, the rough, rugged sides and flattened top of the crag were swathed in a thick cover of trees, as if a rumpled green tapestry had been tossed over it. Along one steep side, a towering expanse of gray rock was split by a foaming white waterfall. The long white tail of water tumbled into a wide burn that skimmed past the base of the crag.

Isobel tipped her head to stare upward. "Do you live up there?" she asked.

"Aye, near the top," James said. Gawain calmed, and he lifted the bird gently back to the fist. "There are caves throughout the interior, like a honeycomb. At the summit—see up there, through the trees—is a ruin of an ancient stone tower."

"Ah. So the Border Hawk has an eyrie."

He shrugged. "So to speak. 'Tis a good place. The Craig is nearly impossible to climb without ropes and iron hooks. The only other access is to go up the mountain behind the crag, a steep and dangerous route." He glanced down at her. "But my men and I have found an easier way to the top, and so we've used the crag as a refuge for years."

She frowned, her expression doubtful. "Must we climb up to this eyrie of yours?"

"Well, we lack the wings to fly," he said wryly. "I hope your foot is well enough for a long walk. Come ahead." He took her elbow and urged her forward. As they walked along the ridge of the hill, passing behind a screen of birches and gorse, James heard the faint, dull roar of the waterfall.

He glanced down and saw Isobel scowling as she walked beside him. "We have been climbing and walking about for days," she grumbled. "Through forests, up hills, down cliffs. And now you want me to climb that monstrous crag."

James hid a smile. "'Tis not so bad as it looks."

"I do not want to climb a mountain," she said, and stopped walking. "I do not have to go up there with you."

He halted beside her. "Nay?"

"Nay." She fisted her free hand on her hip, her right arm still in a sling, and looked up at him. "I could walk back to Alice's house. I could even walk to Wildshaw myself, if I want." "And do you want to do that?" he asked carefully.

She tipped her head. "Would you stop me if I did?"

He felt tension spring and begin to thrum between them. He sensed that she waited for something. He was not certain why she had set such a dare so blatantly before him, for it seemed unlike her. Nor did he know what she wanted to hear from him.

He turned away to survey the thicket of the forest. "You must be wondering if I intend to force you to stay with me."

She stood beside him and looked out over the forest. The wind lifted the glorious length of her hair, released it. "You know that I do not care to be a hostage, James Lindsay," she said. She turned to gaze at him. "I should walk away now, and take freedom for myself. What would you do if I wanted that?"

Silence hung between them, thick as the overhead clouds. His heart thumped in rapid tandem with his thoughts. Without a hostage, he had no chance of gaining Margaret, and less chance of exacting revenge on Leslie for the deeds that had brought him—and Wallace, and the cause of Scotland—to such a sorry state.

If he continued to force Isobel into captivity, he would lose the trust she was beginning to show him; and he would lose what scant respect he had for himself. But if he let Isobel go as she wished, he would lose her entirely.

That unexpected thought struck him like a blow. He frowned deeply and stared out at the forest without reply, frowning. He understood her desire for freedom. He had been a close comrade of the greatest rebel leader in Scotland; he had spent time himself in a dungeon; and he had lost his inheritance and his legal freedom through unfair means. He understood better than most the gut-based human need for liberty.

Despite that, he had taken Isobel hostage in his passion to revenge the wrongs done to him and to his. And he could not ignore the irony of the jessed hawk on his fist. He forced a wild thing into captivity, and denied Isobel her freedom. Her resistance should hardly surprise him.

He sighed. The wind stirred his hair and his cloak, and ruffled the bird's feathers. That gentle power was strong enough to blow a little sense into his wounded, blinded heart.

"Aye," he agreed. "You deserve your freedom."

She nodded beside him. "You cannot keep me."

"I cannot," he said tautly.

"When I was blind," she said quietly, "you gave me a promise of safekeeping. I am grateful for that. But you made me another promise. You agreed to let me go after my sight returned."

He closed his eyes for an instant. "Aye," he said. "I did agree to that." Fool, he told himself; he had been a fool, to speak from his heart that day. If he said her nay now, he would have no honor in her regard. She would never trust him. Ever.

"Go, then," he said woodenly.

Rain began to fall, tiny, misted drops. James waited. But Isobel did not walk away.

"Are you leaving, then?" he asked.

"I might." The wind buffeted between them. Still she did not move. "Is Wildshaw to the west, or to the east from here?"

He nearly laughed. "West," he said. "Beyond the Craig."

"I will just ask Ralph to release Margaret, then."

"He will not."

"Then I will release her myself." She lifted her chin.

"Ah," he said, flattening another smile—what was it about her, that she could so innocently charm a smile from him, and hurt him, all at once? "That I would like to see. But if 'twere so easy, Margaret would have walked out already, believe me."

"You think well of her."

"She's a good lass. I want her safe."

"You love her." Isobel's voice was soft.

"In a way," he said. His heart quickened as he looked down at her. "Not as you love Ralph Leslie, though. You promised marriage with him."

The wind ruffled the dark, sheened curtain of her hair, but she stood motionless. "My father wanted the match. I agreed. A betrothal does not always mean a promise of love."

"But you are eager to get to Wildshaw, and eager to get away from me."

"My father may be at Wildshaw. And I do not much like being held for ransom," she said. "But I am not eager to get away from you, if that is what you think," she added softly.

"Ah," he said. He paused, listening to the lift of the wind, the rush of the waterfall far ahead. "Margaret," he said after a moment, "is not my betrothed—if that is what
you
think."

"But you are willing to risk a great deal to get her back. Clearly you love her. I think 'tis—'tis admirable."

He smiled a little. "Margaret Crawford loves me in her way, I suppose, as I care for her in mine. But that lass would not wed me if I begged her on my knees. Which I would never do."

Her eyes, in that moment, were a silvery blue, as if they had taken on the grayness of the overcast sky. "I thought she was your lover."

He made a wry face. "By the saints, nay. She is like my sister." He considered that. "Even like a brother, at times."

"Aye?" Her eyes seemed to lighten. "I should like to meet her one day."

"You might." Gawain shifted on the fist, cheeping and squawking, threatening to bate again.

"What bothers him?" Isobel asked.

"He is a wild thing," James said. "With all this moving about, we may have lost the ground we gained toward manning him." He sighed and plucked the small hood from the pouch at his belt, and dropped it deftly over the bird's head. Isobel gasped in protest. "He could bate all the way up the crag, and hurt himself, or make the ascent difficult for us," James told her. "This will quiet him, at least. But we might have to start over with his training."

We
. They had worked together to man the hawk. An idea struck James with strong force. A risk, but he must take it.

"Isobel—one favor."

She paused. "Aye, what is it," she said warily.

"You do not want to be the hostage of a forest outlaw. You want to be reunited with your father, and you want to be safe at Wildshaw. Even if you do not love the man... you feel safer with him than with an outlaw, I suppose."

"I might," she said hesitantly.

"And I want Margaret safe. Mayhap we can help each other."

"How?" Her voice was a low whisper.

"I promise you will have what you want. All I ask is a little part of your time."

"My time?" she asked cautiously.

"Aye. Give me a few days to send a message to Leslie and ask for Margaret in trade for you. Wait on the Craig with me until she is returned to ny safekeeping."

"You want me to remain your hostage?" She stared at him. "My guest," he said quietly. "My—my friend. I ask for your help. And that is all I ask of you."

She said nothing. The wind rippled the length of her hair, and the same wind lifted his hair from his shoulders. James looked away, feeling suddenly, horribly vulnerable. She could easily refuse him and walk away. And he would have to let her go, and watch his hopes shatter. To force her to be his hostage now would condemn him as the worst of rogues in her eyes.

Her silence lingered, twisting in him. He glanced at her. "I want to rescue Margaret without wasting more lives," he said. "But I will not keep you if you do not want to stay."

She let out a low breath and looked toward the forest, then glanced toward the great crag on the other side. "You want me to act as an accomplice in your scheme," she finally said.

"Aye, I suppose so." He smiled bitterly. "Leslie need never know the truth. He will always believe that you were kept in fear of your life at the hands of a rogue."

"He would kill you for that reason," she said softly.

"He means to kill me regardless."

She stared at him. The wind blew through her hair, whipping over her shoulder and the side of her face. James reached out and sifted the strands back.

"What do you say, Black Isobel?" he asked.

"Why did you decide to let me go, if I want that?"

He shrugged. "'Tis unchivalric to hold a woman for ransom," he said lightly. "If I hear a lesson repeated often enough, I will learn it."

"You once said I was your only hope of gaining what you wanted—rescuing Margaret."

"My only hope," he murmured. "Aye. But I find that I cannot jess you after all, as I can Gawain. And so I must humbly beg a boon of you, and wait upon your good will." He kept his tone light, though he felt only tension inside, waiting for her answer. He had impulsively gambled everything in the last few moments, his wager placed on her trust and regard for him.

She tipped her head as if to assess him. "I have seen little humility in you. What changed your mind on this matter?"

"You," he said quietly.

She bit her lower lip and glanced away.

"I am asking for your help," he said. "I will not keep you against your will." He paused. "But if you cannot trust the Border Hawk—" He shrugged. "Then I understand. Wildshaw is that way." He indicated the direction.