Laird of the Wind (9 page)

He was amazed to hear Isobel laugh, a frightened, doubtful little squeak, but a laugh nonetheless. He half smiled as he resumed his descent.

* * *

Isobel knew that she should feel terrified, but she felt strangely secure, wrapped in a cocoon of rope and cloaks, held firm against the outlaw's hard, solid body. She laid her head in the hollow of his shoulder and studied his clean profile, silhouetted against the moon.

She had already discovered that she could not look down at the dark expanse of ground below the cliff. Nor could she look up at the castle, where a hot red light spread into the dark sky; the sight of her burning home hurt far too much. And any glance to right or left, at the others who made their way down ropes, sent chills of fear through her.

Nor could she close her eyes completely—never that, for then the world became an uncertain, frightening place, full of darkness and sharp, unending pain.

So she looked at the outlaw, and discovered an odd sort of safety in the midst of danger. His strength held their combined weights with ease, and his long reach and powerful muscles made the awful descent seem effortless.

Isobel was utterly dependent upon his strength, his ability, and his good will. She had no choice but to trust him—for now.

She rested her cheek against his shoulder and felt his muscled body shift, solid and reliable and warm, against hers.

James paused on the rope, breathing hard as he summoned the strength to continue. Isobel looked at him.

"How do you fare?" she asked, as he had so often asked her.

He nodded brusquely. "Well enough. We're nearly there." He inhaled deeply, then sank down to the next rung.

She felt a stirring, profound excitement. They hovered between heaven and earth, between night and dawn. Tied to him in a strange intimacy—cheeks touching, breaths mingling, abdomens pressed together, hearts thumping in tandem—Isobel felt protected, and more. Lindsay literally held her life in his hands, and risked his own life and safety to help her.

His legs worked beneath her, thighs pushing gently, rhythmically, into her hips. His arms stretched around her to grip the rope as he moved steadily downward.

Finally his feet struck flat on the ground. James released the ladder and stepped away from the massive curtain of rock that towered over them. He supported her in his arms, and stood for a moment, his cheek against hers, his breath ragged as he gathered his strength.

She smiled and tightened her arm around his neck—an impulsive embrace rather than the fearful grip of before. He held her and murmured something that the wind took away.

Then Geordie Shaw leaped to the ground, and ran toward them, helping to undo the knots that bound Isobel to James. Within moments, she was lifted away from him to stand on her own. James steadied her with an arm about her waist while he spoke with Geordie. But she was keenly aware of the chill of the wind that separated them.

James gave her a small, private smile. "Brave lass," he murmured, and walked away.

Isobel waited while each man silently reached the ground. But her gaze rested most often on James Lindsay as he and his men helped the others, and then gathered the ropes to hide them, coiled, behind a large boulder.

He came back to her side and drew an arrow from his quiver. Nocking the great bow, he shot a single shaft high into the cliff side. The feathered end, pale in the moonlight, trembled in the wind.

"There," he said. "Now they will know who was here."

He turned to Isobel and held out his arms and she stepped forward willingly as he lifted her. With exhaustion settling bone-deep in her body, she rode again in his arms, and did not want to remind herself that she might be leaving Aberlady forever.

"Where are we going?" she asked.

"Into the forest," he said.

She was too weary to ask more. On the morrow, truths would be faced, questions would be asked. But the blessing of the earth was beneath her at last, and the warmth of his arms was still around her. She wanted to trust James Lindsay for a little while longer, whatever the future would bring.

She closed her eyes as he carried her toward the trees.

Chapter 6

Morning light dispelled the mist as the group advanced through the forest on horseback and on foot. Isobel rode a feather-footed white stallion, its broad back covered with a blanket. Geordie sat behind her, his arms around her waist while he held the reins. As they rode, she looked overhead at the tall, swaying trees, and then glanced at the cluster of men and horses moving along the earthen track.

At dawn, James had led them to the place where the horses had been hidden previously, remarking that he and his men had borrowed the warhorses from English soldiers. Isobel did not care if the horses belonged to King Edward himself. In her exhaustion, she was deeply grateful for the chance to ride.

Since several of the garrison had already departed the group to seek out nearby kin, there were mounts enough for all, with some sharing. James rode a huge black stallion, and Eustace a bay; Isobel saw them side by side, ahead of the group, deep in conversation.

For Isobel, most of the morning was a blur of fatigue, pain, and the tedium of riding, all of which she endured in silence. The men all showed concern for her, but she noticed that James Lindsay kept his distance from her once the journey began.

She saw him glance toward her often, and heard his brisk order whenever she was thirsty or wanted to stop and rest, as if he somehow knew what she needed. Willing hands were always available to fetch food or water for her, to lift her down or help her remount. But those hands never belonged to James.

The men kept a watchful patrol as they rode, with their weapons held ready. They stopped just after dawn to catch fish from a burn and cook them. Isobel, however, had so little appetite that she ate only berries and drank cool, fresh water.

Whether riding or resting, the men amiably discussed the lay of the land and the confusing map of the political situation. Isobel noticed that the Border Hawk's outlaws and the survivors of the siege quickly became a band of comrades, united by their bold escape and a shared dislike for the enemy.

But the tentative bond that had formed between Isobel and James seemed to dissolve as they rode deeper into the forest. Isobel became certain, as the day wore on, that James avoided her deliberately. He rarely spoke to her at all, and his quick, frequent glances toward her were cryptic.

He seemed remote and somber. Even his deep blue eyes had hardened to the color of steel. He rode apart from the rest, or beside Eustace or the outlaw Henry Rose, his watchful gaze grim.

She reminded herself that he was a rogue and an outlaw, said to be treacherous. Now that she had entered his world, she told herself, she would probably find out that the rumors were true.

But she missed the feel of his arms around her, and longed for his quiet voice at her ear. She desperately needed the comfort he had shown her earlier. His distant mood, after the easiness that had existed between them, hurt her unexpectedly.

On the cliff, suspended with him between earth and heaven, she had known an exhilarating balance of danger and safekeeping. Now, whenever she heard his voice or caught one of his glances, her heartbeat quickened. He was a brigand and untrustworthy, but he fascinated her.

Isobel sighed, impatient with her thoughts, and turned her head to ease the stiffness in her neck. Her arm ached fiercely, as did her ankle, and she had leaned against Geordie for the last hour or so of the journey.

Even more uncomfortable was her growing hunger, a sensation difficult to ignore now that food was available. Her stomach had been uncertain earlier, but now she felt ravenous.

The sun climbed higher over the treetops while the group traveled, and translucent beams poured through the leaves. Several yards ahead, James set a steady pace along the forest track. A turn of his head brought a glint of gold to his hair, and stirred that odd feeling in her midsection.

After a while, he held up his hand and halted. The others stopped behind him, leather creaking and weaponry jingling softly. James circled his black stallion about and rode toward Eustace, who had halted beside Isobel and Geordie.

"By God's grace, we have not been followed," James told Eustace, his low voice carrying easily in the forest hush. "We can risk a short rest near here if the lady wishes it." He glanced at Isobel, a flash of intense, dark blue.

"I am tired," she said gratefully.

He nodded brusquely. "Remind your men, Sir Eustace, that if any more of them wish to seek friends or kin, now is the time to depart. We will turn south from here and cross the Tweed, and then enter the heart of the Ettrick Forest. Tell them that any man who rides with me may be branded a broken man and a traitor by Scots as well as Southrons."

"Those who wanted to leave have already gone," Eustace said. "The rest will stay."

James nodded. "That grove over there, where the birches are thick, will provide safe cover."

"Good. Lady Isobel needs the respite," Eustace said.

James looked at her again, blue lightning beneath straight brown brows. Without a word, he circled his horse and rode toward the grove.

Quietly and quickly, they followed him into the cover of the birches and dismounted. Geordie helped Isobel settle in a shaded spot beneath the trees, and turned away to help Henry Rose and another outlaw, a young Highland man in a wrapped and belted plaid, made a small fire. Then James, Geordie, and a burly outlaw called Patrick went off to hunt small game for the meal, while Aberlady's men established a guard around the grove.

Eustace fetched cold water from a burn in his steel helmet and brought it to Isobel. She thanked him and drank, and then he walked away to stand watch among the trees.

Only the Highlander stayed in the clearing with her, a tall, slender young man, bare-legged but for low, shabby boots, and wearing a worn plaid of brown and purple. Isobel relaxed against the tree trunk and watched him as he bent over the fire, cooking flat cakes on a small iron plate that he balanced on two rocks.

He glanced at her and flashed a quick, shy smile. A dimpled smile transformed his lean, serious, young face, and Isobel smiled in return. He blushed and shoved at his blond hair, which slid continually over his eyes despite the sloppy braids he wore to restrain it.

He used his dagger to flip a cake jauntily from the griddle and came toward her, holding the hot cake with a corner of his plaid. He sat down beside her.

"An oatcake for you, Isobel Seton, if you be hungry," he said. He used her full name in the Highland way, rather than her title as Lowlanders tended to do. And the Northern English he spoke had the soft, resonant lilt of a speaker of Gaelic. "Take care, now, 'tis hot," he warned.

"Thank you," she said, and took the thick, hot cake from him, using a fold of her gown to protect her fingers. "I am surprised to see a Highland man among outlaws of the Ettrick Forest," she said.

He shrugged. "I am a Fraser," he said. "Quentin Fraser, from near Inverness. My kinsman is Sir Simon Fraser, whose name you may know. I came south to fight with him for Scotland."

She nodded. "I've heard that Sir Simon is one of the rebel leaders. How is it you are with James Lindsay now?" she asked.

"I met Jamie when he came north with some of Wallace's men to help Simon around Stirling. I joined him then. Simon asked me to study the lay of the southern lands and to learn the moves of the English armies. Now and again, I travel to wherever Simon is and report to him." He looked intently at her, his eyes bright azure. "I trust you, Isobel Seton of Aberlady, or I would not tell you that." He smiled again, and winked, with such charm that Isobel felt immediately befriended.

"My thanks. But how do you know you can trust me?"

Quentin grinned, fleeting and delighted, as if he knew a secret. "Ah, I have the Sight," he said. "I've always had it, and it tells me you're a fine lass and a true seeress."

She smiled, liking him even more. "I have it, too."

He nodded. "I know. The visions and prophecies of Black Isobel are well known in the Lowlands."

She blushed. "But my visions only tell me about war and kings, about strange events in the future that I do not truly understand. 'Twould be pleasant to know things about people and help them. Can you do that?"