Page 104 of The Hawk Laird
Circling her horse, one hand on the reins and the other engaged with the agitated hawk, she halted at the edge of the path, watching anxiously. Her father stepped toward her then,and Sir Gawain walked his horse toward her, both men flanking her.
Sir Ralph grabbed the hilt of his sword again to draw it free. But in one swift, powerful motion, James loosed his bow to strike the man under the arm, the blow unseating him. He slammed to the ground with a loud grunt, the arrow clattering away, having done little damage.
Isobel quailed to see the dark fury in James’s expression as he strode toward Ralph, who lay on his back awkwardly attempting to pull his long, heavy sword from its scabbard—until James flicked the blade deftly with his bow and sent it spinning. Ralph rolled to scramble away, but James hauled him to his feet by a handful of the black surcoat.
“Do not go anywhere just yet,” he said. “I have some questions for you.” He shoved him forward as Leslie stumbled, then set his back against a tree, and jammed the long side of his bow under the shorter man’s chin to pin him back against the trunk. “Did you touch her?” he demanded.
“She is my wife,” Leslie gasped.
“Did—you—touch—her?” James repeated in a growl.
Ralph blinked rapidly without answer, and James tightened the press of the bow against the man’s throat, continuing to growl questions toward him.
Turning, Isobel gestured to ask her father’s help to dismount from the horse. Standing, the hawk securely on her fist, she lifted the hem of her blue silk gown and crossed the path toward the tree. Janet fell into step with her, bow half-raised as they approached the tree together.
“James,” Isobel said. “He did not touch me.” Close enough to the truth, and she did not want more bloodshed on her account. Sir Ralph nodded rapidly, his face red.
“Isobel, stand back,” James said, without looking at her. “Tell me this,” he said to his captive. “Were you part of a conspiracy to betray William Wallace?”
“Menteith and others,” Leslie gasped. “I did not know all of them. They planned it. Wallace stepped beyond his position. His rebellion interfered with Scottish nobles trying to seek peace with England. ’Twas decided he should be—stopped. We only wanted peace with England.”
“Peace?” James snarled. “You wanted land and wealth, so you destroyed the greatest voice for freedom in Scotland. Then you went after me with a vile rumor.”
“Not true, not true,” the man gasped.
“Of course it is true. Because you wanted to ensure your claim to Wildshaw—taken from me and handed to you by Edward.”
Isobel placed her hand over her mouth. On her fist, the hawk beat his wings and squawked.
Sir Ralph narrowed his eyes. “I have it, and now the woman you want is lady of Wildshaw as my wife. And that pleases me well,” he rasped out, though his eyes glittered.
James stared, breath heaving. Isobel could see the tension in him soaring. But suddenly he stepped back, pulled the bow away, and landed a violent blow to Ralph’s jaw, dropping him to his knees with a retching groan.
James turned away from him, his face dark with anger. “Quentin,” he growled, “make her a widow if you want. I will not sully my hands with that foul bastard any further.”
Ralph uttered a roar and leaped after James, dragging on his legs, pulling both men to the ground. Standing close by, Isobel stumbled back, and saw the flash of a dagger emerge and plunge toward James’s back. She screamed out a warning—
The hawk bated furiously, pulling upward with such strength that Isobel was thrown off balance, falling to her knees in atangle of blue silk, gloved hand smacking against the earth. The movement loosened the jesses, and the goshawk tore away in a flurry of wings.
He veered and rose into the air, shrieking. Isobel got to her feet, watching the vanishing hawk, gasping with fright and panic. Only a few feet away, James and Ralph wrestled with the dagger, while Quentin, Patrick, and Janet stepped forward with bows ready should they separate.
Ralph Leslie snatched the blade and tried to bring it to James’s throat but Lindsay had a deadly grip on his wrist. They twisted and turned until James reared back to slam his head against Sir Ralph’s brow so that the man fell back, knife tumbling away.
James rose to his knees, stood, wiping his face. Isobel moved toward him, but screamed to see Leslie suddenly roll, snatched the dagger, and throw it point first at James’s back.
Whirling to avoid the blade, James leaped forward—just as Leslie sank with a horrible cry, an arrow puncturing his chest. Isobel covered her mouth, unsure who had done it, while James dropped to his knees and bent over the fallen man.
“He is dead,” he said flatly, shoving back his hair in exhaustion, standing again.
Overwhelmed, Isobel felt shaky and ill with panic. She looked around to see others gathering around the body, including her father with Father Hugh, who looked gray and stricken. A few guards stepped forward and Sir Gawain turned to speak with them.
James turned toward Isobel. She sobbed out and rushed the few steps toward him. As the warm bliss of his arms surrounded her, she sobbed out again.
“Oh God, are you hurt?” she asked.
“Fine,” he said. She sank against him in relief and anguish. “There, soft, you,” he murmured.
“The hawk—” she began.
