Page 105 of The Hawk Laird
“I know,” he whispered. “I know.”
“James,” she said, “who shot Ralph?”
He lifted his head to look at those gathering around Leslie’s form, and she looked there too. Janet now fell to her knees beside the body, her bow clutched upright in her hand, the nocked arrow gone. She covered her face with one hand and bent as if crying.
Patrick knelt beside her and put an arm around her, pulling her close, his big, rough fingers gentling over her red hair.
“Dear God,” Isobel breathed. “She saved your life.”
“I owe her.”
“We both owe her,” Isobel said, lifting a trembling hand to his sweaty, beard-rasped cheek.
From overhead came a cry, and Isobel looked up to see a streak of gray and cream fly between two trees. “Gawain!” She pointed.
The goshawk sailed overhead like an angel, the underside of his wings pale, his legs golden. He canted sideways and sliced between birches, keeling a long cry as he went.
“We must call him back to us,” James said. “He could get those jesses caught in a tree.”
Isobel stepped away from his arms, her glove still on her hand. She tugged it on securely and began to run after the hawk as the bird cut between the trees, vanishing, appearing again. Isobel ran, holding her skirts high as she sprinted. James pounded behind her, taking a different angle.
The hawk sailed through the treetops, darting in and out, a shining prince in the sunlight that caught the tips of his wings. He rowed the air, glided, rowed and glided again, rising high and then skimming low, effortless mastery in the air. She called out, holding up her arm. He dipped and wheeled in a circle, and she followed.
She heard James nearby, calling and whistling. He dashed between the trees, and Isobel looked up to realize she had lost sight of the bird. Standing still, breath heaving, she watched and waited.
Then she lifted her head to begin singing. Her voice rose and fell with the natural rhythms of the chant. Moments later, she heardkee-kee-kee-keer—and ran toward it.
Off to the side, the melody rose through the trees again as James took up the chant this time, singing the plainsong in his mellow voice, letting it rise and flow in a tranquil current, a serene veil of sound. Isobel ran toward him.
Above, the goshawk wheeled and glided to a high treetop. Isobel ran, skimming through the forest, skirts billowing, veil lost somewhere, hair loose and flying. For a moment, she felt the exquisite freedom of her own flight—away from Leslie and the threats of the past, and toward James.
He waited. She slowed, went toward him. When he pointed, she looked up. The goshawk sat on the pinnacle of a tall tree, the sun striking silver off his wings. Drawing a breath, James began the chant again, an arc of floating sound. The hawk dipped his head and began to preen.
“He might not come to us,” she said softly. “He might decide for freedom.”
James looked up. “I cannot blame the lad for that. But he’s jessed. We will have to get him back. Lift your arm, Isobel.”
She did, and waited. The goshawk ignored her. James took her hand in his and began to sing; she joined him in a blend of voices.
Then the hawk lifted his wings and streamed downward on an angle, calling as he came, as if to join the song. He fluttered to the outstretched glove easily, as if nothing much had happened. Isobel laughed softly.
“He came back!” She smiled through tears. “He saw us as one master.”
James wrapped the jesses securely around her fingers. Then he reached into the leather pouch at her waist to find a bit of food for the bird. While the goshawk bit at his reward, James smiled down at her. “I think he recognized two masters,” he murmured, “with one heart between them.”
He lowered his head to give her a lingering kiss, then wrapped an arm around her to nestle her close. The hawk perched on her fist and blinked at them as James slanted his mouth over hers. Then he drew back to sift back a stray lock of her hair.
“Keep good hold of that hawk, love,” he said.
“I will,” she answered, smiling.
“The wind is gentle today. Never let a hawk go on a soft downwind. ’Tis a sure way to lose a valuable bird.”
“You never told me that before,” she said.
“Ah, well.” He turned with her to walk toward the others. “There is much left to teach you.”
“I have learned a good deal about hawks already.”
