Page 19 of The Hawk Laird
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 cliffside. 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 Six
Morning light dispelledthe mist as the group advanced through the forest on horseback and 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 Hawk Laird’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 in 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, stirring 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.
