Page 20 of The Hawk Laird
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. “The 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, make 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 took the thick, hot cake using a fold of her gown to protect her fingers. “I am surprised to see a Highland man among outlaws of the Ettrick Forest.”
He shrugged. “I am a Fraser—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 have heard that Sir Simon is one of the rebel leaders. How is it you are with James Lindsay now?”
“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 have 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.”
“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?”
He nodded. “Sometimes. It just comes to me, like a knowing. I think you could do that easily, for your gift is great, and mine but a wee talent beside it. I have had visions, too, a few. I’ve seen death for those I love,” he said, looking down, brushing dried leaves from his plaid. “And I do not want to ever see that again.”
Isobel sighed. “I’ve seen death, too. Usually I forget what I see, though. Do you remember?”
“Always,” Quentin said grimly. “What would you want to see, if you could, Isobel Seton?”
She broke off a piece of the oatcake to nibble on it. “If I could,” she said, swallowing, “I would use my Sight to learn why James Lindsay came to Aberlady to find me, and why he is so discontent with me now.” She slid him a wry glance. “I trust you, Quentin Fraser, or I would not tell you that.”
He smiled wanly. “Ah, well, I cannot tell you why myself. Jamie has a burden to carry, and he has good reason for whatever he does. But he keeps his thoughts close. No seer could penetrate them. To be truthful, he hasna told any of us why he came to find you. But he was furious that the English would besiege a castle held by a woman, and I know he meant to get you out of there. If there is another reason, I do not know it.” He shrugged. “When he is ready to speak his mind, he will do it.”
Isobel watched his fine-cut, youthful profile while she savored the nutty taste of the thick, warm cake. “You follow him when so many have left him,” she said after a while.
“I do.” Quentin nodded firmly. “I will never believe that he betrayed Wallace. He’s a changed man since he returned from English captivity. But he will always have my faith.”
“Does your Sight tell you aught about his betrayal?”
He shook his head. “I believe he did not do it. Jamie would trade his own life for a friend. He did that for me, once, and so I owe him loyalty, no matter what is said of him.” He rose to his feet. “Another cake, Isobel Seton?”
She refused with soft thanks. Quentin gave her another appealing smile and walked away, stepping between the trees to leave her alone in the little clearing. She watched him go, glad to have found a friend among the outlaws; his smile and easy manner had left a warm glow inside of her.
