Page 37 of The Hawk Laird
“He does need a name,” James said. “What shall it be?”
“Arthurian, you said. Hmm.” She frowned. “Ah. Gawain!”
“Gawain the goshawk?” He sounded doubtful.
“It means hawk of May, I think. Hey, Gawain,” she said to the hawk, hearing the soft stir of his wings. “There. He likes it. I feel—it is important for him to have that name.”
“More than you know. Alice keeps a female red-tailed hawk called Ragnell.”
Isobel smiled. “Ah, Gawain and Ragnell were paired in one of the legends. Sir Gawain promised to wed Lady Ragnell, though she was a hideous old hag.”
“And believe me, it suits Alice’s hawk,” James said wryly. “She wants all her will, that one.”
“I am eager to meet her.” But she sobered. Regardless of kindness and patience, the outlaw had taken her captive. If hetook her to his aunt’s house, surely he meant to secure her there as his prisoner.
Sighing, enveloped in the frustrating blackness, she rode forward into an uncertain future.
Chapter Eleven
Sunlight streamed downover the forest path. Isobel felt the warmth as the horses stepped into sunny pools and back into cool shadows. She arched her lower back wearily and pushed a hand through her bedraggled hair. Her woolen gown and surcoat had become uncomfortably warm, and she was growing more irritable due to pain, hunger, and fatigue.
And the darkness in her eyes lingered, making her feel as if she balanced precariously on a razored edge, hovering between fear and faith, waiting for her sight to return.
She heard the tiercel bate again and the horses stopped as James spoke soothingly to the bird. She felt sure the outlaw was tired and irritable, just as she was, for he had said little, but his patience with the bird and his kindness to her continued to impress her. Finally the goshawk quieted and they continued. Each time she heard the rustle of his wings, Isobel expected to hear the tiresome fury of another bate.
“Do you regret taking on the hawk?” she asked. “He seems a difficult bird.”
“I could not leave him there. He needed help. And he cannot fly well as yet.”
“Do you regret taking me?” she asked. “I cannot fend for myself just now, either.”
“At least you do not throw tantrums.”
She laughed softly. “Is your aunt’s house close now?” she asked after a while.
“Aye,” he said. “We will walk around the base of a slope, and the house is just past that.”
Soon they left the earthen track to ride between the trees. Isobel cried out as a branch brushed her unexpectedly. She felt the touch of his hand on her knee.
“I will ride ahead and bend the branches out of your way.” He moved forward, Isobel’s stallion following. “It is just at the edge of the clearing. It is a peaceful and welcome sight, this.”
“Oh.” Disappointment plunged through her. “It must be lovely.”
“Aye. Sorry, lass.” His horse was beside her again, and she felt him lean, felt the solid press of his shoulder and the warmth of his closeness. “Just ahead now,” he said quietly. “The forest opens suddenly, like a green frame around a painting. The clearing beyond is filled with golden sunlight. The grass is sprinkled with dandelions, and a small stone house sits at the center.”
She listened, entranced, seeing the images in her mind.
“Smoke curls up from a hole in the thatched roof,” he went on. “Two tiny windows are open to the air and light, and the door is open, welcoming, with a white cat asleep on the low slate step. A goat wanders through the yard, and under his feet are a few chickens. He ignores them as he nibbles at the flowered turf bench tucked against the side of the house. There is a small garden at the corner, with some vegetables and herbs. The lavender is bright purple, the raspberry canes are green and tangled, and golden honeysuckle grows thick over the fence.”
“Ah,” she breathed. “How beautiful.”
“I come here for the peace, and to see Alice. You will like her.” His shoulder pressed hers, giving her a pleasant sense of ease and security. She let herself lean into him.
“Thank you,” she said.
“My uncle used to ask me to describe things for him as the sight in his good eye began to dim with age. I thought you might like it too.”
“Is Alice there waiting for us?” For the moment, she did not care that she was a captive. She wanted to enjoy the serenity, craved the comfort of what he described.
