Page 49 of The Hawk Laird
“Certes, hot, or ’twould be of little use to the bird,” Alice said. “And here’s a loaf for yourself.” She came close to James to set a wrapped loaf on the bench.
The goshawk bated, throwing himself from James’s fist, flapping his wings and kakking. James extended his arm with a resigned expression while the bird beat the air furiously.
“’Twill not last long,” he told them. “He is exhausted.”
“As are you,” Alice said sternly. “Have you slept at all these two days?”
He shrugged. The goshawk stilled, and James lifted him back to the fist. “Some.”
“Hmph. You will kill yourself for that bird. I thought Ragnell was the queen of the ruined birds, but that tiercel is worse. But Nigel taught you well. If anyone can reclaim a ruined gos, ’tis you.”
Gawain flapped his wings in agitation, opening his beak repeatedly to squawk. Isobel thought he might bate again.
“What is bothering him?” she asked.
“Alice makes him nervous,” James said.
“He sees me and remembers the great fright Ragnell gave him yesterday,” Alice said. “Gosses do learn quick, but they can be stupid just the same. There, Gawain, go easy, the rude lady redtail is not with me,” she told the hawk. “Och, there he goes again.” Gawain batted his wings, and James held him outpatiently. “I will not stay and ruffle him further. Do you need anything more, Jamie? We’ll be back to bring food later.”
“I need Lady Isobel to stay here,” James said.
“Stay?” Isobel asked. “Here?”
“I need help tending the bird, and Alice cannot come near him.” He gave his attention to the hawk. Isobel and Alice watched until the bird settled down and James put him on the fist to feed him a strip of raw meat. “There, that is for going back to the fist, laddie,” he said. He looked at Isobel. “Are you stronger? You walked up here, so your foot must be better. Can you help me with Gawain?”
His voice, as quiet and compelling as his gaze, sent curious shivers through her. A hot blush rose in her cheeks and her heart beat quickened as if in anticipation. “Well enough,” she said.
“The lady slept all this time, so she’s rested,” Alice said. “If you have any wit left, Jamie—which I doubt after so long without sleep—you will let her watch that gos while you nap. I will be back.” She went to the cave opening, squeezed out with a mutter and a grunt, and was gone.
Isobel lifted the wrapped, warm loaf that she held in her hands. “Shall we feed the bread to him?”
“He is not going to eat it. Come here.” He patted the bench. “Sit beside me. The bird will have another fit if he cannot see you clear.”
She sat where he indicated. Her left shoulder brushed against his arm. With his free hand, James withdrew his dirk from the sheath at his belt and handed it to her. “Cut the loaf in two,” he directed.
She did so, a bit awkwardly, with her left hand. Hot steam rose into the air between them, and she closed her eyes briefly, smiling as she inhaled the comforting smell of fresh bread.
“Are you hungry?” James sounded amused. “We’ll share my loaf later. Cut one half, slicing partway through. Aye, good. Now slide the split bread over his left wing.”
Isobel hesitated. “You want me to put the bread on his wing?” she asked, incredulous.
“Aye. He has a sprained wing. See the way it droops at the top? When he spreads his wings, he does not lift that one quite so high. His bates are making the sprain worse. The damp heat from hot bread is a good, simple treatment.”
“Ah.” Isobel lifted the cut loaf toward the bird. Gawain screeched, striking out with his talons. Isobel snatched her hand away and nearly dropped the bread. “I make him nervous, too. Should I go?”
“’Twas not you that alarmed him. He is used to your voice and face. But he does not know if the bread is friend or foe.”
Isobel chuckled. James smiled, a quick dazzle that set her heart to thumping. He murmured gently to the hawk, then rose to his feet, carrying the hawk, and took an object from among a tangle of leather things on top of a small wooden chest. He returned to sit beside her.
“Hush, you bird,” James said. With deft fingers, he dropped a small hood over the hawk’s head.
Gawain fluttered his wings, stretched his neck as if to protest, then went utterly still and silent.
Isobel gasped. “Nay,” she whispered. “You blind him with the hood!” She reached out.
“Careful.” James took her fingers. She lowered her hand. James sighed. “Pardon. I did not think about the hood. Look, he is not troubled by it at all.”
The goshawk seemed content, and Isobel felt foolish reacting with alarm over such a thing. She had not been so troubled by the bird’s quick hooding in the house yesterday, too fatigued to notice much.
