Page 56 of The Hawk Laird
“Jamie, please,” she whispered.
“I am tired and do not want to tell it.” He said it bluntly.
“Then tell me what I predicted about you.”
He frowned. “You know that.”
She shook her head. “Father Hugh told me what I said about Wallace. But it was different than I recalled. Mayhap he wrote it down incorrectly. But he never told me what I said about you. I only heard later that I predicted the Hawk Laird would take down Wallace. What was the prophecy?”
“This.” He closed his eyes. “‘The hawk of the tower and the hawk of the forest fly together to take the eagle,” he began in a low, quiet tone. His voice seemed to reverberate around the small cave. “‘The hawk of the forest is laird of the wind. He will betray his brother the eagle in his nest at night. He will loose the white feather and flee through heather and greenwood. And the eagle will lose his heart.’”
Isobel lowered her eyelids, her hand at rest on his forearm. “I recall those words, or something like them,” she said. “Wallace was the eagle.”
“He was much like an eagle.”
“And you are the hawk. But I do not think I ever said Lindsay or Hawk Laird.”
“The English began calling me Hawk Laird a few years ago. I live in the forests. I ran with Wallace, at his side. I fletch my arrows with white feathers.”
“And the hawk of the tower?”
“‘Hawk of the tower’ is a falconry phrase that describes the height a hawk reaches just before the dive for the quarry. So hawk of the tower could refer to me too, you see—if the eagle was the quarry.”
She nodded. “And laird of the wind? What is that?”
“I do not know. But word went round that the Hawk Laird betrayed Wallace.”
“Dear saints,” she whispered, stunned by her part in this. “I never meant to place blame on you. I never knew your name until recently. I am sorry if the prophecy fit you.” She bit at her lip in regret.
“But I had a hand in what happened to Will.”
“How? You only tried to save him.”
He shook his head and turned his hand over to fold his fingers over hers. “What is done is done,” he murmured. “Do not fret over this. This is my matter. I do not hold a grudge against you or your prophecy. I regret the loss of a friend more than the loss of my name.”
“Jamie—”
“Hush,” he said, as the hawk squawked on his fist. “Soft, you bird.” He glanced at her again. “Lady Isobel, I must ask that you help me keep awake. Just through the night and through the morrow. Then will have our hawk trained.”
“Our hawk?” She glanced at him. His eyes were midnight blue in the low light, shadowed beneath. She felt the slow current of his fatigue as if it flowed between them. “Will you let me hold him so you can rest?”
“I suppose I could. Hawks are solitary creatures, but they often accept more than one falconer.”
“So why not you and I, then? He does not seem to mind my voice or my presence. Well, Gawain?” She looked at the hawk. “What do you think?”
The bird tipped his head, bronze eyes glowing.
“We can find out,” James said. “In that chest over there are gloves and suchlike. Go through it and find a glove to fit your left hand.”
Isobel went to the little chest, sifting through its contents to find a worn, thick leather glove. She slipped it on, stretching her fingers inside its padding. The glove was large, nearly reaching her elbow, and heavy, made of stout leather with thick cloth padding inside. She returned to the bench.
“Sit here,” James said, circling his right arm around her shoulders to bring her close, her left shoulder supported against his chest. With his direction, she raised her left arm to echo the line of his arm, her wrist cocked and offered as a perch.
“Sir Gawain, will you accept master and mistress both?” James asked. The low murmur of his voice nearly melted her bones.
The bird blinked at them. Isobel held her left arm up, held her breath. The hawk was still. Then he stretched his wings and went into a furious bate.
At last thehawk sat quietly on her fist. Isobel shifted softly so as not to wake James, who dozed beside her after a long while spent convincing the hawk to calm down and accept the woman’s hand as another perch. Propping her left elbow on James’s arm, she watched Gawain. His eyes shone in the light of the brazier. He dipped his head to tuck it sleepily.
