Page 66 of The Hawk Laird
“She was.” His eyes narrowed as he scanned the forest. The wind lifted his hair from his shoulders. “From up here, I could see who went through the forest to Wildshaw. I spent a good deal of time up here with Wallace and others while my brother held Wildshaw. But that day was shortly after Falkirk, where my brother and two cousins had been killed, Alice’s older sons. I went to Wildshaw, then visited Alice, and came back to the Craig. And saw Southrons riding through, fitted for war. I went down with a patrol of a few men. We saw they were headed for Wildshaw. Astolat was with me.”
The goshawk shifted on the fist, flapped his wings. James whispered to him, his patience preventing a new bate. He began to speak again.
“Astolat saw my attacker first. She raised her wings, seated on my fist, and took the arrow aimed at me.” He paused. “Straight into her breast.”
Isobel gasped. “Did she try to protect you?”
“I doubt it. Hawks are too wild for that. But she was always different, that gos. My men were convinced she sacrificed herself. Either way, a hard loss to bear.”
“You loved her.”
“As much as one can love a hawk, for they do not love us back. But she was as strong-willed and loyal as any I have done. But for one man, and one lass, long ago.”
She knew he spoke of William Wallace, yet wondered about the girl. An empty ache bloomed inside her and she realized that she felt jealous—toward the hawk and the girl he had loved.
“Loyalty means much to you,” she murmured.
“It is essential to me,” he said bluntly.
“Did you love the lass too?”
“In my way. We were young and did not know much of love, but I was fond of her. She had a kind nature and a fine laugh.” He smiled, rueful and fleeting. “We had been betrothed for years on our parents’ wishes, when I gave up on the notion of the seminary. But the wars and my commitment to Wallace delayed the marriage.”
Silence spun out. The goshawk chittered. “Elizabeth died unfairly, after Astolat was killed.” His voice had a new edge. The air felt weighted with regret or sorrow, and Isobel saw the glimmer of hurt in his eyes. “She was at Wildshaw then. Sometimes she acted as chatelaine, since my parents were gone, and my brother and I were often absent.”
“She was there when Wildshaw was taken?” Isobel whispered.
“Aye.” His face was set hard. “An English arrow took Astolat in the morning. By afternoon, Elizabeth was gone too, in a fire set by flaming arrows. The English marched through the burning gates of Wildshaw and killed any they did not take prisoner. One man escaped and found us, told us.”
“Dear saints.” What he had endured that day went through her like a punch to the gut.
“But we did not sit idly by after that news. We took as many English lives as we could. But we had just suffered a great loss at Falkirk. We lacked the spirit, and the men, to win much.”
“Do you know who was behind the attack on Wildshaw?”
“Some. I know Sir Ralph Leslie was with the English commander. And he was with the party that captured us monthsago. I recognized that he had been at Wildshaw. Some of those faces are seared into memory,” he added.
“So you have a bitter quarrel with the English. And Sir Ralph.”
“I do.” He closed his eyes. “At Wildshaw, we tried to get through the gate. I would have walked through fire for Elizabeth, and for any of them caught in the fire. But I was wounded, and dragged back by my men, or I would have thrown myself in, I think.”
Isobel gasped. “Sir Ralph told Alice he did that for me at Aberlady! He must have seen you at Wildshaw, and then gave himself credit for such—nobility.”
“Did he?” he muttered. “Brave lad, your intended.”
“He lied, but you were the one had the courage.” She saw a muscle twitch in his jaw, saw a flush spread in his cheek. Sympathy washed through her. She set her hand on his hard-muscled arm.
“What happened at Wildshaw could not be prevented. You would have died there too. I am so sorry that it happened. But I—I am glad you survived.”
“I avenged her death,” he said fiercely. “Without mercy. For weeks afterward. For months.” He drew a breath. “I may still be avenging it even now. But bloody deeds cannot appease that sort of anger, or change the hollowness inside. Prayer and time—may mend it. Or perhaps I will never find peace.”
“Jamie.” She moved her hand, her fingers touched his, and he grabbed her fingers swiftly.
“But I grew stronger. Cold inside. Fierce. English vowed to capture me, but could not for years.”
“So they want you still.”
“They had me once.” His voice was near a growl. “And nearly took my soul.”
