Page 67 of The Hawk Laird
“What do you mean?” she whispered.
He let go of her hand and looked at the goshawk. “I swore I would never keep another hawk. I thought a hawk would only remind me of what I had lost.”
“But now you have a silly wee hawk that needs you.”
He huffed at that. “I suppose I do.”
Isobel watched him, wary and sympathetic and glad that he had opened up his past a little to her. But doors were still closed between them, a darker part of his life. And she knew he would not answer questions related to what had caused him to be called a traitor. But the more she learned about him, the more she knew he was a good, caring man. She would never believe, now, that he was truly a traitor.
“After Wildshaw was taken, you stayed here at the Craig, and also ran with Wallace?”
He nodded. “More men joined me in the forest—Wildshaw’s tenants and others made homeless by English attacks. We followed Wallace, and also acted on our own. Liam Seton and others would meet with me, and we would do what we could. A simple band, with naught but the clothes on our backs and the weapons in our hands. We lacked might, but we were clever. Yet there were always more soldiers to replace the ones we eliminated.”
Isobel looked out over the vista of forest and hills, and saw a hawk circling above. It rose higher, riding the wind with easy grace, then swooped and disappeared into the forest.
“One day you will gain back your property and all that belongs to you,” she murmured.
“I hope that is not a prophecy. Because if I regain Wildshaw, I will have to destroy it.”
She stared at him. “Are you that bitter?”
“Practical,” he said. “Scotland lacks the soldiers and supplies needed to keep castles garrisoned against English attack. We defend only the most important strongholds—those we call thestrengths of Scotland. It is what Wallace wanted. What Bruce and others want, now. So we render the rest useless to the enemy by destroying structures. Aberlady is not a major castle. Neither is Wildshaw.”
“But both were homes once and could be that again. You could be laird of Wildshaw again.”
“Laird of what?” He made a sweep with his hand to indicate forest, hills, sky. “Of a castle I have not set foot inside for years? Of a forest filled with Scottish deer that an English king claims for his own? Of tenants who have no homes now?” He barked a laugh. “I am laird of naught, lass. I am a brigand, an outlaw. A broken fellow.”
“You are far more. You have a name here. You are a legend in the Ettrick Forest.”
“But I have lost all claim to that. Laird of naught that can be kept, measured, or protected. Like the wind.” He waved his hand impatiently. “Impossible to hold.”
She looked at him, startled. “Laird of the wind.” She gestured too, echoing his sweep. “You have dominion over this high, windy place. You command your freedom. The Southrons cannot reach you here, cannot force you to surrender or to say a false oath. They cannot climb up here, weighted down by armor and weapons. Weighted by greed and the anger of their king. You fight for liberty, and you are helping to make that possible for others.”
He gazed down at her. “Laird of the wind. Hawk of the forest. Your prophecy.”
“And I just realized what it means. Hawk of the forest, laird of the wind—they describe a free man, one who does not bow down, one who rises above the rest. Like that hawk you hold, or that hawk out there, flying above the forest.”
His eyes crinkled, cheek pulsed. “So it is me in your prophecy after all.”
“But I was wrong if I named you a traitor. You are only a man of honor.”
He regarded her steadily. “Nay, lass. Just to you. Then I am a hero, a champion of maidens, one who rescues Scotland and—can kiss the blindness from your eyes.”
“Any who call you a traitor do not know you. You have a noble heart where honor dwells.”
He frowned. “You called me a wretched traitor. I took you from your castle, made you a hostage, and now I ask you to deceive your betrothed in a ransom scheme.”
You are the man who took my heart.“Aye. And you are honorable.”
“Are you so sure, Black Isobel?” His quiet voice, low and soft, was powerful.
“I am. And I am here with you because I have faith in you.”
His eyes turned a dark, penetrating blue. “Faith in me,” he repeated. The wind whipped at him. The hawk chirred at him. But he did not take his gaze from hers.
“I do. So does Alice, and your men.” She leaned toward him. “Are you so blind you do not see that? None of us believes you a traitor, though you think we should.”
He looked down at her. “None of you know the truth.”
