Page 7 of The Hawk Laird
He inclined his head. “We came to rescue you.”
She stared. The stranger possessed a wild beauty and an aura of power. His eyes were deep blue, like indigo twilight, his hand on the bow graceful and strong. He seemed beyond the ordinary realm, a man out of the mist and legends of an ancient race.
Isobel felt almost bespelled. His steady gaze held hers, assessed her from the top of her head to the roots of her soul.
In turn, she saw the spark of purpose in his eyes and sensed a current of danger. She pulled in a breath and lifted her chin. “You know my name, but I do not know yours,” she said calmly, though raw excitement thundered through her. “How did you get inside our walls?”
“Through the postern gate in the north wall,” he said.
“But that small door is hidden by scrub and rocks and overlooks a cliff more than a hundred feet high. How did you reach it?”
He shrugged. “It took some time.”
“Who are you?” Eustace asked abruptly.
“James Lindsay,” he replied. “Sometimes I am called the Hawk Laird.”
“Jesu,” Eustace breathed out. “I thought as much.”
Isobel gasped. She knew the name—the Hawk Laird was a renegade Scotsman who hid from English and Scots alike in the vast lands of the Ettrick Forest. His arrival inside Aberladycould mean salvation—or defeat. His loyalties were known only to himself.
She had even heard that the Hawk Laird was a sorcerer who changed his form at will; that the man was immortal, born of the fair race, the Fey. And it was also rumored that he had committed some heinous deed against Scotland.
She had mentioned him in one of her prophecies, or at least had said something about hawks and lairds, men and eagles, and such. But she did not recall much of the prediction. Now she wished she knew the whole of it, although Father Hugh had once dismissed it.
“James Lindsay,” Eustace said, “I hope your purpose is fair-minded. We still outnumber you by a few.” He indicated the parapet, where men trained bows on the newcomers.
“Why would you climb up here to rescue us?” Isobel asked.
“I came here on another matter,” Lindsay said. “We did not know about the siege until we approached the castle. We bring assistance and some food.” He beckoned, and one of his men stepped forward, pulling three limp rabbits from a sack. “I think these may be needed.”
“Aye!” Eustace said. Lindsay’s young comrade turned to run toward the stone-walled keep that towered over the center of the bailey yard, where the meat could be prepared.
“Did you bring an army ready to attack the English?” Isobel asked then.
“We are but five.”
“A hundred English outside, and you bring five men?” She was incredulous.
He frowned. “We will bring you to safety, lady.”
“They say the best knights fly with the Hawk Laird,” Eustace said.
“’Twas once said.” Lindsay shrugged. “We must leave here soon.”
“How?” Isobel asked, astonished.
“By the north cliff. After you have eaten and we have more darkness.”
“The English will take the castle if we abandon it,” she said.
“’Tis Scottish practice to render castles unavailable for Southron use. Either a castle is held by force of arms, or destroyed.”
“But—” she began.
James Lindsay brushed past her to climb the steps, and Eustace turned to follow him. Isobel lifted her skirts and ran up the steps behind them both.
Eustace turned. “Go to the keep, Lady Isobel.”
