Page 71 of The Hawk Laird
James scowled. “We will come up. Did you ruffians bring supper?”
Patrick held up a brace of rabbits. “Two to share, and one for that surly gos.”
“It is morethan foolish to walk up to the yett of Wildshaw Castle and offer a message from the Hawk Laird,” Patrick grumbled, his mouth full of roasted meat. He wiped his chin on his sleeve as he sat cross-legged on the floor James’s snug bedchamber inside the broch wall. “We would be grabbed for hostages or slain on the spot.”
“We can conduct the whole of this business from Stobo.” James sat on the floor opposite the others, leaning back against the bed.
“Ah, the priest?” Quentin asked. “Father Hugh knows Sir Ralph Leslie and Black Isobel both.”
“Exactly. So I want you two to ask him to convey the glad news to Sir Ralph Leslie that Lady Isobel is alive. He believes she died at Aberlady. And ask Father Hugh to deliver our demands.”
“Just what are your demands?” Isobel asked.
James glanced at her. She sat alone on the stone bench by the crude-cut window, where moonlight cascaded along her face, and the glow of the fire highlighted her skirts, her graceful form.
“We will ask Leslie to meet us at the village church in Stobo. Sunday next is the feast day of Saint Ursula,” James answered.
“How fitting,” she murmured. “Saint Ursula, patron of virgins, ran away from a marriage she protested. She took her female companions with her. Eleven thousand of them.”
“Och,” Patrick grunted. “At least we only have to look after Lady Isobel and Janet.”
“Tell Father Hugh,” James said, “we will meet Leslie after Mass, in the presence of others, since the villagers will be gathered outside the church. Isobel will wait for him inside the church. He is to bring only two men, and Janet. He is to send Janet into the church alone. Lady Isobel can go out to him when Janet is safely inside.”
“You will claim sanctuary, then,” Isobel said. “The safety and protection of holy ground.”
“Aye. We cannot trust Leslie. He could escort Janet to Stobo with a hundred men.”
“If he would take part in betraying Wallace, he will not let a church door stop him from getting to Lady Isobel, or you, Jamie,” Quentin said. “He will want the Hawk Laird’s head.”
“But he wants Isobel, so he must agree to a peaceful exchange.” He sat scowling at the others.
Isobel was silent, looking out at the moon. James felt a deep tug in his heart to see her. He sighed, reluctant and torn.He tried to tell himself that she was wrong to think him her champion. The best course was to send her away quickly and for good.
But he did not want to do that. What he felt for her burned within him now, stifled and discouraged, though he felt the flare of passion whenever he was near her. And that was often now.
He could not bear to send her back to Leslie, but his plans had been formed before he knew her. She had altered the scheme, unwitting and wholly charming. But he had to stoke his determination and sheer will to see this through. This was the best way to rescue Janet. But exchanging Janet for Isobel felt like an unholy, heart-rending choice.
But, he reminded himself sourly, Isobel had been promised in marriage. She deserved a home, and a man who could safeguard her—even an English sympathizer whom James loathed. She did not need a forest brigand.
“You will be safe at Wildshaw, Lady Isobel,” he said, trying to convince himself as much as her.
She shrugged a shoulder and did not look his way.
“You will be reunited with your father,” he went on, “if Sir Ralph keeps his word.”
“Aye,” she said, staring at the moonlit sky.
“The lass is tired,” Quentin murmured. “Lady Isobel, I set blankets on your bed and hung a curtain. And Alice sent along the satchel of your things.”
“And I brought some French wine out of storage,” Patrick said, “if you would care for some.”
She rose from her seat. “Thank you. I will not have wine, but I do need some rest. Good night.”
She drifted through the shadowed room like a wraith, pushed aside the cloak that served as a curtain, and disappeared into the darkness beyond the narrow threshold of the adjoining room.
James watched her go, feeling his heart sink a little with each step she took. Now that bartering with Leslie had begun, he felt even more dishonorable and traitorous. She had given him her trust and he was sending her back to the lions to be devoured.
Patrick poured wine from a jug into clay cups and handed one to James, another to Quentin, then noisily swallowed the contents of a third cup himself. James downed the wine quickly and leaned over to refill his cup. “Get to Stobo by mid-morn.”
