Page 72 of The Hawk Laird
“Aye,” Quentin eyed him. “And what will you do? Take the lass to Alice?”
James shook his head. “I will not risk Alice in this. I can keep Isobel here.”
“Ah,” Quentin said. The sage note in his voice made James frown at him. “Then while you have the chance, you can solve whatever stands between you and that lass.”
“There is naught between us,” James growled, and set down the cup.
“We are not fools,” Quentin said. “I wonder if you can give her up to Leslie.”
“I can,” he snapped.
“But will she go?” Patrick asked.
“Aye.” He stood. “I must see to the hawk.”
“The hawk is asleep on a perch in the mews with his head tucked to his wing,” Patrick said. “I looked in on him when I came up with the wine.”
“Leave him be,” Quentin said. “He is jessed and tired. He will sleep.”
James nodded and rubbed a hand over his jaw, shoved fingers through his hair, feeling unsettled, as if he must do something and could not think what it was. “I need to work with him more. His wing will not heal unless he stops bating and fussing. He has to learn to stay quiet.”
“He will, but he is spoiled,” Quentin said. “I have never seen any man with as much patience for a hawk as you have. But you look as ragged as that hawk, as if you have not slept for a week.”
“I have not. Well. You know the message to deliver to Father Hugh.”
“We know,” Quentin said. “It will be done. Jamie, this is a dangerous scheme. Father Hugh knows Leslie well. We can only trust him with caution.”
“I know. We will let him deliver the message, but we cannot tell him our business. And I want you to get Geordie out of his hands before this exchange takes place. Father Hugh will not let harm come to Isobel, but we must not trust Geordie to a friend of Leslie’s for long.”
“The lad will be able to travel by the time we go back to Stobo,” Patrick said.
“Good. I need one more favor,” James said. “I want you to travel to Dunfermline Abbey to see Brother John Blair. Find out what more he knows about Wallace’s betrayers, and any other news he might have. If Geordie needs further rest, leave him with John Blair. I will not endanger that lad by bringing him here until he is strong enough to wield a bow and a sword again.”
Quentin nodded. “Do you have a message for Blair?”
“Tell him I have the prophetess. Tell him she will serve as payment for my cousin.”
“I think,” Quentin said, “you will pay more dearly in that exchange than you expect.”
“So you make predictions now?”
“Anyone could see that one,” Quentin murmured, and took a swallow of wine.
Chapter Twenty
James sat onthe edge of the broch wall, watching as Isobel stood facing the wind on the crag. Her gown blew against her slim form and her braid loosened in dark tendrils as she lifted her head proudly. She had an elfin, beautiful appearance. He tipped his head, considering her. Scarcely a word had passed between them since they had shared a simple breakfast of porridge.
Sensing her silent, cautious mood, he did not know quite what to say, and kept his thoughts to himself. Perhaps she was preparing herself to return to Leslie while James bartered her for Janet. Just as well that she distanced herself from him now, he thought—and he should do the same. Being with her was changing him, altering his view of what he wanted, who he was. What he needed.
She would leave soon, and so there was not much wisdom in strengthening what had begun to forge between them. Isobel had retreated within. He should do the same. It would better serve them both. And as much as she dreaded the exchange about to take place, he did as well.
When this had started, he had only wanted Janet back safely. Now he wanted Isobel safe as well, and that was the crux of a problem he could not easily solve.
The tiercel chirred on his gloved fist, eyes sharp, movements calm. The bird’s temper was improving, for he had bated only once that day. A night’s rest had helped the bird, who perhaps was beginning to accept his new master’s fist. Whatever thereason, James felt more confident that the tiercel could be manned.
A flock of larks flew past, and Gawain scarcely moved. That was a sign of progress. The time was near when he could begin to train the goshawk to jump to the fist from a leash, then fly on a creance line long enough to allow the bird to fly away from the fist and back again.
But the injured wing needed more time and treatment, and the bent tail feathers must be straightening if the goshawk was to fly. James would need Isobel’s help for that.
