Page 79 of The Hawk Laird
“Aye,” she whispered fervently. Though she had never done this before, she felt no fear or conflict, only a growing desire and a sense that it was right, this. Oh aye.
But when he pulled her snug to him, pushing the blanket aside, she hid her face against his shoulder. The danger she had foreseen for him, the marriage to Leslie that she dreaded, loomed for a moment. Yet all she wanted was the comfort of his arms, of him. It might be all she could have.
Skimming her hands over his shoulders, pressing her body to his, she opened her lips beneath his as he sought deeper kisses. Thought and logic began to fade as she immersed herself in feeling, the warmth of his hands, his tender lips, the pulsing that stirred in her body. As his fingers glided lower, her heart pounded, a begging drum as his hand cupping her breasts teased shivers all through her, and she arched into him, breath quickening. He wound the mass of her hair in his hand, tugging her head back, his lips tracing along her throat, finding her breast, so that she pearled there and gasped, wanting more, seeking him in turn with her hands and lips, curious and thrilled, delighted and allowing.
When he pulled away his trews and drew her even closer, his body heated and solid along the length of hers, his hands warm and soothing along her back, her hips, his breath hot against her throat and breast—she moaned, his fingers enticing, sliding, teasing downward until his hand delved into the hidden recess of her body, his touch easing into her, over her, in exquisite caresses. She lifted toward him as liquid fire poured through her in a shimmering cascade. She yearned, ached, hovered on the verge, fervent, seeking more of what her body promised and her heart now craved. As new as this was, every touch a discovery, she felt as if this was perfect, what she had needed from him all along, now coming into focus.
Slipping her hand over his abdomen, following the warm path of his musculature, easing down as he pressed close, she found the hot, rigid length of him, and he groaned low. Shifting,he lay back and pulled her over him until her legs hugged his hips and his body fit intimately to hers.
“Are you—” he whispered hoarsely.
“I am sure,” she whispered, her breath over his lips in a lingering kiss, her heart pounding. The quickening cadence of his breath matched hers as his hands settled on her hips, guiding her over him with gentle, fervent fingers. With a deep exhale, she felt her body slip over him like glove to hand, and with push, she gasped, her little cry smothered against the column of his throat. She arched her back, his hands on her hips, her back, easing her into his rhythm, his touch warm and tender and shepherding her along with him in a sweet, hot merging of body and soul, a pledge of trust and giving. An irresistible force flowed through her, a craving that was compelling—a hunt after satiety, but more, a craving for love, for him, for the sanctuary of the heart that existed wherever he was.
Leaning forward, she sighed and laid against him. He wrapped her in his arms, breathing in tandem with her, while her hair fanned out to cover them like dark, outspread wings. She could not leave him—she knew it with certainty now. The thought echoed, spun within her as she closed her eyes and savored the feel of his arms around her, his lips, his soft whispers.
Cold air anddawn light sliced through the window gap in the stone wall, stirring him awake. Shivering, James drew the blankets closer, keeping Isobel in the circle of his arm, her body warm and soft against his. Her gentle snores made him smile, and he tilted her head to quiet her breathing.
They lay together in a nest of blankets and cloaks; he wished he had thickened the straw mattress and constructed a curtain to keep out the draft. Though he was used to a hard bed,grabbing sleep when he could, here or in the forest, she was not accustomed to such.
He took in a quick breath, remembering the joyful, sensuous loving this stark bed and stone chamber had supported. As the embers had faded in the hearth and the cool breezes increased, they had sought the shelter of the bed, dozing a little and then waking to readily explore and share, deeply and completely. His body surged at the memory, and he pressed his lips to her hair as she slept.
This day or the next, his friends would return, and too soon, Isobel of Aberlady would step into the church in Stobo and disappear from his life.
He had endured the sacrifices that came from his choices in life—but this one would be the hardest.
“The creance issuch a long line,” Isobel said, standing beside James as he wound the length of twine over his arm. “He has only hopped to your fist from a little distance. This line is a hundred feet long, you said.”
“Nearly. But that is not the problem,” he answered, walking with her across a grassy stretch of the crag’s summit. Gawain sat on his fist and chirred. “The problem is getting the bird to come back to the fist. Once he does, he will do it from a foot away, a hundred feet, or as far as he can see the falconer without a line between them. The distance is naught to the hawks. Trust is all.”
She nodded, and stood where he indicated, waiting while he checked the knots that attached the creance to the jesses. He tied the other end of the line to a wooden peg and shoved it into the grass. Then he walked the length of the field, letting the creance unfurl as he went, and set the bird on a rocky ledge. Returning to stand with Isobel, he called to the bird, whistled, and sang the notes of thekyrie.
Gawain was busy preening his feathers, but at the sound of the melody, he fluttered up, then down to perch on the ground. James sighed and walked over to pick the bird up, carrying him back, looping the creance again. Then he thrust out his arm to cast the bird off his fist swiftly.
This time, Gawain took to the air with a broad sweep of his wings, flying out and upward, the creance spooling out behind him. His wings rowed, glided, rowed the air as he crossed the field.
Isobel gasped with delight. The sun glinted silver on his back as he sped along. The hawk was beauty and grace, yet possessed a keen, dreadful power too, a master of the air, an archangel in his realm. He gained height. The creance waved and soared with him, then tightened. The goshawk glided over to perch on a high rocky outcrop on the crag’s summit.
“Now we will see if he comes back,” James said, and raised his head to sing again. Isobel caught her breath and waited.
Gawain cocked his head and turned. James sang again, arm extended. Then, as if he had considered and decided, the bird sailed back toward them, wings spread wide as he floated on a current.
Seeing his fast approach, Isobel stepped back. James stood rock still and waited, arm out. Moments later, the hawk tipped and slowed and settled to the glove with a nonchalant flutter.
James offered him a bit of meat. Then he grinned at Isobel. “Now that,” he said, “is a goshawk.”
She smiled. “That was beautiful! Sir Gawain, what a bonny lad you are!”
“Bonny indeed. Now we shall see if he will do it repeatedly. This may prove a long day, lass.”
“Ah well. What else do we have to do up here?”
“I could think of something.” He gave her a twinkling look, and she suppressed a smile, heat searing her cheeks, a smallrush of pure joy streaming through her as she imagined being in his arms.
The afternoon spun out, delights and disappointments as the hawk flew or did not, bated or perched, ate or declined, according to his whim. Isobel watched as James soothed and cajoled and so very patiently tried again and again. As the shadows on the crag grew longer, the bird complied more and misbehaved less, always responding in some way to the serene notes of the song.
At sundown, with pink-edged clouds spreading overhead, Isobel gazed out over the forest, struck by the blend safety and power she felt high up in their eyrie. James tucked the looped creance in his belt and came toward her, Gawain calm on his fist.
“I love it here,” she said as he joined her. “Far above the world. No one can threaten us here. No one can find us unless they know the secret way in.”
