Page 86 of The Hawk Laird
“We were starving, under siege by Clifford’s men!” she retorted. “No one came to our aid.” She narrowed her eyes at him.
“You mean me? I did not hear of the siege until later. I went there, but found it burned. I would have come to you sooner had I known.” He took her free hand in his. “You know I care for you.”
“Do you? Where is my father?” She pulled her hand away.
“He is here.”
“Thank God! I must see him. Where is he?” She looked around as if he would appear.
“He is unwell and not ready for visitors. You will see him later. First we must talk.”
“He will want to see me no matter what.”
“Not yet,” he replied.
She frowned, puzzled. “Soon, then. I trust you have a chamber prepared for me, since you took the trouble to have me escorted here.”
He turned to walk with her. “Someone will take you there. Janet! Come here, girl!”
Isobel looked up in surprise to see a tall young woman coming toward them with a bold, quick stride. Her russet gown molded to her lush, large-boned figure and matched a thick mass of red hair barely tamed by two plaits pulling it back above her ears. As she came near, she smiled, her golden brown eyes warm and intelligent.
“This is Lady Isobel Seton,” Leslie said. “Take her to the chamber made ready for her.”
“Lady Isobel, welcome to Wildshaw. I am Janet Crawford.”
“Janet!” Isobel extended her hand. “I am so glad to see you!”
The girl looked confused; so did Ralph Leslie. “Come with me, my lady. You must be tired after your journey.”
“Journey?” Isobel looked at Leslie. She would not be part of any mummer’s play he designed. “No journey. I was taken by force from my friends. I had faith in Father Hugh, and in Sir Ralph, but no longer.” Beside her, Janet gasped.
Leslie only scowled. “You needed a rescue and I provided it. Go inside. You are distressed after your ordeal—taken by outlaws and held these weeks. Someone will pay for that. Ah, here he is, delivered just in time.”
Isobel turned, hearing a commotion at the gates. The rest of the patrol, including Father Hugh, rode beneath the portcullis into the yard. A man walked between two horses, tied there, his arms stretched, long legs dragging in the dirt. A tangle of brown-gilt hair obscured his face and bowed head.
Her heart lurched. “Jamie!” She started forward but Leslie grabbed her arm, yanking her back, sending a shaft of pain through her arm. “Let him go!” she cried. “What will you do with him?”
“Do you care what happens to the brigand that took you?”
“He never harmed me!”
He ignored that. “Janet, escort her to her chamber. Janet!”
The girl sprinted across the yard and clasped her arms firmly around James to help support his sagging weight. His head lolled, and Isobel saw that his face was half covered in darkened blood. Though she pulled against Leslie’s grip, he would not release her.
But on her fist, Gawain launched backward in a furious bate, beating his wings and squawking. She extended her arm to give him necessary space.
“By hell, that is indeed my own damned hawk!” Leslie muttered. “Guards! Get that girl away from the prisoner. Take him to the dungeon, if he yet lives.”
“He lives,” a soldier answered. “Might survive.”
“We shall see about that,” Leslie growled.
Isobel swallowed back a sob, but she could not reveal any feeling for the outlaw. Stifling her urge to react, she focused on the hawk, who tired of his fit and let her lift him back to the glove. Quickly she took his little hood from the pouch at her belt and pushed it over his head, shutting out the world.
Janet, pulled by a guard, snarled in a way that caused the man to step back. Then she whirled and stomped toward Leslie with a thunderous scowl. Standing taller than him, she pointed at him, then at James Lindsay. “You know that is my cousin! Let him go, Sir Ralph!”
“I cannot do that,” he murmured. “And this is none of your concern,” he snapped. “Lindsay has committed crimes and offenses against the Crown, and against me.” He turned, yanking Isobel with him. The goshawk shrieked but held his position, the hood enough security to keep him from bating.
