Page 93 of The Hawk Laird
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Pushed inside thetower bedchamber, Isobel stumbled and scrambled away from Leslie, hurrying to stand beside the goshawk’s perch. Gawain kakked loudly and clenched his talons. Isobel picked up the thick glove that she had left with the falconer’s pouch on the wooden chest. She turned.
“He is hungry,” she said, “and he has been here too long. He reverts to wildness quickly.” Remembering that James had said the goshawk might act as protection, she shoved her hand into the glove and nudged her fist toward Gawain. The tiercel stepped to the glove, his bronze eyes glinting as he focused on Leslie.
Keeping a wary eye on Leslie herself, Isobel removed the last strip of raw meat wrapped in the pouch hours before, when she had stood with James on the crag. The hawk clutched it quickly and tore at it with his beak.
“You have become a falconer since I last saw you,” Leslie said. “But I know this bird. He is spoiled and truculent, and too wild to train. He’ll never learn to hunt for a master. His temper is too hot. I would have released him, but John Seton said he would train the bird.”
“James Lindsay found the bird wild in the woods after Aberlady was taken. He determined that the original owner ruined him. That would be you,” she said. “He comes to Jamie easily.”
“Jamie, is it? And you? Do you obey his every command too?” He advanced toward her.
“Do not stare so. The bird does not like it. See how he glares at you. He does not like you. Mayhap he remembers you.” Gawain finished the food and gave a raw squawk.
Leslie folded his arms and did not come closer, Isobel saw with relief, but the tension in the air was palpable. The tiercel sensed it too, for he drew in his feathers and swiveled his head, eyes gleaming beneath slanted brows. She murmured softly, aware he might be about to bate.
“Lindsay showed you how to handle the bird? What else did he teach you?”
Isobel cooed softly to the bird. “He taught me to relish freedom,” she said carefully.
“Freedom! You learned that while hiding with an outlaw? He held you hostage and called it noble, and you believed it.” He shook his head. “You are a poor judge of men, Isobel. Too innocent.”
“Freedom,” she said, “was what you, and Papa, and Father Hugh took away from me.”
“We took naught. We guided you and gave you sanctuary.”
“I see it differently now.”
“What else did you learn from this brigand? I suppose, being naïve, you were a keen pupil.” He came closer, threat rolling off him like heat from a fire. He reached out and touched her arm. She flinched back. Gawain rustled his feathers.
“You had best leave,” she said firmly.
His hand fell hot and heavy on her shoulder. “Did he touch you?” His fingers flexed like talons. She suppressed a wince, returning a stony gaze. His fingers traced down her arm to her waist. “Did he touch you like this? Or this?” His hand slid up, his thick thumb grazing over the side of her breast.
She gasped and stepped back. The bird kakked. “Get you gone, Ralph Leslie,” she said.
“You have a wild spirit. I saw a touch of that at Aberlady,” he murmured. “But you were more biddable. Now something has changed. You tasted freedom—and perhaps a man’s touch?” He smoothed his hand over her hair, then grabbed a fistful, yanking painfully, pulling her head back. “If that rogue has cuckolded me,” he growled, “I will make him scream for mercy before I kill him.”
Gawain shrieked then, launching off the fist in a fury of flapping wings, caught by the jesses. Isobel raised her arm and locked her muscles, letting the bird’s frantically flapping wings brush toward Ralph Leslie, who stepped back.
“That is a damned troublesome hawk!”
“He would be fine if you were gone,” she said. “As for betrayal, you should beg forgiveness of James Lindsay for what you did against him—and against Scotland too.” She had to remain calm because of the bating hawk, no matter what she said, or wanted to say.
“Wallace was a firebrand. Many wanted him stopped. Lord Menteith and others—were in agreement. There were several who conspired toward his fate. And I will continue to see that his compatriots are brought to justice. King’s peace must come to Scotland.”
“Peace will come to Scotland with an English king,” she said. “King Edward will never rule Scotland. Never. I know this.”
He looked as if he had been struck. “When did you see this?”
Isobel walked away, legs trembling, carrying the hawk, who slowed and calmed, hanging upside down. She righted him and sat on the wooden chest by the window.
“By God, did you prophesy for him?” Leslie crossed toward her. “What does he know?”
“Does he know secrets that you do not? I am not sure. I have forgotten what I saw.”
He grabbed her arm, fingers pressing deep. “Tell me. I must know what you predicted.”
