Page 95 of The Hawk Laird
Ralph flung his arm outward in a frenzied castoff. The goshawk released him and rose toward the ceiling, then flew about the room while Leslie fell to his knees, howling in pain.
Still wearing the glove, Isobel leaped up to the wooden chest to stand as tall as she could, waving her arm until the bird decided to obey. He settled to her fist with a quiet flutter and blinked a bright eye at her, then began to preen his feathers.
Ralph Leslie sucked in air, examining his bloodied hand and spewing vicious oaths. “He broke my finger! Curse that bird!”
“You should be more wary around a goshawk. He did not like you so close to him.” She was not certain why the bird had leaped to the man’s bare hand, but she was grateful for the intervention.
“What is the trouble here?” a man’s voice asked from the door. “I heard the screams from the down the stairs.” Isobel whirled to see Father Hugh entering the room.
“That pestilential bird broke my finger,” Ralph muttered, holding his wound up for display.
Father Hugh winced as he saw it, and head, gray hair partly shaved. “Hawks never favored you, Ralph,” he said. He glanced at the tiercel on Isobel’s fist. “Is that the gos that you left at Aberlady?”
“Aye, and he is not long for this world. You should have eaten him when you had the chance, Isobel,” he growled, and stepped forward. She gave a little shriek and retreated.
“Enough! It is just a bird. Have some sense,” Father Hugh snapped. “Wrap the finger and stop complaining. I came to tell you that Janet is waiting for you in your chamber. She’s complacent. Ready to beg your pardon and tell you what she knows.”
“What? Janet is incapable of complacency. It would be lies.” Leslie shot him a dark look. “I want a proper wife—this one. You will marry us.”
“Be patient.” Father Hugh turned to look at Isobel. He was her height, built slight, his jowled face pleasant enough—but now she knew he was deceptive. “Sit down, lass. We must talk. Set the bird away.” He helped her right the perch and waited as she set the calmed bird there. Then he took her arm gently to lead her to the bed, seating her on its edge, standing in front of her. He folded his hands inside his tunic sleeves.
“You betrayed my trust,” she said.
“Isobel, I only agreed to bring a patrol with me because I was concerned for your welfare. We had to rescue you from the outlaws.”
“What about Janet Crawford?” She glanced at Ralph Leslie, who sat on the leather stool nursing his wound, which he had wrapped in a cloth he found in the wooden chest.
“She is content here, though Lindsay wrongly believed she was held here against her will. She has been...a willing companion for Sir Ralph these weeks.”
“You know better than that,” she retorted. “You condoned it, even as a priest.”
“I am more concerned with your well-being than hers. Your honor was threatened. You should be grateful we took you away. Sir Ralph wants you for his wife, and wants you to be a king’s prophetess. It is a great honor.” He reached for her hand, but she snatched it away. Her muscles ached from Ralph’s rough handling.
“He told me. I refused.”
She saw the priest exchange a quick look with Sir Ralph, their determination clear. But she could let them control her again. Those days were over.
“Isobel, listen to me,” Father Hugh said. “For years I carefully wrote out your visions, and I knew they were too significant to keep to ourselves. I began announcing them from the pulpit—this you knew.” She nodded. “And I sent copies to the Guardians of the Realm of Scotland and to other Scottish nobles.”
“Why?”
“Because I believe they are extraordinary and the work of God. You could speak for kings, and now you will. I have been preparing a volume of what I have recorded and notated so far. I mean to send it to the Pope. I already sent a collection of your words, bound in leather, to King Edward.”
“When you die, you could be a saint,” Leslie snarled.
She stared from one to the other, incredulous. “Without my knowing? Those words belong to me, Father. I endured blindness and—and restriction to speak them.”
“We did not consult you, knowing you would refuse in appropriate humility.”
“Then you are also to blame for Aberlady being besieged,” she said.
“We could not know the king would respond in that way. Your father only wanted your words shared with a select few. Robert Bruce. Wallace,” the priest said sourly. “Sir Ralph and I decided they should go to King Edward.” He had the audacity to beam at her, though she felt shocked. “We are fortunate in this patron.”
“Patron!” She stood. “You want to gain status and goods in return!”
Ralph came forward to stand with Hugh. “I would be honored to see my wife so favored.”
“To see yourself favored,” she nearly spat out.
