Page 97 of The Hawk Laird
Seton huffed. “And I see no outlaw, but the man my daughter loves. And I am thinking she is right to do so. I was wrong about you, lad. I treated her unfairly and she has rebelled. She was a bold child but became a timid woman. But she has changed recently. Bolder again.”
“She has a strong will.” James pinched back a smile. “And I intend to get out of here to help her and all of us.”
“What is the plan?”
“I am thinking that if Janet comes back, she might be able to get a key. If not, when Leslie returns, and I trust he will, I will be ready for him. Let him try to come at me again,” he said, drawing out the chain between his hands in a slither of steel. “If threatened, he may collapse and order us freed. That would give us a chance.”
“But there are a hundred soldiers in this place.”
“And one guard who showed us some favor. That may be enough. With even a few on our side, we can get free.” Seeing Seton’s doubtful expression, he sighed. “What other hope do we have?”
Once again he placed his feet to the wall and sat up, leaned back, curled forward, feeling his abdomen tighten, his legs work, feeling power and resolve surge through him.
He would be ready.
She wanted abath desperately. Isobel turned again to walk the length of the room, counting the steps, reaching the bed on the eleventh step, turning walking back to the bird’s perch. With her hands tied behind her back, she twitched her messy, loosened hair over her shoulder and turned again.
She wanted a bath, a fresh gown, a meal in her belly. Most of all, she wanted to see James Lindsay again, wanted to know he was well, wanted to feel his arms and his love wrap around her like a cloak—and she deeply wanted to do the same for him.Tears pricked her eyes behind the blindfold. She sucked in a breath. Ten steps, eleven.
Her toe caught the base of the perch. Gawain chirred, and she stood there, singing thekyriesoftly, its haunting strain calming her as well as the bird. Turning, she walked again in darkness. The sound of larks and the newborn coolness of the morning wafted in through the window. Soon Ralph Leslie would return.
Her knees were wobbly with exhaustion, but she stayed on her feet. If he came in without warning again and found asleep, he would pull her to her feet, continuing his quest to treat her like a wild hawk to be broken.
For days, she had slept little, had scarcely eaten, had remained blindfolded and constrained. When Leslie was there, his voice was soft, cajoling, nauseating to her as he tried to convince her to rely on him, trust him, give in to him. His hands soothed over her and his voice murmured at her ear in a travesty of James’s patience and kindness with the hawk—and with her.
Heeding his father’s advice, Sir Ralph had allowed Janet to come to her briefly a few times a day, to assist her in whatever she needed, but Janet was forbidden to speak. Either the priest or his son, perhaps both, stood outside the door, listening. Isobel could almost feel the malevolence and control seeping through the oaken door. But Janet’s whispers and bracing hugs brought solace and a little joy.
This morning, a couple of hours of sleep had managed to clear her head as she paced through the darkness of the blindfold, ignoring the sharp hunger in her belly and the equally keen fear in her heart.
If she prophesied for him, she could have anything, she knew that. He had repeated that he would allow her almost any request, even as his hands traveled the contours of her body. He had made only sweeping caresses, promising more when she became his wife. She could not bear to think about it.
The door latch rattled and she heard the creak of hinges. She whirled around.
“Isobel.” Dear God, how she hated that voice now. “Come eat. You must be hungry.”
She shook her head and backed away, counting steps until she reached the bird’s perch. Ralph crossed the room.
“You are more stubborn than I thought.” His hand touched her head. She leaned away. “But I have no time to wait upon your whim. You must give up. Tomorrow we journey to see the king.”
She said nothing, her head lowered. She heard the goshawk stir nervously on the perch.
“Today,” he said, “we will let that hawk go.”
Isobel swallowed heavily. She sensed Ralph reach out to the bird—the sound of leather, the chirr of the hooded bird, blinded as she was. Other sounds told her that Gawain tore at some meat as Sir Ralph fed him.
“I will let the hawk go, and go to the dungeon to set your lover free—so he can go to God. If God will take him.”
She licked her dry lips. “You—you will kill him?”
“I told you I would unless you do what I ask. My patience has gone. The king awaits, and there is no bargaining there. He will not show you any tolerance.”
She brushed past him quickly, crossing to the bed, taking the moments to think. She did not doubt he try to would kill James, and her father, too, for the man had loyalty only to himself. Even Janet might fall victim to her lover’s evil nature. As a last blow, the hawk would fly free.
She would lose everyone she loved if she clung to stubbornness now. But if she acted, she might be able to save them. Her own fate hardly mattered, suddenly, compared to the immeasurable value of those lives. Sir Ralph would be generous with her—she would not be harmed. She would only lose freedom. And love.
But if Jamie died, she would surely wither inside. At least she would know he was alive. She would exchange her chance at joy and peace for the good of those she loved. But she must speak now or lose the courage of the moment, for an empty feeling crept through her, sucking up hope and the future.
“What do you want?” she asked in a hollow tone. She knew well what it was. The question was her indication of surrender. She felt detached. Numb.
