Page 98 of The Hawk Laird
“Prophecies. And marriage, this very day.”
She lifted her blindfolded head. “Then I ask a marriage boon.” He waited. “I want them released. My father, James Lindsay, and Janet Crawford. If you let them walk away unharmed, I will agree to what you want.”
She heard him approach, and she turned to walk to the window, feeling its soft, cool, early air on her face.
“Reasonable enough,” he said, surprising her. “After we wed, I will release them.”
“And leave the goshawk with me. He is mine now.”
“Very well. If you promise all that I want, that is your marriage boon. I will tell Father Hugh to prepared for our wedding. Isobel—” He paused. “I hope to make you proud. You will be admired in the years to come.”
She kept her back to him. “I do not care. I love another, and I want you to know I will only marry you in barter for his life, and the lives of Papa and Janet. I must have your solemn oath of honor.”
He was silent.
“Swear it to me.”
“I swear they will go free,” he said. “On pain of my love for you.” He opened the door and left.
Isobel’s hair gleamedlike a skein spun from midnight as Janet combed it out before the brazier’s glow. The girl had assistedIsobel through a bath, weeping freely, while Isobel sat nearly silent. Now she watched the goshawk on his perch, feeling as trapped as the bird.
Freed of her blindfold and wrist bonds, she took no satisfaction in any of it. Sir Ralph had provided a clean gown and a surcoat of deep blue samite, trimmed in embroidery and glass beads. The pretty things, along with a silk shift and a gauzy veil, were exquisite. He had said they were purchased and made in Edinburgh months ago in anticipation of their wedding.
She would not have cared if they had been rags. She stood passively while Janet dressed her. Through her own pain and disappointment, she sensed Janet’s misery too.
“I am sorry,” Isobel whispered. “I know you care for the man more than I ever could.”
“I have no more affection for that priest’s bastard,” the girl hissed. “I weep for you, Isobel. And I do not know what to tell Jamie if Ralph truly lets us go.”
“Tell him—that I wish him peace in his life. And freedom.” She looked away.
Janet nodded and finished combing Isobel’s hair, then arranged the veil over it, draping it under her chin and bringing it up, fastening it with a circlet of rolled white silk.
A knock on the door preceded Sir Ralph and the priest. Leslie, who carried something covered in a plain cloth, wore a surcoat of black wool trimmed in fur in honor of his wedding. Seeing Isobel, he widened his eyes. “You are—a beauty.”
“Is it time for the ceremony already?” she asked.
“Soon. Janet, tell the guards to fetch our guests out of the dungeon and to the chapel.”
“Guests!” Isobel burst out.
“Surely you want witnesses for your wedding,” Leslie said.
Isobel stared flatly at him. “I do not.”
“Nonetheless. Janet! Go now,” he barked. With an uncertain look for Isobel, Janet left the room.
Father Hugh turned. “Lady Isobel, we must know what you told the outlaw. You will need to summon a vision for us before we go to the chapel.”
“I cannot—”
“As a token of the promise you gave me,” Leslie said, “you will do this now.” What he carried was a bowl; he whipped the cloth away to reveal a gleam of water. “Sit there, and gaze into this.”
Isobel sat in the leather-seated chair, but did not look at the water. Instead, she closed her eyes and saw, in her mind’s eye, a pool deep inside a cave; and she heard the sound of water trickling down a rough stone wall. She might never enter that paradise again, yet its peace streamed through her. In memories, at least, she could still feel the refuge of love surround her.
Tilting her head, she watched new images form in her mind. Men in bloodied armor, wielding broadswords and axes; a tall, white-haired, old man on his deathbed; a nobleman in plaid and rags running through heather and bog; and the banner of Scotland whipping over a field beside a wide burn. Kings, rebellion, murder, battle—freedom.
She began to speak, and the darkness fell over her eyes.
