Laird of the Wind (44 page)

And all she had heard, when Ralph was there, was his voice, softened, cajoling, convincing her to listen to him, to let him take care of her, to give in to his wishes and his wisdom for her. His hands, soothing over her, and his voice at her ear, were a travesty of James's genuine patience and kindness, both with the hawk and with her.

On his father's practical advice, Ralph had allowed Margaret to come to her briefly, a few times each day, to bathe her face and hands and assist her with her bodily needs. The girl had been instructed not to speak; Ralph had stood outside the door, listening, to make certain. Isobel had felt his malevolence seep through the thick oaken door.

But she had found real joy in Margaret's soft whispers and bracing hugs. The girl's sniffling tears only saddened her and brought tears of exhaustion and frustration to her masked eyes.

Now, though, an hour or two of sleep had strangely cleared her head. She paced through the ever-present darkness, trying to ignore the sharp hunger in her belly, and the equally keen fear that invaded her thoughts.

If she prophesied, she could have anything, she told herself. If she gave into Ralph, he would allow her any request within reason. He had told her that repeatedly, in a whispery voice, while his hands traveled the contours of her body. He had not ventured beyond sweeping, slow caresses, though he promised her more when she became his wife.

That was not something she wanted to think about.

The latch of the door rattled, and she heard the door opening. She jerked around, stepping away when she heard his heavy foot on the floor.

"Isobel." Dear God, how she hated that voice, which she had once found pleasant. "Come and eat. I know you are hungry."

She shook her head silently and backed away, counting steps until she reached the bird's perch. Ralph crossed the room.

"You are far more stubborn than I ever would have thought." His hand touched her head. She tilted away with a little sound of protest. "And I have no time to wait upon your whim any longer. You must give up this wildness you favor. In a day or two, we will journey to see the king."

She said nothing, her head lowered, all of her senses alert. She heard the goshawk stir nervously on the perch.

"Today," Ralph said, "we might let that hawk go."

Isobel swallowed heavily and remained silent. She sensed Ralph reach out to the bird—a creak of leather, the chirr of the hooded bird, blinded and trapped as she was. Subtle sounds told her that Gawain tore at some meat, so she knew Ralph fed him.

"After I let the hawk go, I think I will go down to the dungeon, and set your lover free. Free to go to God, that is."

She licked her dry lips to speak. "You—you will kill him?" she whispered. Her heart pumped so hard that she felt faint.

"I will," he said. "And your father. Unless you do what I ask of you. My patience has gone dry, Isobel." He paused. "I do not jest. I do not bargain. The king awaits us, and expects worth for his coin. He will not bargain with me in this matter. He will not grant the tolerance that I have given you."

She drew a breath and brushed past him, counting her steps as she crossed the room, giving herself time to think. She did not doubt that Ralph would kill James. She could not bear the thought. And her father, too, would die; Ralph had loyalty only to himself. Even Margaret, who had won Ralph's favor, would likely fall victim to her lover's evil nature. And the hawk would be let loose, as a last blow. Isobel would lose everyone she loved if she clung to her stubbornness now.

But she could ensure survival and safety for them. Her own fate hardly mattered to her when compared to the immeasurable value of those other lives. If she acquiesced, Ralph would be generous with her. She would not be harmed; she would have all that she needed—but for love and freedom.

Without those, without Jamie, she might wither away. But if he died, she would surely cease to flourish. Her choice was obvious, for the alternative was unthinkable.

She would give up her own chance for joy and peace in exchange for the good of those she loved. But she must speak now, while she had the strength of resolve, or lose the courage.

She turned. A black, empty feeling crept through her, a heavy shadow that sucked up hope and erased her bright vision of her own future. But the knowledge that Jamie, her father, and Margaret would live and find freedom sparked at the center of the darkness, like a candle flame in an abyss.

"What do you want of me?" she asked in a hollow tone. She knew well what he wanted. The question became a statement of surrender. She felt detached, increasingly numb in spirit.

"Prophecies," Ralph said simply. "And your hand in marriage, this day. I want my wife to be the king's prophetess."

She held her blindfolded head high. "I ask a marriage boon." He was silent, but she knew he watched her. She felt stripped naked, threatened, by a stare she could not even see.

"I want them released," she said. "My father, James, and Margaret. If you promise to let them walk out of here unharmed, I will agree to what you want."

She heard his step on the floor. "Reasonable enough," he said, surprising her. "I will let them go after we are wed."

She turned away, facing the window, feeling its soft air upon her face, her hands. "Leave the goshawk with me. He is mine. You will not release him."

"Aye," he said gruffly. "I will tell my father to prepare for the wedding." He paused. "Isobel. I hope to make you proud of the husband you have chosen. You will be greatly admired in the English court."

She kept her back to him. "I love another man. But I will wed you in barter for his life, and the lives of my father and Margaret. I must have your solemn oath of honor on the bargain."

He was silent, standing by the door.

"Swear it," she said. "On what you most value."

"I swear they will go free," he said. "On pain of my love for you." He opened the door and left.

* * *

Isobel's hair gleamed like a skein spun from midnight as Margaret combed it out before the brazier's glowing heat. The girl had assisted Isobel through a bath, and had wept freely, while Isobel sat cool and silent. Isobel watched the goshawk, fed and unhooded, as he sat his perch, and knew she was as trapped as he was.

Freed of her blindfold and wrist bonds, Isobel took no satisfaction in the release, or in the longed-for bath or the hot meal that followed. Ralph had given her a gown and surcoat of deep blue Flemish samite, trimmed in silver embroidery and tiny glass beads. The gown and surcoat, along with a silk chemise and a veil of fine, translucent gauze, was exquisitely rendered, finer than anything Isobel had ever seen. Ralph told her that he had purchased the cloth and had the garments made in Edinburgh months ago, in anticipation of their wedding.

She would not have cared had the clothing been rags. She stood passively while Margaret dressed her. Through the silence, Isobel sensed Margaret's pain and disappointment keenly.

"I am sorry," Isobel whispered. "Truly sorry. I know you love the man, more than I ever could."

"I have lost my affection for him," the girl hissed. "But I weep for you, Isobel," she added in a softer tone. "And I do not know what I will tell Jamie, if Ralph truly lets us go."

"Tell him," Isobel whispered, "that I wish him peace in his life." She looked away, feeling a stony numbness collect inside of her. "Only that. There is naught else to say."

Margaret nodded as she combed out the length of Isobel's hair. She arranged the veil over it, draping it under her chin and bringing it up, fastening it with a circlet of rolled silk.

A knock on the door preceded Ralph and the priest. Ralph had changed into a tunic and surcoat of fine black wool trimmed in fur in honor of his wedding. He stared at Isobel, and bowed his head slowly. Margaret stood, but Isobel remained on the stool beside the brazier.

"Is it time for the ceremony already?" Margaret asked.

"Soon," Father Hugh said. "Margaret, go tell the guards to fetch our guests and bring them to the chapel."

"Guests!" Isobel burst out.

"Surely you want your father and... the outlaw to witness your wedding," Ralph said.

Isobel stared flatly at him. "Nay."

"Nevertheless," Father Hugh said. "Margaret, go. Now."

The girl gave Isobel an uncertain look and hurried from the room. Father Hugh sat on the wooden chest and took out a rolled parchment, an ink pot, and a quill. "We want you to summon a vision for us, Isobel. We must know what you told the outlaw."

"Of course, you will keep your promise to prophesy for your husband," Ralph murmured. "'Tis a mark of good will if you do that for us now." He produced a bowl of water. "Gaze here." Isobel bowed her head. She did not look at the water, or at the men. She drew in a breath, and heard, in her mind, the calm, mellifluous tones of Jamie's voice, singing the
kyrie eleison
. She heard the sounds of water trickling down a stone wall. Then she saw the glistening rills flow into a pool, inside a paradise she would never again enter.

Peace streamed through her, gentle and serene. She realized that here, at least, in her mind and in her memories, she would find the refuge of the love she needed so desperately. And the visions, no matter what came afterward, brought her a true sense of joy, as if heavenly voices soothed her and told her secrets.

She tipped her head and watched new images form. Men in shining, bloodied armor, wielding broadswords and axes; a tall, white-haired, aged king on his deathbed; a Scottish nobleman running through heather and bog, newly become a rebel, a renegade, and a king; and the single lion, the banner of Scotland, raised in victory over a field by a flowing burn.

She began to speak.

Chapter 29

James reached out his hand, chain links jangling, and assisted John Seton in the arduous task of climbing the steep stairs in ankle cuffs and chains. At the top, they walked into the yard, surrounded by guards.

James blinked in the fading daylight. Blue shadows gathered along the high enclosing castle walls, and the massive gray stone keep was silhouetted against the red sun as it sank in the west.

James looked around warily. One of the soldiers who had escorted them out of their cell had tersely announced that they were to be taken to the yard, but had not explained why.

A crowd of soldiers gathered at one side of the keep, in front of the chapel that jutted out into the bailey. The guards escorted James and John toward the crowd. Three lancet windows along the side of the small building reflected the glowing sun. James gazed at the design, remembering that his father had built the chapel for his mother, a lifetime ago.

On the steps, beneath the deep pointed arch of the entrance, James saw Isobel, Ralph, and another man, a priest, whom he recognized from Isobel's ill-fated meeting in the forest. As he walked closer, craning his neck to see above the heads of the soldiers gathered before the chapel entrance, he realized why they had been brought here.

"My God," John said. "She's being wed, here and now, on the steps of the church." He moved as the guards urged them forward.

James stepped ahead slowly, chains dragging on him, foot and hand. But the profound weight of his sinking heart was a thousandfold heavier.

The ceremony had already begun. As he edged closer, he heard the priest's voice speaking the Latin of the ritual. He heard Ralph's reply, strong and sure. And he heard Isobel's soft, uncertain answer.

She looked like a saint or a queen, framed within the graceful curve of the entrance arch. Gowned in sumptuous blue, with silvery glints striking off her sleeves and hem like diamonds, she stood willowy and elegant beside Ralph's husky, vigorous form. The soft, shimmering folds of the veil lent her face a fragile, ethereal loveliness. She was more beautiful than he had ever imagined.

James stared, enthralled, stunned, struck deep to his soul.

Isobel held out her hand, and Ralph slipped a ring on her finger. He bent to kiss her, and she turned her face slightly so that he kissed her cheek. Ralph raised his head, looked out over the crowd of soldiers, and found James and John standing among them. He smiled, bitter and triumphant, nodded, and turned away.

Isobel did not look at them at all. Ralph took her arm and spoke to her, looking up at her as if in adoration.