Laird of the Wind (45 page)

"Bastard," John growled. "I am her father, and denied a place her wedding. He would not invite me to watch closer than this for a reason. He knew I would raise an objection."

James spun away, squeezing his eyes shut, hardly able to think as a tide of rage and anguish plunged through him. He felt as if he had taken a killing blow, as he had when Elizabeth had been killed at Wildshaw years earlier, dying in this very yard; as he had when Wallace had been taken. He had survived those invisible, grievous wounds.

He did not think he could survive, this time.

He stood like a stone, his back to the chapel, hearing the cheers of congratulations among the English guards. Beside him, John Seton watched his daughter.

"Jamie," Seton said in a low voice. James heard the odd note in it and turned, ever alert to danger. "Look at her."

He scowled. "I cannot," he said simply.

"Look," John insisted. "You must."

James reluctantly lifted his gaze, narrowed it on her face, so beautiful, so heartbreaking. Then he noticed the odd tilt of her head, the blue ice glaze of her eyes.

"Jesu," he breathed. "She is blind."

"Aye," John growled. "She's prophesied only recently, I would think. Jesus God. The bastard has taken her in wedlock when she was most defenseless and least able to act for herself."

James felt his rage rise to a nearly uncontrollable level. He fisted his hands, felt his belly muscles tighten. He looked instinctively for a weapon, and had none. He, too, was defenseless and unable to act.

"'Tis done," John Seton said. "They are going inside the church now. The doors are closing. Father Hugh will say a mass to solemnize the occasion. And we will be taken back to our cell, having witnessed the match."

But the guards who surrounded them guided them toward the gate rather than the dungeon. James heard his name being called and looked around, puzzled.

Margaret ran toward him, skirts flying around her strongly muscled legs. She reached his side and grabbed his forearm above the manacle. "We are being released," she said breathlessly. "They are sending us out of here!"

James frowned at her. "What do you mean? What has happened?" Around him, the guards escort urged them hastily past the great iron-studded wooden doors of the entrance, which had been pulled back. They walked beneath the vaulted tunnel of the foregate, which sloped downhill. James looked at Margaret in astonishment as they reached the other end of the vault, where the portcullis gate lifted slowly, pulleys squealing. Outside, the drawbridge had already been lowered.

"What is going on here?" he asked Margaret. They were escorted across the drawbridge, the booted feet of the guards stomping in strong, unmatched rhythms. The air was fresh and keen, but the shock of the marriage ceremony had drained all the joy from his release. His feet thudded softly over the grass at the other end of the drawbridge, and his cautious gaze already scanned the valley, the hills, the forest in the distance.

Beside him, he saw John Seton blinking up at the sky, looking around at the trees, the sky, the green expanse of the valley below the castle with a look of wonder on his face.

The guards stopped around them. One man came forward with a large iron key, and bent to unlock John Seton's leg and wrist manacles, while other guards lifted away the chains. They turned to do the same for James, while he held his arms out patiently and watched the faces of the guards.

Not one, he noticed, would look him in the eye. One by one, they turned away and crossed back over the drawbridge. John Seton, on Margaret's arm, stepped ahead, the wind blowing through his gray locks as he looked around.

One last guard remained to unlock James's ankle cuffs and lift the weight of that chain. The man stepped back and looked at James. He saw that it was the same soldier who, a few days earlier, had refused to harm Isobel or him in the dungeon.

"My thanks," James said quietly.

The man nodded. He handed James a folded, sealed parchment. "This is Sir Ralph's note of safe passage, allowing you to leave Wildshaw land and return to the forest."

James looked dubiously at the parchment he held. "Why?"

"A wedding promise, as I understand it. The bride required your freedom—all three—as a condition to the marriage."

James closed his eyes briefly, feeling yet another blow, this one poignant and tender. He nodded. "I see," he said. He turned to walk after Margaret and John.

"Beware, Lindsay," the knight said. James turned, frowning. "Soldiers are hiding in the woods, ready to ambush and murder all three of you. A wedding gift from the groom, I think."

James watched him intently. "Why does a Southron knight warn me of this?"

The man shrugged. "Your lady is lovely. I would not like to see her distressed by the news of your death."

"She is not my lady," James said harshly.

"Ah, but she is. I saw it in her eyes the first day she came here," the man murmured. "I see it in yours now."

James glanced away, glanced back. "Tell me the whole of why you take this risk. You have the chary look of a knight, a soldier, not one to fall for a bonny, sweet face. Even hers."

The man huffed a short laugh, and shifted the chains in his arms. "I have heard of your bravery and cunning for years."

James shrugged. "Old triumphs. Few trust me now."

"Many men do, though you do not even suspect their support," the knight said, looking at him evenly. "I was there the night Wallace was taken. I was part of Sir Ralph's guard. And so I saw what Leslie and the others—Menteith and his men—did. And I saw what you did. That was uncommon bravery, sir. 'Twas clear to me then who were the honorable men that night."

James watched him with the sudden, odd sense that he had discovered a loyal friend. "Go on," he said cautiously.

The man glanced away, over the hills. "I felt fouled that night for what we did. Men trust and respect you more than you know, Border Hawk. They are English soldiers, garrisoned here at Wildshaw. The story of that night is well known here. We know the truth." He turned to look at James, his eyes a deep, rich brown. "Many of us regret what happened that night, and afterward, to Wallace—and to you. Not all Southrons admire betrayal and injustice, you know."

James stared at him in astonishment. "What is your name?"

"Sir Gawain of Avenel, in Northumberland."

James smiled a little, and nodded. "Gawain," he said, half to himself. "Certes, she would have known the name would have significance someday. I am pleased to know you, Sir Gawain," he said. "And you have my thanks. Should you ever find yourself dissatisfied with your king and his cause in Scotland, you are welcome among the men of the Ettrick Forest."

Sir Gawain nodded. "I will remember that. There is one last thing you might want to know," he said. "On the morrow, Sir Ralph intends to escort his bride to an audience with King Edward at Carlisle. They will have to pass through the forest. I thought you might want to bid your lady adieu."

James nodded, frowning. "I might," he said slowly.

Gawain pulled the dagger out of his belt and tossed it into the grass at James's feet. "You will have need of a weapon in those woods beyond."

"I am sincerely in your debt," James said. He pulled out the knife and stuck it in his belt. Then he nodded to Gawain, and turned to walk down the grassy slope that led away from the drawbridge.

His step had lightened considerably with the chains removed. But he still carried a leaden weight in the region of his heart. And he could not bear to look behind him.

* * *

"That hawk is getting fat," James said. He stretched out on the floor beside Alice's blazing hearth, leaned his head on his elbow, and looked up at Ragnell. The hawk perched on the back of Alice's chair, her silver foot glittering in the firelight, and glared at him with a royal, reddish eye.

"She's fat because I am overfeeding her," Alice said. "I do not want her to fly away. And you, my lad, are drunk."

"Nah," James said, as he took another sip of dark Rhenish wine from a leather flask. "But I might be soon."

Alice sighed audibly and frowned at him. James cocked an eyebrow at her and took another deep swallow. He watched his aunt turn her frown upon all of them, one by one: his own men, along with Eustace, John Seton, and Margaret, who curled on the floor by her aunt's chair. The small main room was crowded, dim, warm, and uncomfortably silent.

"And what's to be done with him?" Alice asked.

"Leave him be," Patrick muttered. "He's heartbroke."

"If he wants to dive into his cups, let him," Henry Rose said. "'Tis what I would do, though 'tis unlike him."

"After all he went through this day," John Seton said, "we cannot blame him. He fought like a demon in the forest when those soldiers attacked us. If you lads had not come along to finish them off, we would all be dead, not a quarter mile from Wildshaw's gates. All that, and witnessing that accursed wedding too. Let him down that wine, and I'll drink with him."

Eustace and Geordie muttered agreement, watching James. He ignored them all and sipped from the leather flask again. He disliked the stuff, and had not intended to get drunk. But the more they discussed it around him, the better the idea seemed.

"Heartbroken he may be," Margaret said. "But he can do something about it." She scowled at him.

"I have not decided," James drawled, "what I will do about it." The painful mixture of anger, confusion, and hurt that had roiled in him all evening had not faded with the wine. He wanted to believe that Isobel loved him, only him. But he could not help but wonder about her choice.

"Isobel does not want a forest outlaw, it seems," he said, and sipped at the wine. "Naught makes that so clear as a wedding."

"'Tis not clear to me," Margaret said. "Do not be a sodding fool. Go get her, and find out for yourself."

"Margaret, lass," John Seton said kindly. "He does not need the sharp side of your tongue, now. Have a care."

"But Gawain of Avenel told him about Ralph's route through the forest for a reason," Margaret said. "He gave Jamie the chance to win her back. Jamie, you cannot ignore that."

"She chose luxury and the protection of a garrison—in my own castle—over life with a brigand. And who could blame her?"

"'Twas against her will," Margaret said. "Ralph forced her into the marriage by threatening your life, and the life of John Seton. And mine, too, I think."

"You said she wished me peace in my life, and went about donning her wedding finery. Which I could never have afforded for her," he muttered. "She made the practical choice."

"I saw her with him, Jamie. She hates and fears him. He will use her prophecies for his own gain. Steal her away!"

"The English king will favor her," he said. "She will be honored. She will not be harmed."

"She will not be
happy,
" Margaret snapped. "Do you love her?"

"Aye," he growled. "But I will not take another man's wife. Even a rogue has morals."

"Make her a widow," Quentin said quietly.

James slid the Highlander a long look. Quentin folded his arms, stretched out his bare legs where he sat on the bench, and regarded him calmly.

"Make her a widow," he said again. "I will help you."

"And I," Henry Rose said. Patrick echoed agreement.

Eustace leaned forward. "I know Ralph Leslie well," he said. "And my loyalty has ever been to John Seton of Aberlady and his daughter. But James Lindsay, you have my full respect." He gazed steadily at James. "So I will help you take the lady."

James frowned, glancing around the room. They all looked at him in turn, nodding, murmuring agreement.

"I will be at your back," Patrick said. "You know that."

"And I," Geordie said, sitting up where he lounged on Alice's bed. "I've a good hand with a sword."

"Now that I have a fine meal in my belly," John Seton said, "I believe I could run with you lads."

James listened silently, looking at each one, frowning.

"You know my hand is steady with a bow," Margaret said. Her gaze was like dark amber in the firelight, her face strong and proud. "And I have a grudge with Ralph Leslie myself."

"As do we, on Margaret's behalf," Patrick growled.

"If you have a doubt as to why the lady married him," Alice said, "then stop her escort and ask her yourself."

James scanned each face in turn, his throat tightening. Their firm loyalty stirred him to the roots of his soul. The trust and support of these few willing, loving friends were riches enough for a lifetime.

But there was one whose shining, gentle faith in him was as elemental to his soul as water was to his body. As long as she was missing from his life, as long as she was threatened, or lived somewhere without happiness, he would feel it. He would know it, and he would never begin to find the peace that he so long had craved.

"Aye, then," he said grimly. "How shall we go about it?"

* * *

Isobel walked across the small chamber carefully, counting the steps to find her way through the darkness. She reached out, groping past the bird's perch, and took the leather glove from the wall peg where she had left it. Then she stroked the bird, found his jesses, and untied them, leaving him free on the perch.