Laird of the Wind (7 page)

"Aye, we heard," she murmured.

"How could you know of it, under siege these weeks?"

"The English took delight in shouting reports to us. Once, they allowed us to declare a truce for a holy day, and let our priest come inside to give us communion. Father Hugh told us much news before he left. That was the day he took our horses and animals out with him," she said, remembering. "And the day we let my father's hawks and falcons fly free. So 'tis true, then," she added. "Wallace is dead."

"Aye," Geordie said hoarsely.

"Geordie—we heard that the Border Hawk betrayed Wallace."

He shook his head. "Evil Southron rumors. I will not believe that. Jamie does not speak of it. We few have stayed with him, but the rest have gone, for he is a hunted man. Jamie came here to seek you out," Geordie said suddenly. "zBut he did not say why. Will you make a prophecy for him? Can you help him?"

She blinked at his blunt, eager questions. "I—I do not know." Certes, she thought to herself. That must be why Lindsay had come, to ask a prophecy of her. Perhaps he had questions about whatever she had said of him before. But she did not know what that was, so she could not help him.

"Do you trust him, Lady Isobel?" Geordie asked quietly.

"Trust?" She looked out the window. "I do not know him," she said carefully. "I cannot say. Why?"

"Jamie will save you from this siege," he said confidently. "Then you will place your faith in him as we have. If only folk would trust him again, all would be well for him."

Isobel sensed that the lad adored the forest rogue, his hero, so much that he was willingly blind to his faults. James Lindsay was said to be a traitor to Wallace and Scotland. If that was true, she feared that Geordie Shaw would be deeply hurt.

"I will try to trust him," she said, gazing out the window.

Isobel had placed her faith utterly in James Lindsay when he had pulled the arrow from her arm. She remembered the warm comfort of his arms afterward, and his soft, deep voice as he soothed her. Exquisite shivers rippled through her at the memory.

Had she known just that compassion of him, instead of ill rumors, she would have trusted James Lindsay completely. She would have felt safe—and loved, she thought oddly, quickly.

Foolish yearning born of loneliness, she told herself sternly. She was betrothed to a man without much compassion in his nature. But then, she reminded herself, Lindsay had only comforted her because of her pain.

She sighed and leaned against the windowsill. "Geordie, those men over there in the corner. What are they doing?"

"Jamie told them to knot the ropes and make ladders and harnesses so that we can go down the cliff side. Jamie says the full moon will give us muckle light to climb down. He says we will leave as soon as—" He stopped, coloring deeply.

"As soon as what?" she asked.

He shrugged. "When he gives the word."

She narrowed her eyes. "As soon as the castle is put to the torch? I know what he means to do, Geordie."

Geordie looked uncomfortable. He leaned forward to peer out the window. "I am to watch for his signal."

"What signal? He is not even down there."

"Aye, he is, see. Straight below us." Geordie indicated the area near the base of the keep. "He is talking with the bailie."

She peered straight down and saw his wide shoulders and the glint of his dark, gold-streaked hair. He walked beside Eustace past the base of the keep. Cool moonlight cascaded over his face and commanding form.

The two men strode into the center of the yard. Lindsay paused, standing with a bold, relaxed power, one hand on his upright bow, the other pointing toward the battlement. Eustace nodded in response to something the outlaw said.

Isobel leaned against the windowsill, watching. Though her legs trembled with fatigue, she stayed there, fascinated, as if the forest rogue who had entered her castle exerted some mysterious power over her. She could not look away.

But, she asked herself as Geordie had, did she trust him? She did not know. Even her perceptive inner senses gave her no hint. She only knew that his appearance here had thrown her into a turmoil of fear and hope, of suspicion and faith. She was not certain whether to accept or refuse what he offered.

Why had he come here? She recalled the bitterness in his voice when she had asked him that question earlier.
We have matters between us, you and I,
he had said. The ominous words still echoed in her mind.

But she could not forget, regardless of what mission brought him here, that Lindsay had brought food when they were starving, had helped her when she was hurt, and now intended to get them out of the castle.

He brought hope, as Eustace had told her. Isobel was grateful for that. But she would do well to be wary of him.

Beside her, Geordie waved, and James Lindsay glanced up toward the window that framed them both. Isobel knew the instant that his gazed alighted on her, and she returned it steadily. James motioned toward Geordie.

"He wants to talk to me," the lad said. "I will come back up for you." He turned and ran, descending the turning stair with pounding, rapid steps. She looked out the window.

Within moments, Geordie appeared beside James. Another of the outlaws joined them, holding a longbow. As they gestured at the walls, Isobel knew they discussed destroying the castle.

As much as she dreaded it, she could not stop it. She understood that it was necessary to prevent the English from entering and taking it. She did not want Southrons to hold the castle any more than they did.

But Aberlady was her lifelong home, and the refuge that she needed. She sighed and watched the men who gathered in the moonlit bailey. James Lindsay was about to take away the haven that surrounded the prophetess of Aberlady. Her father had made certain that she was well protected because of her gift.

Only a few men—including Eustace, who knew only a hint of the truth—knew about the fits of blindness that assailed her when the visions came. No women remained near her now; her mother had died the same year that the gift showed itself, and her nurse and maidservants were gone now, some lost to illness and death, most to lives with families far from Aberlady. The last woman to serve Isobel personally had died early in the siege, a victim of age and worry.

The cocoon that her father had spun around her had grown snug over the years. He and Father Hugh had decided that Sir Ralph would provide the protection of marriage. None of them had thought that Isobel would ever be forced into a situation like this one.

James Lindsay turned then, distracting her thoughts. He looked up at the window where she watched, and a shiver rippled through her. Even through the darkness, she sensed his steady, penetrating gaze. She drew back behind the window jamb and leaned her head against the stone.

In all the years she had lived at Aberlady, she had thought never to leave here. The prophetic gift, which appeared at her own urging most of the time, sometimes burst upon her without warning, bringing glorious or disturbing visions of the future.

She had learned to depend upon the few who understood her singular world. She had been raised to depend on her father completely. But now he was gone, and she did not know when she would see him again.

She knew that Eustace would want to take her to Father Hugh as soon as they escaped the castle. The priest would give her refuge in his home near the parish church outside of Stobo, and would immediately send word to Sir Ralph, who had gone in search of John Seton.

She longed to know that her father was safe, but she inwardly balked at the idea of marriage to Sir Ralph. Beneath the rough manners common to many men, she sensed real harshness. At times, he frightened her, though he had never overtly offended her. And her father and the priest seemed to trust and admire the Scottish knight, even when Ralph had changed his fealty.

He is a practical man who watches the weather of the war, her father had said. He loves you well, and he has promised me to keep you safe no matter who wins this struggle.

Safe. She nearly laughed. She had faced besiegement for weeks, and Sir Ralph had not come to her aid. His search for her father must have taken him deep into England. If he had known, surely he would have come to Aberlady quickly.

She had spent those weeks learning new lessons. Now she could lead where she had only followed, and could defy where she had only obeyed. She was far stronger in will than before.

Still, the thought of leaving Aberlady terrified her. Inside the walls of her home, she had learned independence; inside her cocoon, she could be brave, but she was not a winged butterfly yet. She was not ready for the real freedom of leaving her home.

She leaned out of the window again, and watched a rogue contemplate the best method of setting the torch to her home, and the fastest way to rip her away from its protection.

Aberlady would be sacrificed, but its inhabitants would be safe. Homes could be made anywhere, she knew. She sighed deeply, and tried to accept what was inevitable.

Another English fire arrow whistled through the dark like a comet, trailing bright flame. The arrow landed, like the others had done, in the earthen yard, flaming and smoking. James Lindsay strode forward and plucked it out of the ground.

Isobel watched as he raised his bow and nocked the flaming arrow. He drew the string taut and released it. The arrow shot upward, its glowing tail tracing a new arc through the darkness.

The arrow smacked into the thatched roof of the empty stable and burst into flame.

Isobel gasped.

Another English arrow flamed through the darkness. Lindsay tore that one out of the ground too, and shot it forth. The flaming bolt landed on the roof of a storage hut, which caught fire within seconds.

Isobel put a shaking hand to her mouth, unable to move, unable to tear her gaze from the bailey. Golden sparks flew about in the brisk night wind. One by one, the dry thatch and wood in the outbuildings caught flame like kindling.

James Lindsay stood in the midst of the brilliant, growing light, his bow propped upright, and watched the fire spread. Other men gathered near him, and no one made an effort to stop the fire from spreading.

Now Eustace ran toward the burning stable. He snatched up a long stick and lit it like a taper on the low, flaming roof of the storage building. Then he flung the brand toward another thatched roof, and more flames erupted.

Isobel felt as if her heart shattered within her breast.

"'Tis to prevent the English from taking Aberlady," Geordie said quietly. He seemed to appear beside her; she had not even heard him return. "The policy of scorched earth is based on an old custom of war in Scotland."

"I know," she whispered. She did not want to watch her home touched to fire before her eyes.

"You can return later," Geordie said. "Repairs can be made. The stone will not burn, just the thatch and the wood, enough to keep the Southrons from taking the castle."

"I know." Tears glazed her eyes.

Fiery patches blazed on the thatched roofs of the smaller buildings now. An apple tree in the orchard near the small stone chapel began to burn, its branches bedecked with glowing necklaces of flame. When flames burst along the gate to the garden, Isobel caught back a deep sob.

"We have to leave here," Geordie said. He circled an arm around her waist and tugged gently. "Come, Lady Isobel. Jamie told me to bring you down to the bailey. He means for us to escape the castle now."

She allowed Geordie to lead her to the stairs. Searing pain shot through her arm and her ankle, and she put an arm around his waist as he helped her down the steps.

When they emerged from the keep and stepped into the bailey, Isobel moved away from Geordie's grasp. She felt a sudden need to be alone, surrounded by the awful beauty of the raging fire. Sparks flew around her like stars. The bailey was full of hot, brilliant light. Isobel moved slowly toward the garden, pausing several feet from the blazing gate.

She felt a hand tug at her arm. "Isobel. Come away."

That quiet voice was already deeply familiar, like the voice of a friend. But he could not be a friend, to do this with such thoroughness, denying her even a chance to gather her things and bid her home farewell.

"Leave me be," she said sharply, shaking off his hand.

James Lindsay stared down at her, his face lean and hard in the warm light. "Come away," he said firmly, reaching out again.

"Nay." She limped forward, despite the pain in her foot, despite the danger. The garden had been the heart of Aberlady; her mother had designed it years ago. Memories and need drew her there.

Without hesitation, Isobel moved toward the gate, which gaped wide, its wooden struts flaming.

Chapter 5