Laird of the Wind (39 page)

"If you put my cousin in your dungeon," Margaret said, striding along with them, "I will never go to your bed again."

Isobel gaped at Margaret, stunned.

"Margaret, hush," Ralph said. He stopped walking, and reached up to stroke his hand along her arm, while he gripped Isobel's arm in his other hand. "Easy, my lass. Easy, love." His voice, Isobel noticed, dropped and gentled. "Lady Isobel is my betrothed. I will explain all to you tonight."

"Betrothed!" Margaret said. "Betrothed! You will not see me tonight!"

Ralph leaned toward the girl. "Will I not?" he murmured. Margaret lowered her eyes and looked away. "Good lass. Now take the lady up to the tower chamber. Your eyes are the color of honey when you are angry," he said low. "Golden as the eyes of a young hawk. Go on, now, lass, and come to me later."

He let go of her and looked at Isobel. "You and I will talk, as well," he murmured. "Go on. I will send my falconer up to take that gos to the mews."

"The gos stays with me," Isobel said.

Ralph frowned. "I have a fine mews."

"He stays with me," she repeated. "Have a perch and fresh food brought up to the room."

He tipped his head in acceptance of her wishes. "That room already has a perch," he said. "Very well. Food will be sent for him. And for you." He turned and walked away.

Isobel stared after him. Then she looked up at Margaret, who was even taller than she was. "Margaret," she said gently. "I will not wed him, no matter what he says."

Margaret's eyes brimmed with tears. "Come with me," she said stiffly, and stalked toward the tower doorway.

Isobel sighed, and looked back over her shoulder. A group of guards carried James, slung between them, across the bailey. She stood watching until they disappeared into a doorway in the base of a wall tower. Fighting against her own tears, she tightened her grasp on the goshawk's jesses and followed Margaret into the keep.

* * *

The chamber was on the uppermost floor, tucked into the corner of the great keep, a small room with a wooden planked floor, cold stone walls, and a single narrow window. Margaret ushered Isobel inside, and stood by the door.

Isobel turned in the center of the room. The furnishings were simple: a bed, draped and curtained in red, a leather-topped X-shaped stool by the window, a wooden chest and a brazier, along with a tall wooden bird's perch in a corner. She set Gawain there and drew off her thick leather glove. Margaret murmured a farewell and began to pull the door shut behind her.

"Wait," Isobel said. "Please, wait. I know you must be unhappy with me. You did not know about me. But I have heard much about you."

"Me? What would you know of me?" Margaret asked. She scowled. "I have heard of Isobel Seton, the prophetess of Aberlady. Many know that name. Sir Ralph has often said that he knows you well, and that you prophesy for him. But he never said he meant to wed you."

"My father arranged it long ago, but I do not want it. I love another," she said in a soft voice.

Margaret shut the door and came forward into the room, her hands folded in front of her. "Does Ralph know you love someone else? Does he know the man?"

"You do," she said quietly. "Jamie Lindsay."

Margaret gasped softly. "Jamie! But how is it you know my cousin? He has never mentioned you, other than to talk of one or two of your predictions."

"I met him only recently." Isobel studied her thoughtfully. "Margaret, do you know how I came to be here today?"

"You have come to visit. Were you summoned by Sir Ralph?"

"In a way. Ralph ordered his men to abduct me from a private meeting with Father Hugh." Margaret looked confused, and Isobel hurried on. "I think you do not know that Jamie contacted Sir Ralph with an offer of a barter—James was ready to trade me for you. But Ralph has deceived him. Deceived all of us."

Margaret looked shocked. "What are you talking about?"

"Sit down," Isobel said firmly. "We must talk." She went to the bed and sat on its edge, while Margaret sat on the stool. As quickly and simply as she could, Isobel explained her first meeting with James in the besieged castle; she described the escape, the journey through the forest, and the tale of how the hawk was found and trained. She spoke of Alice and Quentin and the others, and mentioned briefly the days spent on the crag.

Margaret shook her head slowly. "I am beleaguered by this. Why would Jamie take you and propose a barter to Sir Ralph?"

"Jamie has been worried about your safety. He knew that he could not get you free by force of arms, so he took me—Sir Ralph's betrothed—and meant to use me as a ransom payment. But we... came to care for one another. And I wonder, now," Isobel mused, "if James was wrong about you, Margaret. Have you been held against your will after all?"

Margaret looked out the window, a high blush in her pale, freckled cheeks. "I am a prisoner here," she admitted. "But I bought peace for myself at the price Sir Ralph suggested to me."

Isobel sighed. "Oh, Margaret," she murmured softly.

Margaret nodded. "When Sir Ralph first brought me here, I was angry, and frightened," she said. "Jamie had escaped during our journey here. He tried to take me with him then, but the guards kept me back. I screamed at Jamie to flee. I could tell by his face that he would come back for me. I knew I only had to wait." She sighed. "Sir Ralph gave me a choice between a cold, dark dungeon cell and the warm room off his own bedchamber. I spat in his face, and took the dungeon cell."

Isobel nodded, watching her silently.

"He never forced me," Margaret explained. "He was patient. He had me brought to him each evening. He would sit with me by the hearth in his chamber, and speak to me about many things." She paused, looking out of the window, the daylight golden on her delicately colored skin and bright russet hair. "He stroked me gently, and told me that I was lovely, and wild, and... that he wanted me. That he was sorry that he had to keep me confined. After a time, I came... willingly to him. No man had ever treated me like that. I am a plain lass. Men's gazes and their hearts do not find favor in me as they would in you, my lady."

"'Tis not so," Isobel said. "I think you have an admirable spirit—and your bearing and coloring are high and strong. I know that Patrick Boyd has been smitten by you," she added.

Margaret blushed deeply. "Patrick is a rough lad to appearances, but tender in his heart," she said. "But I did not think... nay. He thinks of me as a comrade. A brother, even more than a sister. They all do, for I followed them when my own brothers were with them, and afterward. I loved them all, I think," she said, and sighed. "But none loved me."

"Jamie and his men are all fond of you, and they do see you as a woman," Isobel said. "I can swear to the truth of that. And they are determined to rescue you from Wildshaw."

Margaret smiled a little. "They would rescue any one of their comrades, my lady. I have always liked the ways of men, their freedom, their strength. I like shooting a bow, and running free, and wearing breeches—though Ralph had this gown made for me." She fiddled with the fine wool. "I am not soft, but I am a woman. Ralph sees me that way, and he says he likes my rough ways. My wildness." She shrugged. "Mayhap I was unwise to let myself be charmed by him, but it was pleasant, in a way, to be treated like other women, to be kept close, protected. But I did not like it for long." She made a face. "I want to be let loose from here."

"I do hope that most women have reasonable freedoms, and the respect of the men in their lives, if they do not have the same privileges," Isobel said. "I myself was guarded at Aberlady, by my father, and Father Hugh, and Ralph as well." She looked at Margaret. "I was not truly free until I was taken hostage by Jamie. I know that sounds odd, but 'tis true. Until then, I did not know much about life, or about love. I envy the life you had with Jamie in the forest. I would be glad to live like that with him, but he... he will not hear of it."

"Ah, but I know Jamie. He does not care if a woman leads a life of her own choosing—he was practically raised by Aunt Alice, after all." Isobel chuckled with her. "But if Jamie wants you protected, there is good reason for it."

Isobel nodded. "Aye," she said, and sighed. "He has good reason, I suppose. He wants me protected because of the prophecies. And because he thinks I want a home like this one."

"Do you?" Margaret asked softly.

Isobel shrugged as rising tears suddenly constricted her throat. "I just want to be with him," she blurted.

"Och, Isobel," Margaret said, her voice gentle. "Please forgive my misbehavior in the yard. Meeting you was a shock to me. I have a high temper." She watched Isobel and sighed dreamily. "I think that Jamie must love you as well as you love him."

Isobel smiled wanly, not so certain of that herself. "There is naught to forgive. And soon I will tell Ralph that I will not wed him." She paused. "Tell me... do you love Ralph Leslie?"

Margaret shook her head. "He has treated me well enough, but he holds me here against my will. He insists that he will never let me go, and he ensures that I cannot leave the castle."

"How so?"

"He instructs the garrison to keep watch over me," Margaret replied. "And he binds my ankle to his bed at night, and at times during the day."

Isobel gasped. "He keeps you as if you were a beast?"

"As if I were a prisoner," she reminded her. "Which I am. I was captured by Southrons while I ran with a band of Scottish rogues. And if you ever saw that dungeon cell, you would understand why I made the choice I did."

"Margaret," Isobel said. "I must get down into the dungeon. I must see Jamie. Can you help me?"

"I might be able to persuade Ralph to let me see my cousin. If I can get his permission, I think I can convince the guards to let us both in to see Jamie."

Isobel nodded with relief. She looked toward the door. "Will Ralph come soon, do you think?" she asked. "I want to see my father. Ralph said that he is here, but unwell. Have you met Sir John Seton? He would be a guest of Sir Ralph."

Margaret drew her slight brown brows together over her tawny eyes. "Sir John Seton is your father?" she asked. "Certes—Isobel Seton. I should have realized...." She heaved a long sigh. "Isobel, we must get down to the dungeons for certain."

A chill crept over Isobel's skin. "Why?" she asked warily.

"Because your father is there," Margaret said. "Ralph brought him here months ago. Sir John Seton was among the prisoners released from Carlisle Castle with me and Jamie."

Chapter 26

A gray haze intruded into his pleasant dream of floating upon a dark sea scattered with flower petals. James opened an eye halfway, and blinked at dim surroundings. Still groggy, he tried to recapture the dark peace of the dream. But it had been replaced by distinct sensations of cold, damp, and pain.

He realized that he reclined against a cold stone wall. Shifting a bit, he felt the burden of heavy iron cuffs around his wrists, attached to a long chain. The damp straw beneath him gave off a musty, unpleasant odor, and the chamber was dark and chilly.

The more he came to awareness, the more fiercely his head ached. He could scarcely see out of his left eye, which felt sore and swollen, and his mouth and jaw felt tender. A deep breath revealed that his right side had a bruised or cracked rib. Judging by his wounds, he had been dealt a number of blows.

He dimly recalled the ball of a mace coming toward him, and the sound—like the deep toll of a heavy bell—when it struck the side of his head through his chain mail hood. Blackness followed that, and little else; his mind felt oddly blank.

With effort, he sat straighter, emitting a breathy groan. His head seemed to spin with dizziness as he looked over his surroundings: dark, slimed stone walls; a thin chink in the wall that admitted more chill than light; matted straw, tossed sparsely over the earthen floor; a low arched door of latticed wood and iron. Beyond the door, he saw a section of a dark wall, its rough stone faintly aglow with the light of a torch, ensconced out of sight. He heard no voices in the corridor.

He pulled forward slightly and felt the tug of the long chain behind him, which ran loosely through a ring embedded in the wall and linked to the manacles on his wrists. The movement of his arms was limited by its length. His feet were still booted—though his armor and weapons were gone—and his ankles were cuffed with broad bands of iron, joined by a chain just long enough to allow him to walk.