The Secret Clan: The Complete Series

by Amanda Scott

  “If anyone sees me, you may be sure I’ll be punished,” she retorted. “My appearance will not enter into it, however, only the fact that I am here alone with you. I have already endured a dreadful day, so I hope you mean to take yourself off to bed at once and leave me to Zeus’s more civil company.”

  He grimaced. “You are right to call me uncivil, lass. What a villain I am to carp when you are doing me a kindness. I will be greatly in your debt, more greatly in your debt, if you will walk with him for an hour.”

  “I will, and gladly,” she said.

  “You say you had a dreadful day,” he said as they turned toward his chamber. “Is it possible that you overslept this morning?”

  “Aye, and Drusilla found fault with everything I did,” she said, following him into his room. “Lady Farnsworth scolded me, too, and even Sir Hector spoke sharply. It was my own fault, though,” she added when he frowned.

  “Nay, that it was not,” he said, turning away but not to set the hawk on the stool as she expected. “You were up late on my account,” he went on as he sorted through things on his table, “and I knew well that you must be overtired.”

  “You were tired, too, and you went on walking all night after I went to bed.”

  “That was my duty,” he said with a glance over his shoulder. “The least I could have done was see that you wakened at your usual time.”

  “Well, the hour is much earlier tonight,” she said.

  “It is,” he agreed, turning back to her, “and I’ve a gift for you. Small Neddy found this glove, and I think it will fit you. He said he outgrew it and the previous man, Lachlan, gave him a larger one. This one was a bit stiff, but Neddy oiled it and worked it a bit, so it shouldn’t chafe you much. Try it on.”

  The thought of having her own glove was strangely exciting, as if Zeus were now partly her charge as well as Patrick’s. Her gaze met his. “It’s really mine?”

  “Aye, if it fits.”

  She pulled it on. “It does,” she said, delighted. She held her fist under the hawk’s belly and felt a thrill when Zeus stepped onto it without hesitation.

  “Let me light a candle for you,” Patrick said, taking one of his and lighting it at his fire. “I’ve marked the hour, so mind you don’t let me oversleep my time.”

  She nodded but did not speak. Although she had been tired when she lay down, she was not tired now.

  Patrick touched her shoulder, urging her through the door ahead of him. The warmth of his hand spread through her, and the thought that she and he were alone, with the kitchen empty and Cook and the kitchen maid fast asleep in their beds, made her unduly conscious of his touch. She could hear him breathing, could feel the vitality of his body and sense its power.

  His accent was like hers now. He had stopped using the rougher speech with her, and he spoke with unusual familiarity, as if he had known her for years.

  “Sleep well, Patrick Falconer,” she said.

  “Aye, and fast,” he said with a teasing grin. The grin faded as he reached his doorway, and he gave her a long, unreadable look before he closed the door.

  The time passed more quickly than the previous night. She talked to Zeus, and although he was sleepy and kept nodding off, he would wake when she touched him. And once, when she moved too quickly, he flapped his wings and opened his fierce-looking beak, making her hold her breath, terrified that he would fling himself into a frenzy and hurt himself before she could waken Patrick.

  Patrick did not awaken by himself, so she rapped on his door when it grew hard to keep her eyes open. The candle was past its mark but only a little. He glanced at it and glanced at her, but although he looked as if he were going to say that she should not have let him sleep so long, he did not. He merely thanked her, took the hawk, and told her to go to bed.

  He woke her the same way she had wakened him, by rapping on her door before he took Zeus out to the mews.

  She got up at once, slipped on her flannel petticoat and skirt, and quickly laced her bodice over her shift before she went to fetch water for herself. Only when she did not see Patrick outside did she realize how much she had hoped she would.

  All day, as she went about her chores, her thoughts stayed with the man and the hawk. Zeus seemed unusually tame, but he still wakened when touched, which meant that he still did not altogether trust them.

  The conquest was visible. Patrick had seen it before, but it always astonished him when it happened. Zeus sat on his fist, head drooping. His wings drooped, too, and when Patrick touched him, Zeus ignored him, so sleepy he would trust the fist not to betray him, would trust the falconer not to harm him.

  The next step was the manning. Patrick would continue to carry Zeus nearly everywhere he went, getting the hawk accustomed to horses, sudden noises, other people, the everyday life of a human hunter. The quickest way was to carry the bird at least twelve hours a day. It would live on his fist, so that when the day arrived to let it fly free, it would return to the glove automatically. But before they began, both man and hawk needed some sleep.

  Warning Small Neddy not to disturb the hawk or try to feed it but to look after the other birds, Patrick went to his room to sleep until suppertime.

  He saw Elspeth at supper, but the lass took only enough time to swallow a few morsels before leaving, and he caught her eye only once. She looked almost as tired as he had felt before his rest, and he wanted to follow her, to speak to her, to tell her that Zeus had given in, but also to tell her to go to bed early.

  Since he had no authority for the latter and knew that even catching her eye might land them both in trouble, he finished his supper and returned to the mews. He was rested now, and a few hours spent introducing the hawk to such unfamiliar sights as men-at-arms and the torchlit courtyard would do them both good.

  When Patrick did not appear in the corridor outside her bedchamber that evening, Elspeth was disappointed, but she was tired and grateful to get to bed early. The following day, however, when he did not appear for the midday meal, she sought out Small Neddy when she finished eating.

  “Does the falconer no longer take his meals in the hall?” she asked.

  The lad shrugged. “He be wi’ the hawk. Carries him everywhere, he does, but he says Zeus be nae fit company at table yet, so I’ll take some bread and meat tae the mews when I go.”

  “Is the hawk still resisting him?”

  “Nay, Zeus give in yesterday. Patrick did eat his supper here yestereve. Did ye no see him then?”

  “Aye, but if he left you to look after the hawk then, why did he not now?”

  Neddy shuddered. “Zeus were sleepin’ then, and I didna ha’ tae feed him. He’s a fierce-looking bird, is Zeus, and mean besides. Pecks me fingers.”

  Elspeth kept him no longer but went upstairs to attend to her afternoon duties. Having finished all but the large pile of mending, she hurried out to the mews, where she found Patrick alone, carving twigs with a small knife at a table.

  He grinned when she entered and rose to greet her.

  “Did ye miss me, lass? Small Neddy did say ye were asking for me.”

  His accent was thick, and she frowned, looking around, expecting to see Neddy tending the other birds.

  “He’s no here just now,” Patrick said, taking his seat again. “I sent him tae tell Cook I’ll be walking out wi’ the bird all day tomorrow, tae get him used tae being in the wild wi’ me. But he should be back any minute now.”

  Understanding, she nodded. “He said Zeus had given in,” she said, looking at the hawk, which was on its perch near Patrick, ignoring her presence.

  “Aye, he did,” Patrick said. “I walked him all morning, even outside the wall, but he bated at a horseman, so I brought him in tae let him calm down a bit.”

  “May I watch you work with him?”

  “Aye, if ye like. He doesna seem tae mind ye. First, though, mayhap ye’d like tae see how I’m tae mend the harrier’s feathers.”

  “Oh, yes, please.”

  She s
aw that he had neatly trimmed the stubs of the two broken primaries, and now he picked up a piece of black feather and what looked like a two-inch bit of white twig from the table. Indicating the twig, he said, “ ’Tis called an imping pin. I’ve shaped each pin to fit into an extra bit of feather, so,” he said, suiting action to words. “Now, you can help me with the next step.”

  “How?”

  “I’ll hold the harrier,” he said, “whilst you slip a feathered pin into the end of each broken primary just as you saw me slip the feather onto each pin.”

  Surprised, she said, “Would you really trust me to do that? I should think it would be better if I were to hold the bird. I’m sure it would let me.”

  “Aye, but I did promise to teach you to mend feathers,” he said, grinning.

  They were so close that their arms touched, and her body reacted at once to his, but she was determined to prove worthy of his trust. Focusing her attention on the wing as Patrick held it steady, she guided the first pin into place.

  “Good lass,” he said approvingly.

  “Will that really hold the feather pieces together?” she asked as she repeated the process with the second tip. “Won’t the wood rot in time?”

  “Not before the harrier loses the feathers naturally in its next molt,” he said. “Now I’ll show you what else I’ve been doing.”

  He slipped his glove on now and moved back to Zeus. “Watch,” he said, holding his gloved fist about eighteen inches in front of the hawk and then, with a musical, warbling whistle, moved it nearer. When his fist was a foot away, Zeus spread his wings and hopped onto it. Patrick hooded the hawk, then detached the leash from the perch, saying, “I want to try something new now.”

  Reaching for a coil of thinly plaited leather, he said, “This is about fifty feet long. I want to see if he will fly to me from a distance, and this leash, or creance, as we call it, will keep him from flying away.”

  She watched as he detached the short leash, exchanging the longer one for it. “Will you take him outside the wall?” she asked.

  “Aye, I canna try it amidst all Sir Hector’s louts,” he said, glancing toward the yard and apparently remembering his accent. “Would ye like tae come along?”

  The pile of mending loomed large in her mind, but the thought was fleeting.

  “Aye,” she said happily. “I would.”

  Chapter 7

  As they walked out through the main gate, Elspeth half expected someone to stop her, to demand to know where she was going with the falconer, but no one did.

  The air outside the wall always seemed fresher and gave her a sense of freedom that she never felt inside Farnsworth Tower. Today the stolen pleasure of Patrick’s company increased that sense considerably. Guilt stirred when she thought about the mending she had left undone. She had never shirked her chores so openly or so defiantly before.

  “I wonder if God will punish me for this,” she muttered.

  Patrick chuckled.

  She looked at him in astonishment. “Do you dare to laugh at God?”

  “Nay, sweetheart, only at you for thinking that He has so little to do that He would chide you for taking a walk in the woods on a fine day.”

  “He might not approve of my walking in the woods with you, though,” she said bluntly. “Lady Farnsworth and Sir Hector certainly would not approve.”

  “Then why did you come?”

  “I don’t know,” she said. “No, that is not true. I came because I wanted to come. That is the plain and short of it.”

  He chuckled again, and his humor warmed her to the bone, but then his brow furrowed, and he said, “Are Sir Hector or her ladyship likely to punish you?”

  “Very likely.” She sighed. “I have been thinking about how free you are and how confined I am by my position here and all the tasks I must do each day. In truth, I am jealous of your freedom. After all, the worst that could happen to you would be if someone accused you of enticing me to leave the Tower today and Sir Hector dismissed you from your post.”

  Patrick shrugged, apparently unconcerned about such a fate now that he was nearing the end of the six days. “If you do not like it here,” he said mildly, “you should look for a post elsewhere.”

  “Even if I knew where to seek such a post, how ungrateful I should look!”

  “Ungrateful?”

  “Aye, because Sir Hector and his lady have given me a home here since I was small, long before I was worth anything to them as a servant, and with no recompense. Moreover, Sir Hector has always been kind and willing to teach me. I owe them both my duty and my loyalty.”

  “If you’ve lived here since you were small, you’ve long since repaid them.”

  “But leaving suddenly would undo that,” she said. “It may not seem so to you, but they depend on me, and finding competent help is not easy. Surely, it is wicked of me to feel so restless after all they have done for me. I should simply be grateful and obey them willingly and gracefully.”

  “Is that what they tell you?”

  “Aye, but it is true and the least they should be able to expect from me.”

  “Have you no people of your own?”

  “None whom I know,” she said.

  He looked at her, clearly expecting her to say more, but despite their growing intimacy, she felt strangely reluctant to reveal more to him about herself. Instead and rather abruptly, she said, “Zeus seems quite content on your fist.”

  “Aye, for the moment,” he said with a narrow look that told her he knew she was purposely changing the subject.

  She feared he meant to quiz her more, but he said only, “We’d best pray that the men searching for me have gone back to England. This would not be a good time for them to reappear.” He chuckled again. “They’d scare Zeus.”

  She glanced at him, thinking it was more likely that they would scare him, but Patrick did not look scared. He looked happy and handsome and…

  Feeling heat flood her cheeks, she looked quickly away, but her mind’s eye retained the picture of him, striding along with the hawk on his fist and his falconer’s bag and the loosely coiled creance slung over one shoulder. She had never known anyone like him, and given a real choice, she thought she would rather stride along with him forever than return to her dreary life in the Tower.

  “Will you enjoy going to Stirling with the family?” he asked.

  “Aye, I like Stirling Castle,” she said. “I’ll have naught to do with the King, of course, nor would I want to. He seems cruel.”

  “Jamie?” Patrick chuckled again. “ ’Tis said he respects all his people.”

  “But not so long ago he ordered Lady Janet Douglas burned at the stake for a witch!” She shivered, still horrified that anyone could suffer such a dreadful fate.

  “Aye, well, she was Angus’s sister, and he hates all Angus’s lot, that’s sure.”

  Elspeth was silent. Patrick sounded as if he, too, hated the “Angus lot.” Would he hate her if he learned that Angus was her father? She did not think much of Angus either, but would Patrick believe her? Surely her disaffection was not odd, since Angus had given her away, clearly having no more use for her.

  Thinking of Angus reminded her of times in her childhood when Drusilla and Jelyan had taunted her. “Since you are an earl’s daughter,” Drusilla would say, “doubtless you think we should curtsy to you, Lady Elspeth.” Sometimes they would do so, and once Lady Farnsworth had whipped her bare legs with a willow switch because Drusilla had said Elspeth insisted that they curtsy. When Elspeth denied it, Lady Farnsworth had whipped her even harder for lying.

  When she was young, they had easily stirred her to tears, but she had learned that her tears only made them tease her more. It had been a long time since either Lady Farnsworth or her daughters had made her cry.

  She was taking a chance today, she knew, but surely Patrick would not stay out long. In an hour or so it would be time for supper.

  “Here, this is good,” he said, snapping her from her reverie.


  They had reached a grassy clearing in the woods.

  “This meadow is a good place to try Zeus,” he said. “You can help again if you will put on your glove and hold him for me.”

  Obediently she held her gloved fist under Zeus’s belly until, with a flap of his wings, he hopped onto it.

  “Now then,” Patrick said, “hold the free end of the creance so, as I move away and whistle for him. It may take some time, but I think he will fly to me.”

  Striding to a point about ten feet away, Patrick held out his fist, gave the warbling whistle he used when he fed Zeus, and the hawk flew straight to him.

  Visibly astonished, Patick fed Zeus a bit of rabbit liver from his bag.

  Delighted, Elspeth exclaimed, “Do you think he would fly to me?”

  “Can you whistle?”

  “I think so,” she said, determined to learn how if it killed her.

  “Then I’ll teach you his call and we’ll try another day,” he said. “He should get used to me first, and doubtless for a time he’ll be contrary as often as he obeys.”

  They tried it again several times, and although Zeus did not allow Patrick to call the tune every time, Elspeth could tell that Patick was pleased with him.

  As they walked back, she felt a sense of deep contentment. When Patrick slipped his free hand under her elbow as they crossed the burn, steadying her from one stone to the next, she felt as if the warmth of his hand penetrated to her soul.

  He did not speak, and she felt no desire to break the silence between them. The only sounds were the bubbling water and woodland birdcalls. Occasionally, Zeus cheeped, but his comments were brief and required no answer.

  The contentment lasted until they entered the courtyard.

  “Her ladyship be looking for ye, Elspeth,” the guard at the gate told her with a sympathetic look.

  Her spirits sank, but when the guard was out of earshot, she said calmly to Patrick, “Thank you for letting me help.”