by Amanda Scott
He could hear Fin’s mocking voice in his head, but he said only, “A friend.”
“Do you want us to leave you in peace?”
“Nay, lass, you are not leaving. I already told you that.”
“Well, I won’t stay if you mean to go on scolding. I had a surfeit of that at Farns—That is to say, I have heard enough harsh words to last me a lifetime.”
He held her gaze for a long moment, realizing only then that her young companion did not know where she lived.
Jock said with his odd grown-up dignity, “I think we should leave him be, Beth. He doesna ha’ much pluck, and we dinna need a hindrance.”
“See here,” Patrick said, “how old are you?”
Jock shrugged, but the lass said, “He does not know exactly, but he was born the year after the King hanged Johnny Armstrong.”
Patrick did the calculation. “He’ll be ten or eleven then, which is quite old enough to accept the consequences of an insolent tongue. Come here to me, lad.”
She put a restraining hand on his arm. “You should know,” she said, “that Jock ran away from his uncle because the man hit him rather too often.”
“Aye, he did,” Jock said. “Made me lugs swell up like mutchkins. The man were so peevish ye’d think he pissed nettles.”
She raised her eyebrows. “Lugs like mutchkins?”
“Ears like ale mugs,” Patrick said, adding, “Lad, if you talked to your uncle the way you talk to me, you deserved what you got.”
“Aye, sure,” Jock said, nodding, “but when a chap can look after hisself, he doesna stand still and let folks bang ’im about.”
“Can you trap rabbits?” Patrick asked abruptly.
“Aye, or shoot ’em. I’ve me own bow and arrows.”
“Do you see this hawk?”
“Aye, he looks right fierce.”
“He likes fresh rabbit pluck, so if you can trap a brace of them, we’ll give him the innards, and we can roast the rest and carry it with us.”
“I seen rabbits aplenty in yon woods by the burn,” he said. Eyeing Patrick askance, he added, “Ye’ll no be taking our Beth and leaving me here, will ye?”
“He will not,” she said, giving Patrick a look. “In any event, I’d not go with him unless you were along to protect me.”
“Good enough then,” he said, turning to open the pony’s pack. “Ye’d best keep Thunder wi’ ye, sir. He’d scare off them rabbits.”
“He’ll stay,” Patrick said, “and so will our Beth. Oh, no, you don’t,” he added, catching hold of her arm when she turned as if to go with Jock. “I still have much to say to you.”
When Jock had run off down the hill, Beth pulled her arm from Patrick’s grasp, grateful when he did not try to hold her but a little disappointed, too.
“Now, sir, you may say what you like to me,” she said, “but you did promise that you would not scold anymore.”
“Am I to call you Beth now?” he asked bluntly.
She knew she was blushing, but she said steadily enough, “I did not want to tell him my name when we met, because we were too close to Farnsworth Tower. I am sure that I could have trusted him even then not to give me away, but in truth I have rather liked his calling me Beth.”
“Why?”
She hesitated, but something about Patrick made it easy for her to talk to him, and she decided to tell him the truth. “ln certain dreams I have over and over again, I think of myself as Beth rather than Elspeth. I don’t know why.”
“Both Elspeth and Beth are nicknames for Elizabeth, which is a common name everywhere. Perhaps someone called you Beth when you were small. Do others call you Beth in the dreams?”
“Not anymore,” she said. “I think they did once, but I am usually alone in them now, just wandering. Still, it is like being in another world, and I like visiting it occasionally to escape from Farnsworth Tower.”
He frowned thoughtfully, but before he could put his thoughts into words, Zeus bated, and he had his hands full until he got a hand under the hawk’s belly to lift it back to his fist.
“Where are your horses?” she asked. “Have you made camp nearby?”
“I have, but if you think that discussing my camp will keep you from hearing what I think of this impulsive journey of yours, you will soon learn your mistake.”
“If we are to talk of mistakes, sir, you must realize that Jock does not think of you as a common falconer. You have been speaking to me as you usually do, you know. Did you not observe that he called you ‘sir’ just now?”
He frowned again, and that told her that he had not noticed. A man who was unaccustomed to being treated with that measure of respect would have.
With a sigh, he said, “I do not know what it is about you, lass, that makes me forget myself as I do.” He looked as if he would say more on the same topic, but he did not. Instead, he gave himself a shake as if to resettle his thoughts and added, “I do not suppose it would help now for me to begin to speak as Jock does.”
“He would notice the change in an instant,” she said.
Patrick nodded. “I’m surprised that you do not quiz me more yourself.”
“It is not for me to question your behavior,” she said.
“You have not hesitated to do so before,” he said, grinning.
She nibbled her lower lip, knowing he spoke the truth, but before it had been easy to pretend that they were equals. Now, that was harder to do, and worse, where Patrick was concerned she did not trust her emotions or her own body.
Even now it was singing to her, stirring in response to his proximity. When he had grabbed her arm, she had not felt fear although she had known he was angry with her. And, too, there had been that brief disappointment when he let go. Her usual sensible nature had deserted her, because the man disturbed her senses whenever he was near her. Here she was, miles from home, courting disaster, all because of him. Remembering Maggie Malloch, she decided that she could not lay all the blame at Patrick’s door. Maggie had encouraged her, and she had acted on that encouragement. Her own impulses had had much to do with it, too.
She wanted to tell him how she felt, but she knew that to do so would make her more vulnerable, because she doubted that he had similar feelings for her.
To him, she was merely a handy maidservant, someone with whom he could amuse himself. Although she was naive, she was not stupid, and she understood that men took advantage of unprotected females, and that many men regarded maidservants as accessible toys for their entertainment.
Nevertheless, when Patrick set the hawk on a dead branch, tied the free end of the creance to another, and put his hands on her shoulders, she did not resist.
Drawing her closer, he looked into her eyes, and she knew that he was not going to scold her. His intent was plain.
He hesitated, as if to give her time to protest, but when she kept silent, he drew her closer yet and bent to kiss her. When his lips touched hers, she knew she had been waiting for him to do so from the moment she had seen him above her on the hillside. She had recognized him instantly, and knew that she would have, beard or no beard, hawk or no hawk. She was glad he had shaved the beard, though. She did not miss its soft prickling at all.
The hawk cheeped, and clearly taking the sound as encouragement, Patrick touched her lips gently with the tip of his tongue. Then one hand slipped to the small of her back, pulling her closer so that their bodies seemed to melt together.
Daringly, she let the tip of her tongue touch his, and his slipped inside her mouth. Her breasts, her whole body, pressed hard against him, and she could feel him move against her. She tasted his lips, savoring them, and for several moments, it was as if the rest of the world vanished, leaving them alone with each other.
“I’ve got two good ’uns!”
The voice floated to them from the bottom of the hill, and turning, they saw Jock running toward them with a rabbit in each hand.
Patrick caught one of Beth’s hands and lifted it to his mouth, kissing it
gently as he looked into her eyes. “We’ll continue this later, lass. I look forward to it.”
A surge of heat swept through her, and she could not look away.
Patrick unwrapped the hawk’s creance from the branch, muttering, “I wish you had simply come with me from the outset. We have too much company now.”
Smiling, she nearly agreed, but sensibly, she kept her mouth shut, telling herself she should be grateful for her protectors.
Back at his camp, Patrick set Jock to skinning the rabbits. “We’ll have a hot midday meal,” he said, “but I’d like to be out of the west march before sundown.”
He smiled at Beth, delighting in her blushes. He had no trouble thinking of her as Beth instead of Elspeth. Beth suited her better, he thought.
Jock watched them both critically. He had said nothing about seeing them kiss, but Patrick knew he had, and he knew that Beth knew it, too. The knowledge seemed to make her self-conscious, for she kept glancing at the lad, but she did not bring up the subject herself.
He felt relaxed and comfortable with her, as if he had known her forever.
After their meal, they set out, and Patrick let Jock set the pace while he and Beth took turns riding and carrying the hawk. Thunder had found his own dinner and amused himself along the way by dashing after birds and other wildlife, and then trotting back to his companions with his head high, obviously enjoying the illusion that he was protecting them from harm.
They followed Annan Water but stayed high on the ridge above it, seeing only a few other travelers. No one disturbed them, and at Patrick’s suggestion, they made camp before sundown, eating the rest of their roasted rabbit except for the liver and lights, which he saved for Zeus.
He did not build a fire, having no wish to draw attention, and although the evening was chilly, it was not uncomfortable. When Beth said that she had spent her first night out with only her cloak to cover her, he pulled a blanket from his pony’s pack and promised that she would not be chilly tonight.
He hoped to share his bed with her, knowing the heat of their bodies would keep them warm. But when he laid the blankets out, Thunder plopped down in the center, and she laughed, saying she was not about to share Patrick’s bed and that the dog would not allow it even if she were the sort who would do such a thing.
Jock glared at him, too, so Patrick gave up, rolling himself in one blanket and giving the second to Beth. She lay down on her cloak with the warm blanket over her, and no sooner had she done so than Thunder stretched out beside her with his back against hers. His eyes were open, and they remained unblinking, watching Patrick, until Patrick gave up. Clearly, both dog and boy meant to guard the lass.
Jock chuckled as if at some private joke, then rolled himself up in the pony blanket and fell asleep.
The next morning, Patrick said he wanted to work with the hawk. “Fetch your glove, Beth,” he said. “We’ll see if he’ll fly to me again. You carry him.”
She laughed with delight, and his heart leaped at the sound. Her eyes were bright, and she looked happier than he had seen her before. Freedom suited her.
Turning his attention to Jock, who had been folding blankets and readying the packs, he told him to see if he could trap another brace of rabbits.
“Aye, sir,” Jock called. Without further comment, he gathered what he needed and ran off down the hill.
Their little glen was quiet, and they had seen no other travelers nearby, so Patrick moved toward the river. There were dips in the landscape along the way, some boggy still from winter, and even a few ponds of water.
The hawk flew to him on command twice more, the second time landing awkwardly on his shoulder, one sharp talon scratching the side of his neck where the jerkin did not cover it. He let Zeus ride on his shoulder back to camp, and when they were ready to leave, he lifted Beth onto his horse and told Jock to ride his pony. Patrick still had Zeus on his shoulder, and as he watched Beth settle herself, he felt Zeus’s beak nudging his neck.
Beth laughed. “I think he’s sorry he hurt you,” she said. “He’s kissing you.”
“He’s tasting my blood,” Patrick said, awed by the bird’s behavior. Then it began to tickle, and he chuckled. “Let’s hope he doesn’t develop a fondness for it.”
Chapter 12
The three companions quickly settled into a routine, spending part of each morning working with Zeus and the rest of the day traveling north, continuing to skirt villages and towns. On Wednesday, they camped on a ridge above Douglas Water a few miles from its confluence with the River Clyde. The next morning, as they prepared to work with the hawk, Patrick said, “Leave Thunder here, lad, and tie a string to one of the rabbits. I want to see if Zeus is ready for his first kill.”
Beth held the hooded Zeus on her glove. “The rabbit might like to have a say in that,” she said as they walked down the hill to find a good place to fly the hawk.
Patrick said, “Zeus has to learn what we expect of him. A bird of prey will attack nearly anything that moves when it’s young. One of my father’s peregrines tried to carry off a red deer. Zeus must learn to hunt game that is suitable for him.”
Beth nodded, knowing that people and animals eat what they must. That the rabbit might have other plans stirred her sympathy, but such was Nature’s way.
Not far from their camp they found a grassy meadow with a spring-fed pond in the center. Following Patrick’s orders, Jock ran ahead to tie the rabbit to a stake near the pond.
Zeus lifted a talon and snatched off his hood, dropping it to the ground and stepping off Beth’s glove, sinking his sharp talons painfully into her forearm.
Suppressing a cry and realizing that she should have been watching him instead of Jock, she moved him back to the glove with a hand under his belly as she had seen Patrick do. A bead of blood showed through a rip in her sleeve, and she glanced at him, but he was watching Jock, and she was glad he had not noted her carelessness. He turned then and, smiling, took Zeus from her.
“You took off his hood,” he said.
“He took it off and flung it to the ground,” she said, bending to pick it up.
Patrick chuckled. “He has done that before. We must remember to be sure the ties are snug.”
“There they be, Lucy,” Claud exclaimed.
“I see them,” she said.
“Thank the fates!” Claud felt as if he could breathe again for the first time since they had discovered their charge had gone. “I canna think how we missed her leaving Farnsworth, but even so, we should have found her long afore now.”
“The west march be large,” Lucy pointed out.
“Aye, but still, it be a good thing me mam dinna ken we lost the lass,” Claud said, flitting to sit on the leaf of a thistle so he could see what the mortals were up to. He patted the leaf beside him invitingly.
Grinning, Lucy joined him, saying, “Claud, ha’ ye ever flown wi’ a hawk?”
Waiting until the hawk had fixed its attention on the rabbit, Patrick launched it into the air with a flick of his wrist.
Zeus flew low and fast, and for a moment, it looked as if he would fly straight to the rabbit, but he passed over it, heading for the pond. Only then did Patrick see the large green turtle plodding toward the water.
Talons out, the hawk gripped the turtle’s shell, but the turtle kept moving forward, ignoring its extra burden. As Patrick, Jock, and Beth watched, it trudged into the water, its pace slow and sure. The hawk, still gripping the turtle’s shell, looked over its shoulder at Patrick as if to say, “Is this right?”
Stifling laughter, Patrick watched, wondering as the turtle moved deeper if the hawk would have the sense to let go. The turtle was under now, and the water reached Zeus’s belly. Just as Patrick decided he would have to save the hawk, it flapped its wings and awkwardly half swam, half flew to the shore. There, clearly annoyed, the soggy Zeus stood glowering at him.
Hearing Beth and Jock burst into laughter, Patrick gave up trying to hold his in, and laughed so hard his sides
began to ache. Tears ran down his cheeks, and he could not see, so he did not know Beth was beside him until she touched his arm.
“He’s pouting,” she said, her voice still bubbling with merriment.
Rubbing his eyes, Patrick saw that Zeus had turned away and hunched a shoulder. He would not look at them even when Patrick whistled.
“Poor baby,” Beth said.
It seemed perfectly natural to put his arm around her, and when she leaned against him, he looked down to find her smiling at him. Her eyes were bright, and her lips were inviting. He kissed her.
She turned toward him, responding at once, and a jolt of desire shot through him. “Ah, lassie,” he murmured against her soft lips, “were it not for Jock’s presence, I’d make you mine right here on this soft grass.”
“I’ll yield to no man without a proper marriage, sir,” she said.
“Marriage?”
“Aye, so if you had one in mind, which I doubt, we’d need a priest, and I doubt, too, that we’d find one near enough to suit your unseemly desire for haste.”
“Scotland has ways of marrying that do not require priests,” he said, smiling, wanting to see if he could disconcert her.
She stiffened, looking at him more narrowly. “Would you have me believe that you do want to marry me, Patrick Falconer?”
He sighed. “I’ll not lie to you, mo chridhe. You must know enough about me by now to know I’m in no position to promise marriage.”
“I guessed long since that you were no common falconer.”
He chuckled. “Nay, I’m an uncommon one, to be sure.” He glanced at the hawk, still flapping its wings, trying to dry itself.
“Can you not ever be serious?” she demanded.
He grimaced. “I am perfectly serious, lass. The plain fact is that I’m a spy.”
“A spy!”
“Aye,” he said, glancing to be sure that Jock could not hear them. “Jamie holds my master hostage at Stirling, and because Jamie and Cardinal Beaton disagree about a number of things, the cardinal offered to help me win my master’s freedom if I would spy for him in England.”
