Page 55 of The Hawk Laird

His fingers slipped inside the curtain of her hair. He tugged gently, angling her head, opening his mouth over hers, his lips moving in a delectable rhythm, rising and falling, opening and closing.

Isobel tipped back her head and gave in to the shivers that plunged and swirled within her. She followed the rhythm he set, her lips moving in harmony with his.

The hawk shifted and squawked. James pulled back, murmuring a low oath as he turned toward the hawk on his gloved fist, propped on his upraised knee. He ran his fingers through his hair in an exasperated gesture.

Isobel folded her arm around her waist, heart thumping, feeling heat seep into her cheeks, enduring an agony of shame at her boldness. “I was foolish,” she whispered, head down.

“Not you. My foolishness, lass. None of this is what I planned. None of it—the besieged castle, the hawk, you—”

“Me?”

“Especially you. I thought the prophetess would be easy enough to manage. A woman who did not care for me, nor I for her. I would steal her away, hide her, send a message to Sir Ralph, and have Janet back again.”

She ducked her head, hair sliding down. “That is all you want of me. A means to get her.”

He laughed, bitter, humorless. “I want far more than that of you, God help me for it.”

She raised her head. He had pulled her toward him with a powerful kiss and now rejected her. “If Sir Ralph came here to offer Janet in exchange for me, you would be glad of it.”

“I might be tempted to keep you and let the lass fend for herself. She could do it well enough.”

“Keep me!” She huffed. “Am I some prize hawk to be mewed?”

“That is not what I meant.”

“That,” she snapped, “is what I took as your meaning. And how can you be disloyal to your Janet now?” Her voice rose.

The goshawk roused his feathers and lifted his wings at her sharp tone. James rubbed his hand over his jaw, murmuring to the hawk.

Isobel scowled, a tumult of thoughts and emotions assaulting her. The initial flash of fury was followed by a confusion of resentment, embarrassment, and undeniable attraction.

“Ho, Gawain,” James said softly. “Look at you, we forgot about your hood.” He reached up and plucked the hood free from the hawk’s head. Gawain blinked, his eyes reddish in the dim light.

“There, now he can see again,” James commented. “And we did not even have to kiss him.”

At his wry tone, despite her sour mood, she laughed reluctantly. James chuckled, leaning back.

“I owe you an apology,” he said.

“Several.”

“I do ask your pardon on one matter,” he murmured. “I doubted your visions. I doubted the sincerity of your purpose. I was sure you were part of some Southron conspiracy. But I know now you had naught to do with Will’s betrayal.” He looked away. “And I know you did not set the blame on me and ruin my name with malicious intent.”

She blinked at him. “You thought me so evil-minded?”

He shrugged. “I did not know you then.”

“Just as I did not know you, when I thought you a traitor.”

“Ah, but I am,” he said tightly. “That I am.”

Isobel touched his hand. “I do not believe that.”

He gave a curt laugh. “You have been talking to Alice.”

“Some. But ’tis my own feeling. Why do you call yourself a traitor?”

He shook his head. “I will not tell you, or anyone, that foul tale.”