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lady."
    Startled, Isobel turned. A young man entered the kitchen from the stairwell and came toward her with long, loping steps. His russet tunic sagged on his thin, gangly frame, and the firelight made a dark halo of his curling, tangled brown hair.
    He stopped, his cheeks flushing. "Jamie Lindsay sent me here to see to your welfare, my lady, and if you are ill, I am to fetch him straight away," he said in a rush.
    "I am fine," she said.
    "Then I am to watch you close, and wait for his signal." He peered intently at her. "Are you truly Black Isobel the prophetess?"
    "Aye. You need not stare so," she said, amused. "I will not vanish in brimstone fire."
    The boy's cheeks, faintly whiskered, blushed more deeply. "I ask your pardon, my lady." He cleared his throat as if in an agony of embarrassment. "I did not mean to offend—"
    "No pardon needed," she said kindly. "What is your name?"
    "Geordie Shaw. I'm cousin to the hero Wallace," he added proudly.
    "You are with the brigands? How old are you?"
    "Fifteen summers," he said. "I've been with Jamie for more than a year. My father was with him too. We ran with him and with Wallace. Da died," he said gruffly, looking down. "Six months ago. 'Twas a braw fight that day. He died well fighting Southrons."
    "He must have been a brave man, like his son," she said quietly. "My father was taken in a battle last spring. He's in an English prison still."
    Geordie seemed intrigued. "Jamie was in an English dungeon for months. He finally escaped. Will you ransom your Da?"
    She shook her head. "We lack the coin for that, and have naught to offer in trade. I do not even know where he is held. But a friend has promised to find him," she added. "But for the siege, I would have had word of my father by now."
    "You will find your father," Geordie said. He drew back his wide, bony shoulders proudly. "We have come to rescue you. And then I will help you find him if you like, my lady," he added sincerely.
    "Thank you, Geordie Shaw. I appreciate that." She frowned. "James Lindsay was in prison?"
    "Aye, taken last spring as well. But he escaped several weeks ago, just before Wallace was taken." He swallowed heavily and looked away. Isobel thought she saw the glaze of tears in his eyes. "You will not have heard about Wallace, I suppose."
    "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