Chapter 23
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
"Ye're late."
Alba rounded the corner of the castle wall and found Lachlann waiting near the bird enclosure, arms crossed, but his eyes were warm with amusement rather than actual reproach.
"I am not," she protested, slightly breathless from hurrying. "Ye said after the noon meal, and it's barely—"
"Quarter past." He gestured to the sundial on the garden wall. "Definitely late."
"Fifteen minutes is hardly—" Alba stopped when she saw his grin. "Ye're teasin' me."
"Aye. And ye're adorably flustered about it." Lachlann turned toward the enclosure, his expression shifting to something more serious. "Come on then. She's been waitin' fer ye."
Alba followed him through the gate, her eyes immediately finding the falcon perched on a wooden stand near the far wall. The bird was magnificent, all sleek power and sharp focus, with feathers that gleamed copper and gold in the afternoon sun.
"She's beautiful," Alba breathed.
"She's called Branwen. Means 'blessed raven' in the old tongue." Lachlann moved to the stand, his movements slow and careful. "Though she's a peregrine, nae a raven. But the name suits her anyway."
The falcon's keen eyes tracked his approach but she didn't startle, clearly accustomed to his presence.
"Now," Lachlann said, pulling on a thick leather glove, "the first thing ye need tae ken about handlin' a bird of prey is patience. They're nae like dogs or horses. Ye cannae force them tae trust ye. Ye have tae earn it."
Alba nodded, watching as he carefully transferred Branwen from her perch to his gloved hand. The bird's talons gripped the leather with casual strength that looked like it could easily tear through flesh.
"The glove is essential," Lachlann continued, holding up his arm so Alba could see. "Her talons are sharp enough tae pierce skin tae the bone. Even when she daesnae mean harm, her natural grip is strong enough tae cause damage."
"How long did it take ye tae train her?"
"She was already partially trained when I got her. A gift from one of the northern lairds quite a few years back." Lachlann stroked the falcon's chest feathers with one finger. "But earnin' her full trust? That took months. Birds like this remember everythin'—every kindness, every betrayal."
Something in his voice made Alba think he wasn't just talking about the falcon anymore.
"Here." Lachlann pulled a second glove from his belt and held it out. "Put this on. Carefully now, it needs tae fit snug or she might slip."
Alba took the glove, working her fingers into the thick leather. It was too large, meant for Lachlann's hands, but she managed to secure it well enough.
"Good. Now come stand beside me." He waited until she was positioned at his shoulder before continuing. "Watch how I launch her. The movement needs to be smooth and controlled, nae jerky or hesitant."
Lachlann raised his arm in one fluid motion, and Branwen spread her wings, launching herself into the air with a powerful downstroke. Alba watched in awe as the falcon soared upward, circling the enclosure with effortless grace.
"She's magnificent," Alba murmured.
"Aye. Now watch, I'm goin' tae call her back." Lachlann raised his gloved hand again and made a sharp whistling sound.
Branwen tucked her wings and dove, streaking downward like a copper arrow before spreading her wings at the last moment to slow her descent. She landed on Lachlann's glove with barely a sound, her talons gripping the leather as though she'd never left.
"See?" Lachlann grinned. "Smooth. Controlled. And she kens exactly what I expect from her."
"Because ye've trained together fer years."
"Aye. Trust goes both ways, I trust her nae tae hurt me, and she trusts me tae keep her safe." He stroked her chest again. "Now, ye want tae try?"
Alba's eyes widened. "Me? But I've never—"
"Which is why I'm teachin' ye." Lachlann's expression softened. "I'll be right here. And Branwen's used tae new handlers, she willnae hurt ye unless ye dae somethin' tae frighten her."
"What would frighten her?"
"Sudden movements. Loud noises. Grabbin' at her." He carefully transferred the falcon to Alba's gloved hand, supporting her wrist to take some of the bird's weight. "Just stay calm and move slowly. She can sense fear."
Alba's heart hammered as she felt the falcon's weight settle onto her arm. Branwen was heavier than she'd expected, solid muscle beneath soft feathers.
The bird's eyes fixed on her with unsettling intelligence, as though measuring her worth.
"Good," Lachlann murmured, his hand still supporting Alba's wrist. "Now, when ye're ready, raise yer arm like I did. Smooth motion. She'll launch on her own."
Alba took a breath and lifted her arm.
Branwen spread her wings and pushed off, the force of her launch making Alba's arm dip slightly before she caught herself. The falcon soared upward, disappearing into the bright sky above the enclosure walls.
"She's gone!" Alba said, panic flaring.
"She'll come back." Lachlann's hand squeezed her wrist reassuringly. "Trust her. Now call her down, same whistle I used."
Alba tried to mimic the sound Lachlann had made, but it came out more like a wheeze than a whistle.
"Higher pitch," Lachlann instructed. "And sharper. Like this—" He demonstrated again.
Alba tried once more, and this time the whistle pierced the air clearly.
For a moment, nothing happened. Then Branwen appeared overhead, circling once before beginning her descent.
"Steady," Lachlann said quietly. "Keep yer arm raised and still."
The falcon dove toward them, wings tucked for speed. Alba's instinct was to flinch, to duck away from the creature hurtling at her face—
But Lachlann's hand on her wrist kept her steady, and at the last possible second Branwen spread her wings and landed gracefully on Alba's glove.
"I did it!" Alba's face split into a grin. "She came back!"
"Aye, she did." Lachlann was smiling too, pride clear in his expression. "Well done, lass. Most people flinch the first time."
"I wanted tae," Alba admitted, still marveling at the falcon perched on her arm. "But ye kept me steady."
"That's what I'm here fer."
Their eyes met over Branwen's sleek head, and something warm and electric passed between them.
"Again?" Alba asked, her voice softer now.
"Aye. As many times as ye want."
They spent the next hour practicing, launch after launch, call after return. Each time, Alba grew more confident, her movements more assured. Lachlann stayed close, his hands steadying her when needed, his voice low and encouraging.
"Raise yer arm a bit higher—aye, just like that."
"She's comin' in fast this time, be ready."
"Perfect. Ye're a natural at this."
On what must have been the tenth or twelfth launch, Alba stumbled slightly as Branwen pushed off, the force catching her off-balance. Lachlann's arm immediately came around her waist, steadying her.
"Careful," he murmured, his breath warm against her ear.
Alba's pulse jumped for reasons that had nothing to do with the falcon. She was acutely aware of Lachlann's hand at her waist, of how close he stood, of the solid warmth of his chest against her back.
"I'm fine," she managed, though her voice came out breathier than intended. "Just unexpected."
"She can be strong when she wants tae be." But Lachlann didn't step away immediately. Instead, his hand lingered, steadying her as she called Branwen back down.
The falcon landed perfectly, as though sensing Alba needed an easier catch this time.
"There," Lachlann said, finally releasing her waist but staying close enough that their shoulders brushed. "Ye've got the rhythm now."
Time seemed to slow as they continued working with Branwen.
The afternoon sun beat down warm and bright, making Alba's skin flush beneath her dress.
Or maybe that was just Lachlann's proximity—the way he leaned in to adjust her grip on the glove, the way his fingers brushed hers when transferring the falcon, the way he smiled at her every time she succeeded.
"One more," Lachlann said finally. "Then we should let her rest."
Alba nodded, raising her arm for the final launch. Branwen soared up and out, disappearing briefly before circling back at Alba's call.
This time, when the falcon landed, Alba was ready—her arm steady, her stance balanced, no hesitation at all.
"Perfect!" Lachlann clapped once, loud enough to make Branwen ruffle her feathers indignantly. "That was absolutely perfect, Alba."
Alba couldn't stop grinning. "I cannae believe I just did that. She actually came when I called."
"Told ye she would." Lachlann moved closer, helping to transfer Branwen back to her perch. "Ye're a fast learner."
"I had a good teacher."
Their hands brushed as they both reached to secure the falcon's jesses—the leather straps that kept her from flying away completely. Alba's fingers tangled with Lachlann's, and for a moment neither of them moved.
"Lachlann," Alba said softly.
"Aye?"
"Thank ye fer teachin' me somethin' ye clearly love." She looked up at him, finding his face closer than she'd expected. "It means... a lot."
His hand turned, capturing hers properly now. "I wanted tae share it with ye, tae show ye somethin' that's mine, that's part of who I am beyond just bein' a laird or a warrior."
"I like this part of ye," Alba admitted, her cheeks warming. "The patient part. The gentle part. The part that spends months earnin' a bird's trust because it matters."
Lachlann's thumb stroked across her knuckles. "Ye see parts of me most people dinnae."
"Maybe because ye let me see them."
"Maybe because I want ye tae."
They stood like that, hands clasped, Branwen settled peacefully on her perch beside them. The falcon preened her feathers, unconcerned with the humans and whatever strange courtship ritual they were performing.
"Can I ask ye somethin'?" Alba said, not quite ready to break the moment but curious.
"Anythin'."
"Why Branwen? Why 'blessed raven' when she's clearly nae a raven?"