“Oh, I think it’ll hold off till near to sunset. So, Mr. Leary, have you family around Mayo then?”
“Tom. Ancestors, I’m told, but no family I know of.”
“Just you and your boy then?”
“No, my wife and daughter went into Cong to shop.” He gave a grinning roll of his eyes. “Could be trouble.”
“My sister has a shop in Cong. The Dark Witch. Maybe they’ll stop in.”
“If it’s there and it sells something, they’ll stop in. We were thinking of trying a horseback ride tomorrow.”
“Oh, you couldn’t do better. It’s a fine ride around. You just tell them Connor said to give you a good time with it.”
Stepping inside, he turned to the holding perches. “And here we have Roibeard and William. Roibeard’s my own, and he’s for you today, Taylor. I’ve had him since he was a hatchling. Tom, would you sign the forms that Kyra has ready for you, and I’ll make Taylor acquainted with Roibeard.”
“What kind of name is that?” Taylor demanded.
Thinks he doesn’t want to be here, Connor mused. Thinks he’d rather be at home with his mates and his video games.
“Why it’s his name, and an old one. He comes from hawks that hunted these very wood for hundreds of years. Here’s your glove. Without it, as smart and skilled as he is, his talons would pierce your skin. You’re to hold your arm up like this, see?” Connor demonstrated, holding his left arm up at a right angle. “And keep it still as we walk. You’ve only to lift it to signal him to fly. I’ll tether him at first, until we get out and about.”
He felt the boy quiver—nerves, excitement he tried to hide—as Connor signaled Roibeard to step onto the gloved arm. “The Harris’s is agile and quick, as I said, and a fierce hunter, though since we’ll be taking these chicken parts along”—he patted his baiting pouch—“they’ll both leave off any thought of going for birds or rabbit.
“And here for you, Tom, is young William. He’s a handsome one, and well behaved. He loves little more than a chance to wing through the woods, and have some chicken as a reward for the work.”
“He’s beautiful. They’re beautiful.” Tom laughed a little. “I’m nervous.”
“Let’s have ourselves an adventure. How’s your stay at the castle?” Connor began as he led them out.
“Amazing. Annie and I thought this was our once in a lifetime, but we’re already talking about coming back.”
“Sure you can’t come once to Ireland.”
He walked them easy, making some small talk, but keeping his mind, his heart with the hawks. Content enough, ready enough.
He took them away from the school, down a path, to the hard paved road where there was an opening, with tall trees fringing it.
There he released the jesses.
“If you lift your arms. Just gentle now, sliding them up, they’ll fly.”
And the beauty of it, that lift in the air, that spread of wings, nearly silent. Nearly. A soft gasp from the boy, still trying to cling to his boredom as both hawks perched on a branch, folded their wings, and stared down like golden gods.
“Will you trust me with your camera, Tom?”
“Oh, sure. I wanted to get some pictures of Taylor with the hawk. With . . . Roibeard?”
“And I will. You turn, back to them, look over your left shoulder there, Taylor.” Though Roibeard would answer without, Connor laid a bit of chicken on the glove.
“Gross.”
“Not to the bird.”
Connor angled himself. “Just lift your arm, as you did the first time. Hold it steady.”
“Whatever,” Taylor mumbled, but obeyed.
And the hawk, fierce grace in flight, swooped down, wings spread, eyes brilliant, and landed on the boy’s arm.