Hunted (The Scottish Falconers Book 2) (5 page)

Isobel didn’t look back at Derek as she sprinted away. If she had, she would have run right back into his arms where she felt truly alive for the first time in her life.

Circling around to the front of Crathes Castle, she went back to the alcove behind the tapestry. Once she was safely hidden from view, she removed the skirt. Its hem was well-soiled from the dungeon, but it had saved her breeches underneath. Folding it into a wad, she shoved it in the corner, then she donned her velvet doublet again and tidied her hair.

Time to return to the tournament.

No one bothered her as she slowly strolled back to the tournament grounds, lost in thought.

If the prison guard slept for a few more hours, and if he never opened the locked door to check on Derek, the plan might work.

The whole family had packed up their belongings the night before. Catriona and Rabbie were able to load up the cart and hitch up Roger the donkey to it.

Once the last Graham falcon finished its flight, Da would speak to Burnett about their departure. God willing, they could leave while the jousting part of the festivities played out.

As she approached the hawk-staging area, Isobel scanned the perches. Latharna still sat where she had been left. Fin’s falcon, Grizel, perched next to Latharna and appeared a bit disheveled. Some of her feathers were missing on her breast, and the bird held up one leg.

The third and fourth perches were empty. Rabbie had Brizda on his fist at the starting line.

“Fin, what happened to Grizel?” Isobel whispered to her younger brother when she found him.

“That Crathes falcon fought her hard, even knocked her to the ground. I’ve a need to check her leg, but I dinna think ’tis broken.” Fin gave his sister a searching look and raised one red eyebrow. She nodded, and he nodded grimly.

“Brisda’s going up against Osagar next. We had one falcon killed outright.”

Isobel gasped. “So it is Da’s falcon in Burnett’s group?”

“Aye,” Fin answered as he stared straight ahead at his brother.

“Where is Da?” Isobel cast around for a glimpse of her tall, equally red-haired father.

“Standing with Catriona and William.”

She located her father in the crowd around the perimeter of the large grassy competition field. Dressed in the distinctive green-and-blue plaid kilt, he was easy to find. Her sister-in-law stood beside him. Catriona also sported the Graham tartan in the form of a sash draped over one shoulder and belted at the waist.

Even little William Ogilvie wore a small sash in the Graham plaid. With Catriona’s hand on the boy’s shoulder, they looked like mother and son.

“Ready falconers?” The cry from the flagman caught Isobel’s attention.

The big Crathes laird, Alexander Burnett, held the white, male gyrfalcon that was fit for royalty.

Rabbie Graham’s tri-colored female peregrine falcon was perched on his glove. The hawk was only slightly smaller than the gyrfalcon. Although Brisda was known to be faster than his father’s Osgar, the gyrfalcon was stronger and could take down a larger bird than the peregrine.

Both men stood rock-steady.

The flag flashed downward.

Two raptor birds took flight as large wings spread to beat the air.

The newly released chough crow didn’t waste any time flying in a typical erratic pattern to escape the predators.

Flight paths converged and the hunting birds met with claws out in mid-air. The crowd gasped at the violence of the aerial fight. The gyrfalcon sank its claws into Brisda’s wing, making escape impossible for her. Still, she struggled and thrashed to reach and tear at the other bird’s body with her beak. Feathers flew as they tumbled through the air, locked in combat.

Rabbie cupped his hands to his mouth and whistled, just as Burnett did the same. Isobel barely caught the sound with all of the noise, but a third series of whistles came from someone in the crowd.

Immediately, the birds separated and went after the crow, which was just a black dot in the distance.

Rabbie mounted a waiting horse and Burnett did the same. Both men spurred their mounts in the direction of the birds.

The two hawks, one dark and one white, raced after the weaving and bobbing smaller crow.

Isobel held her breath. The darker hawk reached the crow and took it to the ground. But the white bird kept going past the point of the capture. She could hear Burnett whistling for his gyrfalcon, but the creature soon disappeared from view.

Gone. Osgar is gone.

Brisda had won that round, and Burnett had lost his falcon, possibly for good. Isobel had to remember to close her mouth, which had fallen open in her shock. The crowd had also been shocked into silence, even as the Laird of Crathes rode back empty-handed, followed shortly by Rabbie, who bore Brisda on his fist and a fat crow hanging from his saddle.

“The winner of the falconry competition is Crathes, with three kills out of four!”

A roar went up from the crowd at this news.

The lord of the castle appeared unfazed by his most-recent loss as he sat in the saddle raising a triumphant fist.

“Ale for everyone!” he bellowed.

The crowd cheered again, and people streamed toward the huge tables that were brimming with tankards of foamy ale.

Across the grounds, Burnett had ridden to where Boyd and Catriona stood, and he appeared to be having a conversation with the Grand Falconer of Dunnottar.

Rabbie dismounted and tied the horse to a post. Then he placed Brisda on her perch, offered her water, and checked her for injuries.

“How is she, Rabbie?” Isobel asked.

“Och, she’s just fine.” He stroked his falcon’s breast affectionately then put her hood on her head. “She’s a tough bird for sure.”

“How are ye, Belle?” Rabbie raised dark brows as he asked.

“Och, I’m a tough one too. All’s well.” She gave him a smile.

In a flurry of skirts, Catriona rushed to embrace her husband. “What a braw falcon ye’ve raised, Rabbie!”

“Aye,” a little voice chimed in. “Ye have the best bird, Rabbie. Better than their birds.”

Everyone laughed at William and the defiant expression on his face.

Rabbie reached out and affectionately ruffled the lad’s hair. “Ye do know the Graham falcons lost the contest, aye?”

“I dinna care. Graham falcons are the best,” William declared.

“Smart lad,” Boyd put in as he joined his family. “Knows on which side his bread is buttered.”

“What did Burnett say, Da?” Isobel could not wait any longer to hear what their next steps would be. She had been apart from Derek for too long now.

“He kens we dinna want to stay for Derek Sinclair’s hanging, which is set to commence tomorrow. He’s given us leave to depart when we desire.” Boyd paused and put an arm around his daughter. “We’ll leave as soon as we hitch up the donkey. He also gave us two horses as gifts after the loss of our falcon.”

Using utmost restraint, Isobel just grinned and nodded when she really wanted to shout for joy and run back to the castle as fast as her legs would carry her.

* * *

Derek woke up filled with dread and drenched with sweat. Jerking to a sitting position, he glanced around him. Nothing seemed different. A breeze stirred the few brown leaves on the trees with a sigh. Disturbed at first by his movement, the birds soon resumed their twittering.

He rubbed a hand over his face and down his neck. If they caught him, they would hang him for an English spy, and in a way, they’d be right. He was English, but definitely not a spy.

Purple shadows crept deeper into the trees where he hid from view, surrounded by bushes. Night was coming. Where was Isobel? Had she decided to leave him here? Had something gone wrong? He began to wonder if he should just sneak away and strike out on his own.

“Psst, Derek, where are you?”

He recognized Isobel’s voice, and a wave of relief flooded his body. “Coming.”

Walking as lightly as possible to avoid making undue noise, he headed toward the dark figure of a cloaked woman. She turned and smiled, a flash of white in the pale oval of her face.

“This way.”

She took his hand and once again guided him to the edge of the forest where a stone wall marked the Crathes grounds. Hunching down, they scuttled along, using it as a shield. The donkey cart with the falcons, two horses, and the Graham family waited.

Rabbie and Boyd were occupied with the examination of one horse’s foot.

“Quick, into the cart and under the blankets.” Isobel let go of his hand and urged him on.

Little William sat in the cart as well. He lifted the edge of the blanket, motioning Derek to slide underneath it. So, he did.

These brave people were risking a lot to get him away from Crathes Castle. He’d no idea how to ever repay them. Perhaps he would never go back to being English in any way. Could a man keep a secret forever?

Derek curled into a ball, and William dropped the gray wool blanket over him. Then the smart little guy sat on top of the blanket and leaned against Derek. Hopefully, no one would investigate the lumpy form behind the boy.

As they left the castle grounds, Derek heard the Grahams bidding a few people farewell. One man scoffed saying, “Ye havena got the stomach to watch yer friend hang, I suppose. Well, off with the lot o’ ye then.”

William fidgeted a bit, and Derek was afraid the boy would draw undue attention. He reached out and patted the boy’s hand while staying hidden. “Dinna fash yerself now, William.”

His whisper had the desired effect, and William quickly settled down again. “Aye, all right.”

The swaying of the wagon soon lulled Derek and William both to sleep.

Sometime later, Derek woke when the cart stopped moving. Cautiously lifting the blanket, he peeked out.

Gray light cloaked their surroundings, and he could see the shadowy figures of his companions a stone’s throw away. Tall, straight trees and small scrubby bushes cast deepening shadows on the ground.

Easing out from under the sleeping boy, Derek ended up facing a row of empty wooden perches. The Grahams must have set loose their birds again.

Roger the donkey turned to give him a solemn gaze as he gingerly climbed down from the wagon. The healing hip had stiffened during the ride and he limped a few steps before he could walk in an almost-normal manner.

What were they doing?

Fin and Rabbie were shoveling dirt out of a hold in small amounts at a time. Then Rabbie dropped his shovel and began pulling the dark earth away with his hands.

Derek walked to where Catriona and Isobel were looking on. “What’s going on?”

Isobel let out a gasp and jerked around. “Derek! I thought you were asleep.” She took his arm and pulled him around to lead him away from the activity. “Come on, let’s get you some food.”

He tried to look back over his shoulder, but Catriona stepped over to block his view. “Yes, let’s go get some nice fish stew, Mr. Sinclair, ’tis simmering now.”

“What are your men doing, Belle? Mrs. Graham? I’d really like to know.”

They both had his arms now, one on each side, pulling him along.

“Och, they’re just retrieving some family valuables that we buried here before going to Crathes Castle. Nothing important.” Isobel rubbed his arm. “How does your hip feel? Perhaps I should take a look at that injury of yours.”

Derek allowed himself to be distracted from whatever the Grahams were digging up. Food did sound good and letting Belle minister to him was equally attractive. He would let it go for now, but he would keep an eye on these people. They were hiding something from him.

“What will we do about Burnett’s traitorous actions, Da?”

Isobel glanced back toward where Derek sat on the edge of the cart talking with William. Derek had not heard Fin’s question. The three of them were walking, while Rabbie and Catriona rode ahead on the two horses. A full moon lit their way on this cool spring evening.

“Nothing, Fin.” Da’s sharp features didn’t change as he watched the faint path ahead. “Ye ken full well we’ve got a mission first, and we’ve got to find Lady and Sir Ogilvie to return their boy. Nothing comes before those two things.”

“But Burnett is in league with an English soldier.” Fin’s voice rose a bit in protest. Da quelled him with a look that could freeze a toad on a summer day.

“We’ll see what’s to be done later, and I’ll hear no more about it, Finlay.”

Fin made a grumbling, thoroughly Scottish noise of wordless protest then fell silent.

Isobel, knowing they were headed in a general northwest direction, ventured a question of her own. “Are we going to the Highlands, Da?”

“Perhaps we will, Belle, but I’ve a mind to see my old friend, Minister James Granger of Kinneff. Before we get there, I’ll need to ken whether the Sinclair man can be trusted or not.”

Boyd gave her a searching look. Isobel thought she could trust Derek, but she really didn’t know him very well. She sighed. “I dinna ken, Da, not for sure.”

“Mmm, well best to be safe and keep our business to ourselves then.”

“Da, what will we be doing with Sinclair? He seems good enough to go on his own now.”

Isobel scowled at Fin for this, but her brother merely shook his head and waited for his father’s answer.

“We found him with other Dunnottar men-at-arms, I recognized a few of the bodies, but I didna ken them all. We must take him at his word. He is from Dunnottar Castle like us. He has some Gaelic, if that helps ease your mind, Fin. Until we’ve a reason to turn him away, Sinclair is free to travel with us, if he likes.”

This time, it was Fin who frowned, but he nodded his acceptance.

For Isobel, it seems a weight was lifted from her shoulders. They would not be leaving Derek behind; her family had helped to free him from the hangman’s noose, so they must feel that he is not a threat.

She stepped away from her brother and father and waited for the donkey cart to pass. Moving back onto the narrow dirt path, she took up a position behind the moving wagon.

Moonlight gave everything a silvery glow, including the brown of Derek Sinclair’s wavy locks. He had been speaking to little William, whose head lay in Derek’s lap. His voice was too low for Isobel to hear, but after a few minutes, William’s whole body relaxed.

Derek lifted his head and smiled. “He’s asleep. The wee laddie is verra brave, but he is missing his mamm and da.”

“Aye, I imagine so,” she agreed.

The way Derek’s smile transformed his whole face was a pleasure to behold. For a few moments, the constant worry melted away. His full, sensual mouth was even more kissable. Isobel’s own lips curved upward at the sight.

Derek slid his arms under the boy and moved him to a bed of clothing sacks, then pulled a green-and-blue Graham plaid tartan over him. Finishing this task, Derek crawled on all fours to the edge of the moving cart.

“How is your leg and hip?” Isobel would really like to check it herself, but propriety dictated otherwise.

“In need of moving.” With that, he jumped off the cart, stumbling a little before regaining his balance.

Roger the mule and Da swiveled to look behind them at the movement with identical expressions of curiosity. Apparently satisfied that all was well, they both faced front again.

“You’re all right?” Isobel eyed the man walking beside her.

“Och, aye.”

He said that, but he limped for a bit before settling into an easier walk. Sensing her gaze, he explained, “The leg makes me walk like an old man with rheumatism, aye?”

“Oh no, not like an old man at all.”

She didn’t look at him when she said this, but she sensed his smile again. Then his warm fingers captured her hand and held it with their fingers intertwined.

“Belle, I want to thank you and your family for getting me out of prison and saving my neck. I’ve grown attached to it.”

He rubbed his neck with his free hand as if scrubbing away the sensation of a rope.

“Well, I suppose you’ll be indebted to us then?”

“I suppose that would be true. Have ye an idea as to how I can repay you and your family?”

Isobel could hear the smile in his voice, even as she kept her gaze ahead.

“Ye could tell me the truth.”

* * *

Her words jolted through him. He’d not been expecting such a bold-faced request, but that was Belle—direct and to the point.

“What truth would ye like to ken?” He tried for a casual, ask-me-anything tone, but wasn’t sure he’d accomplished it.

“I’d like to ken why it was that the hip area of your breeches wasn’t cut or torn by the weapons that injured your flesh underneath. You said you cut the calf part of the breeches where the arrow hit. But shouldn’t there have been more blood on them? ’Tis not a thing that makes any sense.”

Belle gazed up at him expectantly. The moonlight struck her upturned face full on. Those thickly lashed eyes, so blue during the day, seemed dark and deep now. The freckles that he knew were sprinkled across her pert little nose seemed to be gone in this light. But it was her mouth, with lips shining full and upturned at the corners that begged for a kiss or a million kisses.

He smiled and raised their joined hands so he could, instead, kiss her fingers while linked with his.

“I’m almost ashamed to say, Belle.”

She said nothing, just squeezed his hand to encourage him.

“Well,” he continued, “my clothes were a bit ragged before the skirmish, and getting blood all over them just made me colder and more miserable.” He hung his head and looked at the ground as they walked. “I stole a pair of breeches and stockings from a dead man, and I’m not proud of it. I only cut the leg area in an attempt to get the arrow out.”

With a little luck, she would take his word for this, and hopefully, she had not taken close notice of the dead soldiers that lay all around him. Actually, this was the truth, in part. His reasons were a bit different, but the act was the same.

Her small hand remained safely ensconced in his larger one, so he raised his head to glance in her direction. She hadn’t scoffed or rejected his explanation. Belle merely gave him an accessing look.

“Did ye like living on
An t-Eileen Sgithennach
?”

“Aye, the Isle of Skye was a grand place to grow up. My grandmother and grandfather were of the clan MacKinnon. They raised me after my father and mother died on one of their many trips when their ship sank during a storm.”

“Och, I’m so sorry. I’ve a good idea how much it hurts to lose your mamm.”

All he could do was shrug. “It was a long time ago, and they were never home any way. Da always said he had the wanderlust. He made a living taking ships full of goods to trade or sell all around the world. Mamm went with him all the time. I lived on Skye most of my life.”

“Why did they not take you with them?”

“Och, I get horrible sick on a boat, have since I was a wee baby. So my Gran took me in.”

“Did ye have any brothers or sisters?”

“No, I think my parents never really wanted me, and so, they had no more children.”

She squeezed his hand, and he swallowed to relieve the tightness in his throat. It had been years since he’d thought about his parents … and he was surprised to find it still hurt.

An odd but familiar sound came from in front of them. A dangerous sound.

Derek immediately grabbed Isobel by the waist and tossed her into the back of the cart. At her shriek of surprise, Boyd and Fin looked back.

“Quick! Into the bushes! Hide the cart. Someone is coming on horseback and fast!”

Catriona, riding hard, galloped in their direction. Her dark hair streamed out behind her and her cloak flapped in the breeze. “Men!” she screamed. “Redcoats! Rabbie is trying to hold them off.”

Boyd had pulled the mule to a stop before jumping down, along with Fin. “Lassies, take the cart and find a place to hide yourselves and William.”

Boyd reached inside the cart and pulled out a huge claymore.

Fin unsheathed the sword he kept at his waist.

“Where are my weapons, Belle?” Derek rummaged in the cart.

She crawled over, dug out his sword and handed it over.

“Go, Belle, Catriona.”

Catriona dismounted and handed the reins to Boyd. “I’m coming, Willie.” She took the mule’s head and led him into the trees. William’s pale face peeked over a mound of sacks.

Fin took off, sword in hand, running toward the sounds of fighting.

“We’ll not wait for ye, Sinclair.” The big red-haired Graham patriarch pulled the horse’s head around and followed his son.

Derek took one look at the ladies melting into the trees, turned, and ran after the men. Each time his left boot hit the dirt, pain shot up his calf and hip. But he couldn’t leave these Scots to deal with members of his own army without trying … something. Could he really kill his own comrades in arms?”

No one paid him any mind as he approached.

Rabbie slashed at a uniformed rider from atop his own mount, and Boyd was similarly occupied.

Fin, easily distinguishable by his red hair and plaid tartan visible in the moonlight, dueled with first one then two soldiers.

A third soldier approached from behind Fin. Derek rushed over and brought his sword down on the soldier’s shoulder before he reached Fin. The man screamed as the metal edge bit into his flesh.

All conscious thought and pain fled as Derek moved by ingrained military instinct now. Fighting was fighting, regardless of which side you took.

With one threat removed, he took up a position behind Fin. The two worked together as if they’d done this a million times before.

Sweat streamed down his face, and the world coalesced to a grunting, shouting, struggling, and cursing mass of humanity.

A loud, harsh braying sound split the night and drew his attention just as Derek pulled his blade out of an opponent’s belly. The man fell.

“Hey, you bloody Scottish bastards, look what we have!”

Two red-coated soldiers came up. The one who had spoken held Isobel by her long, thick braid.

Another solider pushed Catriona and William in front of him.

Roger brayed again, protesting the whole situation.

Unexpectedly, one of the falconers whistled—three sharp, loud sounds. A second later, the other Grahams did the same.

Screeches split the night, and a rush of moving air and beating wings brushed Derek’s head.

In an instant, the redcoats had more than Scotsmen on their hands. Falcons flew fearlessly into the fray.

When Isobel whistled, the man holding her captive backhanded her in the face.

Derek’s blood boiled.

In a fury, he dropped his sword, pulled his knife, and leaped for the dark-haired man. Derek yanked him away from Belle. Then, with his knife in hand, Derek drew back his arm to strike.

“Sinclair!” the man yelled as he wiggled and fought against Derek’s hold. “Stop, Sinclair!”

He didn’t stop. His blade went deep up under the man’s rib cage. Warm liquid covered Derek’s hands and spurted in his face. The man flailed about weakly before lying still.

Claws suddenly pierced the flesh of Derek’s back. He arched backwards screaming and rolled away, only to have the hawk return and attack his face.

Flinging his arms over his eyes, he battled the sharp talons.

Another sharp whistle sounded.

The bird disappeared from view.

Grasping for breath, Derek sat up, looking frantically for Belle.

She stood off to one side. Moonlight showed her red hair, wild and untamed around her pale face. A large brown-and-white falcon sat on her upheld forearm. Her eyes were accusing and her mouth pressed into a grim line.

“He knew you! That Englishman knew you!”