Hunted (The Scottish Falconers Book 2) (6 page)

“That man said your name. He knew you.” Isobel repeated the words, waiting and praying Derek would deny it.

He reached toward her with one bloody hand. “Please, Belle, I can explain—“

“Are you English? Are you an English soldier?”

“Only partly … well, yes, but—”

The pleading on his face only made it worse. She and Latharna turned away. Isobel loved him and he had lied.

All fighting had stopped. Catriona stood beside her husband, who appeared to be untouched.

A trickle of blood ran down Fin’s face, and he clutched his left arm.

Da held his white gyrfalcon, Osgar, on his wrist and wiped his sweating face with his free hand.

They all stared at Isobel and Derek.

They had all heard.

She jerked her arm upward, and Latharna lifted off to disappear into the night sky.

Nothing made sense now, not love, not hate, not fighting, not peace.

Unable to think of what to do next, she did nothing. On wooden legs, Isobel walked to a rock and sat down to stare at the road ahead.

The surviving redcoats fled down that road. A few rode horses and the rest just ran.

She knew without looking that her father found some rope and tied Derek’s hands and feet. The Englishman didn’t resist.

Catriona and Rabbie helped Fin with his wounds. Then, as Isobel still sat on the hard, unyielding rock, her family went about burying the dead soldiers and starting a campfire for cooking. They left Derek sitting where he had killed the soldier who knew his name.

Part of Isobel’s mind still worked as she watched her father’s happy reunion with Osgar, the white gyrfalcon he had lost in the siege on Dunnottar castle. He fed the hawk little bits of meat and stroked the snowy white breast. All of the falcons had now returned and sat hooded on their perches. They would be inspected for injury, fed and watered, and let loose again. Without a mews to house them, the hawks were safer in the trees.

Having finished with Osgar’s care, Da came over and sat down next to Isobel. He draped an arm around her shoulders. She sagged into his damp, musky-smelling embrace. The fine linen of his shirt rubbed against her cheek.

“I ken that man is a disappointment to ye, Belle.”

She sniffed but said nothing.

“Still, he’s a brave lad, and by my way of thinking, Sinclair likely saved ye from that English soldier.”

Unable to think charitably toward Derek Sinclair in the slightest, Isobel’s tone was harsh as she replied, “Aye, or maybe he killed the Redcoat to keep him quiet.”

Her eyes leaked uncontrollably, and she drew a shuddering breath. Da patted her shoulder.

“I dinna ken what to do about Sinclair. I’ve talked to your brothers, and we’ve decided to sleep on it. If Sinclair is still here in the morning, we’ll discuss his fate.”

“Are The Honours all right then?” she whispered in his ear.

“Aye.”

“So, what are you meaning, Da?”

Her father glanced over at Derek, who sat with his knees drawn up and head bowed.

“Any self-respecting man can easily get out of the bindings I’ve used on him. Should he be here tomorrow, ’twill be because he wants it.”

Catriona had started a fire to prepare a meal, so Isobel forced herself to get up and help. Catriona gave her a brief, sympathetic hug then let her go. Little conversation was needed; she and her sister-in-law had done this so many times, they performed their tasks without speaking.

Soon, they had a big pot of rabbit stew with barley and carrots from Burnett’s kitchen simmering over the fire.

Delicious smells wafted from the pot as Isobel stirred the stew and ladled some out for each member of their little group.

Catriona took a bowl of stew to Derek and sat down to talk with him. Isobel had to turn away from the sight. Her eyes blurred, and she wiped away the moisture as Fin glanced her way.

“Smoke is getting in my eyes.”

“Aye,” he agreed solemnly.

“How is your arm, Fin?”

“I’ll bide, ’tis not so bad.”

He didn’t say anything mean or sarcastic. She almost wished he would.

With supper over, everyone prepared to sleep, except Da, who would take the first watch.

Isobel sneaked a peek at Derek as she took a blanket from the cart. He was lying on his good side with a blanket rolled up under his head, and he was still bound hand and foot. She turned back to check the sacks inside the cart. All of the pieces of the crown jewels of Scotland were safe in their respective hiding places.

Rabbie and Catriona slept together, with their temporary son between them. Fin had his own spot, and Isobel did as well. She had grown accustomed to sleeping near Derek when they camped outdoors, but she kept far away from the liar now.

Lying down on her back, she gazed up at the night sky, filled with so many stars. Her beloved peregrine falcon sat in some nearby tree, hidden away from any predators. Isobel liked to imagine that an invisible bond stretched between her and Latharna, and it almost seemed true. Her hawk had appeared within seconds of Isobel’s whistle. Had she not whistled a second time, Latharna would have continued to claw and tear at Derek.

She remembered his torn shirt and injured flesh underneath. Had Catriona cleaned and dressed his wounds? Isobel didn’t know and would not wake her sister-in-law to ask. Let the bastard wait. He had lied about his identity. What else had Derek lied about? Who was he really?

* * *

The Grahams hated him now. There was no doubt. He could see it in their eyes. Who could blame them? The English had tortured and beaten Rabbie Graham and destroyed their home in Dunnottar Castle. Apparently, they had burned down Catriona Graham’s family home as well.

Yes, the English were a people that the Scots had every reason to hate. But he, Derek Sinclair, one-quarter Scottish and raised in Scotland, had done none of these things. True, he had killed a few Dunnottar men-at-arms during their battle in the forest, but he had done it on orders from his commander.

Derek sighed and pulled his hands up to brush an insect off his cheek. The ropes were very loose; either Boyd had done a bad job, or he intended to allow Derek to escape, if he wanted.

Did he want to leave? If he left, he’d likely never see Isobel Graham again, and the idea of such a thing made his heart ache with sadness.

Well, no sense being uncomfortable all night; it was enough to deal with a throbbing hip and ripped up back. Derek slipped his hands and feet out of their bonds and settled his abused body on the hard ground to sleep.

During the long night, he had thought hard on it and decided to stay and face Isobel and her family. He would let the Grahams decide his fate after he explained himself … if they allowed him to do so.

The pre-dawn sky had gradually changed from midnight black to a definite gray when Derek opened his eyes for the twentieth time. Birds tittered and tweeted in the newly leafed tree branches overhead.

He wondered if the birds would sing as joyously if the falcons were roosting nearby.

Sleep was no longer an option. Yawning, Derek rolled over and met the red-rimmed, blue-eyed gaze of Isobel Graham.

He reached for her, but she flinched and stepped backward, away from his yearning touch.

“Oh, Belle.” So nothing had changed overnight. She still hated him. Derek’s heart seemed to slow with this sad realization.

“So, you stayed. Why didna ye just leave? It would have made things easier.”

“Easier for whom? For me? No, I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t explain my actions so you might understand.”

She stared down at him, her long hair falling like a curtain and shadows moving in her eyes. “No, easier for me. The sooner I forget that ye ever existed, the better it will be for me.”

“I will never forget ye, Isobel Graham.” He put a hand over his heart. “You will live here forever.”

Her eyes widened and she let out a wounded sound, turned, and fled into the trees.

“What did ye say to my sister, ye English bastard?”

Derek jumped to his feet as the furious Scotsman rushed forward with fists raised. So this would be how he met his end … at the hands of a berserk brother.

More than ready to settle things, Derek stepped forward but kept his arms at his sides. “Go ahead, beat me senseless for telling the lass that I love her.”

Fin stopped in his tracks, his mouth hanging open. All around the campsite, Grahams were on the move. Rabbie and Boyd came up behind Fin, whether to help in beating Derek or to rescue him, he wasn’t sure.

Catriona rushed over to embrace and comfort little William, who had begun to cry.

“Not so fast, lad, I’ll be wanting to hear the man’s story first. Mind, I may allow ye to have at him after.” Boyd strode around his son and took Derek by the arm to escort him to the blackened remains of the fire from the night before.

“Boys, help Catriona with the cooking. No one can think straight on an empty stomach.” Boyd turned to Derek and pointed to a log. “Sit. Explain so we can all hear.”

Then Boyd, apparently realizing Isobel should be here to listen to Derek’s story first hand, waved a hand at his family.

“On second thought, Rabbie and Fin can make the morning meal. Catriona, sweetling, will ye see if ye can convince Isobel to come back? That’s a good lass.”

A large grin spread across Catriona’s pretty face at the chagrin exhibited by the Graham sons after being told to do a woman’s job. “I’ll see to it, Da.”

The corners of Boyd Graham’s mouth lifted, and the hard planes of the Grand Falconer’s face softened as he whispered, “She called me ‘Da’.”

* * *

Isobel knelt beside a tiny brook. Cupping her hand, she scooped up some cool, clear mountain water and drank. If only her anguish could be washed away as easily as her thirst.

A big brown toad, sitting on the muddy bank, swiveled bulging eyes toward her then away as it looked for insects. The day was cool, but winter seemed firmly in the past for now. Normally, the smell of warming earth and fresh green sprouts of vegetation would boost her spirits. Not this time.

Getting another handful of water, she splashed her hot face a few times, blinking her scratchy and swollen eyes. Crying did that to a person’s face. How shameful to cry over an Englishman!

“Belle?”

Isobel jerked around, dismayed by her own lapse in alertness. She breathed a sigh of relief to see her sister-in-law approaching. Catriona’s skirts rustled over dead leaves as she walked. Even from this distance, the creased brow and pursed lips spoke of her concern.

“Aye, Cat. What is it?” Rising, she dried her palms on her breeches and wiped her face on her shirt sleeve.

“Da wants ye to come back to the campsite. Mr. Sinclair, it seems, has some explaining to do, and he wants you to hear it.”

Catriona stepped closer and wrapped Isobel in an unexpected hug. “’Tis so hard to handle lying by someone you love,” she murmured into Isobel’s ear.

“Who said I lo—” Her words died with the knowing expression on Catriona’s face. A long sigh escaped, and Isobel let her shoulders relax, unaware until now how much tension she’d been holding.

“Come, Belle. Come hear his story before ye condemn Derek Sinclair.” Linking their hands, Catriona eased Isobel in the direction of the camp.

“But what if—” No, she couldn’t even speak the words.

“Have faith in your Da and brothers. They ken more than ye think.” Catriona gave her hand a gentle squeeze.

Truth be told, Isobel was angry and a bit resentful. She saw the love between Rabbie and Catriona. Not just the physical act of love, but the small things like a quick kiss or caress, and the knowledge that he belongs to you and you to him. She wanted these things too. Isobel had just begun to believe that Derek would be her one true love. Finding him to be a liar and an Englishman could easily spell the end of their relationship before it had really begun.

* * *

Fin shoved a plate of roasted squirrel and turnips into Derek’s chest. With an irritated glance at the man, Derek accepted it with a nod of silent thanks. Considering that two men had cooked the meal, it smelled and tasted pretty good.

Isobel and Catriona had come back moments before without saying a word. Isobel’s expression was frozen into a mask of indifference, but her red-rimmed eyes told a different story. She was upset, and he was the cause.

Everyone ate their meal in tense silence, only broken by William, who sat on the edge of the donkey cart swinging his legs and singing a little song to himself as he ate. Derek recognized the song as an old Scottish song his Gram used to sing when he was just a child. Poor little William must miss his mother. Derek missed his Gram, and she had been gone for years.

“We will hear your story now,” Boyd said, breaking the silence.

Swallowing the last bite of turnip, Derek placed his plate on the log beside him and stood.

Fixing his gaze on Isobel, he began. “I am partially Scots by blood. My mother’s mother, Anne Mackinnon, was full Scottish of the clan MacKinnon. ’Twas my grandfather who was English, along with his family, the Sinclairs.”