Hunted (The Scottish Falconers Book 2) (8 page)

Isobel couldn’t help but feel a twinge of envy at the good fortune for her brother and his wife to be able to sleep in a private bedroom for the first time in a long while. Catriona’s beaming face told the story.

How Isobel wished that Derek Sinclair had not turned out to be an English soldier … and a liar. She sighed again. “I’ll stay here and keep watch on William so Catriona and Rabbie can be alone.”

Catriona leaned over and hugged her. “Thank ye, sister. ’Tis a truly kind thing to do.”

The grin on her brother Rabbie’s face matched Catriona’s. Fin chuckled, but Da’s expression seemed to be a cross between approval and concern.

Two hours later, Isobel lay close to Little William, who had turned onto his back with legs spread wide in his slumber. Nothing had awakened the lad. The two of them were alone in this main room. Da and Fin had opted to sleep in the kirk where the sacks had been placed. They would, of course, elect to guard The Honours of Scotland.

She closed her eyes only to have images of Derek’s handsome face appear in her mind. His rare, dimpled smile; the glimmer of desire in his eyes; and worst of all, the pain and sorrow at the injuries and accusation he had faced. It all flickered through her memory and caused her heart to ache.

The night had closed in around her and the little boy. A small island of flickering light from the fire gave his plump cheeks an especially rosy glow. The faint odor of recently baked bread mingled with the smell of charred wood and musty feathers in the pillow she had been given.

Relaxing her muscles, Isobel replayed the interactions between her and Derek in her head. Thinking back to when she first found him, she realized that suspicion had bloomed when she had noticed his unbloodied clothing. As much as she wished that her suspicions had been unfounded, she knew now that her instincts had been correct.

With one finger, she touched her bottom lip. His last, desperate kiss before leaving had felt so good, so right. Her lip began to tremble, and her throat constricted. Able to stifle a sob, she could not, however, stop the tears.

Then she heard it.

Creak. Creak. Creak.

Someone walked stealthily through the room.

She turned her head to look. A dark figure she recognized as Reverend Grainger had emerged from his bedroom and was headed toward the front door. It squeaked as he opened it, slipped outside, and pulled the door shut again.

A glance at William told her that the little boy had not been disturbed. Thick dark lashes lay against the creamy young skin of rounded child’s cheeks. His little rosebud mouth was open slightly as he slept on.

Isobel sat up, located her boots and pulled them on. Da and Reverend Grainger were friends, but could he really be trusted? She had trusted Derek. Look what a mistake that had turned out to be.

She followed the pastor.

By the time Isobel stepped outside, her eyes had adjusted as well as they would to the darkness. Just a sliver of moon was visible in the sky, and only a small amount of moonlight lit the way.

Reverend Grainger obviously knew the path up to the church well. Luckily for Isobel, no trees obscured her view of the man striding quickly toward the little church. The white cemetery headstones in the kirkyard appeared as little lumps that could easily pass for grazing sheep in this light.

Seeing that his destination was the church, Isobel took a different route, running for the rear of the church. The pastor appeared to be carrying a large weapon, and she had none. Did he mean to harm her father and brother to steal the valuable regalia? How could a man of God do such a thing? He was her father’s friend!

Hoping Grainger wouldn’t see her on the open ground, Isobel ran as fast as she could to the back of the church. But there were no doors or windows here. Without a choice now, she ran around to the front where there were two doors. The door on the eastern end was the farthest from the path, so she tried it first.

Locked!

“Da, Fin, open up,” she called softly and tapped on the wooden door.

The door opened and Isobel nearly fell into a surprised Fin.

“Belle, what are you doing here?”

“I’ve come to warn ye,” she panted, “Reverend Grainger is coming, and he has a weapon!”

Da came up in time to hear her words. “Och, lassie, relax, James will do us no harm.” He turned quickly and walked toward the front door.

A knocking sounded on the door on the other side of the pulpit.

“Dinna let him—”

She rushed over to stop her father, but he already unbarred the door to admit the reverend.

James Grainger stepped inside the church, which was lit by two oil lamps. As soon as he noticed Isobel, his blond brows shot up.

“Young lady, you were asleep by the fire when I left the house. “How came ye to be here?”

She gave him a sheepish smile. “I-I came to warn my family you were coming … with a weapon.” Then she pointed a finger at what Grainger carried.

He threw back his head and laughed. “Dinna fash yerself, lassie. This shovel willna be used against anything but dirt.”

“We’d best get started, aye?” Fin opened the door again and stuck his head out. “No one seems to be aboot.”

“Since you’re here, will ye fetch the sacks, Belle? We decided to hide the regalia here.”

A thrill of excitement filled her. Finally, the moment had arrived.

By the faint light of the church candles, Isobel located the sacks behind the last bench on the windowless east wall. She lifted the one she knew that Da had carried; it was made of the Graham tartan colors, a blue background with green plaid.

Bringing the sack over to the bench in the front of the church, she watched as the men raised the pavement stone just before the pulpit. They proceeded to dig a neat rectangular hole.

When the hole was almost ready, Isobel reached into the sack and wrapped her fingers around a soft, round bundle. Drawing it out, she placed it on her lap and carefully peeled the layers of woolen blanket away.

Her breath caught. Here, gleaming yellow gold in the dancing candlelight, with its many jewels and pearls winking in the lamp light, was the crown. With shaking hands, she lifted it.

“Would ye care for one last look at the crown worn by King Charles and a long line of Scottish Kings?”

The men gathered around her to silently stare with unblinking eyes at the ancient artifact, this piece of history. Their shadows cast eerie shapes on the stone walls.

After a few minutes, she lowered it to her lap and began to rewrap the crown. They put several more blankets around the piece, and lowered it carefully into the hole.

Isobel retrieved the other two sacks. Pulling out the sceptre and carefully removing the wrappings, she held it up for the men to see.

“’Tis almost spiritual to behold,” Grainger murmured.

“Aye.” Da agreed.

Knowing she would likely never see this again, Isobel traced the carved dolphins with a finger before touching the polished rod one last time.

Tears blurred her vision as she wrapped the sceptre carefully in blankets before handing it over to Fin.

He placed it reverently into the hole beside the well-protected crown. Then they placed the dirt around both royal pieces by hand until they were completely covered.

Da tamped down the earth and made sure it was level with the floor around it. Then they replaced the paving stone and removed any loose dirt.

“What do ye think? Can you tell the stone was moved?” Fin looked up at them from his hands and knees after brushing the soil off the stone.

“No, the floor looks the same as before,” Isobel declared. Da and Reverend Grainger agreed.

Isobel retrieved the last piece of the regalia from the sacks. Sadly, the sword was now in two pieces. The silver gilt handle, with its oak leaves and acorns crafted into it was still as beautiful as ever.

“Och, ye had to break it in two to transport it?” Reverend Grainger’s voice reflected the unhappiness they all felt.

“Aye, but a good craftsman can repair it easily.” Da took the handle from Isobel. “It was a gift from Pope Julius II to King James IV of Scotland in 1507.”

“’Tis one hundred and forty-five years old. So beautiful for a weapon of death.” Isobel murmured to no one in particular.

“Bring the blade over here, Belle.” Da motioned her to follow him to the west end of the church. Fin and Reverend Grainger knelt and began pulling paving stones away again.

Carrying the scabbard containing the blade, Isobel walked between the benches toward them. After spending all this time guarding them, Isobel was loathe to part with the sacred objects.

“Shall I take out the blade for a last look?” She glanced at each man.

“Aye. ’Tis my first look.” James Grainger’s pale face almost glowed with excitement.

Carefully, Isobel slid the blade from the silver-and-velvet-covered wooden scabbard and placed it on Da’s outstretched palms. They all crowded around to view the images of Saints Peter and Paul that were etched in the Italian-made blade along with the name of Julius II, the giver of the gift to Scotland.

“’Tis so beautiful.” Fin expressed the awe they all felt at this moment. Isobel smiled. Even her hard-minded brother had been touched by the sacred Honours.

Fin and Reverend Grainger turned back to their labor, with Boyd relieving the reverend at times. Soon they had a large hole in the dirt floor between two railings.

Da took the scabbard and slowly slid the blade inside. He passed it almost reluctantly over to his youngest son. Isobel carefully wrapped the handle in a blanket and gave it to the reverend. She watched as they placed both parts of the sword on top of another blanket and pulled the sides over the regalia. It was no longer recognizable as precious historical pieces.

Gathering up dirt a handful at a time, all three men sprinkled it over the blanket-shrouded sword and scabbard. Not to be left out, Isobel knelt on the floor, and little by little, the colors of the blanket were obliterated by the dark Scottish soil. They packed the dirt by hand at first. Then, when it was deemed safe, Fin dumped earth on top by the shovelful and stomped it down until there was no longer a depression in the ground.

As before, they replaced the paving stones and brushed away any excess soil.

“Nae more evidence that the stone was disturbed?” Fin glanced at his father and Grainger, as he wiped sweat from his brow.

“No, ’tis a good job there, Finlay,” Da responded.

“Guid, I’m sore done in.”

Isobel turned to look out of the church’s window. “Dawn will be coming soon. We’d best get some sleep.” Suddenly a big yawn hit her and she rubbed her eyes. “I’m ready to go.”

She walked back to the house accompanied by Reverend Grainger.

“Ye ken what danger ye’ve brought to bear now? I trust you heard how Rabbie was beaten and Catriona’s little cottage was burned by the English soldiers looking for The Honours of Scotland. They laid siege to Dunnottar Castle and burned many houses in their quest to steal the regalia and humiliate Scots.”

They walked through the ghostly mists of pre-dawn, made all the more eerie by the cemetery stones. Isobel shivered and wished she had brought a wrap with her.

“Aye, I ken all of that. Boyd told me.” He smiled and pushed a strand of long blonde hair from his face. “’Twas your Da’s idea, but he didna force me. ’Twas a braw idea. This kirk is so verra small and plain, who would think the grand regalia would be buried here? Not a word of this will pass my lips, lassie. Ye can rest assured of that.”

She envied this man of God with his complete trust that all would be well. Isobel’s worries about the English soldiers, including Derek Sinclair, accompanied her like a shadow.

They walked through the wet grass without speaking for a few seconds. Isobel stopped in her tracks. Grainger kept going until he realized she was no longer there. He turned and went back.

“What is it, lassie?”

“Could I ask you a moral question, Reverend Grainger? ’Tis about something weighing heavily on my mind.”

He took her hand in his and gave it a pat. With the difference in their ages, she thought of him as a paternal figure. As someone outside the Graham family, perhaps he could be more objective.

“I’ve met a man, and I thought I knew him well, but it turned out that he lied to me …”

Knowing that morning wasn’t far away, she told Grainger a short version of Derek’s time with them.

“We turned him away, but I’ve been regretting it ever since. Why can I not hate the man for being a scheming liar?”

With a gentle hand, the reverend tipped her face up so their eyes would meet. “Because I think ye love that man. Am I right, Isobel?”

“I … uh—”

“God kens what is in your heart and in his as well. This Derek didna lie to be evil nor to hurt anyone. It is in a person’s human nature to survive. He only did what he needed to do. Can ye find fault in that? Truly?”

“No, I know he did what he had to. But I feel so betrayed, Reverend.”

“Aye, I expect ye would. Give it time, lassie. What God intends will come to pass. He will heal your heart. And, if Derek is meant to be in your life, he will be found again.”

All Isobel could do was nod. Her throat had suddenly constricted too much for speech.

Reverend Grainger turned toward the house again. “Come, get some sleep. The dawn is coming on a new day.”