Hunted (The Scottish Falconers Book 2)

by Wylie, Diane

  Chapter 11

  Walking behind the donkey cart, Isobel glanced at the two men riding horses in the front, Da and Fin. Both sat tall in the saddle; the sun glinted off burnished red-gold hair. Both were stubborn as rocks. Da hadn’t spoken to her once in the three days since Derek had disappeared into the trees bearing the heat of her kiss on his cheek. Fin and Rabbie pretended that nothing had happened, and that Derek had never existed in their lives. Only Catriona dared to speak of him in hushed whispers to Isobel.

  Isobel had shamed her family by loving and, far worse, kissing an English soldier. But she didn’t regret a thing. In fact, she would have done it again, if she could. Derek’s nationality was of little consequence … she loved him, and denying this fact made no difference.

  Derek was gone forever.

  “Umph.” Isobel ran into the back of the stopped donkey cart, jarring her whole body, and ended up sitting in the dusty road.

  “We stopped, Belle!” Willie laughed at her as he peered over the edge of the cart.

  “So I see, William.” Pushing herself up again with a sigh, Isobel met Rabbie coming around the side of the cart. “Why did we stop?”

  Rabbie’s dark eyebrows shot up. “Why ’tis almost dark, Belle. Did ye not notice? Time for camp. Da wants to hunt with the falcons tomorrow.”

  Now that he had mentioned the lateness of the day, Isobel took in the rosy pink of the sunset beyond the cotton-grass, bracken, and crowberry shrubs growing here. She had spent the whole day mourning the loss of Derek, the loss of love. No doubt, she would do the same for days to come. Pain sliced through her heart each time she thought on his departure.

  “Will ye take Latharna out hunting with us tomorrow, Belle?” Rabbie’s voice shattered her musings.

  Frowning, she inclined her head toward their father. “Do ye think Da will welcome me to hunt? He’s not spoken a word to me in days.”

  “Och, ye dinna have to speak to him. Just get your hawk and come.” Rabbie huffed as if this tactic was self-explanatory, then he lifted William out of the cart and passed the boy to Catriona.

  “He’s right, Belle. Just go with them.” Catriona kissed William’s cheek and gave him a hug before setting the lad on his feet and leading him off to where the men were establishing camp.

  When William’s real parents were located, Rabbie and Catriona would sorely miss the good-tempered wee one. They had acted as his parents for some time now and had obviously grown fond of the lad. Watching the little boy break into a skipping, hopping kind of run made the gloom in Isobel’s heart lift a tiny bit. She would miss the laddie too.

  * * *

  Derek came to a dead stop. A small stream blocked his path. Not that it mattered; he’d been walking aimlessly since being forced to leave Belle.

  Water trickled over and between the rocks, singing a silvery tune in its travels. Water is essential for survival. This tidbit of soldier training whispered through his head, so he knelt and drank his fill then filled the deer-skin water bag the Grahams had graciously given him.

  Scooping handfuls of water, he splashed his face, and then bent and stuck his whole head in the cool water.

  One. Two. Three. Four …

  Derek held his breath and counted up to eighty-one before he threw himself out of the water to lie back on the grassy bank panting.

  Swiping water from his eyes and coughing, he came to the conclusion that he wasn’t so far gone and morose as to drown himself, at least not yet.

  Sorrowing took a huge toll on your strength. So Derek stayed right there, stretched out in the sunshine. He closed his eyes to picture Isobel better in his mind. Long-limbed in her usual breeches, she presented a voluptuous figure. He had started to mentally strop off her clothes when the cold metal of a knife under his chin jarred him fully awake.

  “Give me your money.” The thin face, that even a full, scraggly beard couldn’t soften, spit the words in Derek’s face.

  “I haven’t any.”

  “Gold or jewels then.”

  “Sorry, none of those either.”

  The dull blade eased up a bit.

  “Pocketwatch?”

  “No.”

  “Gold tooth?”

  “No. Sorry.”

  “What in bloody blazes do you have?”

  A well-placed knee in the man’s jewels took the skinny attacker by surprise, and Derek flipped him over and kneeled on the man’s chest with his own knife against the scrawny throat.

  “I’ve got a knife of my own, ye bloody bastard, but I’ll not be giving it to you.”

  “Sorry. Sorry. Dinna kill me!”

  Derek surveyed the wretched figure. His bright red coat had certainly seen better days, and matched the rest of his uniform for filth, but it was an English soldier’s uniform.

  “Are you a desserter?”

  “No. No. I just got lost. I swear I didn’t hurt any of you Scots. Most of them ran away from the castle when we took it.”

  “What castle?”

  “I think they called it D-Dunnottar,” he said through chattering teeth.

  “Who is in command?” Derek twitched the knife against his throat a bit, making the man gasp.

  “Cromwell.”

  “Nay, under Cromwell at Dunnottar.”

  “M-Morgan.”

  The vibrations of fear running through the man made Derek sick to his stomach.

  “Are Morgan’s men still at Dunnottar?” Derek had served under Colonel Thomas Morgan; perhaps he would go to Dunnottar.

  “Y-yes, they left at first, but they came back again.”

  “Tell me why.” His captive had been breathing in gasps and seemed slightly blue-tinged around the lips. Derek removed his knee from the man’s bony chest.

  “To lock up Sir Ogilvie and his wife until they tell where the Scottish crown jewels are hidden. The army couldn’t find a better place to take the castle’s governor and his wife.”

  “What are you doing out here without your regiment?”

  “They left me. I stopped to take a leak, and they kept going is all.

  “Mmph. Whatever you say. Get up and take off your coat.”

  The whites of the man’s eyes showed all around as he stood with both hands up.

  “Give me your knife.” Quickly, the attacker complied with Derek’s demand. “Now your coat.”

  “But—”

  “I said, give. Me. Your. Coat.”

  The man’s hand shook visibly as he passed over the red uniform jacket to Derek.

  “Okay, now close your eyes and turn your head.”

  Complying with the request, the soldier’s entire scrawny body shook like a leaf in the wind. “Please don’t kill me, I didn’t do nothing!”

  Drawing his arm back, Derek gave the man a quick, forceful punch in the temple. He dropped like a rock.

  “Sorry, but at least I didna kill ye.”

  With that, Derek rolled up the coat and shoved it in his nearly empty food bundle. For a moment, he tilted his head and surveyed the sky above him in all directions.

  There. A large bird flew above the trees in the distance. But was it a falcon?

  Derek turned to the west and began to walk toward that bird. He needed to locate the Graham falconers and little William Ogilvie.

  * * *

  Sun shone brightly on the little stone church washing it white as Isobel, mounted on one of the horses, rode around the bend in the road.

  “There it is, my children, the old kirk where my friend, James Grainger, presides as the minister.” Boyd stood in the stirrups as he pointed. “’Tis our goal.”

  “What about me?” The plaintive voice inquired. “I want my Mamm!”

  Catriona, who had been riding with little William in the cart, put her arm around his thin shoulders. “Och, dinna fash, laddie. Mr. Boyd didna mean the kirk was our final goal. Finding the Ogilvie family is next on our list.”

  They halted their little caravan a respectable distance from the churchyard and cemetery. Rabbie an
d Fin unhitched the donkey from the cart and hobbled him and the two horses. The animals happily munched on the tall grass outside the yard.

  Isobel and her father concerned themselves with the falcons, giving each one some water and rabbit meat. Normally, they would release the falcons to the trees, but here, just off the moors, there were too few trees for protection. So, the Graham brothers erected a few perches in the hard ground, transferred the birds to the perches, tied their jesses to the perches, and hooded the falcons.

  “Fin, please keep watch over the cart and the animals, if ye dinna mind.” Boyd waved to the others and headed toward the church. “Minister Grainger may be in the kirk. If he isna there, I’ll try asking at his home.”

  Isobel stood beside her falcon, stroking its breast plumage with one finger. “Da, I have it on good authority that Catriona wouldna mind if ye were to ask the minister if he might be willing to perform a quick marriage ceremony. Rabbie and Catriona being handfast is fine, but a church ceremony would be even finer.”

  Da glanced at Catriona in time to see a shy smile light up her face, and she turned to her husband with hope in her eyes.

  “Would ye be agreeable to this, Rabbie lad?” Boyd’s ruddy eyebrows rose as he asked.

  A light that Isobel could only describe as the light of pure love spread over her brother’s face as he gazed down at his petite wife. “If Catriona wishes to be wed again in this kirk, then I wish it as well.”

  “’Tis settled. I will ask James if the wedding may be arranged.”

  Rabbie stretched out a hand to his father and they did the manly handshaking and back slapping to seal the deal.

  Isobel rolled her eyes. “Da, I’m coming with ye … as a witness.”

  He threw back his head and laughed. “Come on along then, my princess. Why should Catriona be the only one who gets what she wants?”

  Offering his arm, he tucked her hand up against him protectively, and they walked up the dirt path to the church door. To the left and right of the path, tombstones marked the graves of good, God-fearing Scottish folks who had gone to their everlasting rest. A fresh rectangle of dirt among the green grass gave mute evidence of a recent burial.

  A stab of sorrow ripped through Isobel’s heart. Soon there would be a wedding that Mamm would miss. Would they ever go back to Dunnottar where she lay?

  They stepped inside the building, leaving the bright sunshine. It took a few minutes for Isobel’s eyes to adjust so that she could see well again. Kinneff Church was small and unassuming with an interior that was by no means ornate. Simple wooden benches lined the walls at each end of the rectangular building, with more benches in the middle. Lofts that looked down on the pulpit had been constructed at each end as well. The floor was dirt in places and paved with stones in other areas. Clearly improvements were in progress.

  The door opened behind them, admitting a shaft of light and a man with shoulder-length blond hair. He wore a high-necked, loose-fitting white shirt, black vest, black breeches, blue stockings, and shoes with buckles.

  “Boyd Graham, so guid to see ye, mon!” Hurrying over, the man extended a hand to Da. The two shook hands vigorously and patted each other on the shoulder.

  “It’s glad I am to see you too, James.” Da paused and turned to Isobel. “May I introduce my daughter, Isobel. Belle, this is Reverend James Grainger of Kinneff Kirk. We spent many an hour getting into trouble as boys growing up in Dunnottar Castle.”

  “Pleased to meet ye, Isobel. You’ve the look of your mother, God rest her soul.” Grainger turned to Boyd. “I heard what happened to Moira. The Lord will keep her beside him always. We, who are left on this earth, will honor her memory always. I will pray for your family, Boyd.”

  “Thank you, my friend. What happened at Dunnottar is the reason we’ve come, James. We need to ask a favor of ye … actually two favors—”

  Reverend Grainger held up a hand. “Wait. Hold whatever it is that ye wish to ask. Ye ken I’ll do it. I’d trust you with my life, Boyd. Let us bring all of your family together for a bit of food and drink up at the house. We can discuss anything you’d like.”

  A short time later, they were all gathered, elbow to elbow, around the small table that was laden with tankards of ale, fat loaves of rye and barley bread, and huge chunks of cheese.

  Catriona and Mrs. Grainger, a slim, pale woman with a heart-shaped face and dark hair, earnestly discussed recipes and bread making.

  The men all sat together at the end of the table opposite Isobel. The men had their heads close, talking about something that she strained to hear without being too obvious about it. But she couldn’t pick up the thread of their conversation over the voices of the two women. She tried glaring at the women to get them to lower their voices, but neither noticed. They went right on boisterously discussing the frequency and time of kneading bread.

  Isobel sighed. She was just about to slide her chair closer to the men when they stopped talking.

  Reverand Grainger rose to his feet. “’Tis settled, Rabbie and Catriona will be wed again in Kinneff Kirk on the morrow.” He paused and glanced at little William, who had fallen asleep on a braided rug in front of the cozy fireplace that had been lit against the chilly evening. His kindly brown eyes softened and the corners of his mouth lifted. “Would the young couple like to sleep in our guest room this night? The rest of ye may choose between this room,” he waved at the sitting room, “or sleeping in the kirk. Whichever ye wish.”

  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 chee
ks. 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.

  Chapter 12

  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.