by Wylie, Diane
An odd tension seemed to fill the air around these men. Rabbie, Fin, and Da all had furrowed brows and grim expressions. She gave big brother Rabbie a questioning glance and got a tiny head shake once more.
“What’s this?” Burnett’s booming voice intruded. “Ye dinna want to share the news with the lass?”
Giving him her cool, I-dinna-care face, she smiled. “Well, it seems ye canna bear to keep it a secret. What is it, Sir Burnett
“We think yer Scotsman, Derek Sinclair, is really not a Scots at all, but a spy for the English. I mean to hang him.”
* * *
At first, the surgeon, Mr. Fritz, and the servants at Crathes had treated Derek fairly well. Rough ride on the shoulder of the big man aside, he had been given a clean soft bed, good food and drink, and a bath. The surgeon had used a few leeches on his leg to drain the swelling. He had declared Belle’s sewing job on his hip to be “verra fine” and rebandaged Derek’s wound nicely.
He had hoped Belle would come to see him in the cool, damp room below ground level. She hadn’t appeared.
Then, on the fourth day, he had been up and gingerly walking around, when Mr. Fritz came in with two large men-at-arms.
“Take him to the dungeon prison.”
“What! Why? I havena done anything.”
“Orders, Mr. Sinclair, from the Laird.”
At least the physician had the decency to appear unhappy at this change in events.
Derek had no weapons to defend himself, so he went without a fight. They grabbed his arms all the same, and dragged him down the stairs, deeper into the bowels of the stone castle.
No one would give any reason for this treatment, other than “orders”.
Derek pulled on the leg chain again. No use, he was firmly connected to the stone wall. At least they had put the clamp around his healthy leg.
He sighed and lay down on the pile of old, grimy hay. Who would help an Englishman deep in the heart of Scotland? Perhaps the Graham family would help? If not them, then no one would help. Derek knew he had to keep up the ruse and convince everyone he was one of them. It was his only chance.
A metal key rattled in the lock, and the heavy wooden door swung open. By the dim light from a small window high in the wall, Derek watched the guard step back to allow someone else to enter.
“Derek!” Isobel Graham, dressed in a dark blue kirtle and green shawl, hurried inside and knelt beside him. He had never seen her look so lovely. Her thick red-gold tresses were free around her shoulders.
“Belle,” Derek had to clear his throat to start again. “I thought I’d never see you again.” Reaching out, he took hold of a few silken locks and rubbed them between his thumb and fingers.
Lifting his head, he smiled. “I’ve wanted to do that for some time.”
She grinned at him. “I’ve wanted to do this for some time.” Leaning forward, she put her soft palms on his cheeks and pulled his head toward her. Her lips met his, so soft and warm and enticing that his blood ran quick and hot through his veins. Her body held the faint odor of lavender.
Derek groaned then deepened the kiss and tasted every bit of the smooth lining of her luscious mouth. She did the same to him, and he loved it.
Far too soon, she pulled back to gaze at him with those amazing eyes. Their color was washed away in the dimness, but he knew they were the perfect shade of a clear blue sky.
“I’m sorry I didna come sooner, seems there was always a reason Burnett wouldna let me come. Do ye ken why they locked you up?”
Derek shook his head. “I’ve no idea.” He reached out and took her hand in his. “Will ye tell me now?”
“They think ye are an English spy and Burnett means to … to …”
“To what, Belle?”
She shook her head, and when she gazed at him again, the shimmer of tears sparkled in her eye.
“Tell me, leannan.” Freeing a hand, he stroked her cheek.
“T-they mean to hang ye.”
Derek froze. His first thought on hearing they suspected him to be a spy meant that he might be held until the English came, which they would eventually.
“Why do they think I’m an English spy? I swear I’ve done nothing, Belle.”
“I dinna ken, Derek, but I mean to find out.”
* * *
Isobel kissed Derek again and held him tight against her body. He too, seemed to wish to hold her forever.
But the guard came and gruffly ordered her out.
She looked at Derek Sinclair one last time, a tall braw man, chained by the ankle like an animal. His beard had grown thicker since the day they met, and his dark hair now curled over his ears.
“Will ye come back again, Belle? I mean, before they…”
How could she deny him? “I’ll try. I swear it.”
The guard slammed the door shut. Isobel glanced around the dim hall. Torches burned in holders on the walls and made the air thick and smoky. The man locked the door and picked up a torch.
“This way, mistress.”
Isobel followed without a word. No sound came from the other cells. Crathes wasn’t a big castle. Only four doors appeared to be cells like the one holding Derek. She had to get him out of here. Perhaps Alexander Burnett, the insufferable cad, would be willing to bargain.
* * *
As soon as Belle and the guard left him alone in the darkness, Derek crawled to the wall and sat down next to the big iron ring holding the chain on his leg and brushed away the hay. Locating the rusting weak spot on the metal, he picked up the chain and isolated a link. The he began to rub the link on the slightly softer rusted metal. There was urgency to this job now. He had no idea when they would drag him away and hang him.
* * *
“Da, do ye think Belle’s idea has a chance?” Rabbie spoke quietly to his father. He stroked Brisda’s breast feathers as the falcon sat on his glove.
Isobel strained to hear her father’s answer, even as she pretended to be absorbed with fixing the broken lure.
Boyd seemed to be concentrating on tying new leather jesses on Fin’s falcon, Grizel, while it sat on Fin’s gloved wrist. Finally, he said, “The idea has merit, I’ll give ye that. I dinna see what choice we have. We’ll no leave the lad to swing.”
“What if he really is a spy?” Fin spoke a little louder than Isobel would have liked. She glared at her younger brother, but he ignored her.
Rabbie placed his bird on her perch, tied the jesses to it, and walked closer to his father and brother.
“I overheard some talk among the servants in the kitchen last evening.” He paused and looked around. Isobel saw his gaze land on Catriona who sat on a blanket with William while the little boy played with a castle dog. William tugged one end of a cloth and the dog pulled the opposite way. Rabbie smiled.
Isobel silently pleaded with him to continue.
“What news have ye, son?” Boyd seemed to echo her sentiment.
“I was getting some apples for William. That little lad has quite the appetite. A kitchen maid was telling the cook that an English officer in a red uniform met the laird late one night in the stables.”
“How did she ken this?”
Isobel moved a little closer to hear this question from Fin.
A little smile touched Rabbie’s mouth. “The lass was up in the hayloft with one of the stable lads. They both saw them.”
“Which kitchen maid was it? Was it the one called Sally?”
Rabbie punched Fin in the shoulder for his question. “Makes no difference ye randy dolt. Can ye not see? Burnett means to deflect any suspicion from him by accusing Derek Sinclair of being a spy should anyone have seen this English officer about.”
Isobel couldn’t take this any longer. With the lure in her hand, she approached her father and held it up, ostensibly for his approval. “Da do ye think a tournament would work?”
Boyd plucked the lure from her hand and pretended to study it. Two of Burnett’s men-at-arms shuffled by, heading across the open
grassy courtyard. When they were sufficiently away, Da lifted his head.
“What you suggest isna likely to succeed, lass. Even if Burnett agrees to the wager and we win the tournament, Burnett’s not likely to just release Mr. Sinclair. I dinna trust the man. Best we use a tournament for distraction while we free Derek.”
Rabbie reached over and took the feathered lure from his father and turned it over for inspection. “Are ye sure this Derek Sinclair is worth the risk to us all, Belle?”
“He may not be worth it to you, but to me, aye. If ye prefer, you can leave Crathes, and I will find another way to save him from the noose.”
“I’ll help ye, Belle. Rabbie’s a wife to consider.” Fin met her gaze square on. “I’ve been a wee bit harsh to the man. I didna ken as how ye had feelings for him.”
Until Fin said the words, Isobel didn’t realize the truth of it. Oh, she knew how badly she wanted to kiss Derek’s sensual mouth and touch him just about anywhere. But she hadn’t considered those desires to mean anything. Perhaps she loved the man?
“Fin, I-I…”
“Hush, Belle, no need to say it. I am not blind.” Fin grinned at her, his blue eyes sparking with mirth. “Maybe we’ll do another handfasting like Rabbie and Catriona?”
Boyd made a dismissive Scottish noise. “We’ve more to worry about first. We’ve got a falconry tournament to plan.
Chapter 6
The day of the falconry tournament dawned cool and sunny. Isobel woke early and dressed in her breeches, simple blouse, and high boots. This was her normal attire for falconry and she would not be hampered by long skirts. This tournament was too important. The prize for winning was a small sack of gold, but to Isobel, the real prize would be Derek’s release from prison.
“Belle, are ye ready? Da wants us in the Great Hall for the breakfast feast.” Fin called from outside her bedroom door.
“I’ll be down shortly. Go on without me.” Isobel needed to put her hair up and secret a few small tools inside the coiffure.
After a few minutes, she turned her head this way and that while looking in the mirror. No slim iron pick showed amongst the gold-red braid encircling her head. Then she shook her head. Nothing fell out. It all seemed secure.
Standing, she donned a wool doublet and topped it with her green-and-blue plaid Graham tartan sash.
Ready or not, ’tis time.
The stone walls of the Great Room in Crathes Castle bore banners and standards of the many clans who resided in the surrounding area. The men and women eating and drinking at the long tables wore a rainbow of the colors of some of those clans. Aberdeenshire would be well presented at this tournament.
Isobel scanned the room, looking for her family. The buzz of conversation continued unabated as she walked toward the Grahams. Her man’s attire drew no special attention today. She was glad.
Spying her family, Isobel went over and squeezed onto the bench next to Catriona. A serving girl dropped off a large platter of boiled eggs, biscuits, and smoked boar bacon.
“Is everything ready?” Isobel leaned across the table to get some food and whispered the question to her father who sat opposite her.
“Aye.”
He didn’t elaborate. They had a plan in place and hoped the falcons would cooperate as expected.
After the meal, the spectators walked out to the open grassy field outside the castle. Multiple colored pendants flew from staffs to mark the area and lend an air of festivity. Young men in colorful tights and tunics strolled around the grounds playing flutes and other musical instruments. Everyone was ready and willing to enjoy themselves.
Fin, Rabbie, and Isobel split off from the family toward the Crathes mews to get their falcons. Boyd, Catriona, and little William followed the crowd out to the tournament grounds.
Once the six birds to compete in the contest were roosting on their perches, each one hooded to keep them calm, Alexander Burnett, Laird of Crathes, hoisted his round frame up onto a small platform facing the crowd. He began to speak and welcome the people to the event.
“Our honorable contestants today are peregrine falcons trained by the renowned Graham falconers, late of Dunnottar Castle. We here at Crathes welcome the Dunnottar Grand Falconer and his family.”
The entire family, plus little William Ogilvie, stood in a row near the falcon perches. They waved to the crowd and smiled on cue. Isobel, who was flanked on either side by her brothers, found her gaze drawn repeatedly to a beautiful, large white gyrfalcon, with black-tipped plumage, sitting on the side with the other Crathes birds.
“Each falcon will be given one chance to be the first to bring down a crow, in particular a chough. We’ve chosen the chough for its uncanny weaving and bobbing in air. The group with the most kills will be the winner.”
Burnett went on to introduce the Crathes falconers, and a roar went up from the crowd. They fell silent when the Graham clan was named.
“Not quite a hostile crowd, but almost,” Fin whispered.
“Aye, once this is over, ’twill be time to leave.” Isobel wanted to go and get Derek out right this minute, but told herself to stick to the plan.
A cool breeze blew across the tournament area making the pendants flap noisily. Isobel knew this would be a distraction to the birds, but they had flown in worse weather than this.
Pulling on her glove, she stepped over to where Latharna was tethered. Isobel’s falcon would be the first to fly.
After untying and taking the leather jesses on Latharna’s legs between her fingers, Isobel removed the hood from the bird’s head. Then she did something no falconer would ever do … she slipped a piece of raw meat to Latharna. Feeding a bird before the hunt would normally either slow it down or make it reluctant to hunt at all. Isobel hoped this would be the case. Burnett’s bird had to win this race.
“Are ye ready, mistress?” A man standing between Isobel and the Crathes falconer had his red flag ready to drop.
“Aye, she answered.”
“Are ye ready, sir?” He asked the Crathes man.
“Aye,” he answered.
The flagstaff flashed down. At the opposite end of the long field, another man immediately opened a cage and threw the chough crow into the air.
Isobel jerked her arm up, releasing her bird. She held her breath as the two peregrines took to the air. Latharna’s distinctive white-tipped wings beat the air once, twice, three times, and she was up.
The crow had apparently seen the falcons and zig-zagged in the opposite direction, going left then right. Both falcons raced toward the black bird on parallel paths with the gray Crathes falcon slightly in the lead.
With a surge of speed, Latharna caught up to her competitor and they clashed with talons up, each attempting to sink their weapons into the other.
Dinna fight Latharna, let it have the crow. Isobel pleaded silently with the falcon she had trained from a young eyass.
Then, as if they realized their real prey was escaping, the battling falcons disengaged and pursued the black crow again. The smaller bird dodged and weaved expertly until the Crathes falcon snagged it from the sky and took it to the ground.
The crowd erupted into cheers, and the Crathes falconer took off running toward his falcon.
Isobel pursed her lips and whistled for Latharna, who came back to the glove promptly. The bird gobbled up her meat from Isobel while she got hold of the bird’s jesses and carried the falcon back to her perch.
Rabbie and Fin came to pat their sister’s back consolingly.
“So far, so good, Belle,” Fin whispered.
Rabbie gave her a hug. “Go now, lassie.”
Isobel put Latharna’s hood on. When Da came over, she hung her head as if in shame. Da tilted her head up and kissed her cheek. “Good work, Belle, yer a verra good actress too. Now off with ye.”
Fin was up next. He had his falcon, Grizel, on his glove as Isobel walked by. Fin gave her a tiny nod of encouragement.
Continuing the charade of disappointment, Isob
el put her hands over her face as if hiding her shame. She jogged a few steps, let out sobs of anguish, and sprinted toward the castle.
The castle halls were strangely silent when Isobel walked quietly and calmly inside. Everyone had gone to the tournament.
With one last glance around, she ducked behind a huge hanging tapestry that she had discovered hid a small alcove. Her bundle lay right where she left it.
Quickly removing the doublet, she opened her blouse far enough to let the top swell of her breasts show. Grabbing up a dull gray skirt, she stepped into it and fastened the waistband. She shoved some clothing inside her blouse and arranged it so the front was smooth, as if she were plump.
With both hands, she carefully pulled several strands of hair loose, careful not to disturb the hidden pick. Then she retrieved a small tray, bottle of wine, and two glasses from the bundle. Arranging everything to play the part of a servant, Isobel took a deep breath and headed for the dungeon.
Crathes was smaller than Dunnottar, so it didn’t take long before Isobel was descending the slippery stone steps. Cool, damp air hit her face and sent gooseflesh skittering over her arms.
Humming the tune to a drinking song her Da would sing, she headed toward the guard’s post. With any luck, she’d get an easy-going, pliable man.
As she rounded the corner, the first hint of the guard was a pair of scruffy boots, propped up on a stool. A loud snore interrupted her humming. The smelly, unkempt guard was sound asleep in his chair with his mouth wide open and his chair tilted back.
How lucky! He was already asleep. This would speed things up.
Now she tried to be quiet when she tiptoe closer and dribbled the potent laudanum into his open mouth. Reflexively, the man swallowed as needed, but did not wake. The sleeping potion would seal the deal. For good measure, she sprinkled him with some wine, took a long drink herself, and left the half-empty bottle beside him. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and softly burped. “Some for me, ye bùr.
Looking around by the dim torchlight, Isobel finally located the keys. Luckily, there were only a few rings hanging in a neat row on pegs driven into the stone wall. Isobel took them all.
