Hunted (The Scottish Falconers Book 2)

by Wylie, Diane

  * * *

  Derek had been working on freeing himself by sawing at the rusty weak spot in the iron ring when he heard someone humming. The strident snoring continued, so he knew it wasn’t the guard who made a happy tune.

  He stopped working, threw straw over the spot in the ring, lay down, and pretended to sleep.

  “Derek, ’tis me Isobel.”

  His angel’s voice was barely a whisper in the dank air. He was so hungry that he thought he may have imagined it in his slightly disoriented state.

  Then he heard the soft jingle of keys and stood. Going as close to the door as his chain would allow, he called, “Try the large one with the fleu-de-lis design.”

  A heartbeat later, he heard the tumblers in the lock give way, and the door swung open slowly. Belle squeezed inside when it had opened far enough.

  Chapter 7

  It was as if the sun had risen inside the dungeon as soon as he saw her. Grinning widely, he opened his arms and she ran into his embrace despite his soiled condition.

  But before he could bend his head to kiss her, she backed away again.

  “Hurry. We need to get you out before someone comes.” She held the key rings up. “Do ye ken which one opens the lock on yer chain?”

  “Aye.” Derek held out his hand, and she gave him the keys. “This one.” He showed her the simple black iron skeleton key, inserted it in the lock, and popped it open. Seconds later, he was free.

  “Put these on and give me your old clothes.”

  His face burned with humiliation as he shucked off his stained and torn clothes, and donned clean clothes over his filthy body. Body odor rose from him in disgusting waves, but Belle didn’t react at all, other than to give him a tiny, sympathetic smile.

  As soon as he handed over his soiled shirt, she went to work stuffing it with hay. When she finished, it looked as though he lay there, all curled up. The light was too dim to tell the dummy had no head.

  “Truly excellent or Gu taghta math, as my Gran used to say,” he whispered in Belle’s ear, then took her earlobe in his mouth for a quick nibble before releasing it.

  To his delight, she shivered and sighed. “Time to go.”

  “Aye, but first …” Derek locked the leg chain again, and after they crept into the hall, he relocked the heavy cell door.

  “Give them to me and wait here. I’ll put them back.”

  He did as she asked, then leaned against the cold stonewall. Even that small exertion taxed his strength. He prayed they’d both get through this unscathed.

  Shadows danced and wavered on the walls, and Derek had to concentrate hard to ensure that the movement was not caused by someone approaching. The shadow of a new design flickered along the floor. It was Belle returning.

  “Let’s go.” She took his hand. “This way.”

  Instead of leading him toward the guard, she took him deeper into the bowls of the castle dungeon. Before long, the passageway grew smaller and darker, and they were forced to release hands. He only knew that she was still ahead of him by her breathing.

  The floor sloped downward, and they splashed though an occasional puddle.

  “Where does this lead, Belle?” Derek asked between gulps of dank air. He was tiring fast. Gone was the stamina and strength he had before the injury.

  “It comes up again under a table in the kitchen. We have to hurry before everyone comes back from the tournament festivities. The kitchen staff is busy roasting pigs over an outside pit. The kitchen should be empty.”

  All light was gone now, and Derek knew there was likely to be all manner of creatures down here.

  Belle gasped and he felt her shudder.

  “What is it?”

  “Spider web in my face. Ugh.”

  “Trade places with me, mo leannan.” With that, he took hold of her waist and gently urged her behind him. It took a bit of maneuvering, but they accomplished it.

  “Just keep going straight ahead until you reach a ladder. One of the servants told me about this tunnel in exchange for a few coins. He said his grandfather used to smuggle food from the kitchen down to a relative in the prison.” Her voice shook a little. The darkness and unknown had affected his brave lass.

  A few steps later, Derek’s boot connected with something soft that let out a small cry when he kicked it hard and away.

  “What was that, Derek?”

  “Just a rat. It’s gone.”

  They crept along slowly. Belle grabbed hold of his shirttail. The tunnel grew even smaller, and they had to walk in a crouch. Derek’s left hip burned where the wound still healed.

  “Oof.” He came to a sudden stop, and Belle ran into his back. Putting his hands out, Derek felt all around. The only opening was behind them.

  “I dinna feel a ladder, Belle.” He squatted down, ignoring the pain produced by this action, and ran his flat palms over the surface in a left-to-right sweeping motion. A rock protruded several inches from the wall. It was flat on top. Derek felt up a little to the left and higher up. Another flat rock.

  “’Tis a stone ladder, feel it.” He took her hand and guided it to the stone.

  “I’ll go up first to make sure all is well. Then I’ll come back down and help you.”

  * * *

  Somehow all of Isobel’s normal confidence had vanished in this horrid tunnel, so she didn’t argue with Derek about his plan.

  “Aye … please dinna leave me here, Derek.”

  Still holding her hand, he pulled her against him, found her mouth, and kissed her well and thoroughly.

  “Never,” he said hoarsely and released her.

  She kept a hand on his warm body as he began to climb. Finally, all she could reach was his foot, and he was gone, swallowed up by blackness.

  “Are ye all right?”

  “Aye, the going isna bad.” His voice had grown fainter as he moved away.

  Isobel decided it was best not to distract Derek lest he fall. She backed up a few steps and tried not to touch the walls, they were slimy and cold and insects may be crawling there.

  She hugged her elbows close to her body and prayed once more. He’s a good man. Please let all be well, Lord.

  From far above her, she heard him grunt. Metal clanged against something hard.

  Light filtered down to where she stood and she bent her neck to gaze up.

  A few moments later, dirt sifted down and Derek’s boots came into view. She watched him bend sideways to locate the next foothold as he slowly descended the wall.

  “Hurry now, mo leanan, the kitchen is empty for now. You go up first, and I’ll be right behind ye.”

  Isobel swallowed and nodded. Her heart pounded rapidly and her palms became damp. She dried her hands on her skirt, took a deep breath, and began to climb. A few times she had difficulty finding the stepping stone, but Derek’s hand on her foot guided her to it each time.

  The surfaces of the stones were rough, which provided good handholds, but also tore her skin painfully.

  Finally, she hoisted herself out of the hole and onto the stone floor of the squeaky, clean kitchen. Trying to catch her breath, she crawled out of the way and turned around.

  Derek’s pale face rose above the floor level. Isobel moved toward him, reached out, and grabbed the back of his shirt to help haul him out.

  He lay on his stomach panting for a bit. Isobel glanced around. The kitchen was indeed empty of the castle staff. She scrambled up and began putting food into her large skirt pockets—a loaf of bread, two potatoes, a fistful of greens, and a flask. Shaking the flask, she found it to be full of some liquid she hoped was drinkable.

  Derek had lurched to his feet and stood swaying a bit, looking at her with triumph written on his face. “What a braw lassie ye are, Belle Graham.”

  “Thank ye, Derek Sinclair, but we can talk about my virtues later.” She grabbed his sleeve. “We need to get out of here.”

  The kitchen door led them out to the winter remains of vegetable gardens.

  For a fe
w heartbeats, they were both blinded by the sunlight. Isobel inhaled the fresh air gratefully, happy to be out of the dank underground tunnel. In the distance, a shout and applause went up from the crowd.

  “I have to get back there. Come, Derek.”

  Once again, Isobel took the lead, walking between rows of dead carrot tops and brown cabbages. At the edge of the garden, she paused. They needed to cross an expanse of open ground and might easily be spotted. People were coming and going between the tournament and the castle. A small, dark bird lifted into the air over the festival grounds. Swiftly, a large bird attacked it to a roar from the crowd. She didn’t wait to see what happened.

  “Ready? Hold my hand and pretend we are lovers sneaking off for a tryst.”

  At this suggestion, some of the weariness left his face, and he grinned. “I’d love to, m’lady.”

  Isobel laughed. “Och, just come with me.”

  Linking hands, they walked side by side with arms swinging between them. Fifty paces later, they were in the sheltering forest.

  “We need a place for ye to hide. After the falcon tournament, we will ask Laird Burnett to allow us to depart quietly after our humiliating loss. We expect he will let us go. Not to worry, we will come back here and get you.”

  “Is that tournament happening to provide a distraction and free me from prison?”

  Isobel had to smile at the incredulity she heard in his voice. She squeezed his hand. “Aye, ’tis.”

  Suddenly, he sat down with a thump as if his legs had given out. Isobel gazed around. “This place will work, Derek. The bushes will hide ye from view. Ye can crawl in there and take a wee nap. Here.”

  She pulled the food and flask from her pickets. “Eat, ye’ll need your strength.”

  Kneeling in front of him, she then deposited the things on his lap. He gazed up at her wordlessly, looking stunned, dirty, disheveled, and completely adorable.

  “Until we meet again.” Leaning forward, Isobel took his whiskered face between her hands and pulled him toward her for a long, tongue-involved kiss.

  One of his hands came up to caress her cheek, causing her insides to flame and melt.

  “Thank ye, mo leannan,” he whispered.

  “I-I have to go.” Standing up again, Isobel turned and ran.

  Chapter 8

  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 falco
n’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.