Hunted (The Scottish Falconers Book 2)

by Wylie, Diane

  Fin, carrying a sack over one shoulder, met her outside the cottage door. “Are ye ready to go?”

  “Aye.”

  “I’ve got the falconry supplies. What have ye got in yer sack?” Fin fell in beside her, matching her stride.

  Damn yer quick mind, Fin.

  “A change of clothing.”

  “Why?”

  He looked her up and down. She wore her normal boy’s breeches and shirt. The July air was pleasant, but the night could be cool. She decided to try that excuse.

  “’Twill likely be cool this evening.”

  Fin’s twin red brows rose. “Do ye expect us to be out that long? We’ve been able to find fledglings quicker than that. The cliffs are ripe for the picking.”

  She didn’t respond, so they walked in silence over the rocky ground as they headed toward Dunnottar Castle. Coincidentally, the best place to capture peregrine fledglings was along the way to the castle.

  “Belle?” Fin’s voice was gentle.

  She mentally braced herself. “Aye?”

  “Ye dinna really wish to hunt fledglings, do ye?”

  She didn’t look at her brother; she just kept walking. “Why do you say that?”

  “Because I ken ye love Derek, and he hasna been heard from for weeks.”

  “And?”

  “And I think ye plan to lose me and go to Dunnottar to seek him out.”

  Isobel stopped dead. Fin stopped too. She looked up to meet her brother’s eyes, so irritatingly filled with compassion and understanding. “No one can pull the wool over your eyes, Fin.”

  “Am I right then?”

  She dropped her gaze to her feet. “Aye. Are you planning to stop me?”

  “No.”

  Isobel jerked her head up so fast that her neck bones creaked. “Really? Why? I ken ye don’t care overmuch for Derek.”

  Fin’s grin went from ear to ear. “Because I do care about you, and I’m in need of a little adventure. Building a cottage is important but verra dull.”

  Isobel smiled now. “Well, I thank you for your help, brother.”

  He nodded at her sack. “Do ye have some kind of plan?”

  “That I do. I hope it works.”

  Chapter 19

  As it happened, Isobel didn’t need to use her excuse of visiting a relative to enter Dunnottar Castle, the gates were open to all for reasons she had not yet discovered.

  She and Fin had changed into normal peasant attire, and Fin had decided to affect a limp to appear less of a threat. As they climbed the steep approach to the imposing castle gate, they were joined by more and more common folk from the surrounding area. Because the Graham falconers had resided inside the castle walls, they did not recognize anyone, and no one appeared to know them.

  “Did ye hear, lass,” an older woman to Isobel’s right spoke while they awaited entrance, “they’re going to flog a thief and execute one of their own. Be nice to see them kill an English soldier who probably killed a Scots.” The woman spoke in hushed tones to avoid arousing the ire of the English guards.

  Isobel gasped aloud, and Fin grabbed her arm in response. “Hush, Belle.”

  She ignored him. “Why are they executing an English soldier?” Following the woman’s lead, she kept her voice low.

  “Desertion. Lovely, aye? Canna say I could blame the lad. I’d want to get out too.” The woman chuckled softly.

  English redcoats waved the crowd through the gates. “Step lively. The flogging and execution should begin at noon. Come see how the English will rule this land.”

  One guard gave Fin a shove, despite his obvious limp.

  Isobel reached out and grabbed Fin’s arm just as he uttered a low warning animalistic growl. “No, Fin! Not now! It could be Derek’s execution.”

  Silently, she urged the throngs of people to move faster. Her heart pounded and her knees went weak with fear. She may never speak to Derek Sinclair again. The thought of his death brought the sting of tears to her eyes, and the odor of unwashed bodies packed together made her stomach uneasy.

  “Hold my hand, Belle.” Fin took her hand and, abandoning his limp in the midst of his own countrymen, proceeded to use his size to carefully shove them forward.

  Before long, Fin led her out of the tunnels and into the gray daylight. Clouds bumped across the sky, some dark with impending rain.

  The solemn, slow beat of a drum reached their ears. The doomed men would meet their fate soon.

  Belle tore her hand from Fin’s grasp, picked up her skirts, and ran. Her boots splashed through the mud until she reached the grassy courtyard. This was Dunnottar Castle. This had been her home from her birth until the siege. Nothing was the same. The place was familiar and alien at the same time.

  She ran past blackened ruins of houses and buildings she had once known and small new wooden structures built by the English. Weaving around groups of people, all headed in the same direction, she paid them little heed.

  Derek. He was her goal.

  A neat and tidy line of redcoat-wearing English soldiers stood with their backs to the gathering crowd and with bows in their hands. The slow drum beat continued. A man wearing the same uniform trousers as his comrades, but in shirtsleeves with no coat, stood lashed to a center pole with his hands behind his back. Brown wavy hair spilled over the top of a white blindfold.

  The English officer, standing slightly to the right of the line of soldiers, raised his arm with a sword in his hand.

  “No! No!” Isobel screamed, but no one heard over the increased tempo of the drumbeat.

  “Ready!” the officer commanded.

  Isobel pushed past a man who threw her an irritated look.

  “Aim!”

  Her entire body trembled as she struggled to get to the English soldiers. She had no plan as to how she would stop them, but determination and wild fear drove her on. One last person blocked her way …

  “Fire!” The officer swept his arm down, slashing the air with the silver sword glinting in a stray ray of sunshine.

  The five men loosed their arrows at the same moment, and the brown-haired soldier slumped forward against his bonds.

  “Derek!” Isobel had reached the edge of the crowd.

  The English officer turned at her scream.

  She stared into a pair of familiar brown eyes. Derek had commanded the soldier’s death.

  * * *

  “Belle!”

  He gazed into the face of his beloved to see her eyes wide with horror and revulsion.

  How could she be here now, of all times?

  He took a step toward her, but she backed away, holding a hand up to stop him.

  “Please. I can explain.” Desperation filled his voice, but he was powerless to stop it.

  “No! I can take no more of your lies.”

  “But—”

  Belle turned away from him, into the arms of her big, red-haired brother.

  “You!” Fin’s voice boomed.

  Instinctively, Derek raised his sword. The men under his command broke formation and assembled behind him with their bows loaded and drawn.

  Fin wrapped an arm around his trembling sister. “Planning to kill us too?”

  “No, I—” Derek sheathed his sword and turned to the soldiers to bark out his commands. He pointed to two soldiers. “Cut down the body and take him away for burial. The rest of you, go back to your posts.”

  He turned. “Belle, I need—” But she was gone. Fin had his arm around her, practically carrying her away.

  No explanation in the world could convince someone who would not stay to hear it.

  The spectators had gone now; they wanted to witness the flogging of the thief. Derek realized that punishment was necessary for a civilized world, but he hated having to hand it out. His commander, Major General Thomas Morgan knew this about him and used it against him. Because Derek had been able to show the ugly scar on his hip, inflicted during the skirmish, he’d had proof that he’d been wounded. Still, he’d been away too lo
ng recovering and needed to pay a penalty for shirking his duty as an officer. Derek would not be put to death, but he could be forced to command an execution for the murder of a fellow soldier.

  Derek walked to the blood-spattered post. The solider, George Abercrombie, was gone now. Putting a hand on top of the post, he bowed his head and prayed for George’s soul and for Derek’s own plight.

  He didn’t turn to watch Belle disappear from view, the pain was too strong. She was gone from his life, likely forever.

  * * *

  Only Fin’s strength kept Isobel on her feet and moving across the courtyard, through the tunnels, and out of Dunnottar’s gate. Suddenly, she couldn’t bear his confining grip around her a moment longer. With a mighty shove, she broke away from her startled brother and ran down the steeply inclined road that carried her away from Derek and all horrible English soldiers.

  Gravity and momentum swept her down the dirt road until her speed and emotions got the upper hand.

  Letting out a shriek and a sob, Isobel’s feet tangled in her skirts and down she went. Making no effort to stop herself, she rolled down the last part of the incline and came to a stop in a shuddering heap.

  Dust and dirt came out of her mouth as she choked and coughed and sobbed even louder. She didn’t care who heard. She didn’t care who had to step around her. She cared for nothing at this moment. Derek broke her heart and it hurt.

  Did he ever intend to help get William reunited with Sir and Lady Ogilvie? Until now, the shock of seeing Derek order a man’s death had wiped out all thoughts of the Ogilvies and poor little Willie.

  Feeling, rather than seeing someone looming over her as she lay in the path, Isobel dashed away the tears on her dusty face and raised her head.

  “He’s a bastard, ye ken.”

  “Aye, Fin. I do.”

  Her brother held out a big hand. She took it, and he yanked her to her feet.

  “But we have to go back and find him.” Isobel brushed the dirt from her skirt.

  “I’m not surprised, but why?” He handed her a clean handkerchief.

  She eyed it with raised brows before accepting the small white cloth.

  He shrugged. “Got it at Crathes. I liked it.”

  The Graham men were not high bred people and never carried a handkerchief.

  “’Tis nice, embroidered too.” Holding it spread out between her hands, Isobel admired the initials F.G., which were sewn in tight, close stitches in one corner.

  “Here, ’tis too nice to soil.” She handed it back. “The dirt may stain it.” Bending at the waist, she used the hem of her skirt to wipe off her face.

  “I’ll put it to ye again, ye stubborn woman. Why do we need to go back in?” Fin shoved the handkerchief back in his pocket.

  “For William. The wee lad needs his da and mamm.”

  Neither of them had been paying any attention to the other people coming up or down the hill to Dunnottar Castle, and no one paid them any mind either, until a distinct jingling noise caught Isobel’s attention.

  Lifting her head, she looked over Fin’s shoulder to see a horrifying sight. A line of redcoats carrying lethal pikes jogged down the path between the Scots, parting them like the Red Sea.

  “Fin.” She put a hand on her brother’s arm.

  “Aye?” He raised his head and saw her expression. In one fluid movement, he had his knife in his hand, turned, and was ready to fight.

  But it was too late. Six English soldiers surrounded the brother and sister.

  The lead soldier barked out, “Is your name Graham?”

  For a crazy second, Isobel wanted to say no, but Fin answered before she could. “What business is that of yours?”

  “You’ll do well to change your tone there, Graham. The English are bloody well in charge here, and we have orders to bring back a red-haired man and his red-haired sister, both by the name of Graham.” He gestured with his sharp pike toward Dunnottar. “Turn yourselves around like good Scottish citizens and head inside the castle walls.”

  Fin made a growling noise, and Isobel could sense he was in no mood to comply. Before anyone could move, she stepped between her brother and the soldier. “Why do ye want us back inside? You could at least tell us that much.”

  “We were sent to escort you. That’s all you need to know. Orders is orders.” He bobbed his head toward the castle. “Now go.”

  Chapter 20

  Fin caught her eye and rolled his gaze to the sky with his eyebrows raised. Isobel knew he was asking if she wanted to call down the falcons on the English soldiers. She shook her head the tiniest bit. A mental image of her beautiful Latharna impaled on the end of a pike filled her with horror. The idea of possibly losing her peregrine falcon was unthinkable.

  With fists clenched, Fin turned toward Dunnottar’s gate once more. They both walked stiffly back up the steeply inclined road, surrounded on all sides by fully armed soldiers.

  Dunnottar folk, some of whom Isobel recognized from their days before the siege, walked past with eyes averted. She couldn’t blame them. No one wanted to bring violence down upon their heads.

  “Ye wanted to go back inside. Now we are going back. I hope you’re happy,” Fin whispered between clenched teeth.

  “I didna wish for this.” Isobel, needing the comfort of human touch, took one of Fin’s fists as they walked.

  He glanced over, surprised.

  She gently pried open his fingers and stroked her hand over his palm. “Whatever happens, ’tis grateful I am that ye’ve come and given me your support, Fin. I’m truly sorry.”

  “Aye, well none of this is your fault, Belle. The blame lies on the head of Derek Sinclair, the bastard.”

  The nearest soldier nudged Fin lightly with shaft of his pike. “Watch your mouth there, Graham. Captain Sinclair deserves respect.”

  Fin snorted.

  “He’s a good man, I’d swear by it,” the soldier continued, even as he kept his eyes straight forward.

  “Well, I wouldna. He’s a lying weasel to me.”

  The soldier in charge looked back over his shoulder. “Quiet!”

  Fin snorted again, but obeyed.

  Through the castle gate and into the dimly lighted tunnels, the Grahams and their guards remained silent.

  Isobel kept quiet too. The English soldiers had sorely abused her brother Rabbie in their search for The Honours of Scotland. Had Derek found the regalia hidden inside the sacks while he had been with them? Did he tell his commanding officer and betray the whole Graham family?

  Her throat tightened and her vision blurred. How could she have fallen for the man, and worse, why had she come seeking him? The English were enemies of Scotland and did not recognize their King Charles. They wanted to get their hands on the Scottish crown, septre, and sword to destroy the sacred pieces and break the considerable will of the Scottish people. The pride she felt because she and her family had saved the regalia gave her strength. The Grahams had been chosen by Lady Ogilvie to save the antiquities and they had done it.

  She dashed away the tears from her eyes and stiffened her spine. No matter what pain the English decided to inflict, they would not find out from her where The Honours were hidden. She prayed that Derek would not be the one to issue any torture.

  When the group reached the palace inside Dunnottar’s walls, three of the English soldiers were dismissed. The remaining two ordered Isobel and Fin inside.

  The Graham falconers had been inside the palace fairly often. Sir George Ogilvie was an avid hunter and one or more of the Graham men always accompanied him with their falcons. Isobel and her mother had been given full access to the library maintained by Lady Elizabeth Douglas Ogilvie. Many a happy hour had been spent by the Graham women as they read and discussed the rich selection of books housed in the palace library.

  As they were ushered up the stairs and down the long gallery with its elaborate oak ceiling, Isobel was happy to see that the fire had not reached inside the palace. Most of the destruction was li
mited to the smaller wooden buildings.

  They were led past the library, but the door was closed. She would not see for herself if the books and room remained undamaged. How she yearned to break away from the soldiers and fling open the doors. Perhaps some essence of her mamm and their former happier life lingered inside that special room.

  Before long, the head soldier opened the beautiful oak doors to the northern drawing room. Fin stood back and allowed Isobel to enter first, as was the proper way to treat a woman, even if she was his sister.

  Inside the room, diminishing daylight of the late afternoon showed her two figures. Sitting side by side on a velvet-cushioned sofa were Sir George Ogilvie and his wife Elizabeth, the former rulers of Dunnottar Castle.

  “Come in, come in,” an English voice ordered, “do not dawdle, I’ve not got all day.”

  A red-coated English officer wearing a white powdered wig sat at a desk to the left of the Ogilvies.

  Isobel waited for Fin to come alongside her before she curtsied to the Ogilvies as her brother gave a quick bow.

  “Sir and Lady Ogilvie,” Fin said. “’Tis guid to see ye both well.”

  Lady Ogilvie inclined her head gracefully and returned Isobel’s smile as her husband responded to Fin. “It gladdens my heart to see you and your sister, Finlay. How fares your brother and the Grand Falconer?”

  “Both are well, sir. My brother Rabbie married Catriona, the baker Dunn’s daughter. They are expecting their first child.”

  “Oh!” Lady Ogilvie gasped and tears were visible in her eyes. “Congratulations to you all.” Then her glance slid to the officer and she whispered. “Have you news of our Willie?”

  The officer heard her and walked over to stand behind the sofa, his sword clanked softly as he walked. “No need to whisper, Elizabeth.” He directed a cold stony face to Fin and Isobel. “Let me introduce myself. I am Major-General Sir Thomas Morgan, and I have taken command of this castle and its surrounding area under the authority of our Lord Protector Oliver Cromwell.”

  The earlier smile died on Isobel’s lips. Sadness and fear surrounded her heart and squeezed it. Her mother and Catriona’s father had died upon orders from this man. What did he want with her and Fin?