Hunted (The Scottish Falconers Book 2) (4 page)

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, Isobel 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.

* * *

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.

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 few 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.