Hunted (The Scottish Falconers Book 2) (9 page)

“Wake up, Belle. Wake up.”

Isobel was jolted out of slumber by a small voice and an even smaller boy, who was yanking her shoulder back and forth.

“What is it, Willie? Is something amiss?”

Pushing to a sitting position from where she lay on the floor, Isobel glanced quickly around. No one else, save William, occupied the main room.

“Och, no. ’Tis time for breakfast. I’m verra hungry.”

Denying the sweet boy anything wasn’t easy, so she decided to distract him for a bit. “Are Catriona and Rabbie awake yet?”

Plopping down cross-legged on the braided rug, William brushed a strand of unruly hair from his face and rubbed his nose. “I dunno. I woke you up first because you said that ye would take care of me. Why did you leave me alone last night? I was scairt.”

With a smile, Isobel reached out, grabbed his ankle, and pulled. William fell onto his back, squealing and laughing as she towed him closer to tickle his belly.

“I had something to do, ye nosy little rascal. But I came back, didn’t I?”

Giggling hysterically, William ineffectively fought off her tickling fingers.

“Aye, but ye took a long time,” he gasped between chuckles.

She stood and hauled him up by the ankles. She let him dangle as she walked the short distance to the kitchen. She plucked a nice, golden-brown bannach out of a basket and handed it to the upside-down, red-faced child.

“There, let this hold you for a bit.”

Lowering him carefully to the floor, she watched as he lay flat where she put him and began to eat the baked treat.

“Sit up, ye wee thing, before you choke on the crumbs.”

He obeyed, but remained in the same spot.

Mrs. Grainger came in, tying her neat white apron as she walked. Spying William, she stopped and bent over to look at him. “Are ye hungry, little man? Would ye like some porridge? Do ye like eggs?”

William nodded twice, still chewing.

Turning to Isobel, the reverend’s wife smiled. “Guid morning, Miss Graham. Could I ask ye and the lad to gather some eggs for breakfast?”

“Of course we will.” Isobel accepted a basket from her and hauled William to his feet.

“Mind ye donna let the chickens out of their coop. I wouldna want to lose one to your fine hawks,” Mrs. Grainger warned as they left the house.

Inside the hen house, William was hesitant to reach under the fat hens, so Isobel plunged her hand into the moist warmth over and over to steal the prized eggs from the birds. They had one more chicken to go.

“I want to try,” William said with solemn seriousness.

“Aye, sir, reach your hand under this last hen. Just do it quickly so ye dinna upset the biddies.”

William averted his face as he stuck out his skinny little arm and pushed under this particularly plump brown hen. Concentrating on his sense of touch, he closed his eyes tightly and the pink end of his tongue stuck out. Apparently, he had stopped breathing for his face turned bright red.

“I got it!”

Excitedly yanking the egg out, he turned toward Isobel.

“Be careful! Dinna squ—”

Cr-rack.

Yellow egg yolk squirted between the boy’s fingers, and he let out a groan followed by a few choice and very Scottish curse words.

“William Ogilvie!”

A sheepish grin transformed his face. “Och, they break easy, aye?”

Isobel grabbed a non-slimy part of him. “Aye, they do. Come on. We’ve got breakfast and a wedding today.”

* * *

Derek stopped and stared at what lay in from of him. Having been mostly raised in Scotland, he was no stranger to its moors. However, the Isle of Skye had heather moors, and those were different from the lowland raised peat bog he faced now. The heather moors of his youth were covered with grass, moss, bracken, and, of course, heather.

This was not just a moor; it was a wet, soggy peat bog. He had heard of these bogs, where the dead and decaying sphagnum moss builds up layer upon layer. To the eye, the peat looks solid, but it reality it is a very thick, boot-sucking sponge.

Derek remembered his grandfather telling tales of carefully making his way across the treacherous land that could easily trap a man alone and hold him until starvation ended his struggles.

Ye must make verra sure to walk on the peat hags, laddie, or the bog will claim ye as hers.
He could hear Grandda’s voice in his head.

Mounds of drier sedge grasses dotted the brown, wet peat, stretching as far as he could see. Derek knew the bog had an end where walking would be easier. He had to decide to either alter his course to walk miles around the bog, if possible, or go across it.

His stomach growled loudly, distracting him from his dilemma. The sack of food Catriona Graham had given him held one last rock-hard, stale roll. It was all he had to eat.

Breaking it into crumbly pieces with his hands, Derek was careful not to drop a single morsel on the wet ground. He popped a piece in his mouth, allowed his saliva to soften it a bit before he chewed and swallowed the chunk.

After eating enough of the roll to quiet his stomach, Derek had made his decision. With a firm grasp on his sack that contained half of a roll and his newly acquired red uniform jacket, Derek eyed the closest peat hag, a grassy little island of dry, firm safety.

He stepped out onto it. Both feet just fit. The next two peat hags were not as large, so he had to leap quickly, landing with his left foot on the first, right foot on the second, and hopped again to a third, which was large enough to rest on with both feet.

Planning each footfall carefully, Derek had progressed deep into the bog when he paused on one of the larger peat hags to rest. The sky, colored royal blue, sported friendly white puffy clouds today. Three large birds climbed and dipped off in the distance. Derek shaded his eyes and squinted. Did the birds sport long, string-like things trailing from their legs? Could they be wearing a falconer’s leather jesses?

Adjusting his direction slightly, Derek progressed to yet another peat hag island. His heart raced. Had he found the Graham family’s location? Would he see Isobel again or would they kill him on sight? He had to tell them where to find William’s parents, no matter the consequences to himself.

To his left, undisturbed by his presence, five Greylag geese, one with four little goslings trailing her, paddled around a large bog pond. The clear water reflected the sky and clouds as if it were a huge mirror.

The sound of rushing water caught Derek’s attention, and he glanced around, scanning the ground carefully. There, to the east of the bog pond, the sedge grasses came to an abrupt end at the edges of an undercut water course. Just a month ago, he would have been in danger of missing the sunken water cut hole had it been covered with snow.

Choosing his path with due consideration, Derek bypassed the hole and the bog pond. No falcons were in the air right now, but he had noted their location and set his course accordingly. With each passing day, he faced possible hanging by the army for desertion, but for now, he knew what he had to do. His heart would allow nothing else for the people who had saved his life.

Hang the consequences; I’m going to find them.

* * *

News had traveled fast, and the little kirk was packed with good, Scottish citizens of Kinneff. It wasn’t often that a wedding took place here, much less the wedding of a Grand Falconer’s firstborn son.

Catriona and Rabbie glowed with love and happiness as they said their vows for the second time, this time in a more-official setting.

Isobel sniffed, catching a big whiff of the many flowers around the church—they were in containers on the window sills, bundled with string and hanging on the backs of the wooden pews, thrust into hats worn by ladies, and held in the hands of the bride. Dabbing at her watery eyes, Isobel barely managed to control a sneeze. It was bad enough that the ceremony was making her cry, the flowers were too.

“Settle, William, ye canna squirm so in a place of God,” Isobel told the restless boy. He shot her an indignant look, but stopped moving everything but his legs as they swung back and forth from his seat in the church pew.

Isobel struggled to be truly and unselfishly happy for her brother and sister-in-law, but a tiny flame of jealousy burned in her heart, no matter how hard she tried to put it out. Why could she not have the kind of love they had? Why had the only man she’d ever loved turn out to be a lying Englishman?

She sighed and put a smile on her face as the happy couple held hands and walked out of the church to receive the well wishes of their guests.

“Come, William. The ceremony is over … again. Time for the food.”

The little boy clapped his hands. “Will they have cakes? I love sweets.”

“Me too, laddie. Shall we go find out?”

Smoothing the pretty blue dress she had borrowed from the pastor’s wife, Isobel tried hard to follow the boy and walk gracefully so she wouldn’t trip over the hem of the long garment. She was unaccustomed to dressing as a lady; perhaps that was her problem with relationships.

With one eye on her small charge, Isobel congratulated Rabbie and Catriona on their wedding once more with sincere hugs.

“Your day will come before ye ken it, and you will be getting wed.” Catriona whispered into her ear as they embraced.

All Isobel could do was to smile and nod.
Maybe I will never wed. Maybe I will become a lady Grand Falconer and travel the world.

Lifting her chin, she took William by the hand to lead him through the throngs of Kinneff wedding guests. “Come with me, William, we shall visit the sweets table before supper.”

William let out a whoop and happily skipped along beside her.

The good ladies of Kinneff kirk had done themselves proud for this rarest of events. Wooden tables were arranged in a circle and completely covered with food of all types.

In short order, someone began to play the bagpipes and someone else started to sing a lovely ballad. His voice reached into Isobel’s soul, and tears sprang to her eyes unbidden.

“What’s this I see? Going for dessert first? Smart thing to do.” Fin’s mouth may have smiled at William, but his eyes frowned at his sister. He lifted one red brow.

She blinked away the wetness and ignored his unspoken question.

“Aye, William and I decided ’twas the right thing to sample them first.”

The little boy scooped up some honey candies and thrust them in his pockets before turning his attention to pastries drizzled with honey.

“Slow down, laddie, and leave some for the others.” Fin grinned at the boy who slowly put back one of the three pastries he had grabbed.

Then William swiveled to Isobel and held out one of the sweets. “This one is for Belle.”

“Thank you, William. Come let us see what else we can eat. You are welcome to join us, Fin.”

She accepted the sticky pastry and took his equally sticky hand so they could look over the other fine wedding foods.

Drinking, eating, dancing, and singing lasted all day. Isobel took part in it all, danced with her father and both brothers, along with a few single men from the church.

William, having eaten enough to satisfy a grown man, had crawled into the Graham’s little cart and fallen asleep under the shade of a large, leafy tree.

Isobel sat on a nearby rock to make sure no harm came to the lad; William was Dunnottar royalty to her and her family.

Growing bored with watching the wedding guests drink themselves silly, she decided to put her falcon through some practice. All of the birds were tied on the wooden perches that the Grahams carried with them. Most birds appeared to be sleeping when Isobel approached.

Latharna was the first falcon in the lineup and she bobbed her head as if to greet her handler.

“Hello there, pretty lassie.” Isobel gently stroked the feathered chest. “Would ye like to spread your wings a bit?”

Before untying the jesses from the perch, Isobel put the tooled leather hood over Latharna’s head to keep her calm. Then, after donning thick gloves, Isobel untied the jesses and smoothly transferred the falcon to her wrist.

Isobel carried the lightweight bird a small distance away from the festivities, but within sight of the slumbering William. Then she stopped, pulled the hood off Latharna’s head, and jerked her arm upward to release the hawk to the sky.

Tilting her head back to watch, Isobel sighed with envy. How wonderful to soar far above the ground and leave your earthly woes behind. Latharna was free to go anywhere she wished and never come back. Many Graham-trained falcons had done just that; they’d taken to the sky and disappeared. A small part of Isobel feared her beloved Latharna would leave as well, but she had faithfully returned each time Isobel called for her.

The bird’s dark wings were a magnificent silhouette against the pale blue sky as the falcon effortlessly rose and dipped, flying in circles above the kirk grounds.

With a grimace of disgust, Isobel reached into a pail of dead mice, provided by the Grainger cat, and drew one out by the tail. Transferring the mouse to her gloved hand, she held her arm straight out to one side of her body and whistled three times, stopped, and whistled again.