Read Online Hunted (The Scottish Falconers Book 2) by Diane Wylie - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Diane Wylie
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we’ve a reason to turn him away, Sinclair is free to travel with us, if he likes.”
This time, it was Fin who frowned, but he nodded his acceptance.
For Isobel, it seems a weight was lifted from her shoulders. They would not be leaving Derek behind; her family had helped to free him from the hangman’s noose, so they must feel that he is not a threat.
She stepped away from her brother and father and waited for the donkey cart to pass. Moving back onto the narrow dirt path, she took up a position behind the moving wagon.
Moonlight gave everything a silvery glow, including the brown of Derek Sinclair’s wavy locks. He had been speaking to little William, whose head lay in Derek’s lap. His voice was too low for Isobel to hear, but after a few minutes, William’s whole body relaxed.
Derek lifted his head and smiled. “He’s asleep. The wee laddie is verra brave, but he is missing his mamm and da.”
“Aye, I imagine so,” she agreed.
The way Derek’s smile transformed his whole face was a pleasure to behold. For a few moments, the constant worry melted away. His full, sensual mouth was even more kissable. Isobel’s own lips curved upward at the sight.
Derek slid his arms under the boy and moved him to a bed of clothing sacks, then pulled a green-and-blue Graham plaid tartan over him. Finishing this task, Derek crawled on all fours to the edge of the moving cart.
“How is your leg and hip?” Isobel would really like to check it herself, but propriety dictated otherwise.
“In need of moving.” With that, he jumped off the cart, stumbling a little before regaining his balance.
Roger the mule and Da swiveled to look behind them at the movement with identical expressions of curiosity. Apparently satisfied that all was well, they both faced front again.
“You’re all right?” Isobel eyed the man walking beside her.
“Och, aye.”
He said that, but he limped for a bit before settling into an easier walk. Sensing her gaze, he explained, “The leg makes me walk like an old man with rheumatism, aye?”
“Oh no, not like an old man at all.”
She didn’t look at him when she said this, but she sensed his smile again. Then his warm fingers captured her hand and held it with their fingers intertwined.
“Belle, I want to thank you and your family for getting me out of prison and saving my neck. I’ve grown attached to it.”
He rubbed his neck with his free hand as if scrubbing away the sensation of a rope.
“Well, I suppose you’ll be indebted to us then?”
“I suppose that would be true. Have ye an idea as to how I can repay you and your family?”
Isobel could hear the smile in his voice, even as she kept her gaze ahead.
“Ye could tell me the truth.”
* * *
Her words jolted through him. He’d not been expecting such a bold-faced request, but that was Belle—direct and to the point.
“What truth would ye like to ken?” He tried for a casual, ask-me-anything tone, but wasn’t sure he’d accomplished it.
“I’d like to ken why it was that the hip area of your breeches wasn’t cut or torn by the weapons that injured your flesh underneath. You said you cut the calf part of the breeches where the arrow hit. But shouldn’t there have been more blood on them? ’Tis not a thing that makes any sense.”
Belle gazed up at him expectantly. The moonlight struck her upturned face full on. Those thickly lashed eyes, so blue during the day, seemed dark and deep now. The freckles that he knew were sprinkled across her pert little nose seemed to be gone in this light. But it was her mouth, with lips shining full and upturned at the corners that begged for a kiss or a million kisses.
He smiled and raised their joined hands so he could, instead, kiss her fingers while linked with his.
“I’m almost ashamed to say, Belle.”
She said nothing, just squeezed his hand to encourage him.
“Well,” he continued, “my clothes were a bit ragged before the skirmish, and getting blood all
This time, it was Fin who frowned, but he nodded his acceptance.
For Isobel, it seems a weight was lifted from her shoulders. They would not be leaving Derek behind; her family had helped to free him from the hangman’s noose, so they must feel that he is not a threat.
She stepped away from her brother and father and waited for the donkey cart to pass. Moving back onto the narrow dirt path, she took up a position behind the moving wagon.
Moonlight gave everything a silvery glow, including the brown of Derek Sinclair’s wavy locks. He had been speaking to little William, whose head lay in Derek’s lap. His voice was too low for Isobel to hear, but after a few minutes, William’s whole body relaxed.
Derek lifted his head and smiled. “He’s asleep. The wee laddie is verra brave, but he is missing his mamm and da.”
“Aye, I imagine so,” she agreed.
The way Derek’s smile transformed his whole face was a pleasure to behold. For a few moments, the constant worry melted away. His full, sensual mouth was even more kissable. Isobel’s own lips curved upward at the sight.
Derek slid his arms under the boy and moved him to a bed of clothing sacks, then pulled a green-and-blue Graham plaid tartan over him. Finishing this task, Derek crawled on all fours to the edge of the moving cart.
“How is your leg and hip?” Isobel would really like to check it herself, but propriety dictated otherwise.
“In need of moving.” With that, he jumped off the cart, stumbling a little before regaining his balance.
Roger the mule and Da swiveled to look behind them at the movement with identical expressions of curiosity. Apparently satisfied that all was well, they both faced front again.
“You’re all right?” Isobel eyed the man walking beside her.
“Och, aye.”
He said that, but he limped for a bit before settling into an easier walk. Sensing her gaze, he explained, “The leg makes me walk like an old man with rheumatism, aye?”
“Oh no, not like an old man at all.”
She didn’t look at him when she said this, but she sensed his smile again. Then his warm fingers captured her hand and held it with their fingers intertwined.
“Belle, I want to thank you and your family for getting me out of prison and saving my neck. I’ve grown attached to it.”
He rubbed his neck with his free hand as if scrubbing away the sensation of a rope.
“Well, I suppose you’ll be indebted to us then?”
“I suppose that would be true. Have ye an idea as to how I can repay you and your family?”
Isobel could hear the smile in his voice, even as she kept her gaze ahead.
“Ye could tell me the truth.”
* * *
Her words jolted through him. He’d not been expecting such a bold-faced request, but that was Belle—direct and to the point.
“What truth would ye like to ken?” He tried for a casual, ask-me-anything tone, but wasn’t sure he’d accomplished it.
“I’d like to ken why it was that the hip area of your breeches wasn’t cut or torn by the weapons that injured your flesh underneath. You said you cut the calf part of the breeches where the arrow hit. But shouldn’t there have been more blood on them? ’Tis not a thing that makes any sense.”
Belle gazed up at him expectantly. The moonlight struck her upturned face full on. Those thickly lashed eyes, so blue during the day, seemed dark and deep now. The freckles that he knew were sprinkled across her pert little nose seemed to be gone in this light. But it was her mouth, with lips shining full and upturned at the corners that begged for a kiss or a million kisses.
He smiled and raised their joined hands so he could, instead, kiss her fingers while linked with his.
“I’m almost ashamed to say, Belle.”
She said nothing, just squeezed his hand to encourage him.
“Well,” he continued, “my clothes were a bit ragged before the skirmish, and getting blood all
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