Hunted (The Scottish Falconers Book 2) by Diane Wylie Page B

of the eldest Graham son.
    “We’ve saved yer arse twice, dinna let that come to be a waste.” Fin shoved Derek’s sword, scabbard, and knife toward him.
    Behind the gruff tone and actions, Derek thought there may have been a bit of goodwill.
    “Thank you, Fin. I hope we meet again someday under better circumstances. I’d like to learn more about your falcons.” Derek held out a hand. After a second’s hesitation, Fin accepted the handshake with a quick clasp.
    Isobel. Derek feasted his eyes on her slim form and tried to memorize everything about her—that golden red hair with a tendency to crinkle up in wet weather; the small, slightly upturned nose with freckles dancing across the bridge; and those brilliant blue Graham eyes that sparkled with intelligence and life.
    She stared right back at him; perhaps she was doing the same thing.
    Then Boyd clapped him on the shoulder and urged him away from his daughter. “Take care, lad. I dinna ken where your army might be, but I imagine if ye look to the sky for smoke, ’twill probably be the English burning some poor Scotsman’s house.”
    “I sincerely hope that will not be the case, sir.”
    Derek buckled on his sword and slipped his knife into the top of his boot. Finally, picking up the food bundle, he turned and began to walk backward. He wanted to look at Belle as long as possible.
    “Goodbye, Graham falconers. It was a pleasure to make your acquaintance. Thank you for my life. Goodbye, Belle, I will never forget you. I will always love you, mo leannan .”
    He made it to the tree line without sobbing, although his throat constricted with emotion.
    “Wait! Wait, Derek!”
    He stopped dead at her call.
    A moment later, Isobel was in his arms kissing his lips and holding his whiskered cheeks between her palms. Knowing her brothers and father watched, Derek wrapped his arms respectfully around her shoulders. But the kiss would probably get him killed, so he let his hands fall to her waist.
    “Belle! Let him go! I’ll not marry ye off to an Englishman!” Boyd’s voice boomed across the clearing.
    She froze. Slowly, she dropped her hands and withdrew her lips.
    “Goodbye, I will always remember you too,” she whispered before turning to flee in the opposite direction.
    Derek didn’t wait to see where she went. Turning about, he walked with slow, measured steps, heading deeper into the trees and out of her life.

Chapter 11
     
    Walking behind the donkey cart, Isobel glanced at the two men riding horses in the front, Da and Fin. Both sat tall in the saddle; the sun glinted off burnished red-gold hair. Both were stubborn as rocks. Da hadn’t spoken to her once in the three days since Derek had disappeared into the trees bearing the heat of her kiss on his cheek. Fin and Rabbie pretended that nothing had happened, and that Derek had never existed in their lives. Only Catriona dared to speak of him in hushed whispers to Isobel.
    Isobel had shamed her family by loving and, far worse, kissing an English soldier. But she didn’t regret a thing. In fact, she would have done it again, if she could. Derek’s nationality was of little consequence … she loved him, and denying this fact made no difference.
    Derek was gone forever.
    “Umph.” Isobel ran into the back of the stopped donkey cart, jarring her whole body, and ended up sitting in the dusty road.
    “We stopped, Belle!” Willie laughed at her as he peered over the edge of the cart.
    “So I see, William.” Pushing herself up again with a sigh, Isobel met Rabbie coming around the side of the cart. “Why did we stop?”
    Rabbie’s dark eyebrows shot up. “Why ’tis almost dark, Belle. Did ye not notice? Time for camp. Da wants to hunt with the falcons tomorrow.”
    Now that he had mentioned the lateness of the day, Isobel took in the rosy pink of the sunset beyond the cotton-grass, bracken, and crowberry shrubs growing here. She had spent the whole day mourning the loss of Derek, the loss of love. No