Hunted (The Scottish Falconers Book 2) by Wylie Diane

Author:Wylie, Diane [Wylie, Diane]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: UNKNOWN
Published: 2016-08-19T07:00:00+00:00

Chapter 13

“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.

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