Page 34 of The Best of Brenna Grant

“I protect him,” the larger boy said. “He’s too small to be alone. And there are really mean people out there.”

But the wee one kept sobbing.

Finally, the older one said, “He’s not afraid of you killing us.”

“But I am afraid,” the small one said, sniffling. “I’m afraid to die, even if you’re not. I’m afraid of all of them.”

“Out with it,” Loki said firmly. “Who are you working for and who do you fear will kill you?”

The thief finally said, “Will you buy us each a meat pie if we tell?”

Loki nodded.

“We work for a man who lives in a castle beyond the walls, from far away. He leaves men in Edinburgh who watch over us and make us steal. They feed us, but hardly enough. My belly is always growling.”

Gil recognized what the lad wasn’t saying. “You give the laddie some of your food, do you not?” He would have done the same.

The lad continued, “We never see the man in charge, but he tells the others whether or not to beat us. Some of them beat us whenever they wish, though. They don’t care if we deserve it or not.”

Simon had been like that. He’d never understood what set him off—if he’d known, he would have stopped the behavior. Eventually, he’d decided the bastard swung out whenever he was angry, and he didn’t care who he hurt.

“So we steal,” the lad said. “My apologies to you.”

Loki looked from Gil to Thorn and Nari. “Sounds familiar. I recall men trying to make me steal, but I always got away from them.”

“We’ll take you with us,” Gil blurted out, remembering a time when he’d wandered these streets, alone and desperate. Remembering where he’d ended up before finding the Grants. He didn’t want that for these lads. “We live in a castle for orphans. ‘’Tis as we said. We’re all orphans.”

The wee one stopped crying and whispered, “Ye will? Who runs the castle?”

“They’re telling you lies,” the thief said. “I’ve asked the nuns, and they said the only place they know that takes in all orphans is Castle Curanta, way up in the Highlands. She thought there was another one, too, but it’s even farther in the Highlands.”

“Mayhap they are not lying, Daw,” the wee one insisted.

“Shut your mouth, Herry,” he replied.

Loki smirked and asked, “What else do you know of that castle?”

“’Tis run by Loki, the orphan adopted by the Grant warriors,” Daw said with wonder. “He was such a good fighter in the Battle of Largs that the Grants gave him his verra own castle. He was adopted, and now he’s a Grant.”

Daw, who had dark hair, turned to Herry, whose red hair looked nearly brown from the dirt. “’Tis where we wish to go, but we don’t know how to get there. The one man said he’d take us there once we steal enough for them.”

Loki had a smug grin on his face, and he gave Gil a slight nod. Tempted to grin himself, Gil said, “Did you look at the initials inside the bag you took?”

“I cannot read letters,” Daw barked.

“I can,” Herry volunteered. “My Mama taught me my letters afore she passed from the fever. I was just beginning to read. May I look at the letters, my lord?” Herry asked.

Loki held the bag out for the lad, holding the initials up to his face. His eyes widened, and he slowly lifted his gaze to Loki.

“Aye, Daw. It says what you think it does.”

“What are the letters?” Daw asked.

Herry whispered, “L for Loki and G for Grant.”

“You read them correctly, lad. My dear lady sewed them carefully inside all my bags. My name is Loki, and I lived in a crate behind a tavern in Ayr before the Grants came along and took me with them.”

“You were truly adopted by the great Alexander Grant?” Daw asked, his ill temper washing away as awe filled his eyes.