Page 35 of The Best of Brenna Grant

“Nay, I was adopted by his brother, Brodie, and his wife, Celestina. They are my adoptive parents.” He sat down on a nearby boulder and rested an elbow on his knee. “But ’twas Alexander Grant who gave me Castle Curanta.”

“And every year we come to Edinburgh for orphans,” Nari added. “We’ll take you with us if you wish. You can live in our castle.”

Herry ran over and hugged Nari. “I want to go. I hate those men.”

Then he glanced back at Daw for his reaction. He didn’t answer quickly, instead slowly taking the measure of each of them. After a long pause, Daw said, “We’ll both go, but only if you train us to be Grant warriors.”

“Deal,” Loki said. “Anything else you need?”

Gil did his best not to laugh at Loki. He knew how to handle young lads. He sat down on a log, memories washing through him. After he’d gotten Kyla back to Cameron land, Chief Cameron had taken him right into the kitchens and told him he could eat whatever he wanted. Gil thought he’d landed in heaven. Cameron keep had impressed him, but not as much as Castle Curanta.

The first time he sat at the trestle table with the other lads and lassies, they shared how they’d lost their parents. Loki came along and told them his story, something that made him realize he was finally where he belonged.

He’d made fast friends who’d never deserted him, Kenzie being his first. Kenzie had taken Gil along everywhere for the first fortnight, showing him everything. To this day, he was still Gil’s closest friend.

“Grant plaids,” Daw shouted excitedly. “Can we wear Grant plaids?”

“I’ll have our seamstress fit them to you. And new trews for winter, along with a tunic or two.”

The first time Gil had donned a Grant plaid and gone out to the lists to train, he’d finally felt as if he belonged.

Herry swiped the tears from his face, leaving a dirty streak across one cheek. He held his foot up and asked, “May I have new boots when we get to the Highlands, my lord?”

Gil was caught by the sight of the lad’s toes pushing out of the seam of the boot toe. “Nay,” he said, before Loki could answer. The lad was about to start crying again when Gil knelt down in front of him. Up close, he’d guess him to be no more than five winters. “Nay, Herry. We’ll get you the boots now. I’ll take both of you. You’ll need good ones to get to the Highlands. And new woolen hose, too.”

Eyes shining with tears and happiness, Herry jumped up and hugged him.

Thorn added, “And we’ll protect you from the cruel bastards who forced you to steal.”

“I promise no one at Castle Curanta will beat you,” Loki said. “Ever. What say you? Say aye, and we’ll head to the meat pie vendor.”

Herry nodded quickly, while Daw took several seconds to agree. But he did it with a smile.

Once they filled their bellies, Loki strode down to an inn, entered, and said, “We’ll be staying the night. One large room with four pallets and two for the wee ones.” Thorn had held back to speak with the guards, making plans for the warriors to sleep in the town stables.

The innkeeper stepped away for a moment, and Herry pulled on Loki’s shirt and whispered, “We don’t have to sleep in the stables this eve, my lord?”

Loki patted the top of his head and said, “Nay, lad. From here on, we’ll keep you warm each night. Sometimes we huddle in a cave together, but you’ll be you warm.”

Gil swore he saw tears misting the bairn’s eyes. While the other had toughened, this lad clearly had not.

As if Loki could read his mind, he whispered over his shoulder. “Poor lad stayed with them for protection and to stay alive is my guess.”

Gil held his hand out, and it surprised him how quickly Herry grabbed it. He led him over to the hearth, the crackling flames inviting in the chilly front chamber only meant for welcoming guests.

Once the innkeeper returned and the arrangements were finalized, Loki nodded to the man. “We’ll return, but we’re heading to the bathhouse first.” Then he turned to glance at the lads, one at a time. “You smell. Both of you. Grant warriors don’t smell.”

Gil was distracted right away, memories of Sabina fresh in his mind. A vendor with fabric animals was straight ahead so he knew what he had to do. He reached the stall and picked up a gray dog who looked like a deerhound, paid for it, and handed it over to Herry, whose face lit up. “For me? May I keep it?”

“Aye, ’tis yours, lad. Daw, you need one, too?”

Daw, looking quite offended, said, “Nay, I’m too old.”