Page 46 of The Best of Brenna Grant

Ayrshire-Survival

1263

A new scene for you showing both Lucky Loki and Wise Loki.

Tissue warning. Have them ready…

Loki woke up with a sneeze, hitting his head on the top of the weathered crate. Hell, but it had rained half the night and he was soaked. He needed a tarp to cover the crate, though he would soon outgrow the meager shelter. He had to find something to keep him dry overnight through the damp spring.

He blew his nose on his hand and wiped it off on a nearby stone, hating his life. At times like these, he would spend half the day trying to recall anything about his parents.

Why had they given him away?

Had he done something to make them hate him? Father Adair had told him some families had too many children to feed so they gave their bairns away or even sold them. Was he just pushed out the door, or had they traded him for something? But the priest had also reminded him that his parents could have simply passed on from illness.

Every night when he went to bed, he said a wee prayer for God to let him dream something about his parents or his family.

He had to know. It was an ache deep inside him that would not be eased. That hollow place in his chest was worse than the emptiness of his belly.

After taking care of his few belongings—the pot, his extra tunic and trews that were too small but he kept anyway, and the few linen squares he’d stolen to wash his face and hands when they were covered with dirt—he got to his feet and stretched. He leaned against the tree he kept his crate under for extra shelter from both the elements and some of the unsavory characters in the area. Sadly, his belly no longer grumbled. It was too used to being empty.

It hadn’t been a good week. He’d had little too eat, hadn’t been able to find any coin, and Father Adair, his only friend, had gone on a journey of some sort. He could usually count on obtaining an apple from the priest, but not this day.

He groaned and pushed off from the tree, the rain letting up enough for him to head to town. This day he had purpose.

He would search for a tarp or length of thick canvas to keep his sad home dry.

And a piece of bread.

Mayhap he’d beg a stale loaf from the local bakery, though they usually only threw crumbs at him to make him leave. One baker was kind and would feed him a hardened crust on occasion, but only what they couldn’t sell.

Selfish pignuts.

As he entered the center of town, his gaze searched the area to make sure the evil bastards who liked to tease him were not about. He stopped when he caught sight of something more important.

Behind one of the market stalls, a large piece of tarp had been set across a row of bushes to dry now that the rain had ended.

Loki needed that tarp. He took a few steps toward the stall, but the owner appeared so he walked away, vowing to keep checking on the prized fabric.

He trudged down the way and into the center of the burgh where more market stalls began to open up. He could feel a rumbling against his foot through the hole in his boot as he walked; soon a sound rose up to match the vibrations. It sounded like thunder, and he could see everyone else around the market felt the same. They all wandered about looking puzzled until the source of the din appeared. If it were a usual day, the cloud of dust would have been visible first.

But this was not a usual day in the burgh of Ayr.

A group of riders on the biggest horses Loki had ever seen raced down the main road toward the castle. He gaped at the spectacle of warriors dressed in red and green plaids galloping through Ayr. Each man had a massive sword strapped to his saddle or his back, sheaths and hilts gleaming in the sun just breaking through the clouds. He ran over to get a closer look.

Who were they?

He listened as two vendors began to discuss the sight.

“King Alexander said a couple of the clans from the deep Highlands would be coming to his aid. Haakon said he’s attacking with a fleet of galley ships.”

“How many ships?”

“I heard two score.”

Another man called out. “I heard four score. That’s why the savage Highlanders are here. Let’s hope they protect us.”

The man closest to him said, “Those warriors are from Clan Grant. Everyone knows the red plaids. They’re the strongest clan in all the Highlands. I’m glad they’re here.”