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"Oi, straight in front of you," said the reindeer, sniffing his furry nose in the direction of the Knight.

Firmin locked eyes with the reindeer, his face scrumpling with confusion.

"Aye me! Ye look like you've seen a witch... am nae that ugly am I?"

"I'm terribly sorry Sir, I meant no offense... it truly has been the most awful of nights." His chest sank as he resheathed his sword.

"Hohoho," the reindeer chuckled. "With an accent like that, you've got tae be one of those English lads that came stomping past this way the other day?"

Firmin looked down at his full suit of armour and then back up at the reindeer with a single raised eyebrow, "so it was my accent that gave me away eh?"

"Hohoho, I like you. Cannae say I've ever met a Sassanach with a sense of humour! However, I must ask friend... what are ye doing in the middle of the woods with a child?"

Can I trust this Scotsman? Pausing for a moment, Firmin glanced at baby Finn and took a deep, laboured breath. Calm down. It's very unlikely to find someone loyal to the King this far North. "I've been tasked with returning this child to his kin. King's orders." His facade was thinner than a blade's edge, yet he stated his order as confidently as though he'd heard it leave Athelstan's lips directly.

The reindeer's hairy hooves shuffled on the overgrown path underfoot. "Looks like you've got a wee predicament on yer hands then Knight. Say, what is yer name?"

My name is Firmin, Knight Comm..." he spoke his title instinctively, cutting himself off mid sentence. "It's Firmin."

"Nice tae meet ye 'just Firmin'. The names Rupert Macbean, son of Rabbie, but everyone calls me Ru!" His voice was deep, but friendly. The tone reminded Firmin of his old swordplay mentor, causing the persistent tension he had felt since he arrived at Dunalastair to dissipate.

"I'm looking to head South, and quickly. You wouldn't happen to know how far it would be to the nearest town?"" he said, pointing down the path to where the amber sun perched lowly in the morning sky.

"Well... I assume you won't be heading back the way ye came hoho." The reindeer wagged his tufted chin in thought. "Hmm, aye It'd be Scone yer after then, three days walk along the road!" Rupert nodded in the direction he was headed.

"I don't think the little one will make it three days. Would you be willing to give us a ride to Scone Rupert?" Pain dominated the space behind Firmin's eyes, but he tried to soften his features to appear as friendly as possible.

"What's happened to yer face hoho? Ye look like a cow that's just been branded with a hot iron."

"Sir, please take me seriously. If not for me, please, for the child." Firmin felt desperate, using the baby as a tool to bargain. After all, he was heading farther from Finn's family. But he was desperate.

Hmm... Am no a fan of that King of yours." His voice trailed off as though he was speaking to himself. "These roads are nae place for a Sassanach on his own. Dangerous work... aye dangerous indeed." Rupert cleared his throat and spoke directly to Firmin, "It'll cost ye, Knight!"

"I have no coin to offer, but I do have this." Firmin dug his free hand deep beneath his steel breastplate, emerging with the silver star he was awarded by the King.

"Wow." Firmin could see the three golden lions sparkle in the reindeers wide, dark eyes. "Aye, that'll do it hoho... hop on lad."

*****

The sun had made its presence known in the endless blue overhead; yet, sleep had taken Firmin quicker than his sword to a wolves' neck. The timber wheels of the cart bobbled ruthlessly on uneven ground, causing the glass bottles in the bottom to rattle loudly. The forgiving wheat covering the bottles softened the blows as Firmin lay on his side, clinging tightly to Finn.

Shouts of men and the roar of charging horses bellowed in the horizon. "Knight... riders approaching... Oi!" said Ru sharply.

Firmin shot up in a daze. "Barabel..." he shouted, slowly returning to the living world. What was I dreaming of just now?

"Oi! I dinnae know what lassie yer pining for, but ye better take a look."

Firmin peered over the front of the high-sided cart; a red and blue flag, blazoned with a golden cross emerged into view, held high by the lead rider of the pack. Riders from the English garrison. Surely they know of my disappearance.

"I must hide Rupert, there must be at least 10 riders!" Desperation poured from Firmin's mouth, "I must protect this childs life. I must."

"It is clearly nae of yer own blood? Why does this child matter so much? Why dae you need to hide?"

"Later," said Firmin, digging frantically into the wheat in an attempt to hide. Lying flat on his back, he tried to make himself as small as possible, holding tightly onto Finn. The thick crop blocked out the light entirely, except for a small slit in the wooden panels to the side of his head, which he was able to barely peer out of.

"Halt!" boomed the powerful voice. Firmin jolted forward, as the cart came to an abrupt stop. A metallic thud stung his ears as a soldier dismounted his steed, landing on hard ground a fraction away from him.

"State your purpose, beast," spat the soldier.

"I mean no harm lad, I am but a humble merchant fae Bràigh Mhàrr. I am heading to Scone to sell my goods."

"One of our men is missing, have you seen him?" snapped the only robed soldier in the party. "Possibly has a child with him."

Firmin could hear the unease in Ruperts deep tones, "I'm sorry I've no seen..."

"So what you got in the back then?" Another one of the men spoke up, interupting him.

The small portion of ground that Firmin was able to see was suddenly blotted out. One of the soldiers stood inches away from Firmin's head.

"Chhhk." Firmin recognised the dull sound of a sword being withdrawn from a wooden scabbard. Please... No. He closed his eyes as he grasped baby Finn tighter.

"Thud!"

He prised a clenched eye open and turned his head slightly. Ouch. The cold steel pressed against his face. It had missed him. Only just. He could swear that the soldiers would be able to hear his heart as it pounded the back of his breastplate. The baby began to stir from all the commotion. Not now lad, stay quiet. He carefully placed his clammy fingers over Finn's mouth; little lips writhed beneath them as though ready to burst.

The cart lurched to the side as one of the soldiers hoisted himself up, using the sword as an anchor. The weight of the man pressed heavy on Firmin's chest through the wheat.

"Let's see what we got 'ere then," the voice bellowed from above. The man ripped his sword from the floor of the cart, catching Firmin's cheek on the way past. The sticky, warm blood trickled down his face and round the back of his neck.

The clinking of the glass followed the crunching of the crop, "Ah, whiskey! Why didn't you say?" The cart swayed once more as the soldier eased himself off to one side. "You wont mind if we help ourselves, beast?"

"At yer pleasure," said Rupert begrudgingly.

"Seargant, your sword. It has blood on it?" spoke one of the men from the rear.

"Hmm, ah yes," said the Seargant, sounding embarrassed. "Must have been from those deviants earlier." He wiped the sullied sword through the overgrown grass and returned it to his sheath. He shot a glance through a squinted eye towards a few of his compatriots, then whistled loudly.
"Ready the horses! We have wasted enough time with this varmint." The shouting and galloping faded into the distance.

*****

"There ye are!" Firmin's eyes struggled to adjust to the piercing light as his cover was ripped from above him. Moving his hand away from his face, he could see a brutish figure standing over the cart. Tufts of brown hair sprouted from his ears and joined up with the long bushy beard that ran down the length of his chest like a fuzzy plate of armour.

"You Sir, have some explaining tae do!"