Rupert stared intently towards Firmin with his back pressed firmly against the heavy door, blocking any chance of escape. The light began to beam upwards to the roof of the bedroom as the proud afternoon Sun gave way to the more subdued evening. The silhouette of a clansman was painted on the wall, cast by Firmin's shadow. He glanced to the right, catching the gentle sway of his kilt in his darkened outline. How odd. He felt unincumbered by the kilts liberating freedom; it was a pleasant change to the restrictive plate armour he usually dawned. Yet, the answer to Rupert's question weighed heavier on the back of his throat than any steel.

"I was Knight Commander of the King's Imperial army." Firmin could see Rupert's jaw clenched under the thick mass of tangerine fur.

"We were tasked with killing the the Chief and his men that night." His lips pressed together in a slight grimace.

"So what of Duncan?" The words escaped Rupert's mouth like an uncaged beast. "Is he... Tell me he's nae...?"

"Dead. Yes. We had allied with the Kerr wolves and planned an ambush at Duncan's celebration."

"Those bastards." Rupert's head slumped into his chest. Suddenly, he reached for his waist, pulling his sgian dubh out to meet Firmin's neck. "But you... you were in charge?" Firmin noticed the edges of Rupert's mouth twitch with rage as he felt the cold steel press hard into his throat; he was desperate to swallow but his instincts forced him to not give the blade another inch.

"The King ordered me to bring him the heads of Duncan's wife and child but..."

"But what?" Said Rupert with an increasingly aggressive tone.

"I couldn't do it. I couldn't kill the child. So I ran." Firmin stopped fighting, allowing the sharp blade to split his flesh. I have obeyed Athelstan's every order for fifteen years; this child would not have been the first. So why? Why couldn't I kill him?

"So the wee lad is Duncan's first born?" Rupert's grip loosened on the knife, letting go of Firmin slowly.

Firmin held his hand to his neck, nodding stiffly in response to the question.

"I just dinnae get it, if you were the head of his army... The Donnaichaid child surely wasnae the first you were ordered to kill?"

"No you're right. But I'm done being the King's puppet. If I'm to be executed, its what I deserve." Firmin stood up straight; firm in his resolution.

"So now what eh? What's yer grand plan. Surely ye know Athelstan better than anyone, he'd search every corner o' the earth before giving up on finding the wee lad."

"I don't know. I will likely be caught and punished for my crimes. But I must return that child to his kin." Even then, will my soul truly be at rest?

"I hate to tell ye, but wee the Donnaichaids gone, the lads only surviving kin wid be the Macleods of Harris." Rupert ran his hand through his thick beard, "Ye know yer heading in the wrong direction aye?"

"There's a lady. At Cessford Castle. I owe her a life debt." His voice was more shaky than usual.
"Aaah, so this is the lassie yer head o'er heels for. A fancy lassie fae back hame am guessing?" Said Ru, his nose wrinkling with curiosity.

Firmin shuffled over to the wooden chair next to the window, resting his elbows on his knees. "Barabel. And no, she's a Carlsyle, worked as a healer in the castle when the Carlsyle Chief owned it. She saved my life when that Druid got me."

Rupert's features softened as he moved to the edge of the poster bed that dominated the centre of the room. "I see. Didnae think you lot were allowed to pair up wee us Scottish folk. I've seen a few soldiers killed for such things. The lassies know what they're getting intae... ah just wish they didnae have to kill them as well."

"I was told that you were all monsters, to be controlled, to be... eradicated." The sinking feeling returned to Firmin's stomach as his head dropped into his hands. "I believed it all my life, but when I looked into her beautiful eyes, I saw nothing but kindness. Not a monster. When I held her, I felt at peace, it felt..."

"Aye that's a hud on te yer kilt type o' love. Nae mistaking it lad. Ye feel like ye could lift a mountain if it meant spending another moment wee her?"

Firmin nodded softly in agreeance. Love. I've never known love. I suppose this is why they sing songs of it. Why men would die for it. Yes. If that's what it takes.

A quiet knock on the door brought the two men out of there daze, promptly standing to their feet. A more modestly dressed maid entered the room with a wooden tray, laiden out with food and three chalices filled to the brim with frothy liquid. As timidly as a scorned child, she bowed slightly with flared cheeks and left the room with out saying a word. The door was left open upon her exit; Madam Faidh burst in, the lustrous red dress matching her intimidating presence as it flowed behind her. Rosy red lipstick and blackened eye shadow accentuated her already generous facial features.

"Pardon for my rudeness earlier," she curtsied in Firmin's direction. "I am Madam Faidh, owner of this fine establishment."

"Firmin. Please to meet your aquintance." He curtsied in return, bowing his head slightly with a hand on his chest, and one behind his back.

"Oh my," she replied, looking a little more blushed than before. "I've never met such a well-spoken Scotsman before. You're wearing Macbean tartan but you're far too manerable to be one of those riotous lot."

Rupert scoffed at her words.

"I have no family name. I was brought up by a blacksmith that fashioned weapons for the imperial army in Gloucestershire."

"So you're one of them then..." Her eyes widened slightly. "Rupert, what in God's name are you doing with an Englishman?" She slowly stepped closer to the exit.

Rupert marched past her and slammed the door closed. "We need help Fee."

Her eyes narrowed at the reindeers request. "The town is stirring," she straightened her dress as she stood tall to meet the men's gaze. "Please tell me its nothing to do with the two of you?"

"Aye I'll admit, Athelstan and the Kerrs are lookin' fir Firmin and the wee lad. He needs tae get the boy tae his kin in Harris, but first there's a fine maiden that needs a rescuin'."

"We?" Replied Firmin. "Your generosity in getting me this far has exceeded any expectation. It seems you are the second Scotsman to whom I owe a life debt." He outstretched, and laid a hand on Rupert's shoulder.

"Dinnae be daft. Yer a Sassenach, but clearly a man o' pure intention. I must admit, I wisnae the only one who thought everyone o'er the border were monsters." Rupert returned the gesture and wrapped a hand around Firmin's shoulder. "Plus, I think yer the generous one hohoho." He pulled out the golden breast star from the hairy, ginger sporren that hung level with his manhood. "This things worth at least a few months o' hard graft for sure!"

Rupert's keen nostrils suddenly perked up, causing him to rush to the window.

"What is it?" replied Madam Faidh, scurrying to Rupert's side.

"Smoke. Strong. Sniff... sniff, wolves."

"Madam. We have only just been acquainted, but I must ask a favour." Firmin carefully grabbed Faidh's hand whilst lowering himself onto one knee. "Please guard this child. Before I head North to deliver him to his kin, I must return for the one I... the one I love."

She looked sternly down her nose at the humbled Knight. "Tell me, why go to all this bother for the child of another man? Why forefeit your life as a Knight, sully your reputation and risk execution? Why?"

"I have commited countless atrocities in the name of my King, Madam. Thinking that each act would bring me closer to fulfilment. I see now that the only course death charts, is to the gates of hell itself. I understand that peace is a mere illusion, I do... but saving this child. Just maybe I can make peace with my soul." His hand shook as they held Fee's delicate fingers.

"Then go!" She pulled Firmin to his feet, wiping away the tears that had escaped her glimmering eyes. "I will disguise the child as one of my girls own." Turning to Rupert, she quickly switched to business. "I'll be keeping whatever you've taken in that cart of yours as fair payment Ru... I am a business woman after all."

"Aye fair enough Fee," sighed Rupert earnestly. The pair quickly devoured the meal that was set for them, draining their cups as quickly as they had been filled. It may be days before they next felt the warmth of freshly cooked food in their stomachs.

With that, Rupert and Firmin slipped downstairs, squeezing past the enchanting women that pulled hypnotised men by the hand into the numerous rooms that occupied the top landing.

This is no place for a child, Firmin thought as he descended into the hubbub of sin gathered below; but what choice did he have? Retracing their steps, they entered the hidden hatch and emerged back into the outbuilding. Feeling around in the near pitch black, Firmin began to empty the contents of the cart as he felt the wind pick up in the shed; straw whipping at his heels, and a sound that resembled the splitting of branches filling his ears. The reindeer snorted as Firmin heard it stumble to its feet.

"Never gets easier that," grunted Rupert lowly. "We're but humble merchants, remember that. Although, I'd let me dae the talking if I was you."

Quietly leaving the safety of the brothel outbuilding, the pair disappeared into the winding streets of Scone.

*****

"Grrr, I smell him Chief. The Knight."

"Aye, I smell him too... My vengance will nae be satisfied till I drain every last drop of that bastard's blood." Kerr pressed his keen nose into the path below him. "Find him. Bring him to me... Alive."

Kerr stared with murderous eyes at the steeple of Scone Abbey, imagining the Knight's head impaled on its peak. "I will avenge you Bocan. I will kill you Firmin." A mixture of wolves and soldiers emerged from the woods. Kerr watched as they charged into the town below...