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“He stole from a woman and must pay the price,” another soldier spoke up, not daring to step from behind the soldier in front.
“What is the price?” the Highlander asked.
“A good whipping and service to the woman to pay off his debt,” the soldier in the front said, a bit more daringly.
“It was nothing more than a crumb off the ground,” the urchin snapped. His dark eyes glared menacingly, while his arms clung tenaciously to the Highlander’s thick-muscled leg.
“It wasn’t your crumb to take,” the soldier snapped.
“The lad looks in need of more than a crumb,” the Highlander said, much too calmly.
From the way the three soldiers took several steps back, each tripping and trying to get out of the other’s way, the urchin knew that the Highlander must have sent them a menacing look.
“He broke the king’s law,” one soldier said from behind the other two.
“The king wants his subjects to go hungry?” the Highlander asked, his voice rising in anger.
Before the soldiers could respond, the woman whose crumb the urchin supposedly had thieved came upon them with laborious breath. Her large bosoms heaved, and she fanned her flushed face with her hand.
“That dirty little lad”—she stopped for a breath—“stole from me.” She took another needed breath and stopped fanning. “Now he owes me, he does.”
“What will you take for him?” the Highlander asked.
The woman stared down at the urchin. “He’s worth a good amount.”
The Highlander lurched forward, causing the soldiers and woman to retreat in haste and huddle closer together. While the urchin, having no intention of letting go of the intimidating Highlander’s leg, was dragged along with every step he took.
“Don’t think me a fool, madam,” the Highlander snarled. “He’s a skinny lad not fit for most chores. He isn’t worth a pittance.” And with that said, he tossed a meager trinket at her feet. “Take it and be satisfied.”
The one soldier was quick to pick it up and hand it to the woman. She took it and, with a snort and toss of her head, stomped away.
“We’re done here,” the Highlander said.
The urchin heard the tight anger in his tone, and as the soldiers turned and walked away, he grinned. That is until the Highlander’s large hand reached down, grabbed him by the back of his shirt, and lifted him clear off the ground to dangle in front of his face.
“Have you no sense, lad?”
A shiver ran through him. It wasn’t only the breadth and width of the Highlander that intimidated, but his features as well. His long, dark hair the color of the deep rich earth was swept back away from a face with defined features. Wrinkles ran across a wide brow and at the corners of his light blue eyes. He had a solid chin that no doubt could easily deflect a hefty fist, and a nose so finely shaped that it proved he had been the victor of many a fight, for it looked to have never been broken.
“Answer me,” the Highlander demanded, giving the lad a quick shake.
“I’m starvin’, I am,” the lad snapped.
The Highlander put him down, and fear crept over the lad. It was one thing to look the mighty warrior in the face, but standing beside him, the top of the lad’s head was level with the top of his chest.
This Highlander warrior was the tale of legends that his father had told him about. Suddenly, his hunger didn’t seem important, and he choked back tears. He had to find his father and set him free. His father had told him not to worry about him, to run and stay safe, but he was his da, and he loved him with all his heart. He had raised him alone since he was barely five years, his mother having passed in childbirth along with the babe. He was a good, loving father. He would never leave him to suffer the king’s torment. He would find him and set him free and then together they would go as they had planned to join those who supported the true king’s return.
“I’ll feed you,” the Highlander said, casting an anxious glance over the marketplace grounds. “We’ll get what we need and be gone. I don’t trust the soldiers. They’ll find more of their kind and be after us soon enough.”
The Highlander was right about that, and the lad had no problem with filling his belly and then taking off on his own. He had a mission to accomplish, and he intended to see it done.
“Don’t wander off,” the Highlander warned. “Stay close to me.”
The lad stuck to his side as the warrior made a hasty round of the market, slipping the lad a hunk of cheese he traded for. He ravished the piece in seconds and hungered for more, but didn’t ask. They would be done soon enough, and soon he’d be feasting, the Highlander having gathered more than enough food.
The lad had a feeling that the warrior was acquiring more than simply food. Whispers and mumbles were exchanged at most every place he stopped. Something was afoot, and the lad wondered if perhaps the Highlander was in some way connected with those warriors who fought to see the true king take the throne. A prophecy has been circulating for some time now about the true king, the king who possessed the inalienable right to the throne of Scotland. It was a prophecy his father had recounted many times to him until he could recite it by heart.
When summer touches winter, and the snow descends, the reign of the false king begins to end, four warriors ride together and then divide, among them the true king hides, when he meets death on his own, that is when he reclaims the throne.
