Hairy hooves pounded the ground relentlessly. Rupert had been galloping for hours with his two stow-aways in tow; eventually stopping as the suffocating trees parted ways like watchmen at the arrival of an expected guest. Firmin felt like it had been days since he had felt the freedom of the sharp Scottish wind against his face, inhaling deeply as he looked downwards to the bustling town ahead: Scone.

"Ye better get changed out oh' that armour pal, disnae seem like you want to be spotted?" said Ru, glancing backwards.

Firmin nodded, taking in the town properly for the first time. He had only seen the smoke billowing from the many chimneys, and the faint flicker of firelight through ajar windows when he had skirted the town in twilight a few days prior. The thatched roofs ranged from faded blonde to murky brown; clearly some had been replaced more recently than others. Through the gaps in the criss-cross of stone houses he could see the crowds gathered in the square; an amalgamation of clansmen and animals big and small. Firmin knew that Scone held great significance for the Scottish people. Every Alba King had been crowned outside the Abbey on the outskirts of the town, perched on the Stone of Destiny "clach-na-cinneamhain" for all to see.

He first learned of the stone when he was a boy. He remembered peering through the cheering crowd as the captured stone was ceremoniously transported to Westminister Abbey; with the head of the Scottish King resting upon it. That was after King Edwards death, he recalled. How the years have escaped me.

Athelstan 's first Royal decree forbid Scotland from having a King after his father's assassination, abruptly imposing his will on the once independent nation. The new King of England would not repeat the mistakes of his father before him. The Scottish people were not to be trusted. Firmin was only a child when the Alba folk were rounded up and hanged in the streets. Devils they told us. A nation responsible for the death of King Edward. Now I look back... were we the devils? He stared at the steeple of the Abbey in the distance, deep in thought. The spire jutted out into the clear sky like a broad sword moments from being dropped on an unwilling neck. We laughed with delight as we watched innocent people hang... but why did they have to be killed? I see now it was nothing but the wrath of an unrighteous King. Not the will of God.

"Oi... did ye hear me? Ye better nae be dreaming of that lassie again?"

"Huh? Apologies Rupert, yes, my armour," said Firmin, cupping the back of his neck with his hand. "You eh, you don't have anything to change into, do you?"

"Aye have a look in the top left hand side," he replied whilst snorting.

Firmin peeled back the crop to reveal an orange and green pleated blanket. "This?" He held it up to Rupert with a blank look on his face.

"The exact een! My mither always telt me to never hit the road withoot a spare plaid."

"And exactly how do I?" Firmin huffed before stripping down to his under-garments.

From the corner of his eye, he could see the reindeers expression change. Probably my scars, he thought unashamedly. Every time Firmin caught a glance of the three large slashes on his chest, he was reminded of how fickle his life was.

"Should have killed me," he said whilst tracing the scars with his fingers. "White-tailed eagle, came out of nowhere. Tore clean through my breastplate."

"Aye, that would be the Bruces," replied Rupert. "Dinnae want to mess with that lot." Firmin could see the reindeer shuddering at the mere thought.

"What about the one on yer shoulder?" Ru gestured with his furry nose towards the freshly healed wound which still flared an anrgry pinkish tone.

Firmin cusped his shoulder. "Still hurts if I'm being honest." He rubbed it slowly as though trying to reassure himself it was fine. "Had a run in with a druid recently. Can't say I want to meet one of those lads again!"

"Hohoho, indeed. Weird lot those ones."

The cloth unravlled as Firmin held it, his confusion as clear as the ealry afternoon sky. "Wrap it roon, right side first. Then left." He fumbled with the large woolen kilt as he tried to follow Ru's instructions. "Aye that's right lad, and keep it about the length of yer knee." Firmin looked up at the reindeer with a child-like innocence, as if to say, have I done it?

"Now. Take the belt and tie it roon yi." Firmin grabbed the thick leather strap from the wagon and fastened it round his toned waist, pulling it tightly to the last belt hole.

"All ye need to do now is tuck the rest intae yer back and sling it over yer shoulder. There should be a pin tae hold it all together."

"And what do I do with my underwear? I've heard that you Alba folk...?"

"Hohoho, I'd keep a hold of them for now! Only a true Scotsman can pull that off I'm afraid. Saves time when you've bedded a lassie!"

Firmin squinted, unsure whether Rupert was being serious or not. He picked up the final piece and fastened it over his chest, "there, how do I look?"

"Well, I've seen a man wi fifteen whiskeys in his belly put a kilt on better. But aye... maybe that's the look yer going for?" A wide grin consumed his hairy face. "Hoho I jest, Knight. Nae a bad attempt for your first try."

Firmin's eyes were drawn to the Clan crest on the pin. A Lynx? Holding a shield?

"I see ye noticed my family crest. The Chief designed it after the Donnaichaids stepped in tae save the Stewarts of Atholl taking our land. In fact, was it nae Duncan's celebration last nig..."

The reindeer sank to the ground, writhing in the dirt; hooves made way for hands, and antlers retreated deep within his skull. He abruptly stood to his feet. Dark eyes pierced Firmin's gaze.

"Where did ye say ye were last night?" he said, grabbing the Knight's shoulders. "And who's child is that?"

Rupert looked up, beyond Firmin and into the woods. His ears twitched as they picked up the faintest of sounds. "Riders... quickly." He gestured to Firmin to grab the other end of the cart.
Firmin pulled the excess material from the plaid over his head, as the pair hurried into Scone.

"I know of a place. Fiadh will help us," gasped Ru, seemingly panicked. "But ye will answer my questions when we get there Knight!"

They ran side by side, guided by Rupert, until they reached the archway of Scone. They slowed to a walk as they passed through it, blending in with the busy throng. "This way," said Ru lowly, pulling the cart down a back alley. Firmin glanced backwards as they disappeared into the close; the Kerr wolves stood at the parting in the trees overlooking the town.

"They've... found me," said Firmin struggling to force the words out of his mouth. He felt as though the stone walls were closing in on him, towering above him like the overbearing trees of Rannoch woods.
"Here we are, quickly!" said Rupert, opening a small wooden shed that was attached to the side of one of the stone buildings. They pulled the cart in and closed the door behind them.

Rupert was on his knees searching for something, had he lost something? It was dark, but Firmin could make out the long sweeping motions of the highlander. He reached for baby Finn, who startled at Firmin's touch. "You've been a good lad," he whispered. ""We'll get you fed soon, I promise."

"Aha, got ye." A metallic clatter accompanied Ru's voice, followed by the creaking of wood. "In ye get."

At Rupert's mercy, Firmin felt around for the entrance to the hatch and lowered himself down with Finn in hand. Somehow it was even darker than before. He heard the same wooden creak moments later and a stiff hand pressed against his back. "Keep moving," Ru whispered.

As he felt his way through the dark tunnel, a strange combination of powerful aromas hit his nose. Tobacco? Whiskey? And... Jasmine? Firmin recognised the scents well from the lavish parties he attended in the King's honour. Where are we?

The tunnel came to an abrupt end and Firmin felt a hand tilt his chin upwards. A faint flickering outline made itself apparent on the floor above him. He felt around, finding a small ladder to climb, pressing the back of his head against the wooden hatch to move it.

They emerged into a candle-lit bedroom, replacing the hatch and carpet that obscured it. It was a simple room, with only a bed and a small dresser by its side. Strange. It looked as though no one lived there, with no personal belongings to speak of, and only a minimal amount of furniture. What sort of place is this?

The door suddenly burst open "Rupert... and guest!" the voice exclaimed "What are you doing in my establishment? And what is wrong with the front door?"

"Madam Fiadh, appologies fer the intrusion but we're in desperate need of food and a room for the night... and a perky breast for the wee lad!"

She slapped Rupert across his face. "That was for the trouble you caused me last time." A swift back-hand cracked his other cheek. "And that is for your dirty mouth!"

"I widnae have come if it wasnae deaths doors, Fee! Please."

Madam Fiadh crossed her arms, and turned her face away from the pair, "I assure you, this will be the last... Upstairs, on your right. We will bring you something to eat." She reached for Finn, "Give me the little one, he looks like he's not had a proper feed in a while."

Firmin grasped tightly onto Finn, unwilling to give him up.

"Do not worry, Una has just given birth to one about the same age as this lad. She'll look after him."
A horn bellowed out in the distance. Madam Fiadh peered out through the thick decorative curtain into the street. Nothing.

Firmin recognised the call to arms of the imperial army. He grabbed for the woolen kilt wrapped around his shoulder, swearing it had suddenly tightened its grip on him. He followed Rupert up the stairs as he watched Finn disappear into one of the downstairs rooms. A scantily clad woman draped in purple silk caught his eye, winking at him seductively as she slowly wiped the brim of a dirty chalice. A few other women wondered topless through the sea of intoxicated men; lustful fingers lingered on shoulders and chins as they passed by, hoping to earn their wage for the day.

Rupert held the door open for Firmin, closing it firmly behind him. The questions he had asked Firmin earlier were clearly at the forefront of his mind, as not a moment had passed before he asked once more, "What were you doing in that woods... and who's child have you taken with you? Answer me!"

"Rupert... I... I can explain."