Prophecy Of Kings: Volume 1 ✔️

Chapter 16 - Trouble in Scone (Part 2)

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."