The Scottish Highlands, 1280s
Loki bolted up in his bed, panting.
His wife Arabella, heavy with their second child, whispered, “What is it?”
“Naught. I thought I heard something. ‘Tis naught. Go back to sleep, Bella.” Not one to lie often, he hid his face when he told this bold falsehood. Then he leaned over and planted a kiss on her forehead.
She rolled over and sighed, closing her eyes.
He breathed a sigh of relief, not wanting to worry her with the truth. He’d been bothered by haunting dreams ever since they’d discovered she was carrying again. The source of the dreams was a mystery to him. He’d never been happier. He adored their wee son, Lucas, and their adopted son, Kenzie, and the work he’d poured into building his clan was greatly satisfying.
And yet the dream kept coming. At first it had only troubled him once every moon, but now that Bella’s time drew near, it awoke him at least once a sennight, maybe more.
The last one had only been two days ago.
Each time he had the dream, a little more was revealed.
It always started the same way. An old man wearing a brat of thick furs, his hood covering most of his face, would try to speak to him. Something about this stranger terrified him, and he would feel compelled to put as much distance between them as possible. In the past, he’d never actually heard the old man speak.
This time was different.
“Why are you called Loki, lad?”
Och, he hated that question. It brought back all his old fears about not belonging. Loki was not a Gaelic name, yet his birth mother had been Gaelic, and so was his adoptive family, the Grants.
Loki had been abandoned, left to die, in the middle of the forest when he was less than six summers. For the longest time, he’d had no memory of his life before beyond that he was called Loki and had no parents. He’d lived in a crate behind an inn in Ayr.
Years later, he’d encountered Brodie Grant, which he still considered the most fortunate thing to ever happen to him. After they fought together in the Battle of Largs, the man had adopted him and welcomed him into Clan Grant.
Loki had worked hard for his new clan, so much so he’d been awarded and made laird of his own castle. Alexander Grant was still his chieftain and his warriors fought for Clan Grant, but he worked his own land, something rare in the Highlands. Though the land was not as fertile as Grant land, they grew much of their own food and had a good herd of sheep that expanded every year and a loch full of fish. He’d named it Castle Curanta, meaning brave and heroic, and he did aught he could to continue making the Grants proud.
Still, the past haunted him. Over the years he’d learned the truth about his parentage. His mother’s husband, the cruel bastard Edward Blackett, was not his sire. Nor was Blackett the sire of the babe Loki’s mother had died delivering. Loki and his sister, Heather, now the wife of Torrian Ramsay, were the product of a loving relationship between their mother and another man, a priest. Only they’d been torn away from their true sire after their mother’s death.
The name Loki? He still had no idea why or when he’d been given it.
His mother had christened him Lucas.
Shaking the thoughts away, Loki climbed out of bed, grabbed a plaid to wrap around his waist, and headed down the stairs to the great hall. True, it was small in comparison to the Grant’s, but it was their own, and Bella had worked hard to make it warm and cozy. He grabbed a goblet of mead and sat in one of the chairs in front of the hearth, the fire now nothing but hot embers.
What time was it? He had no idea.
After his second swig, he heard a noise from the lads’ chamber. He tipped his head toward the staircase, listening to see which of the lads had awakened. Kenzie, almost nine summers, came flying across the balcony and down the staircase.
“Papa, Papa…”
Loki stood up to greet his son, the lad who he’d found living on the streets of Ayr just as he had so many years ago. “What is it, Kenzie?”
“Papa, I keep having the same dream. I do not like it. How do I make it stop?”
A chill ran up his spine, causing a tingling in his neck he did not like. “Sit down, lad. Tell me about it.”
Kenzie fell into the chair next to him, landing on the soft cushion Bella had made and grabbing the fur tossed over the back of the chair.
Loki measured the fear in the lad’s gaze, watching to see if it grew or if it banked like the fire had. “Lad, it seems so real, aye?” he whispered, hoping his voice would calm the boy.
Kenzie rubbed the sleep from his eyes. “A big man. ‘Tis a large man every time. He’s all covered in furs, and he asks me questions.”
“What does he say?” He wasn’t sure he wished to hear the lad’s answer, because the similarities were already unnerving.
“One time he said, ‘Where’s my Loki?’ Another time he asked me why my papa was named Loki. His questions made me think of my true papa. I’d love him, too, if he were still alive. Can I not love both my papas? Do you think ‘tis why the man with the furs is after me?” He hopped out of his chair and stood directly in front of Loki, his eyes wide and misting.
“Nay, I do not think he is after you.”
“But I can love two papas, can I not? Does it bother you that I still love my first papa?”
“Nay, it does not bother me. I’m pleased you love two papas. I love four if the truth be known.” He grinned at Kenzie, hoping to pull the lad’s fear from him by distracting him with a puzzle. He was easy to distract at the tender age of nine summers.
“Four? You love four papas?”
“Can you not guess who I mean?” He leaned back in his chair, giving the lad a chance to think it through. Kenzie was certainly bright enough to figure out the answer.
“Your true papa, the priest, and Grandsire Brodie, your adopted sire. Hmmm…”
Loki smiled, watching his son’s expression change as the thoughts bounced around in his head.
“I know. Uncle Alex.”
“Aye, ‘tis the third. And the fourth?”
His chest plumped out in satisfaction, but it fell back down as soon as he remembered he had to come up with one more.
“Uncle Robbie?”
“Aye. They all treated me like their son when I arrived here. I’m blessed beyond words.”
“I am, too, Papa.” He threw his arms around Loki’s neck.
“I’ll tell you a secret.”
Kenzie propelled himself away from Loki’s chest. “A secret? Do tell.”
“I’ve had my own dreams about the man in the furs.”
“You have? Does he scare you, too?”
How to lie about this one… He was more frightened than ever now that he knew they were having similar dreams, but the truth would alarm his son. He settled on a half-truth.
“The man in the furs scares me when it’s dark, but as soon as daylight arrives, he vanishes. Think on that, and he’ll not be able to scare you again.”
“I’ll try, Papa. I hope it works. But who is the man in the furs?”
That was the strangest thing of all. Loki had no idea.