“Where have you been, Egan?” Clyde asked. “Get control of him. Find your dagger. ‘Tis the only way he’ll talk.”
Egan reached into his hidden belt, but he came out with naught besides a puzzled expression. “Clyde? Where’s my…”
“That could be a problem,” Loki announced, both hands on his hips.
Clyde smirked, “And why is that?”
Loki winked at him as Egan reached into his boot for another weapon. “Seems I have Egan’s weapons.” Loki flung one dagger straight into Clyde’s thigh, then pulled out a second dagger and twisted Egan around until he had the dagger pressed to the man’s throat.
As soon as the dagger was embedded in Clyde’s thigh, Torrian swung the man around and pointed his dagger at his throat, though the stronger warrior was a little harder to restrain than Egan had been.
Loki said, “Not bad, cousin. Nice job, especially with one his size. I didn’t know you had those kinds of moves.” Clyde only growled in response.
Torrian said, “He is my uncle, you’ll remember, and he has taught me a few things. How’d you get his weapons?”
Loki laughed. “Didn’t trust the fellow, so I knocked him down in the passageway and stole his weapons.”
Torrian grinned. “Nice strategy. I have much to learn.”
Squeezing the dagger against Egan’s throat, Loki said, “Now, would you mind telling us what you know about the missing jewels and why you’re after us?”
Neither Egan nor Clyde responded. Loki squeezed again.
“All right, I’ll tell,” Egan spewed. “And this has naught to do with the missing jewels.”
“You wee fool! Blackett will whip you.”
“I do not care, Clyde. I’ve had enough. We have naught to do with the jewels. We’ve been hired by another to follow you both.”
Loki squeezed again.
“Nay! I’ll talk…”
Loki gave him a moment to catch his breath before squeezing again.
“Are you not Loki Grant of the Highlands?”
“Who wants to know?” Loki ground out.
“Your father,” Egan spit out. “The Earl of Cliffnock is your sire.”
Chapter Sixteen
Loki finally remembers…
Loki jerked up in his pallet, panting. His gaze searched the room, but there was nothing amiss. The rest of the guards were sleeping. Finally, the memories settled in. He had been dreaming…again…another horrific dream of his childhood. He rubbed his face to try to erase the awful sensations coursing through his body, but they did not fade so easily.
After grabbing his plaid, his sword, and his boots, he headed outside. He paced in circles under the starless night and then made his way over to the loch. Standing there, he stared down at the glassy surface as if something could rise out of the cold water and tell him he had imagined every bit of it.
But it didn’t happen. This was the third night in a row that memories of his life as a wee one had kept him awake. One night he had dreamed of his mother, another night about his father. But this night’s dream had been the worst…
Hamish. He’d dreamed of Hamish. He sat down on a cold rock and relived all that he’d just experienced. There was no choice but to suffer through it again, for he believed it was all true.
This dream had been different from the others. While the dreams of his mother had been fleeting images and thoughts, sometimes just a smell, the nightmare of Hamish had been as detailed as if he had lived it.
He was quite sure he had. He’d just discovered why he could not recall how he had made it to Ayr.
The nightmare began in a small hut. The cottage had two rooms in it, and he was alone in one with Hamish. He could hear his father yelling at his fair-haired mother, but the only thing he recalled about his mother was that she was sobbing and saying “Please, Edward” over and over again.
