Page 4 of Highlander’s Forbidden Fruit

“Muskets are nae the same as bows and arrows,” Joseph protested. He was taller than Aleck, with a spatter of dark freckles all over his pale body. Though twenty-one, he was a simple man without the graces of his station. “Lockard should ken we will nae get any good at it if we do nae practice.”

“He’s a right bastard,” Royce agreed. “There are only a few muskets to go about, and he’s made sure only his favorites get to practice.” He eyed Aleck with a mixture of resentment and admiration. Immensely competitive, he and Aleck shared a complicated relationship. Aleck knew he could count on Royce in trouble, but on the practice yard, they were always being pitted against each other.

“Gunpowder’s expensive.” Aleck shrugged.

Joseph continued as if he hadn’t heard Royce’s quip. “If he makes me work the lance one more time, I swear to Jesus, I’ll—”

“Ye’ll do what, lad?”

The three men turned around to find Lockard, an old man with more scars on him than the dummy standing in the practice yard. He was Laird MacLeod’s Master at Arms and had been with him when they fought the Seven Years’ War. Lockard was as old as sin and just as cruel on the training ground.

The bannock lost its taste. Aleck swallowed quickly and got up. Lockard would have them do unnecessary exercises now, just to prove a point. Might as well get ready for it.

“Ye accuse me of playing favorites, Glackin.” Lockard jabbed a crooked finger in Royce’s chest. “That’s an accusation I do nae take lightly. So, I’ll give ye a chance to prove yerself, eh? Why don’t ye try yerself out against my best man?”

“Sir, I-” Royce glanced nervously at Aleck.

“Nae Bryce, boy.” Lockard snarled. “Colin! Fergus! Davis! Come show these mewling kittens what real fighters are like!”

Aleck stared down at the old man. He was frail now, but you could tell he had been a formidable opponent not so long ago.

Nodding to Joseph and Royce he led them to the middle of the muddy practice yard where Colin, Fergus, and Davis stood flexing their considerable muscles. They were a few years older than Aleck, Joseph, and Royce and battle-scarred.

Aleck knew he could hold his own, but he wasn’t so sure about Joseph who was reed-thin, and Royce who let his emotions guide his actions.

The crowd parted and formed a parameter around the six men. Some of the men began calling out their favorites. It was a break from their usual morning exercises, and the men were enjoying themselves at the expense of the three in trouble. Aleck even saw Simon, a runty little rascal, take bets on the side where Lockard couldn’t spy him. By the looks Simon gave them, Aleck and his friends weren’t the favorites to win.

“Are ye sure ye’ve naught any gypsy blood in yer family, Jo?” Aleck asked, eyeing up their opponents.

“Nae. Why’d ye say?”

“Ye were right on all counts. Mud, muck, and misery. We just have to make sure it’s not us will be the miserable ones.”

“Ye have a plan, Bryce?” Royce asked, turning his head to get the crick out of his neck.

“The beginnings of one.” Aleck bit his lip as he considered their options. “Royce, ye take on Davis. He’s taller but ye can unbalance him. Once he’s in the mud make sure he gets an eye full.”

“Compromise his vision.” Royce nodded. “Got it.”

“Jo, Colin’s yer man. He fell off a horse recently, and his left leg is still bruised and sore. Strike it. Hard and without mercy. If ye do nae, ye’ll be begging for his.”

Joseph swallowed but nodded so his hair wobbled into his eyes.

That left Fergus, the most menacing of the three. Aleck knew him well. He knew everyone in the yard well. They were his friends, his brothers. And so, he knew that Fergus was the best fighter among them. He was also brutal and wouldn’t take it easy just because they were all loyal to Laird MacLeod.

“Are ye waiting for your mothers to clean yer dirty nappies?” Lockard snarled. “Get on with it.”

Aleck licked his lips and nodded to Fergus, acknowledging him as his opponent. The other two paired off with their opponents.

“Fergus,” Aleck greeted, as he walked closer to the hulking man.

“Aleck.” Fergus nodded back.

The two lunged at each other. Aleck managed to avoid the first few blows but the third hit him square across the jaw. A cheer went up in the crowd.

Laughing at Fergus as he rubbed his stinging cheek, Aleck feinted this way then that, making Fergus dance on his feet.

Fergus threw punches that hit the air while Aleck danced around him like a fly buzzing about a cow’s head. Fergus did look like a dull ox grazing in the pasture with his wide-set eyes, and a large forehead. This wasn’t how Fergus usually fought. A big man, he was used to pummeling his opponent into the ground. But Aleck wouldn’t let him land a punch.