Page 71 of Highlander’s Forbidden Fruit

“Why?” John asked.

Aleck’s smile was small, and brief. “All men are nae created equal.”

“That’s unfair, but not unusual. Many people marry for circumstance and means than for love.”

“Yer one of the lucky few then,” Aleck commented.

John only smiled.

“Congratulations on the betrothal,” Aleck managed to say through the strain in his throat. “I do nae believe I paid ye my well wishes. I wish ye both a long and happy marriage.”

“Thank you.”

“I’d be careful dispensing congratulations just yet.”

Aleck got on his feet, the sword swinging up into action. Five men entered the clearing, their footsteps as silent as the grave. Vano was among them, his rakish smile wolfish in the firelight. He had a flintlock in his hand while the others carried daggers, and swords.

John stood slowly. His sword was a few feet away from him. Seven men stood in the clearing, one unarmed. Tension ran through the clearing as all seven men sized each other up.

How Vano had snuck up on them Aleck did not know. He had been careful, keeping to the roads, looking back often enough, but he must have dropped his guard for Vano and his men to take them unawares.

“What do ye want, Vano?” Aleck asked, his voice calm. No point in panicking and making the situation worse for them.

“I want his head,” Vano sneered, pointing his musket at John. There was a manic glint in his eye.

“Why?”

“I promised you I’d take my revenge, didn’t I?” Vano growled. “You laid waste to my best laid plans. Did you think we’d turn our other cheek for you to slap us some more? Lady Evanna cost me a wife, and my tribe a permanent place to stay; now she will lose what’s precious to her.”

“Yer tribe didnae have to leave,” Aleck reasoned, mostly with the men that accompanied him. “The Laird is nae an unfair man. Yer tribe is still welcome in Glenlivet. Ye, Vano, are nae.”

The men with Vano exchanged looks. Aleck had been right! They had been brought on this mission on false pretense. But that no longer mattered. Gypsy tribes were just as intensely loyal as any Scottish clan. No matter what differences existed between two men from the same clan, they would unite as one against any outside enemy.

They were still armed and dangerous and could not be dismissed as a threat.

“A promise is a promise.” Vano shrugged. “And I always keep my word.”

He advanced on John, flintlock raised. There was no time to stop him. He was moving too fast, and Aleck was too far away to physically stop him. With no thought of his own safety, Aleck did what he had been taught to do since infancy - he jumped in front of John.

The shot boomed like thunder in the night.

Aleck dropped to the ground, his sword wrenched from his hand. The strength of the impact reverberated along his arm.

Blood bloomed on his shirt where hot shrapnel had pierced the cloth and skin underneath, but luckily, the majority of the impact had been sustained by his sword.

Vano was breathing heavily, his nostrils flared. He looked like a man possessed by demons. The flintlock was held so tightly in his hands it shook. Tendrils of smoke wafted up from its muzzle.

In the moment or two of stunned silence, John had managed to get to his sword. With a rallying cry he charged at Vano, who yelled and pulled out his own short sword. Metal clanged with metal, and the night came alive to the music of battle.

There was no time to check the seriousness of his wounds. Aleck grabbed the sword in his throbbing hand and joined the fray.

John was doing a masterful job and tackling two men at a time. Aleck focused on the rest. They were swarthy and lean, and quick to attack, but they lacked the skill and strength of Aleck, a trained soldier. It was an unfair match. Aleck made sure not to inflict serious injuries. A cut here, a bruise there, and the men were backing off the attack.

John was doing just as well, if not better. There was a joyous smile on his face as he parried blows and swung his sword pressing an attack. Aleck watched him, marveling at the smooth movement of the man’s limbs. At one point, Vano roared like an animal, frustrated by his inability to lay any mark on John.

First one man, then another ran back into the woods.

“This is nae yer fight, lad,” he said to the last remaining opponent, a young boy of no more than eighteen. “Dinnae die for the likes of Vano.”