Page 72 of Highlander’s Forbidden Fruit

The boy considered, crouched forward, his eyes darting to Vano and then to Aleck’s practiced sword glistening with tendrils of blood from his companions. He stood up straight, nodded at Aleck, and fled to join his tribesmen.

Vano was alone. This enraged him more, and he became reckless with his blows. Aleck and John circled around him, swords at the ready. Vano looked like a cornered animal, his face pale and bathed in sweat. Aleck left enough room for the fool of a man to escape. It would be best if the night did not end in bloodshed.

But Vano would not see reason. Eyes dancing with madness, he cried one last time and charged towards John. John was ready. His sword pierced Vano, but the man kept going till he was nearly hugging John.

Aleck watched John smile down at the dying man, and Vano smile back. Something about the evil cast to Vano’s grin unsettled Aleck. A moment later Vano began to laugh, the high deranged crackle piercing the night sky.

John’s smile soured into a grimace. He let go of his sword, and Vano fell to the ground, still laughing as death came for him, freezing his lips into a perverted leer.

Reckless, and unnecessary. That was all Aleck could think of Vano’s death.

“What a shame,” he said, bending down to close Vano’s vacant eyes.

“Indeed,” John laughed, but there was no mirth in it.

Aleck looked back to see John standing in the clearing, the firelight casting a halo around him, Vano’s dagger planted in his abdomen.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

The dagger rested in the coals. Aleck placed another log on the dying fire. It perturbed him that John Winchester was dying too.

He had hoped the wound was small when he had first seen John’s injury, but once John’s shirt was stripped away, he saw Vano’s treachery. The villain hadn’t been satisfied with a single wound. He had plunged the blade in and then sliced up like a butcher gutting a hog. The wound was deep, and John was bleeding profusely.

“Drink this.” Aleck raised John’s head up and poured a generous measure of whisky down his throat. “This will hurt.”

“More than it already does?” John asked, his laughter becoming coughs of pain.

“Try nae to speak, eh?”

Aleck removed the dagger from the coals. It glowed bright red in the dark, like the devil’s eye. Aleck lifted John’s shirt and saw the ruin of the wound. It wasn’t a straight cut, the flesh zigzagged as if an angry child had taken a pair of scissors and cut away willy-nilly. Poor John would have to take the pain more than once.

To give John his due, he did not yell when the hot metal sealed his wounds. He went as white as a sheet, and his hands clutched at the earth, but he did not utter a word. It was only after a few seconds that Aleck realized John had fainted.

Aleck was grateful the bleeding had been staunched. A few gaps still remained in the jagged wound, but it was enough to last them till they made it back to Glenlivet.

There was no other option. It was closer than London, and if they rode hard enough, they could find the help they needed. Aleck packed up the camp and watered the horses to prepare them for their journey. They would leave as soon as John regained consciousness.

All the hate and bitterness he had had for John Winchester had dissipated to a mild dislike and begrudging admiration even before Vano had shown up in the clearing. Now, John Winchester had his respect.

Aleck left the sleeping John and turned himself to another pressing task. Vano must be buried, in a shallow snow sodden grave, but a grave, nonetheless. Rather than dig the frozen ground, Aleck found a hollow near a tree’s roots and shifted the snow enough to bury Vano. Once that was done, he placed Vano’s hat on a tree branch. If his tribesmen came back looking for him, he would be easy to find.

Hands raw from cold and exertion Aleck took a moment to catch his breath. John was pale but still breathing. That gave him comfort. He did not want to think what would happen if John died.

John grunted, and his eyes flew open. The bright blue was washed out, as if the blood had drained out the color of his eyes as well. His blonde hair was as white as the snow around them. John had aged in the span of an hour.

“Malti?” John croaked. His eyes darted around him, looking for someone.

“It’s all right, John.” Aleck went to sit beside him. “I’m here.”

John’s breathing was ragged. His eyes filled with tears, and he nodded.

“We should get back to Glenlivet. It’s the closest, and ye’ll find help there.”

“I’m never going back to Glenlivet.”

“I’d take ye to London if ye were well enough, but yer too injured to make that journey.”

“I’ll never go to London either.” John smiled. “You're a smart man, Aleck. You must know I’m going to die here.”