Page 35 of Treachery in the Highlands
Kieran chuckles in the evilest way."No, laddie, I have other plans for you today."
Nope, that doesn't sound ominous at all.
Big Daddy halts right in front of me, keeping his hand on the hilt of his claymore."Before I let ye spend more time with my daughter, I need to find out what yer made of,macan.That means a test, and it willnae be easy.Rachel is my only child, after all.I think ye ken what I mean."
"Yes, sir, I do.May I ask what sort of test it will be?"
Kieran grins with feral glee."The physical sort, naturally.Can ye handle that, Mr.Finnegan?"
I remember the bartender back in modern times called memacantoo."I hate to keep asking these questions, but what doesmacanmean?"
"The term describes a young laddie."
"Okay, thanks."
I get that he needs to test me in the worst ways to make sure I can protect Rachel, and that I won't hurt her for fun.Still, it feels like he's going overboard with these physical tests.But I will endure every torture he puts me through.Why?Because Rachel is amazing.
"Prepare yourself, laddie," Kieran growls, his burly frame looming over me."Let's see how ye handle yerself in a real fight."
Suddenly, I feel like a trout that's been caught on a fishing line.But he won't scare me away."Listen, big guy, I appreciate the whole protective father routine, but don't you think we could settle this over a nice cup of tea instead?Or maybe a bottle of whisky?"
Kieran's eyes narrow dangerously."Ye think this is a game, do ye?"
"No, sir, I don't."
"Good.Remain here."
Before I can ask why, Kieran jogs over to the bakehouse and disappears behind the building.A minute or two later, he emerges.But now, he's carrying a big log over one shoulder.
He drops it on the ground at my feet."Pick up the caber and toss it clear across the courtyard."
"What?Are you serious?"
"Aye.Deadly serious."
I stare at the massive log lying on the ground, wondering if Kieran's lost his mind.The thing must weigh at least a hundred and seventy-five pounds.I've seen strongman competitions on TV, but I never imagined I'd be expected to hurl a telephone pole myself.
"You're joking, right?"I ask, hoping against hope that this is all some elaborate Scottish prank.I know he wants to test me, but still...
Kieran's face remains impassive."Does it look like I'm joking,macan?Mayhap you're afraid to try.No harm in admitting defeat."
I sigh, resigning myself to my fate.Then I roll my shoulders back and lift my chin."Okay, laird.I'll give it a shot.But if I throw out my back, you're paying for my chiropractor."
"Your what?"
"Never mind.It's a twenty-first century thing."
Approaching the caber, I wrap my arms around it, trying to find the best grip.With a grunt that would make a wild boar proud, I heave the log onto my shoulder, teetering precariously as I struggle to balance its immense weight.My legs quiver, threatening to buckle under the strain.Sweat beads on my forehead, and I'm pretty sure I've pulled at least three muscles I didn't even know I had.
"Any day now, laddie," Kieran taunts, his arms crossed over his broad chest.
I take a deep breath, summoning every ounce of strength I possess.With a primal yell that probably sounds more like a strangled cat, I charge forward, my steps unsteady under the caber's bulk.At the last moment, I heave upward with all my might, flipping the log end over end.
Time seems to slow as the caber arcs through the air.I hold my breath, silently praying to any Scottish deity who might be listening.By some miracle---or sheer dumb luck---the caber lands with a resounding thud, perfectly upright, before toppling forward.I stand here, panting and wide-eyed, hardly believing what just happened.
Kieran's eyebrows shoot up, a flicker of surprise crossing his stoic features."Well, I'll be damned," he mutters, stroking his beard thoughtfully."Ye might have some potential after all, lad."
I try to suppress my grin, not wanting to appear too smug."Thanks, I think.So, does this mean we're done with the medieval weight-lifting routine?"
