"Terry McConnel - Highlander - Scimitar" - читать интересную книгу автора (McConnel Terry)

barbarians of your homeland!"

MacLeod glared at him, resenting the distraction.

livious, Gioninno grabbed him by the arm and pulled him away from the
bulkhead, back toward the rail. The deck rose and fell under Duncan's
feet, apd he c-rijmbled, clinging to a handy line. Gioninno paid no
heed. "Tell me again. I thought the Stuart was a Scot?"

"Aye. Or so he claims." The Immortal attempted to rise from the deck
and moaned to himself as his stomach tried to turn inside out.

"So you Scots conquered the barbaric English after all. It is most
romantic." Gioninno nodded with great satisfaction. "A pity, though,
that it could not have been in glorious battle. It is much better o win
in battle, is it not?"

"Oh, aye." MacLeod's head was throbbing, too. Perhaps it was the
plague. Unfortunately, he couldn't die permanently of the plague,
either, or so he had been taught. He wondered if he could rig up a
blade to fall upon him and end this misery "The roar of battle! The
clash of arms! The music of the trumpets!" Gioninno waxed ecstatic,
carried away by his own visions.

MacLeod, whose memories of battle ran more to the smell of blood and
ordure and the screams of dying men, only shook his head. Glory, yes,
there was always glory to be won by a strong sword arm, and wealth; he
could sympathize with the boy's excitement. At the moment, however, he
was losing his battle with the sea once more, and he felt anything but
glorious. Launching himself for the deck rail, he draped himself over
it just in time.

Gioninno followed, gamboling at MacLeod's heels like a half-grown puppy.
"Leave him be, boy," Alfonso advised from his place near the mast. "Have
some mercy, after all."

"Oh, Signor MacLeod is only suffering from a most minor upset," Gioninno
responded, waving off the suggestion. "Look, the fishing ships are
moving off- Look! It's a xebec! A Turkish ship!"

"Holy Mother of God, boy-" Alfonso said wearily. "I thought you tired
of that yesterday."

But Gioninno was climbing onto the railing in his excitement, and
MacLeod peered up, blinking to clear his vision. On the near horizon he
saw a low-hulled, single-masted ship. It was coming directly for them.

He straightened to see better, the nausea receding somewhat.

From the rigging came a sudden shout, as the watchman belatedly caught