Prologue
Argyle
“Gyle! Over here! Tis getting away!” the boy hollered and pointed excitedly to a frog. “Make haste!” he hissed, and then sprinted in front of the critter to hopefully block it from leaping into the tall grass.
Another boy, small and meek, waddled over to the voice that shouted at him. It was hardly conceivable that the two lads were a mere age a part, considering young Argyle, although a bit plump, he never stood much past his shoulders in the seven years they have known each other when the pair met about five.
Argyle pointed too, at the frog, which remained stationary – for now. “Alex, we hae nothin’ tae catch it,” he replied casually.
Alex briefly glanced up at the sky, wiped the sweat from his brow and then he crouched ever slowly, arms extended outwards and fingers curled; he was alert to the slightest movement if the animal decided to make a mad dash for freedom.
“Boot, Alex…”
“Shh…,” he cooed to his friend. “Ye scare it.”
“Ye shod hae nae left yur shirt on tha hill.”
“Shh!” Alex shouted angrily in a whisper.
He rolled his eyes in response and let Alex have his way. It was not so much that he knew Alex was as stubborn as an Ass, but more to the fact, the frog was sitting. Defenseless.
“Give me your kilt,” Alex said softly to the frog.
Argyle reacted by overlapping his left hand on top of the other and placing them in front of his crotch.
After a few seconds, Alex glanced up at his friend and immediately smirked. He could not resist, as the expression was just too delicious to ignore.
“Gyle,” Alex laughed, “ye blushing.” Then, he winked.
The grass suddenly rustled and crinkled. Alex snapped his attention back to the animal but it had already leapt away, safe and concealed in the field. He released a sigh but shrugged shortly after and pulled himself to his feet.
“Another time, perhaps.”
Argyle nodded and released a sigh of relief. He kept his hands in the same position in front of his kilt.
“Let us head back to the commons, Gyle.”
“Ye aw’ways sund sae propa.”
“It is my way,” Alex winked and then grinned. He cocked his head. “Are ye coming with me or not?”
“Da aw hae a choice?”
“No!” And with that final word, Alex snatched Argyle’s bonnet and sprinted off into the distance and then turned around and waved the hat to and fro in the air.
“Gav me bleedin’ bonnet ‘ack!”
Alex responded to the threat by placing the object on the top of his head. Deciding so, he reached up and repositioned the brim, allowing it to droop a bit, which covered his left brow.
“I quite like how it fits,” Alex smirked.
From his leather sheath, he pulled out a small knife, no longer than six inches. Carved into each side of the handle are thistles. He raised the blade up at about eye level and glared.
“Oh, my!” Alex said in a dramatic tone and put each palm on either side of his cheeks. His mouth formed an, O. “Do my eyes deceive me? Is young Argyle threatening me?”
“Ye ken Ah can’noot oot rawn ye. Pa-eez. Gav. Me. Bonnet. ‘Ack.”
“But it fits so well on my head,” Alex teased. He then turned around so now his back was facing his friend.
“Alex… Pa-eez,” he pleaded gently to him. “Me bonnet pree’ecks me frae tha sa’on beatin’ upon me sca’ap.”
Not a word.
“Pa-eez?” he asked once more and lowered his knife.
No answer.
“Ah wull come after ye, Ah wull! Wi’ me clan’s Sgian Dubh!” Argyle shouted when he realized he was to be ignored.
“Come and take it,” came the muffled voice of Alex. His tone was casual. There was not one trace of alarm in it.
He held the handle firmly in his right hand and then, Argyle charged! Alex, whose back was still turned, had no notion that his long-time friend was running towards him. Argyle’s squat legs pumped him as quickly as they allowed across the field. In his mind, he would never hurt anyone, at least not intentionally. He hoped though, with his knife, perhaps he could scare Alex. Oh, what great fun would that be, to see him hop higher than that frog!
Argyle tilted his head sideways a bit to conceal the faint smile that formed on his lips at the thought. He knew it was impossible for Alex to see his grin but in the event if he should turn about face, Argyle would rather that he witnessed his frustration – not amusement.
Screeching. Pained yelps. Screaming for help.
Alex responded immediately. Such cries can only be exemplified by true pain; the type where the magnitude is so acute, one never forgets. The very cause of the injury becomes a part of the person, figuratively and most certainly – literally.
He, being taller and built like a broom handle, Alex sprinted to Argyle’s hysterics and reached his collapsed body in a matter of moments. He dropped to the ground and gasped. The bonnet fell to the ground.
“Does it… hurt, Gyle?” Alex squeaked.
