"This is the spot in back—either side. See, wi' all the ribs and such, 'tis verra difficult to hit anythin' vital when ye stab in the back. If ye can slip the knife between the ribs, that's one thing, but that's harder to do than ye might think. But here, under the last rib, ye stab upward into the kidney. Get him straight up, and he'll drop like a stone."
Rupert then set me to try stabbing in various positions and postures. As he grew winded, all the men took it in turns to act as victim, obviously finding my efforts hilarious. They obligingly lay on the grass or turned their backs so I could ambush them, or leapt at me from behind, or pretended to choke me so I could try to stab them in the belly.
The spectators urged me on with cries of encouragement, and Rupert instructed me firmly not to pull back at the last moment.
"Thrust as though ye meant it, lass," he said. "Ye canna pull back if it's in earnest. And if any o' these laggards canna get themselves out of the way in time, they deserve what they get."
I was timid and extremely clumsy at first, but Rupert was a good teacher, very patient and good about demonstrating moves, over and over. He rolled his eyes in mock lewdness when he moved behind me and put his arm about my waist, but he was quite businesslike about taking hold of my wrist to show me the way of ripping an enemy across the eyes.
Dougal sat under a tree, minding his wounded arm and making sardonic comments on the training as it progressed. It was he, though, who suggested the dummy.
"Give her something she can sink her dirk into," he said, when I had begun to show some facility at lunging and jabbing. "It's a shock, the first time."
"So it is," Jamie agreed. "Rest a bit, Sassenach, while I manage something."
He went off to the wagons with two of the men-at-arms, and I could see them standing heads together, gesticulating and pulling bits of things from the wagon bed. Thoroughly winded, I collapsed under the tree next to Dougal.
He nodded, a slight smile on his face. Like most of the men, he had not bothered to shave while traveling, and a heavy growth of dark brown beard framed his mouth, accentuating the full lower lip.
"How is it, then?" he asked, not meaning my skill with small arms.
"Well enough," I answered warily, not meaning knives either. Dougal's gaze flicked toward Jamie, busy with something by the wagons.
"Marriage seems to suit the lad," he observed.
"Rather healthy for him—under the circumstances," I agreed, somewhat coldly. His lips curved at my tone.
"And you, lass, as well. A good arrangement for everyone, it seems."
"Particularly for you and your brother. And speaking of him, just what do you think Colum's going to say when he hears about it?"
The smile widened. "Colum? Ah, well. I should think he'd be only too pleased to welcome such a niece to the family."
The dummy was ready, and I went back into training. It proved to be a large bag of wool, about the size of a man's torso, with a piece of tanned bull's hide wrapped around it, secured with rope. This I was to practice stabbing, first as it was tied to a tree at man-height, later as it was thrown or rolled past me.
What Jamie hadn't mentioned was that they had inserted several flat pieces of wood between the wool sack and the hide; to simulate bones, as he later explained.
The first few stabs were uneventful, though it took several tries to get through the bull-hide. It was tougher than it looked. So is the skin on a man's belly, I was informed. On the next try, I tried a direct overhand strike, and hit one of the wood pieces.
I thought for a moment that my arm had suddenly fallen off. The shock of impact reverberated all the way to my shoulder, and the dirk dropped from my nerveless fingers. Everything below the elbow was numb, but an ominous tingling warned me that it wouldn't be for long.
"Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ," I said. I stood gripping my elbow and listening to the general hilarity. Finally Jamie took me by the shoulder and massaged some feeling back into the arm, pressing the tendon at the back of the elbow, and digging his thumb into the hollow at the base of my wrist.
"All right," I said through my teeth, gingerly flexing my tingling right hand. "What do you do when you hit a bone and lose your knife? Is there a standard operating procedure for that?"
"Oh, aye," said Rupert, grinning. "Draw your pistol wi' the left hand and shoot the bastard dead." This resulted in more howls of laughter, which I ignored.
"All right," I said, more or less calmly. I gestured at the long, claw-handled pistol Jamie wore on his left hip. "Are you going to show me how to load and shoot that, then?"