Page 5 of Highland Storm

Ian cleared his throat to gain the girl’s attention. “Did ye ken that I had a wolfhound that drank Mountain Magic?”

“Och, that’s nothin’. My deerhound could read minds,” Storm said, pushing to the front of the crowd.

“This is all very interestin’. Why dinna we start from the very beginnin’ of all these adventures?” asked Brigham, watching closely as each of the men spoke. He seemed to study their faces as they talked.

“The beginnin’? Then ye’ll want to start with me because I am aulder than dirt.” Hawke’s great-grandfather, Callum, stepped forward, holding out his tankard to a servant. “But first, why dinna we all have another round of my famous Mountain Magic?”

“Aulder than dirt? How auld are ye?” Bridget asked Callum.

“No’ too auld to still enjoy the smile of a bonnie lass,” said Callum, winking at Bridget and cackling like an old hag.

“How auld is yer great-grandfaither?” Ethan asked Hawke curiously.

“I’m no’ sure that anyone really kens the answer to that,” Hawke answered. “The auld man is goin’ to live forever. Well, I’ve had enough. I’m goin’ out to the practice yard to toss a few cabers. Anyone care to join me?”

“Are ye still hopin’ to beat yer faither at the caber toss at the Highland Feis this year?” asked Ethan.

“Ye ken no one has ever beat him. He’s the champion,” Logan pointed out.

“Mayhap.” Hawke ran a hand over his jaw in thought. “But this year at the Feis, I will hold the title of the winner of the caber toss, I assure ye. And I dinna have much time to practice.”

“Just let it go, Hawke,” Caleb told him, shaking his head, making his long, dark curls spring up and down with the movement. Hawke always thought a man shouldn’t have curly hair – that was for wenches only. Then again, Caleb was small like a wench, so what did it matter? “Yer faither is chieftain. Let him hold the honors.”

“I agree,” added Ethan. “It wouldna look guid if ye beat him.”

“What’s the matter with ye three?” spat Hawke. “If we’re goin’ to get mentioned in the Highland Chronicles, we’re goin’ to have to do somethin’ to get noticed.”

“I thought ye didna care about gettin’ yer name in the book,” said Caleb smugly. He smiled and crossed his arms over his chest.

Hawke looked over his shoulder at everyone making a big deal over their stories, all vying to be the next mentioned. Mayhap he cared after all, but he wouldn’t admit it. “It doesna matter. I just want to win the caber toss, that’s all.”

“Let’s go,” said Ethan. “I feel like throwin’ a few boulders around. That should rock the boat a little and get them to notice me.”

They started to walk away, but Caleb didn’t move.

“Are ye comin’, Caleb?” asked Hawke.

“Nay, I think I’ll stay here,” Caleb spoke over his shoulder to them. “I’d like to hear what goes into the book.”

“Well, I dinna care,” said Hawke once again, heading out of the great hall, wondering what his father would say when he beat him at the caber toss this year.

Chapter 3

Phoebe MacNab rode like the wind, hoping against all odds that the MacKeefes weren’t following her. Her body trembled and she found it hard to breathe. What started out as a harmless trip to the border to collect healing herbs, ended up being a deadly, bloody battle for her escorts. Why had they decided to attack the lone man? That wasn’t supposed to happen. Mayhap it was because he was just one man and they were four. Little did anyone know this warrior fought like four men wrapped into one.

She rode to camp where her father’s right hand man, Euan, and some of the clan members awaited them. As she approached, they jumped up, knowing something was wrong.

“What is it?” yelled Euan, drawing his sword and running to her. He was followed by a half-dozen other men of her clan. Not able to find the rare healing herbs needed to heal her bedridden father, they had decided to head back to the Highlands. But in one final attempt, Phoebe convinced a few of the men to take her into a part of the woods they hadn’t explored yet, right near the border. Little did she realize how close they were to MacKeefe territory.

“They’re dead. They’re all dead,” she screamed, slipping off the horse and running to meet them.

“Who’s dead?” asked Euan’s brother, Lennox. The man was battle scarred and had leathery skin. He was a good ten years older than Euan and also bald. Euan had red hair and beady eyes. Both of the men were stocky and not much taller than her.

“My escorts,” she said, struggling to breathe and trying to still her racing heart. “They were killed by a man wearin’ a purple and green plaid.”

“The MacKeefes,” snarled Euan. “We’ll kill them all.”

“Nay!” she cried. “It was the MacNabs who attacked a single MacKeefe. He was in the woods by himself.”