Page 1 of Highland Steel

Chapter 1

Glasgow Scotland, 1386

Naked as the day he was born, Logan MacKeefe stepped out of the waters of the River Clyde, feeling the bite of the fresh spring air against his skin. Lifting his face to the bright sun, he pushed back his wet, long, blond hair and took a deep breath. The aroma of leftover snowdrops and the new blooms of sweet, colorful crocuses filled his senses. He loved the outdoors and especially spring – the time when the dead of winter was gone and the promise of all life was renewed. The world came alive again, and so did he.

Logan collapsed atop a sun-warmed rock to dry off, closing his eyes, resting his arms behind his head. Relaxation was what he strived for since his day hadn’t started out that smooth. His clothes and sword were sprawled across the ground next to him but within easy reach. His pet wolf, Jack, lay on the ground in the shadows nearby, watching and waiting, as always.

Logan was by himself, while his friends were drinking. Once again, he had been thrown out of the Horn and Hoof Tavern by the proprietor, Old Callum MacKeefe, because of Jack. Logan’s gray wolf often ended up scaring a few customers every time he visited Glasgow. However, in Logan’s defense, the wolf only frightened the people that didn’t know him. Still, Old Callum didn’t care. He was tightfisted with his coin and didn’t want even one man to leave the tavern before drinking heavily of his Mountain Magic. He convinced the travelers passing through to drop more money than they’d intended into his already overflowing coffers. Therefore, the old man’s answer to keep his customers there was to kick Logan and his pet out.

“Dinna worry, Jack,” Logan spoke with his eyes closed, drinking in the warm sun. “Ye’re too guid for that place anyway. We belong in nature, no’ in a dark, smelly tavern with dirty rushes on the floor and a room full of rowdy drunks.”

Logan often sat naked or even walked around that way on the riverbank after bathing. Never was he a shy one to have to hide the body the good Lord gave him. At two and twenty years of age, he was in the best shape of his life and proud of it.

Off in the distance he heard the sounds of music and laughter floating on the air, coming from the Horn and Hoof Tavern. His friends, Hawke, Ethan, and Caleb were there making merry and drinking Mountain Magic without him. They celebrated the haul of money they’d made after selling all of Logan’s handiwork at the fair. The items consisted of toys, furniture, wooden swords, and even bowls and goblets. It was because of his talents with whittling and the supply he’d stocked up all winter, that the MacKeefe Clan would be eating well this spring. Ironic, since Logan was the only one who wasn’t joining in celebrating their good fate.

He could go for some Mountain Magic about right now. The potent hellfire was the most popular and sought after whisky in all of Scotland. It was a personal blend, brewed up by Old Callum MacKeefe, the grandfather of their clan’s laird, Storm. Callum prided himself on serving the strongest whisky in all the land, and credited the potion to his unusually long lifespan. To date, Callum was, as far as Logan knew, the oldest man to ever walk the hills.

The soft growl of an animal caused Logan’s eyes to drift open. He knew that sound and had heard it many times before. It was Jack telling him there was danger or perhaps a stranger nearby.

Logan jumped up and grabbed his sword, spinning on his heel to find a woman atop a horse riding recklessly down toward the water from the road. She sat slumped over the horse, as if she could barely hold on she moved so fast. Sitting sidesaddle like a lady, Logan was surprised she hadn’t already fallen off her steed since the horse seemed spooked. The animal crashed through the brush and sped over the rocky ground with the woman dangerously teetering in the saddle, trying to keep her balance. Logan’s wolf stood guard with its head low, watching as she approached them at the water’s edge.

“Help me!” cried the woman, sounding frightened and frantic as she rode toward him, holding on to the horse’s pommel rather than the reins which dangled at the horse’s side. “Please, we need your assistance.”

Logan rushed forward and reached out with one hand, grabbing the reins, quickly managing to stop the horse. “Whoa,” he said, trying to calm the anxious animal. His one hand remained on the reins while his other still gripped his sword.

The woman looked to be English by the way she was dressed. He thought perhaps she was noble since she was wearing an ermine-lined purple cloak. It hung down the sides of her horse – a horse that was adorned with expensive tack. And while he couldn’t see it well, there seemed to be some sort of crest on the blanket beneath the saddle.

The sun hit the silver metal circlet atop the girl’s head, shining like the halo of an angel. She wore her long, black hair twisted into one long braid that trailed down her back to her tiny waist. A few loose, messy locks framed her heart-shaped face that seemed to be scratched from branches along the way.

Bright blue eyes scanned down Logan’s body, stopping abruptly at his groin. Then her translucent orbs opened wide, as she finally realized he was naked. Logan figured she’d shyly or quickly look away but, instead, her gaze traveled back up to his face and her eyes interlocked with his. She certainly wasn’t bashful. Nor was she acting proper if she truly was a lady. This surprised him as well as impressed him. He liked his lassies on the daring side, and this one intrigued him in every way. He had to find out more.

“Lady Rhoswen, where are you? Wait for us,” a male voice shouted from up by the road. Logan heard the sound of more hoofbeats and decided he’d better put on some clothes. Releasing the reins, he rested his sword against the rock and grabbed for his leine, quickly slipping it over his head. The long, white tunic hung down past his knees.

“What’s the matter, lass?” asked Logan, reaching for his plaid next. “Ye act as if the devil himself is on yer heels.”

“Newell, Blaine, I’m over here,” the girl called back over her shoulder to the others. Two more riders – a young man and another girl, rode down to the river after her.

Jack growled lowly. Logan could see the newcomers weren’t much more than children, so he gave his wolf the command to back off. “It’s all right, Jack,” he said in a low voice. “I dinna think they mean us any harm.”

“Rhoswen, I’m frightened,” whimpered the younger girl from atop her horse as she followed the boy down to the water’s edge. She had reddish-brown hair that hung loose around her shoulders, part of it still being pinned up on one side as if it had come undone. A light smattering of freckles covered her cheeks and a dirt streak was smeared across her nose. Her plain brown gown marked her as a servant or perhaps a lady’s maid. It was torn and dirty. She seemed to be a few years younger than the first girl who looked to be not even twenty years of age.

“It’s Lady Rhoswen,” the woman corrected the girl. “Please address me properly.”

“Aye. I’m sorry, my lady,” said the girl with downcast eyes.

“He’s a bloody Highlander!” shouted the boy, his voice cracking and raising an octave. With a slight struggle he managed to draw his sword that was almost too big for him to hold with one hand. He almost fell off the horse trying to do it. The lad had a bulky build, but Logan got the impression he was younger than he looked by the way he handled the horse and sword in a clumsy manner. His dark hair was cut short and he wore clothes that looked like those of an English squire. “Get back, ladies. I’ll protect you both from this savage beast,” the boy bravely announced, bringing his horse closer to Logan, using both hands now to hold the sword as he tried to keep it from wavering.

Logan chuckled and continued to don his plaid. “Son, I dinna think the lassies need protectin’ from a half-naked man who is no’ even holdin’ a weapon. And, aye, I am a Highlander, but ye three seem to be English. Now, why dinna ye all just slow down and tell me who ye are and where ye are goin’.”

“It happened on the road,” the woman that the others called Lady Rhoswen blurted out.

“What happened?” asked Logan.

“It was horrible and we barely managed to escape with our lives,” she continued. “I don’t think they saw us. But if they did, they’ll be after us next. Please, you have to help us.”

“What in the clootie’s name are ye talkin’ about?” grumbled Logan, sitting down atop the rock to put on his shoes.

“We were attacked,” said Rhoswen.