Page 1 of Highland Sky

Chapter One

Glasgow, Medieval Scotland

Returning to the scene of the crime was never a good idea. Then again, no real crime was ever committed at the Horn and Hoof Tavern as far as Nash MacKeefe was concerned. Breaking Old Callum MacKeefe’s silly tavern rules wasn’t even deserving of a sentence. But as far as Old Callum was concerned, Nash and his friends were all guilty of what he considered crimes. Because of this, Nash, his twin brother, North, and their good friends Gavin and Cam had all been made outcasts of the clan until they served their time.

Gavin and Cam had already completed their punishments and were no longer outcasts. Nash and North, on the other hand, still had a long way to go.

“Och, nay,” complained Nash, dismounting his horse as their traveling party reached the tavern. Right now, this was the last place he wanted to be. “Why couldna we have received our sentences at Hermitage Castle like Gavin and Cam, instead of here of all places?”

The MacKeefes were a Highland clan, with their camp near Oban. However, they had holdings in the Lowlands as well and ruled over Hermitage Castle.

“Stop yer doitit chatter,” spat his twin brother, North, dismounting his horse as well. They were twins but not identical in looks. They both had long, brown hair, but Nash had hazel eyes, while North’s eyes were silver. Nash was a little shorter than his brother, and North had more chiseled features. Nash was more outgoing, and sometimes a little reckless, but he didn’t care. “I dinna mind stoppin’ for some Mountain Magic before we’re sent out on another of Old Callum’s stupid missions.”

Mountain Magic was the strongest whisky in all of Scotland and England, too. It was brewed by Callum MacKeefe, the oldest man in Scotland. Nash didn’t believe Callum should have so much power over their fates, but he did. It was because he was the father of their laird, Ian, and the grandfather of their second laird, Storm. Plus, most of the clan’s income came from his secret recipe of Mountain Magic. Old Callum swore he’d go to his grave never telling a one of them how he made the golden brew. Since he was so tight-lipped about it, the MacKeefes could only hope he truly did live forever, or the recipe would die with him, as well as their earnings.

“Ye two arena afraid to go in there, are ye?” Cam, their blond-haired friend, helped his new wife, Yvaine, out of the wagon. He and Yvaine, the widow of a chandler, had just been married at Hermitage Castle. Cam was a lucky dog to have his punishment already completed.

“Of course, they’re no’ afraid,” said Yvaine, reaching up to get Cam’s four-year-old daughter, Avianca, from the cart. “They’re Highland warriors, just like ye, Cam. Highlanders are the bravest people I’ve ever met.”

“I’ll get Avianca, love.” Cam scooped the little girl up, holding her tightly in his arms. For just finding out he even had a daughter, Cam was already proving to be a good father.

The door to the tavern opened, and their friend, Gavin, stood there with his arm around his new wife, Davita, who was the cordwainer’s daughter. He held a tankard in his other hand. “About time ye got here,” Gavin called out. “Callum is already gripin’ that ye’re late and the busy hour for drinkin’ will be startin’ soon.”

“What’s the matter?” asked Nash. “Is bein’ late now one of his tavern rules we canna break either?”

“Whatever ye do, be careful,” warned his brother as they headed into the establishment. “We dinna want to anger Callum more, or our sentences are goin’ to be twice as bad and much longer than Cam’s and Gavin’s.”

“What difference does it make?” complained Nash. “After all, we lived through their punishments already, as if they were ours. It doesna seem fair that we still await our sentences. We should no’ be outcasts this long.” Nash pushed past his brother and headed right over to the drink board where Callum was pouring a tankard of whisky for one of their lairds, Storm MacKeefe.

“Ah, there ye are,” said Storm, taking a deep draw and thunking his tankard down on the board. “I suppose ye’re wonderin’ whose punishment is next. Well, I guess we should get started.”

“I’ll take a drink first,” said Nash, reaching for the bottle on the drink board.

“Nay, ye willna,” spat Callum, snatching the bottle away from him. “Ye are late! Because of yer dallyin’, now ye’re goin’ to put me behind schedule. The busy hour is approachin’, and this tavern will be packed to the gills.”

North snuck up behind Callum, snitching a bottle of whisky from under the drink board, taking a swig before the old man even noticed. North didn’t like asking for permission. When he wanted something, he just took it. That was one of his many downfalls.

“Get yer filthy hands off of that!” Callum yanked the bottle away as North was drinking, and a little spilled.

Dead silence, as they all looked at the spilled whisky atop the drink board waiting for Callum to explode.

“North, what did ye do?” Nash’s eyes opened wide. “Ye ken Callum’s number one rule of the tavern is to never waste Mountain Magic.”

Their friend, Gavin, had learned this the hard way. Part of his punishment had to do with breaking Callum’s number one rule. This wasn’t going to bode well for North, even if the spill was the old man’s fault.

“I dinna spill it,” protested North, raising his palms in front of him.

“We’re no’ blind. We see it right there.” Callum pointed one bony finger to the spill. “Ye are wastin’ my Mountain Magic, North MacKeefe. Ye ken my number one rule!” Just to prove his point, Callum walked over and pulled down the end of a parchment that was rolled up and attached to the back of the kitchen door. It listed all his rules, one by one. The first, of course, being that no one ever waste his precious Mountain Magic. “There!” he said, tapping the first rule with his finger.

“Nay.” North shook his head, looking back at Nash. They all felt the tension in the room. North hadn’t even been given his sentence yet. But this was going to only add salt to the wound.

“Too late now. The damage is done,” said Nash, shrugging his shoulders. “I’m sorry, Brathair.”

“Nay, I tell ye. It’s no’ wasted.” North dove to the drink board, lapping up the spill of whisky with his tongue, much like a dog drinking water.

Laughing was heard from across the tavern, and Gavin and Cam roamed over to watch their friend make a fool of himself.

“There,” said North, licking his lips, pointing down at the board. “The whisky is gone and no’ wasted in the least.”