Page 1 of Highland Storm

Chapter 1

Scotland, 1385

Hawke MacKeefe balanced his foot on the body of his attacker, pulling his sword from the man’s chest. Three bandits lay dead at his feet never having assumed Hawke would be able to kill them all. He wished he hadn’t had to do it, but the odds were against him. His life had been threatened and he had no other choice. Any good warrior worth his salt would have done the same.

Wiping the blood from his blade on the clothes of the deceased, Hawke scanned the surrounding area for more. The woods could be filled with men lurking, just waiting to attack any unsuspecting traveler or hunter they found. Three of Hawke’s good friends were out there somewhere and he only hoped they were safe.

Preferring his solitude, Hawke often broke away from the others during their hunting trips to still his thoughts and clear his mind. Didn’t every loner crave time to himself? His friends were often boisterous and noisy. Especially Caleb, who had a tendency to laugh and talk too much for Hawke’s liking. It only managed to scare away the game and make Hawke’s head hurt.

He’d just slipped his sword back into the sheath when the warning cry of his red tail hawk from above told him he wasn’t finished yet. The bird swept down as Hawke spun on his heel to see another man emerging from the brush. With vengeance in his eyes, the assailant shot forward with a sword in each hand, meaning to kill him. Hawke unsheathed his blade with a sigh, ready to protect himself once again.

Apollo, Hawke’s bird of prey, always accompanied him on the hunt. The bird often helped him ward off attackers on the road as well.

With another shriek, the red tail clutched the man’s hair with its talons, managing to draw blood. It was all the distraction he needed. In one motion, Hawke sank his sword into his assailant’s heart.

“Damn it, canna a man ever get a quiet afternoon to himself?” growled Hawke, retrieving his sword as the man fell to the ground, dead.

Chaos seemed to find Hawke wherever he went. He was naught more than a silent storm followed by a wake of destruction that was left in his path. Not by choice, of course, but done out of necessity. While Hawke’s blood always burned for a good battle, he didn’t want one unexpectedly and neither did he like having to take on so many men at once by himself.

Ten years ago, Hawke was scarred mentally by a tragic event. Since then, he vowed to do everything he could to protect his clan, especially the women and children. His only regret was that he couldn’t do more. Through the years, he’d earned the reputation of being one of Clan MacKeefe’s fiercest warriors, following in the footsteps of his well-known father, Storm. Hawke was always in the front line at any battle and he preferred it that way. He was eight and twenty years old now and had no wife or children to care for. After what happened, he wasn’t sure he ever wanted to be married again. Mayhap that was another reason why he was fearless and sometimes reckless.

“Hawke,” shouted his good friends, Logan, Ethan, and Caleb as they rode their horses at breakneck speed toward him through the forest. What started out as an innocent hunting trip, sadly ended up as a deadly battle.

“We’re here to help,” cried Logan, the son of Aidan, one of the clan’s members referred to as the Madmen MacKeefe. Logan’s blond head turned back and forth as he sat upon his steed with his sword held high, looking for more attackers. His gray wolf named Jack ran silently behind him.

“We heard the attack. Dinna worry, we’ve got ye covered,” the dark-haired Ethan, son of Onyx, assured him. His horse was led by his white Irish Wolfhound called Trapper.

“Ye’re too late,” said Hawke, heading over to his horse loaded down with game that he had caught on the hunt, aided by his hawk. A half-dozen wild fowl and two hares were Apollo’s contribution to Hawke’s catches. “I’ve already taken care of it.” He used a cloth from his travel bag to clean and shine his sword, not even looking at the dead men.

“Who are they?” Caleb, the smallest of the men, Ian MacKeefe’s son, slipped from his horse to inspect the dead bodies. Hawke’s friends were all sons of the Madmen MacKeefe – the Highlanders known throughout the years for doing wild and crazy things. Hawke, on the other hand, was the second son of their clan’s laird, Storm MacKeefe.

“Let me take a look.” Logan swung his feet over the side of the horse, heading toward one of the corpses. Ethan dismounted and followed. The wolfhound sniffed around the bodies while the wolf stayed in the shadows.

All three of the men stood there staring, not saying a word.

“God’s eyes, ye act like addlepated wenches sometimes, I swear!” Hawke pushed his way between his friends and yanked open the cloak of his last attacker to see the bright red plaid underneath. “Bluidy hell, they arena bandits at all.”

“MacNabs!” spat Caleb, sending a shiver up Hawke’s spine to hear the name of their biggest enemy. The MacNabs and the MacKeefes had been feuding for as long as Hawke could remember. The MacKeefes had tried to put an end to it and align with them ten years ago, but things only got worse from there. It was a time that Hawke wished he could forget but it haunted him still.

“This isna guid,” said Ethan, as if any of them needed to be reminded of the fact. Killing a MacNab would only bring trouble to their clan, even if it was done in self-defense.

Logan’s wolf lowered its head, slinking forward and growling lowly.

“What is it, Jack?” Logan’s eyes darted back and forth. “Did ye hear someone?”

The sound of a horse’s hooves trampling the ground came from the thicket. Hawke’s head snapped up and he surveyed a small man in a hooded cloak bolting away through the trees.

“I’ll get him,” said Logan, unsheathing his sword. “Come on, Jack,” he told his wolf, turning and heading to his horse.

“Nay, I’ve got this one.” Ethan sprinted ahead of him to his horse. “Trapper and I will handle it.”

“What about ye?” Hawke asked Caleb with a raised brow, knowing that each of his friends wanted to prove he was the best.

“They’ve got it handled,” said Caleb with a shrug. Caleb might be the smallest of the friends, but he was faster and just as brave as any of them. He’d proven himself time and again to be a strong warrior. Caleb’s only problem was that he was often lazy.

“Ye need a pet, Caleb, like the rest of us,” said Logan from atop his horse. “One who can travel with ye and help ye fight.”

“Aye. When are ye goin’ to finally do somethin’ about it?” asked Ethan over his shoulder, turning his horse.