Highland Storm Read Online Free PDF

Scoti was their name for his clan— hill Scots —a profanity used to describe the handful of men, who’d fled into the Mounth after the death of King Aed, some two hundred fifty years past.
    “Bastards are all like to be down there comparing cocks!”
    Keane tried not to picture some thirteen grown men, all standing with their cocks out, pissing in a tiny burn, but his shoulders shook with mirth.
    Cameron responded with a disgruntled growl. “Seems to me those eejits would question the wisdom in pissing in a brink where their mouths will drink.”
    “Laggards,” Keane said, though without much heat.
    And now he came to the root of his problem. “David has pit us against one another, like fresh-faced lads at a priory full of girls,” he groused.
    “Lead and they will follow, Cameron.”
    “I have tried.”
    Like a carrot dangled before a mule, the king’s promise of payment was meant to be fought over betwixt the two, but Keane had little interest in squabbling for titles. He studied his co-captain, his good friend now going on ten years. Despite that they hailed from different clans, circumstance had made them brothers. Cameron was a McKinnon, a cousin to his chief, and Keane was a younger son. Although Keane ranked higher by blood, he had come lately to David’s service and David trusted him not at all.
    The feeling was mutual.
    On the other hand, while Cameron had been the longest in the king’s service, he was far more apt to brood than stir himself to change what he did not like. Alas, but the man needed a spine. Case in point: For more than ten years now, Cameron had coveted Keane’s sister Cailin, and still, all these years later, he’d yet to ask for Cailin’s hand. Instead, he spent his nights lamenting the fact that Keane’s brother would not take it upon himself to find Cameron worthy. That was never bound to happen.
    “Tis simple enough for you to say,” Cameron complained. “They wadna test ye the same way.”
    Only because the men were half afraid of him, Keane knew, for they, like so many, believed him to be little more than a dún Scoti savage. Little did they realize he’d learned the Church’s language by the age of three and his histories by the age of seven. He knew more about Scotia’s politiks than most of the principles involved, and merely because his clan kept themselves apart, did not mean he did not know the lay of this land.
    But, of course, some of the fault was his. He might have dispensed with the braids and woad long before now, but it served him well enough to keep them. Besides, conforming hadn’t earned Cameron all that much to speak of.
    With a sigh of longing, he peered down at the ruins. Although little remained of the old fortress, Keane saw her, not as she was, but as she could be in the future and his heart stirred like an untried youth’s. To hell with all of Scotia—including the vale—if he could but rest his head for the remainder of his days, right down there…
    What if he could rebuild? Raise the guard towers one by one? Build a wall? Her bones were still good. He envisioned her restored to her former glory, the towers rising as high as the bluff, the well restored and the white stone washed until she glistened…
    Mayhap she could be his reward?
    Though what about Cameron?
    Staring down below, Keane hardened his heart. He’d given Cameron numerous opportunities to rein in their motley crew. Their good-natured rivalry could easily make a sour turn. Friendships had been torn asunder over women far and wide… it just so happened that Keane’s lady should be made of stone.
    “Di’ ye see that?”
    Despite his distraction, Keane’s eyes registered the movement below and he automatically plucked an arrow from his quiver.
    “Someone’s down there,” Cameron said.
    “I see him,” Keane replied.
    “Could it be?”
    “Perhaps.”
    They had been following a pair of scouts in hopes of luring out a marauding band of rebels that remained loyal to the