Prologue

Scottish Highlands 1529.

The Bard rang the bell at the local monastery. A friar came to the door and opened a small peep door.

"What can we do for you?" the friar asked.

"I would like to buy a barrel of whisky," the Bard answered.

"Wait a moment please," the friar replied, closing the peep hole.

A few moments later the door opened and a rather large rotund man stepped out. Brown hair cropped short, he was wearing a brown coarse homespun robe with a simple hemp rope sash.

"I am Father David. Brother James said you would like to purchase a whole barrel of whisky?"

"Yes, I would," the Bard answered. "I want to try an experiment. I want to age a barrel for several years. I am hoping it will mellow the flavor, and make the whisky smoother. I would prefer a barrel of single-malt, something that wasn't blended."

"We have several barrels that will meet your requirements," Father David replied. "How much were you thinking of spending?"

The Bard reached into his shirt and removed a small pouch. Weighing it in his hand, he tossed it to the friar.

"Will that cover the cost, as well as a donation?" the Bard asked.

Opening the draw string and peering into the pouch of gold coins, the friar replied, "Yes, this is more than generous. Where do you intend to store your barrel?"

"Well, I had two ideas," the Bard smiled. "I could store it in a cave in the foothills, or perhaps your monastery would be willing to store it for me?"

"Yes, there is more than sufficient payment in here to cover those costs as well," Father David replied.

"Good, I will return in ten years," the Bard explained. "At that time I will require you to bottle the barrels contents."

"Ten years?" Father David asked, clearly surprised. "A lot can happen in ten years."

"I will return in ten years," the Bard countered. "Can you ensure that my barrel will still be here?"

"Yes, to the best of my ability," Father David replied.

"Then that is the best that I can hope for," the Bard replied.

"Then, we have an agreement," Father David stuck out his hand, which the Bard grasped and shook. The friar returned to the monastery and shut the door.

"Timekeeper, forward to the time of the inn if you please?" the Bard commanded.

"As you wish, my Lord," the sword replied. The sword blade glowed with a bluish tint as its runes glowed silver. The "pocket door" slid open and the Bard stepped through, the door slid closed behind him.

Scottish Highlands 1539.

The Bard stepped out onto the road leading into the town of Mortlach. Arriving at the town, he stopped at the blacksmith shop and rented a wagon and draft horse. He drove the wagon to the monastery, noting that it had changed very little in ten years. Parking the wagon, he walked up to the door and rang the bell. A friar came to the door and opened a small peep door.

"Yes, how may we help you?" the friar asked.

"Is Father David available?" the Bard asked. "I bought a barrel of whisky several years ago, and asked him to store it here in the monastery."

"Father David has retired," the friar replied. "If you'll wait, I'll fetch Father James."

The Bard nodded his head, and the friar closed the peep door. Several moments later the door opened and Father James stepped out.

He had changed little in the ten years, a little more gray in his hair, still cropped short. The same coarse home-spun brown robe and hemp rope sash.

"It has been many years," Father James stuck out his hand, which the Bard grasped and shook. "You haven't aged at all."

"I try to keep fit," the Bard replied. "Although, that doesn't prevent the gray from coming out."

"There has been a running wager on whether or not you would show up," Father James smiled, releasing the Bard's hand. "Come, I'll show you to our cellars."

The Bard followed Father James into the monastery and to the production cellars.

"It is good that you returned when you did," Father James explained. "Good King Henry VIII has broken with Rome. He has abolished all monasteries, and sent out troops to shut them down. We are far from London and his influence, but I fear our days are numbered."