Leaning forward in the saddle, Joshua and Fuil shot ahead, flying over the brown-green landscape. Tall grasses lay combed flat, waves of frigid air blowing through the weeds as if a green sea rolled inland across the low hills, the colors being slowly muted with the falling snow. Ahead was the bay south of Birsay, where he could find transport to the mainland of Scotland.
The sun began its descent toward the line between sea and sky as he rode into the small village situated on a bluff above the rocky coast. A row of thatch-roofed cottages faced away from the ocean as if the people had seen enough of it and wished to keep it at their backs. Several dwellings had been burned badly. In fact, the town looked rather abandoned. If he couldn’t find the captain of the cargo boat anchored in the harbor below the cliffs, he’d have to ride farther south to the Bay of Skaill.
Joshua dismounted in front of the squat, two-story tavern, looping Fuil’s reins loosely around a rusty iron spike stuck into the stone wall running the building’s length. He slid a hand down his horse’s nose. “I will find ye a treat inside.” He left the blanket draped over the horse and took his satchel. Two men walked on the far side of the road, eyeing him cautiously. Joshua cast a frown at them that would keep them moving on.
The blast of warmth from the hearth fire inside the tavern was a balm against the cold beating at Joshua’s body. Hopefully, the tavern keeper had a bed to rent for the night and a snug barn for Fuil.
The low-ceilinged room was nearly empty. An old man with deep creases in his face stood behind a stone bar, his bulbous nose perched above a tankard as he took a drink. With no trees about, most of the locals’ furniture and houses were made of the plentiful gray stone that held Orkney up out of the angry sea.
A woman leaned toward him over the bar, her trousers-clad arse nicely rounded and generous and leading to long legs. She wore a short cape and a pair of boots that were laced over fur pelts, a fashion he’d adopted from the islanders to stay warm. Her pale gold hair was woven into an intricate braid that slid down her back, the end tied and tapered as if pointing an arrow toward the crux of her legs.
“Even if Erik is gone, you should still accept Torben,” the old man said before raising his eyes to Joshua. His tankard plunked down on the bar top.
She slapped her palm down. “To appease Fiona?” She shook her head, making her braid swing gently in contrast to the snapping hardness in her voice. “I will not tie myself to a man again.”
So the lass was free of any restraints, like marriage. Joshua’s brow rose.
The old man nodded toward Joshua, and she snapped around, surprise lighting her distinct features. High cheekbones sat in an angular face with a straight nose. Wisps of hair had broken free of her braid to lie in waves along her tan skin. Long eyelashes framed wide-set eyes, but he could not tell their color in the low light given off by the hearth and several oil lamps. Anger narrowed them. What would they look like under a bright sun?
The silence stretched with the wind whistling beyond the walls. Och but Orkney even sounded cold.
“I would like to rent a bed and a stall for my horse for the night,” Joshua said.
“No beds are open,” the old man said.
Joshua glanced pointedly around the empty room. Did the man know Joshua had helped Lord Robert’s men become more efficient to deter the local islanders from raiding his building materials and hunting on his land?
“Then a barn for my horse,” Joshua said and pulled out several coins, letting them clink on the bar top.
“No barn, either.”
Joshua pointed over his shoulder. “Like the one across the road?”
“All the stalls are full.”
Joshua crossed his arms over his broad chest. “Then my horse and I will stay the night in here.”
The old man snorted. “You haven’t enough of Lord Robert’s gold to pay for that.”
Joshua turned his face to the lass. “Will Lord Robert’s gold pay for a drink for the lady and me and a turnip for my horse?”
The tavern keeper looked at the woman as if asking her permission.
“Honey mead,” she said, putting the man in motion. He poured one for her and one for Joshua, sliding the carved tankard to him across the polished stone.
“Turnip is in the cellar,” the elderly man mumbled and shuffled through a closed door behind him.
Joshua studied the lass’s strong profile. She was beautiful with a sharp edge to her, and from her shape, he could tell she was not a girl but a woman. “I am Joshua Sinclair.” He took a drink of the sweet, fermented brew.
“I know who you are,” she said.
He raised an eyebrow. “Who are ye then?”
“No one you need to trifle with.” She slid a glance toward him and then back to her cup. She was as icy as the rest of the isle.
He leaned his back against the bar and propped his elbows on it. “I’m looking to pay for passage to the mainland of Scotland.”
She set her cup down with a clunk. “You are leaving Orkney?”
“Aye.”
“Then you do not war for Lord Robert anymore?”
“I war for no man,” he answered and took a swallow of the refreshing mead.
“How about a woman? Could you war for a woman, be loyal to her?” Her gaze traveled down his form, and Joshua felt rather like she was stripping him bare. He’d had women look at him often as if they imagined him naked, but this woman seemed to be judging him.
He straightened, standing to his full height. “I am loyal only to my own clan back on the mainland.” He tipped his head to the door. “Do ye know the captain of the cargo ship in the bay?”
“Aye. He will be around in the morn.” Her brows furrowed slightly as she continued to inspect him.
Joshua braced his legs in a battle stance, arms crossing again. Hell, if she wanted to strip him naked with a look, or with her hands, he certainly would not mind. Would she?
His gaze traveled along her bare neck to the slope of her breasts that he could see in the open part of her cape. Her waist tapered inward only to flare out over full hips. He’d declared to his brother once that all lasses should wear trousers, and this woman added merit to the opinion. Och but he wanted to run his hands down those slopes. She looked warm and supple, her mouth lush.
“Here,” said the old man, pushing through the back door to drop the turnip on the counter. Thudding, it rolled to the edge. He picked up the pennies Joshua had left and tucked them in his tunic.
“Any of these cottages in town open to travelers?” Joshua asked the woman. If not, he would have to find shelter for Fuil and then come back and buy tankards of mead until the old man fell asleep so he could spend the night on a cold stone bench.
“There might be a place for you to stay,” the woman answered. “I will…ask.”
“I am obliged.” Joshua let his mouth bend up in a half smile that usually softened the lasses back home. He let the appreciation for her form show in his gaze. Not too much, or he’d been known to look predatory, which frightened off the majority of lasses. Nay, just mild interest showed instead of the thrumming rush he felt inside.
Her lips parted slightly as if she needed to draw in more breath, and she pushed away from the bar. Stopping next to him, her hand rose with awkward hesitation to touch his arm. “I will return once I know.” It curled into a fist but then flattened out to slide down the length of his bicep. “You will wait?”
Her touch momentarily robbed him of thought. She had asked a question. “Will I wait?” he repeated slowly. “For ye?” Recovering, he let charm grow in his smile. “An army of horses could not drag me from here.” Behind him, he heard the barkeeper snort.
She strode away, taking the heat in her touch with her. The door slammed shut as she pushed out into the cold, and Joshua turned to the frowning man, still standing behind the bar. “What is her name?”
Joshua’s gaze slid to the door and back to the man. Three months on the isle, and he still had not picked up much of the local language. It was as if they guarded it against those speaking English or Gaelic. “What does it mean?”
“’Tis from old Norse,” he said. “And it means you best treat her well.”
“I have every intention of treating her very well,” Joshua said and snatched up the turnip, tossing it into the air to catch easily as it fell back to earth. He pushed out through the door into the twilight. And stopped. “Bloody hell,” he yelled, the turnip dropping from his hand to roll away. Fuil was gone!
Chapter Two
“The whole secret lies in confusing the enemy, so that he cannot fathom our real intent.”
Sun Tzu – The Art of War
Joshua whipped around, his fingers going to his mouth where he blew two short whistles. A neigh, from behind one of the buildings, tore through the growing twilight. Yells followed.
Bandits. Fools! Fuil was a warhorse and listened to no one but him. The only thing that would have made him move was a treat dangled before him. Damn horse thieves! Maybe Robert’s rant about the native people eating horseflesh was true. Had he starved his people enough to turn them into barbarians?
Joshua ran around the side of the thatched cottage, skidding to a halt before three men trying to control his raging steed. Their eyes were wide as they raised hands to the snorting beast, the whites of Fuil’s eyes showing and his ears laid back. The horse could kill them on his own, but the thieves might injure his friend. Fury roared in Joshua’s ears, and energy shot through his blood at the thought that they would steal him. And eat him!
Barely noting that the woman from the tavern stood nearby, he drew his sword from the scabbard strapped to his back, stalking forward. Sucking in large swaths of air through his nostrils, he prepared to win this contest by intimidation alone.
One of the fiends turned to see him advancing, his panicked eyes growing even wider. He had no sword and raised his fists before him, the snorting horse behind him. Damn. The thief was young, probably only recently growing into his pitiful beard.
The second man was dressed in ragged clothing, insufficient against the cold. He held a dagger and a wild glare. The third bastard surged toward Joshua, sword held by his two hands, striking downward. Joshua met the attack, the two blades clanging together. Desperate or foolish? Joshua wasn’t sure, but the man seemed immune to intimidation.
Joshua easily parried the man’s lunge, spinning to bring his elbow down at the base of the man’s skull, knocking him flat, his face in the dirt. Pivoting to the man holding his puny dagger, he yelled, “I will jam your own blade into your foolish skull.”
The man’s lips curled back as he spit. “There are worse things.” It was the look of desperation that made Joshua drop his sword to the turf. Even a horse thief could lose hope. That did not mean he deserved to be skewered.
In two strides, Joshua knocked the dagger from the man’s hand and threw a punch into his nose, dropping him to the ground without any effort.
“Foking monster!” the barely-a-man yelled. He charged, his fists still raised. Joshua held up his own fists, but instead of swinging at the lad, he swiped his leg across as he sidestepped, tripping the thief, who fell hard. Three steps back, Joshua swooped up his sword and spun back to Fuil.
“Stop!” came a voice from the road.
Fire ripped across the outside of Joshua’s upper arm. He looked down to see a slice in his tunic where a dagger had cut through as it grazed him, the weapon skidding across the pebbled ground beyond. He’d been merciful with the thieves and yet they sought to kill him. Rage added even more strength to his sword arm. Lifting it high, he spun and charged toward the foe who had drawn his blood.
“No!” screamed the woman from the shadows, but Joshua didn’t slow. A part of him realized she ran toward them, but he focused on his enemy. The thrower’s size broke through Joshua’s fury. Round eyes. Thin frame. Pale, shocked face. It was a boy, a young boy. Just like…
At the last second, Joshua diverted the thrust of his sword, swinging it down along the lad’s side, and skidded to a halt. Breathing hard, he loomed over the boy. The promise of death surfaced on his face, one that would hopefully stick in the lad’s nightmares so he wouldn’t fight someone three times his size again. “Ye bloodied me.”
“Stop!” yelled the woman, grabbing Joshua’s injured arm.
Before the frightened lad could respond, the young thief, who Joshua had tripped, yanked the boy around, yelling at him in their local dialect. The two of them ran off into the growing darkness, their arms pumping. The woman dropped her hold on him and clenched her hands together. Her chest rose and fell. The other two men remained unconscious where they had fallen, and Fuil stepped over their prone bodies as he came up to Joshua. The horse nosed him as if asking where his treat had ended up.
“Fuil,” he mumbled, letting the chill in the wind calm his anger. “Your blasted stomach gets us into such bloody trouble.”
Joshua watched the worry mix with anger on the woman’s fine features, and she finally turned away from the lads who faded into the shadows. She murmured something in her ancient language and grabbed his arm to inspect the wound.
“Do ye know them?” he asked.
“This needs to be cleaned, but no stitches are warranted.” She squatted to catch together a small pile of fresh snow, standing to wipe the blood from the cut.
He caught her chin to bring her gaze up to his, her eyes growing round for a split second before narrowing. Questions pressed within him. Who are you? Were you helping them? Why were you standing back watching? But answers to those questions might lead her to walk away from him, for which he was definitely not ready. He leaned in, tethering her gaze completely. “Were they going to eat my horse?”
Her lips rose into a grin, and she jerked back, breaking free of his hold. “No, Highlander. Despite Lord Robert’s lies, we do not eat horseflesh. Although, if the choice between eating you or eating your horse arose…” She squeezed his arm as if testing the meat on his bones. “No, even then your horse would be safe.” She shook her head. “I would choose to eat you.”
His frown relaxed, and for a moment they stared at each other. Her mouth softened with the faintest hint of humor. The wind calmed, the snow falling straight down to catch in her pale hair. “It is good to know my faithful steed is secure.”
“Do you not worry for yourself?” Her gaze traveled down his form. “Because ye look…delicious.”
Lightning coursed through his body at her words, making his jack awaken below the layers of his woolen plaid. Although, he was fairly certain it had been paying attention since he’d seen her standing in the tavern, all curves and long legs. “I can take care of myself,” he said.
Her brow rose, and Joshua watched as the tip of her tongue came out to touch the edge of her bottom lip. Heat began to roll through him. Was he reading her signals correctly? A woman like this did not seem like the type to tease. She seemed more like someone who knew what she wanted and almost always got it. And if she wanted him right now, he, bloody hell, wouldn’t refuse her.
“Did ye find a place for my horse and me to stay for the night?” he asked, keeping his gaze locked to hers. Snowflakes swirled about, hitting his cheeks. The intensity in the woman’s almond-shaped eyes made the rest of the world disappear, even the bite in the sea breeze.
“Aye,” she said, sliding a finger up to tuck the wisps of her hair behind her ear. “You can stay with me. That is, if you can find me.”
His heart beat faster at her words, and his grin grew. “Ye are right here, so I have already won.”
Without warning, she spun, jogging inland away from the village. Was the woman insane? Where would she go? There were no trees in which
to hide, and the landscape of rolling hills was free of most dwellings. “I will find ye easily. I have a horse, lass,” he called, noticing the twilight was deepening quickly.
She turned to jog backward. “And I have cunning, Highlander,” she called and raced off.
He watched her run, the sway of her braid like an entrancing pendulum. She glanced several times over her shoulder as if making sure he would follow, but her form was quickly fading into the darkening landscape. He strode to Fuil to mount but yelled over his shoulder, “I can easily run ye down and catch ye.”
Her laughter floated back to him on the twilight wind.
…
Kára pumped her arms as she ran, her boots easily finding purchase on the familiar moor. He will follow. A man like the infamous Joshua Sinclair, Horseman of War, would not turn away from a challenge.
When he’d walked into the tavern, she had known instantly who he was. Very few were as large as the Highland warrior and no one as darkly handsome. The first things one noticed about Joshua Sinclair were his broad shoulders and towering height, which displayed his muscular frame so perfectly that he resembled the pictures her brother drew of the warrior Danes from long ago. He wore the belted wool wrappings of his homeland around his narrow hips and fur leg wraps above his boots. His hands were large and calloused from holding the massive sword strapped across his back. When he’d stared into her eyes, his full mouth curving into a seductive smile over white teeth, heat had slid down through Kára, like honey warmed in the sun. Now that was a reaction to capture a woman’s notice, but her plan was still ridiculous. What the hell was she thinking, baiting him to chase after her?
Her grandmother’s words rang in her ears. We need to find a warrior to lead us to victory against Robert Stuart.
Highland Warrior Page 2
