Walking up the hillside that acted as a hiding place and roof for however many dwellings were underneath, Joshua stopped to watch the islanders. Two men stood near Fuil while a small group of children fed his mount handfuls of wild grasses and stroked his face. Fuil, for all his war training and viciousness on the battlefield, stood patiently, lowering his head for them to scratch behind his ears.
Two women and Torben’s frowning mother hurried past him to disappear inside the hill, probably to help with the birth that no one could talk about. Kára’s brother, Osk, and a second man patted Calder on his back, talking to him. Joshua was glad to see Torben had vanished. The man was foolish and brazen enough to get himself pummeled, and Joshua did not need to gain more censure from these people.
A small pack of deerhounds rolled around, and several men walked up from the shoreline carrying gutted sea trout on lines. These were peaceful people, not the raiders and vicious thieves that Lord Robert described them to be. They had no wealth, and barely enough on which to survive.
A boy stalked up to Fuil and the other children, waving his hands, and the children backed off from the horse. It was the boy he’d spared in the village who had stood silently beside Kára as she used the children of Hillside to sway him. Fuil had been defending himself then, so the lad knew how dangerous his warhorse could be. Joshua pulled one of his daggers out from where he’d replaced it in his boot and strode down the hill toward him.
The boy turned around, his eyes going wide. Either he was brave or he didn’t want to act the coward before his people, which were both appropriate reasons for not running away. “My horse will not harm them,” Joshua said.
“Does his name not mean blood in Gaelic?” the boy asked, tipping up his chin defiantly. The children stared wide-eyed between him and the horse.
“Aye, but he was named so for his red coat, lad.”
“I am almost a man, not a lad,” the boy said, making Joshua grin. Despite the poor throw, the boy reminded him of himself when he was young. He also reminded Joshua of another boy, one that haunted his nightmares, and his smile faded.
Joshua waved the boy closer, and the other children went back to Fuil. Joshua lowered his voice. “If ye are a man, then ye must learn to throw like a man,” he said. To stand with any type of chance at not being slaughtered by Robert’s men, the boy needed to know how to throw accurately. Joshua flipped his dagger in the air to land handle outward.
The boy frowned. “My concentration was off from all that was going on. Your wild horse and you knocking everyone to the ground.”
“That is when your aim must be at its best,” Joshua said. “When the world is crashing down around ye.” He stepped closer to him, trying not to notice the few freckles that lay across his nose like young Adam from South Ronaldsay.
Joshua glanced upward, watching a small flock of birds stretching out in flight over the water. “When I was a lad, my da would yell and throw his arms up, jumping like a jester all around me while I threw daggers at a target. It taught me how to focus.”
The boy crossed his arms over his chest, tipping his head to study Joshua. “I thought you were the Horseman of War, sent from God, already a man.”
Joshua chuckled. “I like my enemies to think that, but nay, I was born a wee bairn and grew,” he said, indicating his size, “with lots of training and hard work.” He thrust the handle of the dagger toward him. “Do ye want to learn my technique for throwing?”
The boy shrugged, but his gaze latched onto Joshua’s sgian dubh, and he took it.
“Show me where we can throw that we will not skewer anyone,” Joshua said. “But first I should tie my horse away.”
The boy shrugged as he studied the dagger. “You have the pick of the best stalls in the barn, since Robert the Bastard stole all of ours.”
Joshua was raised to respect and love horses more than people. Giants of spirit, as well as strength, horses represented the Sinclair Clan well. Anger simmered within him at the thought of someone stealing Fuil, the anger that nearly cost this lad his life the other night.
Joshua clicked to his faithful mount and rubbed a hand down his neck before leading him next to the boy. The children called their goodbyes to his beast and ran off to the cottages, the two men following them as if eager to leave Joshua behind. The barn was empty like that morning, and Joshua returned Fuil to the large stall that they had shared overnight. Joshua made certain there were oats and fresh hay, as well as unfettered water, in the stall. “I am Joshua,” he said. “What is your name?”
“Geir Flett, son of Geir Spence of Birsay and Hillside, grandson of King Zaire.”
“King? The king I know is James. Are ye related to King Frederick or King Christian of Norway?” The king of Norway had recently died, and his eldest son, Christian, had taken over, even though he was only a lad of eleven. Since Kára’s family had been occupying Orkney for generations, they could not be of Norwegian royal blood unless it was from long ago, with the line having been abandoned to Scotland.
Geir narrowed his eyes. “You know a lot about Norway.”
“I know a lot about a lot of things,” he answered. Even though his father had spent most of his waking hours training his sons in war, leadership, and conquest, he had hired a tutor for his children. An ignorant man was as weak as a child.
“Like war and battle?” Geir asked, looking at him sideways with one eye squinted.
“Aye,” Joshua answered. “Among other things.”
Geir held his palm up to Fuil, who sniffed it. If there was a chance of another treat, his mighty warhorse was willing to forgive Geir’s involvement the other night.
Joshua studied the lad. He would be taller than most when he aged. He had the slender look of several of the Hillside men on the hill. His hair was a light brown, shorn short, and his nose was straight, his jaw well formed. “So are ye all related to some long-ago king of Norway?” Joshua asked.
They walked out of the barn together. “I do not know. The elders say so.” He shrugged. “Since we are ruled by Scotia, my grandfather was only our chief, but we called him konungr or king, like my mother is now dróttning, the queen. But she wants only to be called chief like Chief Erik.”
Joshua’s steps stilled, the boy taking several forward before stopping to look back at him. There was a resemblance. Angular features and large eyes, although his coloring was darker. “Kára Flett is your mother?” Joshua said.
“Aye.”
“Where is your father?” He held his inhale.
“Dead when I was not yet born. Struck down by Henry Stuart.”
Joshua exhaled. Was that the source of the edge to Kára when he’d asked if she knew Robert’s son? Had she loved her husband? The boy looked to be about nine or ten years old, so it had been some time. But did the loss still pain her? Make her seek revenge even at the cost of her people? His own father had taken the pain of losing his wife out on every enemy until he was killed.
“’Tis why I will kill him some day,” Geir said, his face deadly serious.
Joshua’s hand wiped over his mouth to rub his chin. Lord help them. Vengeance lay thick in Hillside from years of loss and abuse. Joshua began to walk with Geir again toward a roll of hay in a field. He dropped his arms. “Well then, son of the dróttning or chief,” Joshua said, “I will teach ye how to throw a sgian dubh so that next time ye throw, ye do more than graze your opponent.”
…
“I cannot,” Brenna wailed, sinking back as the contraction ebbed.
“Aye. You. Can.” Kára wiped a damp cloth over Brenna’s sweaty forehead, her stomach twisting with worry. The babe was not coming as it should.
Brenna rolled her head side to side on the pillows that propped her into a sitting position, her knees bent with a sheet over them. Amma lifted her face from where she’d checked her progress to meet Kára’s questioning gaze. The worry in the wise
woman’s eyes cut like the sharpest of knives through Kára. Her breath stopped until Brenna began to pant again like she had for the last day. Wave after wave of pain had been robbing her of strength, and still the babe had not come.
Kára called Fiona over to hold Brenna through the pain while she beckoned Amma to the corner with her. “What is wrong?”
Amma shook her head. “The babe may be coming feet first. I am not as talented with birthing as Hilda.” Kára’s great-aunt, her amma’s sister, was a renowned healer and midwife on Orkney. Because of that, Lord Robert had taken her to tend his own wife, mistresses, and children, nine legitimate and numerous bastards. Instead of hiring Hilda and sending for her when needed, he stole her away from her family to keep her at his palace. She’d been a prisoner there since spring when Robert and Henry had burned the small village on the bay, killing those Kára loved.
The worry gnawing inside Kára would turn her useless. It wouldn’t abate, not with prayers or tears. The restlessness beat within her, this absolute need to help her best friend survive.
“I will bring Hilda,” Kára said.
Amma caught her arm before she could turn away. “No good will come of you being captured by Robert. And his son—”
“Will feel my blade between his ribs if he tries to touch me again.” Kára shook her head. “Nothing will stop me from finding help for Brenna.” She looked over at her straining friend. “We know there is a back way in and out of the palace,” Kára said. “I will find it if it is my only way in.” Although that might require a swim in the icy sea to reach the side facing it.
“Erik said it was too dangerous to go anywhere near the palace,” Amma said.
“Erik’s capture proves it is too dangerous everywhere, but I cannot sit here,” she lowered her voice, “and watch her die.” Behind Amma, Brenna panted. “I will bring Hilda,” Kára said. Torben’s mother, Fiona, and the two other helpers turned wide eyes toward her.
“’Tis foolish,” Fiona said, her words coming like a hiss. “You would leave Osk in charge of our people? If you had wed Torben, he could lead us.”
Kára ignored her and ran to Brenna, forcing a reassuring smile on her face. “We will make sure this little one knows how hard you worked to bring him into the world.”
Desperation and exhaustion pinched her friend’s face. It was the fear she saw in her beautiful wide eyes that caught at Kára’s breath. “I will bring Hilda,” Kára said. “She will coax that little one out.” She nodded, and Brenna followed her example. “You rest and listen to Amma while I run out to fetch her.”
Brenna clasped her hand, staring up at her with trusting eyes. “Kára. Thank you.”
Kára smiled again, kissing her forehead. She turned and strode out of the buried bedchamber. Calder sat in the main room and leaped up when she strode by. “Brenna?” he asked.
The worried tightness of Kára’s face drained the color from his. “I am going to get Hilda from the palace,” Kára said.
“I will go with you.”
She shook her head. “You need to be here with Brenna. If… If Amma calls you, go hold her through whatever comes.”
He swallowed hard, as if his throat was too tight to allow it, and nodded. Kára ran out the door, her legs slapping against her heavy skirts. She must change into her hunting clothes for sneaking into and out of Robert’s palace. She ducked into her home, the banked fire low with the lateness of the evening. Her brother and son were certainly sleeping in one of the back rooms, and she held her breath as she entered the bedchamber she had been using. Has he left?
The darkness made her blind, and she ran back into the front room to light a torch, sliding it into a sconce carved from the stone lining her old chamber. She turned toward the bed where a mountain of blankets and furs moved. She released her breath. Joshua’s head shot up from what looked like every blanket and fur that they had in the house. Hair askew, he leaped out of bed, raising a short sword, completely naked. The blade looked too small for his mountainous form.
“Kára?”
“Go back to sleep,” she said, yanking her tight-fitting trousers and wool tunic from a chest at the end of the bed.
He lowered his sword. “Is the bairn born?”
“No.”
“What are ye doing?”
“I need to get the healer to help Brenna or she will die.”
“Cac,” he whispered. “Where is the healer? I will take ye.”
“No. She is my aunt, and she is a prisoner at the Earl’s Palace.”
“Fok, Kára,” he said. “I am absolutely taking ye.”
She turned, indicating his brawny, naked body. “First of all, you are not dressed.”
He mimicked her gesture. “And ye are quickly becoming undressed.” He grabbed his own tunic, throwing it over his head as Kára wrapped her breasts and yanked on her trousers.
“Two,” she said, snapping her tunic out before her to throw on over her head, “Brenna is my best friend. I am the one who must go to find someone to save her.”
“The fact that ye are emotional about this makes it even more important for me to come.” He caught his pleated kilt with his belt and shoved his feet into his boots at the same time Kára did. They worked nearly in unison across from each other in the dim light, shoving and yanking clothing into place.
She threw her hood up over her head, grabbed the torch, and turned to run back out the door. Of course, he followed.
“Thirdly,” he said behind her, “I have a horse to get us there swiftly. Fourthly, I know the guards and could get us inside easier.”
“I know of a back passageway,” she threw over her shoulder, but she found herself running toward the barn where the only horse they had was standing, Joshua’s warhorse.
“The back passage is locked and guarded by the ocean if the tide is high.”
Shite. Is it high tide?
He caught her free arm, pulling her around. “And fifthly,” he said, stepping in to her, “I am not letting ye sacrifice yourself for Brenna.”
She stared into his hard face, as hard as the stones that held Orkney out of the sea. “She is one of my people,” she said. “A leader makes sacrifices for her people.”
“Not before I teach ye how to battle first.”
Her eyes opened the slightest amount. “Are you agreeing to—?”
“To keep you alive tonight,” he said, still without committing to help them in a full war on Robert Stuart. Face hard, he stared into her eyes. “I am not ready to see ye dead.”
…
“She is likely housed with the children,” Joshua said as they squatted below the hill line that led down to the south side of the Earl’s Palace, his horse farther back. “They are housed on the east side of the castle.”
“I agree, from what our source has said,” Kára answered. “But Robert’s room is three doors down.” He could tell without looking that her beautiful features were tight with a mix of worry and determination. “We could use the back passageway. I think the tide is going out.”
“If Robert followed my advice, a guard will be there when the tide recedes.” As an advisor on safety, Joshua had implemented a rigid guard routine to better protect the palace from local bandits. Guilt tugged at him. Mo chreach.
The enemy had always been so clear back at Girnigoe—anyone who threatened the Sinclairs. His father had taught him that the more powerful must always be in control, the conqueror, to bring peace to everyone and protect them from others.
“Ye stay here,” Joshua said. “I will bring her out.”
She frowned at him. “You will just ride up there, hop off, stride in and walk out with her to ride away?” She shrugged. “With no issue?”
“I have spent the last three months training these men. They know me, and I set their routines.” He looked back toward the dark castle behind the half-built wall
he had suggested for better defense. “There are two men awake through the night inside the fortress where they spy through the small musket holes for any movement in the bailey. Since they do not think of ye as much of a threat right now, there will be only two guards walking the half-built outer wall, on the inside, glancing through built-in holes.” He pointed toward the guard house. “Two men will be sitting up there with muskets, but they’ll know me when I ride up.”
She grabbed his arm. “Ride with me hidden behind you with a drape over me. I will press up close against you, and they will see only a blanket draped.”
He frowned. “Ye are not going to stay here, are ye?”
“No.”
If he left her there, she would probably sneak around the shoreline, encountering frigid water and an armed guard. If he brought her with him into the palace, he could have her stand guard over Fuil in the stable outside the keep.
“Ye may come if ye listen to me,” he said, his voice gruff.
In the diffused light from the cloud-covered moon, he saw her smirk. “I will listen to you because you have knowledge that will help me free Hilda as quickly as possible, not so I can gain permission to go with you.”
He sighed heavily and looked back over the top of the hillside where tall grass hid them. “Ye are armed?”
“Three blades on me.”
“I will have to make do with two, since my sword was stolen earlier,” he grumbled.
She didn’t say anything as they strode back to Fuil. He mounted first and then helped lift her to sit behind him. Would Robert’s men think it odd he had a blanket around his shoulders when he usually rode shirtless despite the cold?
Sliding her arms around his middle, Kára flattened her body against his back. Even her legs pressed along the backs of his thighs and calves. Body heat penetrated his tunic immediately, her enticing scent burrowing into him with each inhale. Memories of their naked bodies sliding against each other made his blood surge. Find the healer. In and out of the palace. Quick, silent, relaxed. Focus!
Highland Warrior Page 8
