Highland Warrior

by McCollum, Heather

  He stood there without comment. He did not try to fix the unfixable or soothe when he knew the sorrow must come out. Joshua Sinclair was safe, apart from her world, someone who did not look on her as an example. He was not someone who needed her to be strong. For long moments, she wept, letting the venom flow out from her until the tension in her shoulders and arms ebbed.

  When she opened her eyes against his soaked tunic, the sun was down. How long had he held her? She stepped back, and he kept his hands on her upper arms as she wiped her damp cheeks. Perhaps he worried she would step backward off the cliff or that the wind would carry her away. Sometimes she felt like it would if she did not always fight to remain rooted to the land.

  “We should go to the fires,” she said with a big inhale. The music had started in the background, a merry tune to lift the spirits of the living as they remembered the spirits of the dead.

  She gazed up into his face. It was as strong as ever, the fire casting splashes of light against it with the shadows. “I think we could both use a nip of whisky,” he said, his brows raising in question.

  She smiled. “Aye.” She glanced away from him toward the dark blue sky over the sea. “Thank you,” she whispered.

  He nodded and took her hand, threading his fingers through hers. Melding them together. She looked at it for a moment. It was intimate. In some ways more so than when they’d rolled around in her den tupping.

  She almost pulled her hand away but then stopped. Instead, she slid her hand farther into place and curled her fingers inward, so their palms were warm against each other. They walked together toward the fires.

  Chapter Twelve

  “A kingdom that has once been destroyed can never come again into being; nor can the

  dead ever be brought back to life.”

  Sun Tzu – The Art of War

  Normally, Samhain was a raucous festival, but with the recent abduction of their leader, Erik, and the many deaths over the past year, the smiles were subdued. No one danced, although many swayed and drank from tankards. But their eyes turned often to the night falling across the landscape outside the circle of the three bonfires, as if to see wolves sneaking up on them, wolves in the uniforms of men, riding for the Stuarts.

  They moved to the fires where one of the elders, Corey Muir, organized the line of children to walk between for their blessing. “First the babes with their mothers,” he called. “Then the children. Hold hands,” he said, pointing to the line of lads and lasses. “Aye, like that,” he said, smiling encouragingly. “Follow the one in front of you.”

  Joshua watched the lines weave around the three fires, Pastor John praying nearby. Next came the young lasses. “I better go through,” Kára said, stepping away from him. He watched her pale gold hair as it lay in waves over her back like moonlit water on a windblown loch. She caught up with some other women, about ten in all, as they walked through. Overall, he counted about twenty women and about thirty-five men. Even if the women fought, leaving the mothers of bairns and elderly at home, they would still be slaughtered by Robert’s men if he led them to attack.

  I could teach them how to break through the defenses I taught the Stuarts. Joshua ran both hands down his face. Bloody hell. He’d trained one group and now he was considering how to train another to get around the first. He truly was an apocalyptic Horseman of foking War.

  I should have stayed in Caithness. He could be helping his brother, Cain, rule the three clans under Sinclair in peace. Leave Orkney. He could travel back with Pastor John, ensuring his safety.

  It had been his plan all along, to adventure in other places, using his talents and knowledge of war to help people. But so far all he had done was create more misery in the world. He should leave now. In the morning. But Kára… She’d trusted him enough to let him see her tears. Could he abandon her?

  He exhaled long. “Fok,” he murmured.

  “Not as jolly as your Samhain back home?” Calder asked from behind.

  Joshua glanced back at him. “Ye have good reason to keep things solemn and quieter.”

  “’Tis our turn through,” Calder said, nodding toward the fires. “And then you can lead your horse through with Kára leading Broch and then her animals.”

  Joshua walked with him. They rounded the first fire in silence. The heat from the flames slowed Joshua’s steps to remain in the glow of the warmth for as long as he could.

  “Thank you,” Calder said. “I do not think I said that before, about you fetching Hilda and holding Brenna up when I was…”

  Joshua nodded. “Ye have a bonny family. ’Tis a good start.” Which would end in death if they went against Robert, even with his training. How many places would be set at next year’s Samhain? Would Brenna and her bairn weep over Calder’s?

  They rounded the first fire. “Have you trained your whole life at winning battles?” Calder asked.

  Winning battles? The field at South Ronaldsay surfaced in his mind. Scavenger birds circling as people carried away their family members. A mother crying over the boy covered in mud. Her wiping his face with her skirts until his freckles showed through on his pale skin.

  Joshua forced himself past the memories that would never leave him. “Aye. I was raised to war,” he said, his words solemn.

  “Have you been taught by masters of war?” Calder was attentive, eager to learn. A year ago, Joshua would have smiled at his enthusiasm.

  “Aye, from my father and… I have a book. Have ye heard of The Art of War?”

  “No.” Calder shook his head.

  “It was written over a millennium ago by a great warrior from a secluded country named China. Although the country is closed off to most travelers, spice traders and spiritual seekers have taken sea routes to reach it.”

  They rounded another fire, the flames bending toward them with a gust of breeze. “And you have this book of wisdom? And can read it?”

  “A Jesuit priest translated the teachings into French. My father, hearing of the book, went to great lengths to track a rare copy down in Edinburgh. After all, his second son was War.” Joshua’s hands gripped into tight fists, the remorse for not studying it more pressing heavily on him. “I spent the next year learning French to decipher it.”

  “What great teachings did you learn?” Calder asked, his brows lower.

  “Many,” Joshua said. “I have my copy with me and can read ye some.” He stretched his arms behind him, his gaze scanning ahead of them out into the darkness that the Hillside warriors were watching. “Intimidation works to deter attack.”

  “You are very intimidating,” Calder said with a chuckle.

  “If intimidation is not enough to deter the enemy, a swift, brutal strike can end a war quickly and ultimately save many more lives.”

  He slowed, and Calder matched his pace, watching him as if he meant to commit each of Joshua’s words to memory. “And there are more times that it is wise not to attack than to act offensively.” Like when a lad pleaded with him to help his family attack an oppressor, and he did not properly scout the area or get to know the enemy first.

  They made it back around in time to see Geir walking Fuil through the fires himself. Kára’s boy had obviously learned not to fear his warhorse. Kára had her own horse, Broch, walking beside him.

  Pastor John meandered over with two more Hillside men, joining him and Calder where they stood in the glow of the fire. “Tell us about Scotia,” one said. “About your festivals where there are five hundred horses and hundreds of people and sheep and livestock needing to weave through the fires.”

  The other one handed him an ale. Joshua took a drink, swallowing down his self-loathing with it. He cleared his throat. “It is much louder and rather unruly. We usually have a horse or two charge off into the night to be rounded up by the lads.”

  Pastor John shook his head, smiling. “’Tis right muddled with all the people and
horses and lots of drink.”

  They followed Calder to some boulders acting as benches and sat with the men Joshua had been working with over the last week. “And we have tournaments. Throwing daggers, stones, and cabers.”

  “Cabers are trees?” Calder asked.

  “Aye,” Pastor John said, stretching his arms out wide. “About one hundred fifty pounds and twenty feet long.”

  “I have never seen a tree that size,” one man said. “Why do you throw it?” He shook his head, laughing.

  “’Tis useful,” Joshua said, taking a quick sip and relaxing into the easy talk. “A way to ford a river if some bastards are chasing ye.”

  “But first you would have to cut it down,” Osk said from where he stood off to the side. He walked closer into the circle that had formed. “By then the bastards would be upon you.”

  Joshua pointed at him, his brow rising. “Aye, unless we have carried one with us into battle,” he said, half jesting.

  “You carry trees about?” the first man said, and they all waited for his nod before breaking into loud laughter.

  “No wonder you are as strong as three men,” another said.

  “If we had trees,” Osk said, “I would carry one about.” He nodded seriously and drank deeply off his tankard.

  Joshua grinned at them, but then his chest tightened with the thought of them battling trained warriors, being struck down under Robert Stuart’s orders, the whole lot wiped out in one heated battle. On South Ronaldsay, both sides lost, but against Robert, the Hillside people would surely falter. It was a matter of numbers and experience.

  He looked down and then up to meet Calder’s gaze. “If ye came to my home in mainland Scotland, there’d be whole forests for ye to carry about.”

  The men laughed, but Calder stared at him. “Enough wood to build cottages and furniture?”

  Joshua nodded. “And a clan of hundreds to protect yer families. Free lands to hunt upon. Horses to ride.”

  The laughter subsided. Did they hear his invitation? Did they hate him for it? The scowl that had taken over Osk’s face said “aye.” Pastor John did not say anything, being wise enough to read the sudden stillness.

  Joshua shrugged and raised his tankard, knowing at least he had planted the seed of a new plan forming in his mind. “To home. Wherever that may be.”

  The others raised their cups. “To Orkney,” Osk said.

  “To our fallen,” said Calder.

  “Aye,” came from the rest of them as they drank heartily.

  “May God bless us all,” Pastor John said, lifting his own tankard that he’d set on the ground.

  Joshua heard footsteps, and he glanced over his shoulder to see Kára walking up to them, her previous sadness dulled by talking with the ladies. She still wore the gown from the earlier christening. It slid along her full curves, her stays accenting her narrow waist and her lifted breasts. Coming from the shadows with the bright fire before her, she looked like a princess of old, gliding forward with strength, grace, and authority. The men sitting stood as she approached.

  “To our queen, Kára Flett,” Calder said, raising his tankard. The others followed, even Osk.

  “There is no queen without a throne,” Kára said, a casual smile on her face. “But you may call me chief.”

  “To our chief, Kára Flett,” one of the men said, and the rest called it out in unison. Either this was their version of a swearing of loyalty ceremony, or they merely liked to have excuses to raise their cups and drink.

  Kára looked to Corey Spence. “We should meet tomorrow to make plans for the upcoming winter.”

  Corey nodded, an encouraging smile on his weathered face. “I will inform the council members.”

  Calder returned from where he’d fetched a tankard for Kára, handing it to her. Torben walked with him, his usual frown in place when he spotted Joshua. “We were listening to Joshua’s tales of life on Scotia,” Calder said, tipping his head to Joshua. “At his home in Caithness, there is open land and trees and horses.”

  Kára’s smile faltered, and her gaze shifted to Joshua. Did she suspect him of trying to win her people away from Orkney? Wasn’t that exactly what he was trying to do? Although, they did start by asking him about his life back there.

  “It is quite different there,” she said, staring directly at him. “Rainbows arching over green grasses and bonny buttercups. Trees that are easy to fell and stack on their own into huge houses for all the people. No illness or famine. No wars.” She tilted her head. “Why ever did you even come to Orkney then?”

  Osk snorted and Torben laughed outright. “Do you hunt unicorns there in your forests?” he asked, and the other men turned to study Joshua as if suspicious of the picture he’d painted for them. A few chuckled.

  “There is certainly illness and war at times,” Pastor John said, his brows lowering. “But there is vast land to grow crops, and the woodlands are full of deer.”

  Joshua cleared his throat. “I came to Orkney because I wanted to be of use in helping warriors grow strong to defend themselves and their people. ’Tis my occupation in life.”

  Torben crossed his arms, mutiny on his face. “To train people to kill one another?”

  Joshua’s gaze slid across the group of men who had gathered. “I was raised around war. I have studied it and know it firsthand. I have seen the misery it causes if it stretches out for a long time. The common people suffer the most as warriors and leaders fight. Famine and disease feed fear and desperation. It is better to make a swift victory and treat the defeated with respect, bringing them into one’s clan.”

  Now more than ever before, Joshua understood what his older brother, Cain, was trying to do with the Sutherland and the MacKay Clans back home. Joshua had thought Cain was too lenient on their foes, because he assumed they would rise back up and the war would continue. If he were chief, he would have conquered the rulers of the clans soundly, leaving the people unharmed but too frightened to retaliate. But looking into the determined faces of the defeated here on Orkney, Joshua realized defeating people did not always frighten them into accepting one’s rule over them. Although, Cain Sinclair was nothing like Robert Stuart.

  “And if they are not treated with respect?” Calder asked. From his face, he was the only one possibly admitting they were the defeated.

  Joshua breathed deeply. “Then they rise up to battle until the last blood of their clan soaks into the soil, or…” Joshua let his gaze move from Calder to Kára. “They move on to new territory.”

  “Bloody hell,” Osk murmured and spit.

  “You ask us to abandon our land, our home?” Torben asked, his eyes wide with incredulity.

  “It is the way of war, the way of the human condition,” Joshua said. “Since the beginning of time, whether ye like it or not. Either the defeated put up with their terrible treatment, or they war against their foe until they die, or they move on to find peace elsewhere. They need to figure out what they want to do as a people.” He slid his gaze from Kára over the others gathered, meeting Corey’s eyes. He was one of the council members. Perhaps he could bring up Joshua’s invitation at the meeting.

  “And where would our ancestors roam to try to find us if we were not on Orkney?” Osk asked, his arm flinging out toward the long table that they had set for those who were being remembered.

  Calder frowned at him, his arms crossed. “Why don’t you sit with them tonight and ask their opinion?”

  “You mock our customs,” Torben accused.

  Joshua met his gaze directly. “I mock those who think the dead need a map and compass to find those they love here on earth.”

  Kára’s voice was soft. “I see no plate and cup set for your father and mother here on Orkney.” Her eyes met his, but there was no challenge in them. Silence stretched among them all as the fire snapped in the breeze before them, casting gold sp
lashes of light.

  “We will discuss ideas at the council meeting on the morrow,” Corey said.

  Kára looked away toward the gathering that had grown, listening in as the tensions grew. “Aye, tonight is to honor and celebrate.”

  One of the men raised his cup. “And drink!” Several yelled their agreement.

  Osk walked off toward the table, Torben with him. Joshua stood. “As long as those watching the perimeter stay alert.” He stared out into the falling night. Their fires would stand out like beacons across the windswept hills.

  Kára turned to Corey. “Let us finish the blessings, and you can head back to Hillside.”

  Her tone did not reveal anything about how she was feeling about the discussion. She turned away and walked to her goat and sheep to lead them through.

  “Blessings are my specialty,” Pastor John said, smiling. “I can help.” He walked next to Corey toward the fires.

  Joshua stood, walking alone to the fires. He stared into one as it rose up, sending sparks flying in the air. The heat from it chased the cold from his bones. Back at home, people had thought him obsessed with fire, ready to light a bonfire whenever there was the slightest reason. But the truth was he sought to chase off the cold that settled through the Highlands as the sun dipped.

  When one side felt roasted, he turned to look out at the night, letting the flames warm his backside. Too bad there was not a Horseman of Fire, because Joshua would volunteer for the job. Not only did it strike fear in many an enemy, it kept him warm.

  Small groups walked away from the fires and village out into the Orkney night toward Hillside. The children stopped at the table, touching the plates before hurrying after their parents. They seemed to spread out, as if their smaller groupings could hide easier if Robert’s men came.