“I am now the leader of my people. If most wish to leave Orkney, then I must lead them—”
Joshua grabbed Kára up before she could finish, wrapping his arms around her to lift her off the ground. She laughed as he spun her around and kissed her on the lips before setting her back down. She might still stay. The warning fell to a whisper under the weight of his hope. She might come!
“I need to speak with the council, Joshua,” she said, echoing his internal warning. But he was too happy with the chance to save her people without marching them toward certain death and incurring the wrath of King James that he couldn’t squelch his hope. As if reading his mind, she said, “Do not become too hopeful yet.”
“There are trees and horses and friendly people,” he said. “And food. Do not forget to tell the council about the deer we have in abundance. And the Sinclairs will teach them how to make homes of wood and grow crops. And Christmastide and Hogmanay are coming up. My sister decorates the castle with holly, and the tarts are delicious.”
“Or,” she continued, shaking her head, “you can completely lose your mind and assume we are packing up tonight to leave at dawn.”
They climbed out the back stairway that led to a trapdoor under the old wagon in Kára’s barn. Joshua had to slide along the dirt and hay on his stomach and rose up, swatting it all off his tunic.
They stepped out into the cold, brisk morning. Even though the sun was not high, it was midmorning from the placement of it. They walked together back toward the village, his boots kicking through the spindly winter grasses. Instead of their hands being intertwined like last night, their arms swayed next to them, staying apart. Was it the light of day that forged a wedge between them? Or was it the vast decisions that must be made? He did not talk, letting her mind churn over her thoughts.
Joshua wanted nothing more than to pull Kára into him, chaining her to his side so he could whisk her back to his home in Caithness on the northern coast of mainland Scotland. Glancing beside him, he watched the wind play among the curls in her long blond hair. She had left it free of her usual braid, and it danced around her straight shoulders, a pale drape over her blue gown. She truly looked like a queen of Norway from long ago, stepped through from history to lead her people.
Och, but what if leading her people meant she would stay on Orkney to fight? He had never felt such helplessness before.
Pushing the dour thought away, Joshua whistled lightly as they walked. It was a happy tune he remembered his father whistling before their mother died long ago when Joshua was eight years old. They reached the edge of town, and Kára halted.
“Go on back to Hillside,” she said. “I will meet you there.”
Up ahead was the small chapel sitting on a rise above the one-street town. “I would see ye safely to their graves.”
She frowned but didn’t stop him from following her. The streets were barren, adding a haunted feeling to the place, and Joshua could see the scorch marks of the three fires up on the hillside. No one seemed to be about. Except for Asmund, he had not seen anyone living there, as if it were a false village to trick Robert into thinking Kára’s people lived there.
The wind blew fresh off the sea below the village. Approaching the weathered gate, Kára stopped and turned to him. “I wish to talk to them alone, Joshua.” She looked down, shaking her head. “Not that I think they are there. Only their graves.” Her blue eyes turned back up to meet his gaze. “There are hard decisions to be made. It helps me to talk it out.”
Joshua nodded, his mouth relaxing. He certainly understood the need to think alone. “I can wait for ye in the tavern.”
“I may be awhile.”
“Asmund will keep me entertained.”
A smile spread across her lips, and she laughed lightly. “I am fairly sure Asmund has not entertained anyone in two decades.”
“I will help him count his turnips,” he said, making her smile broaden.
The gate squeaked on its rusted hinges as she pushed into the graveyard. He watched her walk along the path of tall grasses that partially hid the older monuments to the Orkney dead. Her hair floated in a swirling gust of wind, and she pulled it to one side, trying to tame it. The blue gown caught on some of the twiggy grasses, making the back of the skirt straighten out behind her as if it were the train trailing a queen at court.
His chest tightened. Aye, if he did not convince her to leave Orkney, she would die here, not of old age but from some violence brought down upon her by Robert Stuart, his son, or his mercenary. She disappeared behind the corner of the chapel. Joshua cupped the back of his head, stretching the muscles of his chest, and glanced about. Without trees, there was no worry that a battalion waited in the forest to emerge with deadly force. He turned and walked back down the hill toward the village.
Maybe if he found out more information about Kára’s people, he would discover a way to ensure they left Orkney Isle. He glanced over his shoulder, but the chapel still hid her, the queen of Orkney, the one he realized he could not leave behind.
…
“What do you think, Papa?” Kára whispered, her eyes tracing the chiseled letters in the stone over her father’s grave. What would Zaire Flett do? Stay and fight or take his people to a new land, a new life with so much potential that she would be a fool not to consider it?
“He says we would be welcome. That there is plentiful food and trees to build houses. No wars right now and the protection of hundreds of trained warriors.” The wind rustled the tall grasses growing all around her. “What should I do?”
She leaned forward, setting the few wildflowers she’d found still growing in the sun onto her mother’s and sister’s graves next to her father. “I would not leave you, but…Brenna just had her first babe. I know Calder wants to take her somewhere safe.”
Her hand went to her abdomen. “And Geir should have a better chance to grow strong, he and any other children I may have.” Could she be pregnant after three nights with Joshua? They had come together at least seven times, and it’d been the middle of her month. And now her flux was late. “I cannot fight when huge with child,” she whispered. But she could not regret any life that may have taken root. Life meant hope, something she was feeling for the first time in nine years.
She sat, letting the ocean breeze wash over her, listening to the rustle of grasses and the caw of seabirds. Placing her hand on the cold stone of her father’s grave, she closed her eyes, hoping she could hear his answers. What do I do, Papa?
“A flower among the weeds,” a voice called, making her eyes fly open, her head snapping around to the side of the chapel.
Stomach tightening along with her fists, Kára’s gaze landed on the tall form of Henry Stuart, his unmarked, smooth face smiling wickedly.
Chapter Fourteen
“Move swift as the Wind and closely formed as the Wood. Attack like the Fire and be
still as the Mountain.”
Sun Tzu – The Art of War
Henry Stuart bowed his head in a mock display of respect, but his leer showed the monster that lived beneath his smooth features.
It was the face of her nightmares, the man who had killed her husband and nearly her son growing within her as he dragged her back to his father’s palace, touching her intimately while he trapped her against his body on horseback. Since then, the sinewy-strong man had stalked her whenever he could. The fact that his father planned to wed him to some highborn lady made no difference to Henry. His father had several mistresses and a handful of bastards, like he had been a bastard of the old Scottish king.
Kára slowly stood, a blade in one of her boots. A short sword against her hip. That was the sum of her weapons—the blades and her seething hatred of the man. Two of his men, large and bearded, emerged from the front of the chapel behind Henry. She swallowed past the thickness of panic wedged in her throat. Of course, he did not come alone. But she was
. And to think she had called her uncle, Erik, a fool for being caught alone by Robert’s scouts only to find herself falling into the same trap. She should have let Joshua stay.
“This is a place to revere the dead,” she said. “Leave here before they rise up and strike you down.”
He laughed, walking closer. His hand ran along one of the stone markers as he tilted his head. The wind ruffled his short-cropped hair. “Even though it is still Samhain, and the veil between the real world and the spirit world is thin, I do not see any spirits coming to your aid.” The larger of his two men looked nervous, but the other smiled wickedly. Was he hoping Henry would share her with him? The pig. Because she knew that was what Henry ultimately wanted—her body and her helplessness. Years ago, riding back to the palace, her body ripe with child, the man had rammed his dirty hand up her skirts. She still remembered the pain and humiliation of his touch. How she’d prayed he would not kill her unborn child.
Kára breathed deeply, a plan forming in her head. Thank God her father had included her when he’d taught strategy to Osk. She’d been an apt student when her brother usually ended up rolling in the grass with the dogs.
All three men walked into the churchyard, the gate slamming shut behind them. Kára wove around the headstones as she hurried to the side of the chapel. A quick glance showed a deserted lane through the town. Joshua. Was he truly inside the tavern counting turnips?
She tugged at her dress as it stuck on the thistle and tall grasses, wishing again that she’d worn trousers. Harder to be raped and easier to fight. Glancing over her shoulder, her heart squeezed as Henry and his men made their way after her in a triangular formation, Henry walking forward in the center. She must take at least one of them out of the attack before they reached her.
“Stay back,” she said, her voice strong with warning.
Henry smiled, his condescending grin making nausea roll through her stomach. “I do not want to stay back. In fact, I would like to be very close to ye, Kára Flett. Especially now that ye are not warped with a huge belly. And, since ye stole my father’s healer and my sister’s horse right from under his nose, he will not make me release ye this time. In fact, I think he will let me…punish ye however I want.” His hand went to his cod with obvious intent.
“Broch is my horse, not your sister’s, and Hilda is a person who does not deserve to be locked up for your bastard father’s personal use,” she said. Her right arm was most accurate at throwing. She could grab her mattucashlass and throw it directly into one of Henry’s men. I should kill Henry. Should she? Would it bring the wrath of his father down on her and her people?
“My father is in charge of Orkney,” Henry said, “no matter what you peasants think. We are of royal blood and have the power and might of King James. My father is practically king of Orkney. Ye should bow down to him.”
She’d rather lose her head than bow it to any of the Stuarts. Kára gritted her teeth, breathing through her nose. The grinning guard would be her target. The other was more occupied with looking at all the graves as if ghosts lurked there.
“Go away now, Henry,” she said. “Before I kill you with my bare hands for your crimes against me and my people.” Let him think her unarmed.
He motioned to his guards to advance on her.
“You have been warned,” she said. Her hand grasped the blade in her right boot. With a practiced twist, she released it directly at the leering guard. Thwack. It struck with force, point first directly into his forehead, and he dropped into the tall grass.
“Fok,” the second guard yelled, bending down to see his friend releasing his final breath.
“You will twist in the flames of Hell with him today if you come any closer,” she yelled.
Henry frowned. “Ye will pay for that life. For every life under the protection of the Stuarts that ye take, we will take a life of your dwindling group.” Teeth together, the man seethed, showing the truth behind his previous smile. “Get her,” he yelled, and the second man jumped forward to grab her. He was nearly six feet tall and broad with muscled arms.
Kára yanked her short sword from her scabbard, brandishing it before her. “You will die if you come closer,” she said, but his eyes narrowed. Even if he was wary of spirits, he apparently did not worry about a woman wielding a sword.
He drew his own sword and brought it around toward her.
“Do not maim her,” Henry yelled. “I want her whole.”
Maybe she would kill Henry. But first she must get past this beast. The guard moved slower than she, either because of his bulk, his laziness, or his belief that she would be easy to seize. He came at her, and she spun out of his way, slicing down as she moved. He grunted as she caught his arm. A red line appeared where her sharp blade sliced his tunic.
“Bloody hell,” he cursed, coming back around at her with more force.
Clang. Their blades met, but his strength was superior to hers. Her sword flew from her grip, clanging against a grave marker to drop into the grass. He lunged for her. Forgetting his sword, he wrapped his arms around her, lifting her off the ground.
“Let go!” She struggled in his rough hold, kicking out with her booted feet, but he did not budge. He smelled of sweat and ale and held her up against his frame, her face over his meaty shoulder.
“Halt your squirming, lass,” he said, tightening his hold around her until she could hardly breathe in. His strength overpowered any strategy or expertise she might have honed. His lips came to her ear as he whispered, “Just let him up your skirts, and ye will suffer less.”
Like hell! Kicking against the man’s firm hold, her mind raced over the weapons at hand. There were rocks about, but they were as useless to her as her sword lying with them below in the grass.
She threw her hand up, scratching the side of his face.
“Ye bitch,” he yelled, throwing her arm away.
One of her brooches ripped off her shoulder, falling below. My brooch. With her still-free hand, she yanked the remaining silver circle off her other shoulder, the long spike sticking out.
“Let go!” she yelled as she slammed the pin against the guard’s head. The sharp steel spike pierced his skin easily, cutting through flesh into his skull.
He screamed, releasing her as he dropped to his knees, the brooch stuck into the soft skin of his temple. Grabbing his head, he fell forward, but Kára didn’t wait to see if he moved as she spun toward Henry.
The murderer of her husband stared at his two fallen men. Kára stood rigid, her hand and nails out before her. Her muscles felt weak after her struggles against the two hulking men. Without the brooches holding her straps together, her wool gown fell, revealing her trussed form, her stays making her heaving bosom rise over the edge of her smock.
Henry’s gaze focused on them, and he feasted on her as if she were naked. Kára leaped out of the woolen folds tangled around her feet. Go for his eyes, she thought, readying her fingers. The wind cut right through the thin fabric, but the chill she felt in her bones came from the promise of lustful violence in Henry’s eyes.
“Leave here, or you will die, too,” she said, letting all her hatred seethe in her tone.
“Ye have brought doom to your people, Kára, for killing my men,” Henry said, taking one step closer. “My father will retaliate against your whole family unless ye come with me to confess and take your punishment. I think we will start by having ye walk naked into the bailey like a common, stripped prisoner.”
He took another step toward her. If she could make it around the chapel, perhaps Joshua would see her. She moved to the side as he stalked forward, several gravestones between them. “They attacked me,” she said. “And they were warned, like I am warning you. Stay away from me.”
For every step back she took, he took a step forward, like a cat cornering a mouse. Could she outrun him? Jump the stonewall in her smock before he could catch her?
Damn. If there was no wall, she might be able to run down into the village. The closeness of it had given her a false sense that she was safe here.
The wind blew, molding the white linen against her bare legs. Henry shook his head. “But ye see, I cannot stay away from ye, especially when ye look so damn tempting, lass. It really is your own fault, whatever happens. If ye had stayed with me when I took ye first, I would be tired of ye by now. I may even have let your child live.” He shrugged. “If ye had asked me nicely. But ye are all frowns and gnashing of teeth,” he said, curling his fingers up like he had claws in an imitation of her ready stance. Another few steps and she could slide along the side of the chapel.
Joshua. Joshua, be outside. See me. Her pleading turned into a type of prayer. Her body trembled with waiting energy, but would it be enough to hold Henry Stuart off without a weapon? Even her other brooch was lost in the grass far from her.
“Ask you nicely?” She let him see the hate and ridicule in her gaze. “You had just murdered my husband, the father of my child, for no other reason except that he demanded you leave us alone.” Another step back. She was around the side facing the village but didn’t dare take her gaze off Henry. He moved quickly over to stand between two gravestones. He had a straight line to her, the stone wall at his back. Maybe if she could keep him talking, Joshua would spot them. “Geir did not threaten you. He tried to protect me when you decided that I was something you wanted. You deserve only contempt and—”
Henry rushed her, covering the space before she could gasp. He threw his body forward in an all-out run and plowed into her, sending her careening back against the chapel. Her head snapped back, hitting the stone, making everything in her sight shake, and small sparks danced in her vision. Another rock stuck into her back as he shoved her against the chapel wall, one hand on her breast, the other one grabbing her hair in his fist. He used his pelvis to pin her lower half, his erection obvious as he ground it into her. His face came inches before her face. “I deserve ye, Kára. Ye are beneath me in society, and ye are going to be beneath me…” He shoved his cod against her brutally. “Aye, beneath me whenever I wish it, starting right now.”
Highland Warrior Page 16
