“I heard reports that you practically did,” she said, noting his previous lack of tunic when he left Robert’s, his tattoos shown off to all who laid eyes on him.
“We should get ye to Hilda,” Joshua said, not commenting.
She looked to Asmund. “After a cup of mead. I am in need of your sweet brew, and I would give Patrick time to ride off.” She pushed onto a stool. Joshua came over, sitting next to her.
She touched his tunic where blood lay across it. “Ye are stained by Henry’s death,” she whispered.
He leaned toward her, not seeming to care that Asmund stood across from them pouring mead into tankards. Joshua brushed her hair back from her cheek and softly pressed his lips to hers. “’Tis your blood, lass, from the wound on your bonny head.” His gaze lifted as if to see it, and she touched the back where the unbound poultice was hardly noticeable, forgotten with Patrick’s visit.
“It will be well,” she said. He leaned down, inspecting her throat. “So will that,” she said and glanced toward Asmund. Her old friend had walked back to the window, to peer out to watch for Stuarts or give them privacy, she wasn’t sure.
Kára held her hand out over the bar where it still shook. “It is this that needs to go away as fast as possible,” she said, balling her hand into a fist and pulling it back to her lap.
Joshua’s warm hand found it there and encased it, squeezing gently. “’Tis warrior energy that feeds the muscles, Kára. Not fear. Fear would have made ye crumple in the churchyard, not fight. ’Tis nothing to worry over.”
She looked into his eyes, marveling once again at the calm wisdom she saw. There were so many sides to Joshua Sinclair. Earlier, his face had contorted with the promise of death. When he’d jumped across the wall, his sword poised to inflict not only death but immense pain on Henry, he had looked like an avenging angel truly sent from a wrathful God. And now he exuded encouragement and light.
Wetting her lips, she exhaled, ignoring the pain in her throat. “Worry, I fear, will never be over,” she whispered. “For my people, my son.” She shook her head. “’Tis something that nags my soul. The only time I am free of it”—she touched the side of his face, running her finger across his lips—“is when you fly me away from it on passion.”
He kissed her fingers, keeping her gaze. “I would fly ye away every day, but to save your people and your son, I need to take ye away from this isle.”
Kára released her breath, letting her gaze drop to the stone floor. She nodded and raised her eyes back to Joshua’s patient gaze. “Let us talk to the council.”
Stepping into the late afternoon, the familiar wash of wind filled Kára’s inhale. Down in the bay, Lamont and Langston worked to get their sails raised. They would sail out to sea until Orkney was barely visible and dump Henry and his two guards who had attacked her. It was a shame for the guards’ families not to know what had become of them, but perhaps it was better they did not know the black hearts within them.
Joshua walked beside her, the two of them scanning the surrounding hills for more of Robert’s men. “If John Dishington rides up, he will try to kill us,” Joshua said, glancing at her.
“Patrick said his father wants you dead for taking Hilda and Broch.”
Joshua snorted. “Freeing them.” He exhaled. “Dishington wants me dead even without Robert’s order because I knocked him unconscious.”
“I have my mattucashlass and short sword and brooches,” she said, patting her shoulders. With Joshua beside her, courage prevailed over the fear, making her stride more direct. But she still felt exposed on the landscape of grasses. She’d hidden in them before, but Joshua’s bulk would be hard to hide. What would it be like to be surrounded by thick trees with branches to climb and trunks behind which to hide?
“What do you miss about Scotia?” she asked, their walk turning brisk.
They continued across the rocky ground and onto a length of spongy peat until she thought he might not answer. Surely he must miss something. She looked sideways and saw him inhale fully.
“I could say the trees and plentiful food, the loud laughter at the festivals that comes from not hiding, since we are the strongest clan in Scotland.” He glanced at her before looking back out before him. “But ’tis the people that I miss most.” He cursed softly. “Being away from my older brother for these months makes me think that he might actually know a thing or two about leading our clan. And peace with our neighbors might be better than crushing them so they cannot war back.”
“Would you have crushed us?” she asked.
His brows lowered. “Nay, not unless ye tried to kill my clan, the people or horses. It is those in power who are the problem in most instances. The local people just want to keep food in their bellies and grow their children without fear.”
“We have neither here on Orkney.”
He said nothing, but she knew he agreed. It was why he wanted them to return to Scotia with him. “You live on the sea, there in Caithness?”
“Aye, with wicked wind like here. But if ye travel inland a bit, the bite of the wind fades, stills.”
She pushed her hair out of her eyes. What would that be like? To have no wind trying to shove her every time she stepped outside?
“I would still rule my people,” Kára said, watching him closely, their arms swinging easily by their sides.
“Aye, but ye would need to swear fealty to my brother, Cain Sinclair, to benefit from the protection of his armies.”
“And yours?”
He clasped her hand where it swung next to her leg, stopping her. She looked up into his face, breathing rapidly past the pain in her throat.
“Ye have my army, Kára Flett,” he said. “Ye have me and my army.” His words had the timbre of an oath, and it sent a thrill through her.
“You can promise that without talking to your brother?” she asked.
He shrugged. “If ye decide ye want my army of bay horses to attack Girnigoe and kill the horses and people, then I will have to rethink my words. Otherwise, Cain will not care if I aid the Fletts of Orkney.”
She smiled, but then a thought wormed its way inside. “What if King James decides the Fletts are enemies?”
She watched his jawline harden as he looked out to the distance where the three cottages marked the hidden village of Hillside. “It would not be the first time the Sinclairs have disagreed with the crown,” he said. “But I will send word to Cain. My younger brother, Gideon, the Horseman of Justice, will be certain to keep the Sinclairs free of my actions, but there should be no reason to blame your people for anything.”
As long as no one tied them to Henry Stuart’s death.
They walked up to the cottages, and Amma rushed out. “What has happened?” she asked, staring directly at the bruising on her neck. Her fingers lifted to Kára’s throat, her face pinching in anger. “This is the work of Stuarts.”
“It is taken care of,” Joshua said, his voice hard.
The fewer people knowing about the conflict, the better. “I will tell you about it later, Amma. Right now, we need to find my trousers and clean clothes for Joshua. I would stand as a warrior before the council.”
Chapter Sixteen
“The art of war is of vital importance to the State.
It is a matter of life and death, a road
either to safety or to ruin.”
Sun Tzu – The Art of War
Joshua felt the stretch of the seams on the borrowed tunic as he walked up the hill next to Kára. Calder was fairly large, but his tunic was still tighter than was comfortable. Joshua hoped he wouldn’t rip it, but he did not need questions about the blood that had smeared and splattered against his own, a mix of Kára’s head wound and Henry’s all-over wound.
From the vileness of the man, Joshua would have guessed his blood to be black. But that was one of the mysteries of life, how blood flowed
the same, regardless of evil intent or righteousness. God gifted every newborn bairn with the same potential for good or bad. If only decisions were as simple as cutting oneself and seeing the color to know if one’s intentions were sound or self-righteous.
He glanced at Kára, her features full of strength, as if she felt the weight of a crown pressing down on her and she was determined to hold it up. For her people, she had become the dróttning, the queen. And he had convinced her to lead them away from their isle. Were his intentions for their benefit or his own? Life was much simpler at home.
He shook his head, clearing away the press of guilt. Taking the Hillside people to Caithness would help them, protect them from the warriors he had honed into brutal fighting soldiers for Robert.
Kára stopped before the closed door of the cottage on top of the hill. He watched her shoulders rise, stretching them, letting them sink down her back as she straightened the scarf around her bruised neck. Head high, all signs of fear replaced by calm fortitude. She glanced at him. “I will not mention Henry.”
“’Tis best not to.”
Kára pushed into the cottage and stopped. The room was filled. Chairs were arranged in a half circle toward the back, filled with elderly people, the middle chair left open. But the rest of the room was packed shoulder to shoulder with Hillside people, women and men, no children, not even Geir. Torben stood with his arms crossed, a pout on his face. His mother stood next to him, casting evil glances Joshua’s way.
Was Kára’s son with Osk? Nay. Osk stood inside the door and made motions for people to move so Kára could walk to the chair. She sat in it as regally as if it were a throne. Her grandmother, Harriett, perched next to her. Hilda and Corey sat there, too, representing the remaining elders of the group, along with two other men. Joshua entered, shutting the door behind him to lean against.
“I call this council meeting of Hillside Village open,” Kára said as if she’d been leading these people her whole life. The slight murmur at her entrance quieted to silence.
“Since Chief Erik has not returned, I will serve in his place if the council agrees,” Kára said.
Corey stood and bowed his head to her. “You have our loyalty, Kára Flett, eldest living child of Zaire Flett.”
“Aye.” The room erupted with the single word.
Kára nodded, and Corey took his seat. She looked out at the gathered. “We have winter coming quickly, and I would like to know what we have stored.”
Calder stepped into the little space before the council. “We farmed barley and black oats this summer, which did well. As you know, however, Robert Stuart took half the yield in the midsummer raid, leaving us with limited supply for the rest of the winter into spring.” A man at the end of the row of elders wrote in a bound book.
Damn, Robert. Joshua remembered the bags of oats the man had brought in, saying it was taxes from those on the isle, since they could not pay in gold. Would he have taken so much if he had known how many people resided at Hillside? Joshua sighed softly. It probably would not have mattered to the man.
“Our meat supplies? And dairy?” Kára asked.
Another man stepped forward as Calder retreated. “The limited hunting grounds have made it difficult to catch rabbits, but we have sufficient fish dried to keep families going if we ration well and continue to bring in fresh catches through the winter. We could also resort to digging up voles. My wife says they make a reasonable pie.”
“Each family must understand their ration of food until more food can grow,” Harriett said, looking at Kára. “Unless our chief has a different plan for us.”
All eyes turned to Kára. Silence filled every nook and cranny of the cottage. She took her time letting her gaze move from person to person. “Lord Robert has begun a new fortress near Kirkwall for…his son, Henry Stuart. At the first sign of spring, he will once again force our people to labor without pay, giving false promises of easing up on hunting restrictions. But his taxes of grain and crops will continue, and his tyranny will not end.”
“We should end his reign here,” Osk said, and several of the warriors Joshua had been working with for the last week nodded, including Torben.
Kára looked directly at her brother. “I want Lord Robert dead as much as you do, brother.” She let her gaze move to the others. “But who comes after him?”
“Henry,” someone said.
“He is missing,” another said. “His brother, Patrick, has been riding the isle looking for him.”
Kára held up her hands. “After Henry comes Patrick, and then John, James, the youngest Robert. The number of children and grandchildren continues to grow between his wife and mistresses, and they are all raised to be tyrants to replace him. ’Tis like a wretched disease spreading across Orkney.”
“We kill them all,” Osk said, crossing his arms over his not-yet-filled-out chest. “Wipe out the disease completely. Like burning a corrupted barley field.”
Kára gripped the arms of the chair. “Before, when Erik led our people, I would have said that, too. But charging into Birsay to battle and kill, to seek the satisfaction of revenge… It is good for the individual. Even if I were to die, I would feel good in the sacrifice.”
Kára stood slowly out of her seat. “But as the one responsible for our families, the one who must consider the repercussions of bringing the Scottish crown to Orkney if we kill Robert and his family, repercussions for not just me but for all of you… I must not give in to the desire to see our dead revenged, which could very well send us to the grave with them. I must think of the future of our people.”
Her gaze slid to Joshua, their eyes seeming linked. “A future where we can survive in peace. Where we will have food and homes. Where our children can sing and play without constantly watching for riders who could steal, molest, or kill them. Where we are not looked down upon as if we are less than.”
“You would have us abandon our isle, our home?” Fiona, Torben’s mother, called out, her arms crossed over her bosom.
Kára looked straight at her. “Aye.”
A murmur rose in the room, but she continued to talk, her voice strong and overriding. “I would have us abandon Robert’s tyranny and disrespect of our ways. I would have us abandon the worry each autumn that we will not have enough to survive the winter.” Her voice grew in strength to easily override the murmurs. “I pray for us to abandon a land that cannot protect our children and wise ones dying of cold and disease because we haven’t the resources to keep warm and fed.” She held the woman’s stare. “Aye, Fiona, I would have us abandon Orkney.”
“Where will we go?” Hilda asked, her voice strong as if she already knew the answer and wanted Kára to tell them all about Joshua’s home.
“Scotia,” Kára said. “The mainland of Scotland, over the sea to the south. There are trees, deer, fish, good land for crops, and protection.” She looked to Joshua.
“Aye,” he said, nodding. “I pledge to help the people of Orkney settle on Sinclair land. My brother is the chief, and we are at peace with the two surrounding clans. The land is stable, and life will be better for ye if ye make it so. That, of course, is up to ye.”
“And we will have to work for your brother and the Sinclairs?” Osk asked, bitterness showing that he had already judged his clan. Joshua likely would have, too, if their circumstances were switched.
“We have over five hundred horses and warriors who take care of and train them. Ye would be welcome to join our armies, swear fealty to Cain Sinclair, and benefit from the protection our clan has to offer ye and your families. But there is no forced labor within my clan. Wages are provided, as well as food, friendship, and respect.” Joshua shrugged. “But if ye wish to journey on from our lands, ye are free to go. Or to come back to Orkney in the spring if ye find the mainland inhospitable. No one will stop ye.”
“I do not trust you,” Osk said, and several of the men l
ooked like they agreed.
“Then trust your dróttning,” he said. “Do what she said. Decide on your own. If half your people decide to leave Orkney, those who remain will have more food for the winter. If Robert does not let up on his pressure against ye, follow us to the mainland of Scotland in the spring.”
“Our ancestors are here,” a woman said from the corner.
“Their bones are here,” Joshua countered. “Their spirit goes with whomever remembers them.”
The woman gave a little nod, her gaze turning to meet the eyes of the man next to her, her husband perhaps.
Kára turned to take in the gathered people in a slow rotation. “Everyone, speak with your families. We will reconvene here tomorrow. If you wish to go to Scotia and would like to help plan the journey, see me after tomorrow’s meeting.” She returned to her chair. “For those with specific questions, Joshua Sinclair and I will remain here now to hear them.”
Her prompting was obvious, and Joshua started to move forward. Osk caught his arm. Joshua looked down into his frown. “You will wed her then, my sister?”
Wed Kára? Did she want that? Joshua looked to where she spoke with her grandmother, Harriett, a small line of villagers forming before her. She could be with his child already, and he would never abandon a child.
“If she follows you all the way to your home and then you leave her aside for some other woman…” Osk gritted his teeth, his hand fisted. “If she does not kill you, I will.”
“Your loyalty to your sister is honorable, Osk Flett, but ye will leave this matter to Kára and me.” Before Osk could say anything foolish that would endanger himself or push Joshua’s patience, Joshua walked away.
Kára spoke with the woman from the corner. “I am sure there are many strong men who could wed your daughter there, but since she is only twelve right now, you can wait to worry about that, Alyce.”
Alyce looked at her husband. “Here, everyone seems related so closely by blood. She could meet a Sinclair there, a strong warrior with horses.”
Highland Warrior Page 18
