He had taught Robert’s soldiers to remain calm in attack, but would they adhere to his teachings under John Dishington’s brutal leadership? When Joshua had been there, none showed loyalty to the mercenary.
Damn. Would he be up against young Mathias or lovesick Angus? Civil war was the worst kind, pitting friend against friend and brother against brother.
He glanced at Kára. Her love for her son and determination to get him back added to the strength in her stance. She would march against Robert Stuart, even if she knew she would die in the effort. And bloody hell, he wouldn’t let that happen.
Joshua turned back to the Hillside warriors. “I will ask for Robert to bring Geir forth, so we can see that he is alive. We will also know exactly where he is.”
“Why is Chief Erik not leading us?” Torben asked, his voice loud, cutting through the breeze off the sea. “Let Robert see he hasn’t conquered his or our spirit.”
The Hillside warriors knew very little about battle, the mental game that, if played right, would lead to victory. “First,” Joshua said, “Robert thinks he has broken your chief’s spirit by taking his arm, or his life if he did not heal. By giving Robert something he expects, the absence of your chief, he will be more lulled into thinking he knows what is going on and will act in a predictable manner. There is time for surprise, but there is more success by making the enemy feel they have the upper hand.” Which they bloody hell did.
Joshua looked to the man standing tall, his stump wrapped tightly with a poultice and linen strips. “And, secondly, I am your general. Chief Flett is your sovereign and leader. He orders the recovery of Geir Flett, and I devise the best chance of doing so successfully.”
Erik stood stoically, staring out at the men. Was he expecting Joshua to say he was not strong enough to lead without his arm? Hardly. The fact the man had survived the torture, mistreatment, and dismemberment at the sadistic hands of Robert Stuart showed just how strong he was. But Joshua needed him to confirm his appointment as general or the Hillside warriors would have doubts about whether they should follow all his orders, which would seal their doom.
Joshua waited. Slowly, Erik shifted his stance, his lips parting. “The Highlander’s plans are sound. He is my general in this crucial bid to save young Geir. Follow him to confront Lord Robert.”
When Erik looked back to him, Joshua nodded and turned his gaze to the soldiers standing in the deep night, their torches cutting firelight across their serious faces. “With your chief’s order, make sure to do exactly what I say and signal. If ye do not…” His gaze moved to Kára. “We will lose this clash with much loss of life.”
…
Be alive. Be whole. Be brave.
Kára continued her silent litany as she thought about her son. She saddled Broch, imagining him alive and smiling to keep her breath from galloping too fast and bringing on stars in her sight. He was only nine years old, too young to have learned enough to outmaneuver a sadistic tyrant and his sons and mercenary.
Why had he also gone to the chapel alone? To see the graves on Samhain, of course. They should have all gone together. Then Patrick wouldn’t have found him alone there when he dropped Erik in the middle of town. What better way to cow the local people than to steal and threaten their children?
She stopped, her fingers clenched around the leather strap, and leaned her forehead to rest on her horse’s neck. Lord, keep Geir alive.
“Kára.” Joshua’s voice came from the doorway. “We will march soon.”
She didn’t move and listened to his steps drawing closer. His touch on her shoulder made her lift her head, and she turned to him. He held a torch, the light bright, and she squinted against it. “Broch is ready.”
He bent his face to level his gaze with hers. “We will get Geir back, and then I will take ye and your family away from here. Somewhere ye can be free of all this.”
She was ready to leave Orkney. Before, it was an idea to be considered and weighed. But now, faced with the reality of Robert picking off her family one by one, and his cruel sons abusing their position as they grew into the image of their father, the need to leave was obvious.
Kára nodded. “I will go with you to Caithness. Only death will stop me.”
He caught her chin, his face firm. “Ye are not permitted to die, Kára Flett. I will not allow it, and I am your general.”
The side of her mouth twitched upward. “God rules how a battle turns.”
Joshua leaned forward. “And I am a Horseman from God.” He dropped her chin but kept her gaze. “I have studied war my whole life. I know how to run a battle.”
She watched him closely, his back straightening, his fists clenching. “What happened in South Ronaldsay?” she whispered.
“I did not watch the birds,” he said without hesitation. His hands went behind his head, cradling it, his massive biceps framing his face as he lifted his gaze to the rafters.
“Birds?”
“Aye.” He dropped his arms. “I was too caught up in the challenge of helping the one side of the conflict there to remember to watch the terrain when approaching an enemy.” He shook his head. “There was a boy there, Adam. A few years senior to Geir. He followed me around for days, mimicking my moves and asking me to tell him everything about battles. Smart lad. Starting to grow his strength, too.”
Joshua leaned against the stall, the firelight casting an orange hue across his skin. “I knew they should not war with their neighbors and tried to convince the elders, but they wanted to win back their territory, something I could understand. I learned what I could about the enemy but failed to learn they had hired a mercenary to help them.”
“Like you,” she said simply.
He nodded slowly. “Although I did not fight for them for gold. I fought for them…because Adam asked me.”
“The boy convinced you?” And yet she could not by sleeping with him, using the children to ask him; even the maiming of Erik had not changed Joshua’s mind to help them fight. Not until Geir was taken.
“Aye.” He rubbed a hand down his face. “He took in all my teachings about splitting the enemy, surprising them…everything.”
“Where do the birds figure into this?” she asked.
“We headed out in late afternoon, because I wanted the enemy to see me. I can be intimidating.”
Completely. Her heart sped up thinking about how easily he had sliced through Henry at the chapel. No remorse, no chance for Henry to explain or beg or fight back. Joshua Sinclair, when bent on blood, was death as surely as if he did ride down from God to slaughter at his bidding.
“I hoped my appearance would stop them from fighting. That there could be a truce,” he continued. “We walked quickly toward a hill. I saw a group of seabirds flying low along the hill, up and over. Instead of disappearing, continuing their flight, they rose up abruptly into the sky.”
“It could have been the wind pushing them higher,” she said. Would she have paid attention to the flight of birds?
He shook his head. “It shows my conceit, my feeling I was enough to win the day, that I did not pay but a small part of attention to a signal written out in the book I study.”
“The Art of War,” she said.
“Aye. ’Tis very plainly stated. Birds that change course to fly upward is a signal that there are men hiding beneath.”
“There was an ambush?”
He nodded. “Led by John Dishington. He is a mercenary and will fight for anyone who can pay him.” Joshua crossed his arms before him. “With the chaos of the ambush, the men I led did not follow my signals, and there was great loss of life, on both sides.”
“Who was the victor?”
“My side lost fewer men and called victory,” he said, his tone flat.
“What do you call it?”
“No one was the winner. It was a battle that should not have been fou
ght.”
“The boy?”
Joshua’s gaze slid to the ceiling of the barn. “Dead.”
She exhaled long. Finally. She had the reason the Horseman of War did not want to war.
Kára touched his arm, the muscles taut and ready. “Thank you for helping me save my son.” She stepped into him so that she had to tip her head back to reach his gaze. “Joshua Sinclair, Horseman of War, who wishes not to war.” Her hands lifted behind his neck to pull his head down for a kiss.
Someone cleared his throat at the barn door. “The men are ready.” It was Calder.
Kára stepped back, dropping her arms. “And the women and children?”
“Packed and ready to run to Lamont if need be. He and Langston have two rowboats docked in town to get as many as possible out to Lamont’s ship if Robert’s men run against us.”
“Start rowing them out there now,” Joshua said. “The worst that will happen is they spend the night on a ship. The best is that they are not at Hillside if Robert’s men storm it.”
“There are some who will not leave,” Kára said and looked at Calder. “Send those who are willing to go. Those who wish to stay on Orkney must barricade themselves with food and water in one of the earthen cottages.”
Calder nodded and strode off.
“I have already packed a bag for me and Geir,” she said softly. “I will ask Brenna to take it for us to the ship.”
He raised their joined hands between them. “If anything happens to me,” he said, “I want ye on that ship. Cain will take ye and your people in. Pastor John is, right now, riding to Girnigoe to tell him of all this.” He slid their palms together and curled his fingers inward so that they intertwined, locking their hands together.
“If anything happens to me,” she said, “take Geir and my people to Scotia. Help them settle and be free.”
He frowned deeply. “Nothing will happen to ye.”
She glanced away, not able to look him in the eye.
“Kára, swear to me ye will not go into that fortress, behind the walls, or within arm’s length of a Stuart.”
She returned his stare, mutiny in the hardness of her face. “If I do not swear, will you lock me below the hill with a boulder before the door?”
“I already considered that,” he said, huffing. “Swear to me, Kára Flett, that ye will not put yourself at more risk than the rest of your people.”
He would not release her stare, his eyes penetrating with the glint of firelight in them. If she did not reassure him, he might have Erik order her to stay behind, something she could not do, not with Geir in the hands of those monsters. She frowned fiercely. “I swear.”
Chapter Nineteen
“Thus we may know that there are five essentials for victory: He will win who knows when to fight and when not to fight. He will win who knows how to handle both superior and inferior forces. He will win whose army is animated by the same spirit throughout all its ranks. He will win who, prepared himself, waits to take the enemy unprepared. He will win who has military capacity and is not interfered with by the sovereign.”
Sun Tzu – The Art of War
“No battering ram,” Joshua murmured, as he stood looking down the hill at the preparations. But they didn’t need one, since Robert’s wall was not complete. Joshua hoped not to get to the point of trying to breach the palace. Robert must know they would attempt to rescue the child. But intimidation and surprise at their numbers would hopefully stop Robert long enough for Joshua to convince him that harming a child was not the answer. Negotiation was truly the only way for the Hillside people to win the day.
Joshua’s mind ticked through his mental list of resources as he watched the men light the covered lanterns, which would remain hidden until his signal. Thirty-four partially trained warriors with various weapons and iron shields, three warrior women with daggers, eight gangly lads who were set to guard their das’ backs, two hundred five arrows, twenty with pitch, forty poppet heads that would help only if none caught on fire…
His gaze stopped on Kára where she spoke with Brenna down the hill. One warrior queen willing to die. “Bloody hell, but she will not,” he whispered. “She swore.” Would she break an oath? For her child? Absolutely.
The two women hugged around the bairn strapped to the front of Brenna, wee Joshua. Brenna pulled back, wagging a finger at Kára as if scolding her. But then she hugged her quickly again, wiping tears from her cheeks, and hurried to join the cluster of Hillside women, elderly, and children hurrying toward the rowboats on the shore below the village. They should have time to evacuate before Robert’s men could ride back to retaliate against any of the families of the men raising arms against them. Robert would see this as treason, and his anger would lead to slaughter.
Joshua ran a hand down his face, his gut tight. Lord, he needed to play this conflict perfectly. Could Kára keep to her roles? Or would desperation to save her son make her act unwisely?
His hand cupped the back of his head, his exhale coming out long. He had seriously considered trapping her in one of the underground cottages with a boulder rolled before it. She would skewer me when I let her out. And worse, he would sever whatever bond had formed between them.
As if feeling his gaze, she turned to look up the hill and began to trudge toward him. She wore her leather trousers and tunic with fur-lined wool cape. Fur boots wrapped around her calves, and a woolen cap sat on her head, a long braid over one shoulder.
“Torben and Calder are helping Corey go over your signals again with each warrior,” she said when reaching him. “They all have their stuffed heads and unlit torches. Erik has distributed his flame to four other lanterns that will all stay hidden until you signal, and they will light those warriors’ torches around them.”
He nodded, watching her face in the splash of light from her own torch. The panic he had seen before, which would have pushed her right into a doomed fight, was gone. It was replaced by calm determination. Determination and…trust, something every general must foster within their troops for their plans to succeed. But trust from Kára… It was something deeper, and it honored him. He hoped he lived up to deserving it.
Breaking from the role of general for a moment, Joshua pulled Kára toward him, tipping his face down to brush her lips with his. “This will be difficult, lass. Do not lose focus if ye see Geir frightened or harmed. Where there is life there is still victory.”
She nodded, meeting his gaze steadily. “Get him back, Joshua,” she whispered. “No matter what must be sacrificed.”
“Except for ye,” he said. Joshua’s mouth clamped tightly together, waiting for her nod, a nod that she would not give.
Calder ran up the hill. “The men are ready,” he said, breathing heavily. “We can march when you command.”
Joshua tipped his face to the night sky. It was near midnight, the sliver of moon hidden in the thick clouds. The wind blew the cold about in casual gusts. Robert would be abed, with or without a mistress. Most of the soldiers guarding the palace would be lulled with the quiet night so far, some having gone home to the village north of Robert’s.
“We will march soon,” Joshua said, and Calder ran back down the hill, yelling orders. Joshua turned back to Kára. “I would send Broch to Asmund to hide in your barn near your den. If we ride her there, she could be injured or taken.”
“I asked Osk to take her already,” she said.
Aye, she would have already thought that through. His gut unknotted a bit. Calm, thorough consideration of moves and consequences was imperative. He grabbed her hand, and they walked down the hill together. It felt right having her by his side, both of them dressed for war. Even though he’d rather lock her underground, having her next to him made him feel even stronger. He did not need to worry about where she was and if she were being harmed when she was right beside him.
“Stay near me,” he said, gl
ancing at her as they walked. She narrowed her eyes as if suspicious of his motives. Could she guess he was determined to keep her alive? He’d never hidden that fact, but he wanted her to trust him to save Geir. He cleared his throat, looking forward. “Your role is one of leader for your people. Ye must be at the front when we speak with Robert and his men.”
“I will not run off,” she said.
“And ye will not run inside,” he said, reminding her. He knew what the dungeons looked like, and as unpleasant as they were, he feared she would be shackled in Robert’s or Patrick’s bedchambers instead.
“Kára? Swear to me.”
She glanced away. “I will not go inside,” she said, her words stilted.
He breathed in the chilled air, thankful for the fur-lined wrap he wore over his bare arms and chest. The march would take an hour on foot, for he would not push them to go quickly. Advancing an army gave the enemy the advantage of having rested. But to get Geir back, they must strike at the palace.
They stopped before the organizing warriors, and silence fell over the group as they stood in the pre-winter night. All eyes turned toward Joshua, and blood thrummed through him. This lightning of energy was familiar. He’d been in dozens of battles since his father suited him up and brought him to his first at the age of fourteen.
This, however, was the first battle he’d led since South Ronaldsay. Without five hundred perfectly trained warriors on horseback behind him, a daunting enemy before him, and the ghosts of Adam and his family haunting his thoughts, Joshua should feel uneasy. But it was not any of that which made him start his talk to the troops with a prayer.
“Holy Lord, bless this people and the heroics they are about to enact to save a boy’s innocent life…” His words continued, caught and distributed to the masses on the wind. But it was the prayer in his heart that tightened his chest, making the familiar readiness for war twist into the unfamiliar ache of worry. Lord, keep her safe.
Highland Warrior Page 21
