Highland Warrior

by McCollum, Heather

  …

  They moved in silence across the hills with only Joshua’s lantern showing. Kára walked beside him with Calder on her other side and Torben next to Joshua. The men and few women who followed behind did not falter. They were used to traveling over the spongy moors and uneven boulder-studded ground of Orkney, the tall grasses whipping their legs.

  Kára breathed in the sea air. Even though it was near midnight, the need to find Geir safe and alive pushed away any tiredness that tried to slow her pace. Whenever she glanced behind, she saw the shadows of her people walking just as quickly. Some of them must thirst for revenge like she, having lost people to Robert’s abuse and neglect. Others marched to keep Robert’s soldiers from running to harm their families. Still others kept true to their oaths to follow where the chief of the Hillside people led, whether they saw that as Erik or her, or Joshua the general and Horseman of War.

  Ahead, the bulk of the Earl’s Palace sat at the base of a hill, perched on the edge of the sea. It was a structure of rocks and thatching, and yet it looked to Kára to be as grim as a monster-tale dragon. Flickering torches sat at intervals along the half-built wall and under the roof covering the guard tower at the gate. Another month would see the fortress fortified with a functioning portcullis and complete twelve-foot wall of stone.

  “There will be four guards on the ground outside the keep, two in the guard tower, and two rotating inside the fortress on the first floor,” Joshua said, his voice low. “They are equipped with swords, pikes, and shields. The ones inside also have bows and guns ready to shoot from slots.”

  “Damn,” Calder said.

  “Which is why success will lie in avoiding all-out battle,” Joshua said. “Because once it starts, like a stone down a hill, we will continue to the ultimate outcome.” He met Calder’s eyes. “Let us not start this, because I do not retreat. Ever.”

  He kept Calder’s stare until the man nodded. Joshua glanced at Torben, who kept a scowl on his face. Torben was as stubborn as his mother. He would never nod an approval about anything Joshua said.

  I will never retreat either, she thought, not without Geir. As a leader to her people, was she supposed to sacrifice her son to save them? She would never be an adequate leader if that were the cost.

  Joshua stopped at a point where the gatekeeper should see his small lantern, like a beacon lost on the ocean of darkness before the palace. He kept it level, knowing the Hillside troops were quietly spreading out, crouched in the tall grasses, waiting for further signals.

  “Kára and I will go forward,” Joshua said. “With ye two behind us. If they attack,” he said, looking at Calder, “wait for my signal and then repeat it with your own torch. One thrust of my arm into the air. The other torch holders will mimic the signal so the troops waiting on the shoreside and the east side of the palace will know. Two thrusts to reveal our false numbers.”

  Calder nodded and Joshua glanced at Torben. “Ye are to assist Calder if he needs it,” Joshua said. “Otherwise, follow my signals.”

  He and Kára began striding toward the gate tower. “I will speak,” Joshua said. “Keep your shield ready and your oath not to enter.”

  “Do not worry, Highlander. I have no plans to rush into the devil’s den.”

  His gaze moved to the fortress where several men stood with torches, watching them approach. Joshua yanked the ties at his neck, shucking his wrap. He did not wear a tunic, only the end sash from his kilt. The muscles of his shoulders and arms contracted, mounding to show his obvious strength. The tattoo of the horse head on his arm and the sword across his upper back marked him as the Horseman of War. The fierce bend of his brows, flaring nostrils, and clamped teeth behind rolled-back lips marked him as the harbinger of death.

  If he were marching against her instead of for her, they’d be doomed. The realization that Joshua had spoken truthfully about not trying to hurt her people struck inside her like lightning illuminating the landscape. If he’d wanted to harm her people under Robert’s orders, they would all be dead.

  “Joshua Sinclair?” a man yelled down.

  Joshua stopped, Kára next to him. “We have come to negotiate for the release of Geir Flett, an innocent boy of only nine years.”

  Two of Robert’s warriors rounded the unfinished gate and approached. Joshua let them get within six feet before stopping them with his palm out. He nodded. “Angus. Mathias.”

  “What are ye doing here, Joshua?” the older man asked, glancing up at the tower. He lowered his voice. “Robert counts ye as an outlaw against him and the crown for taking his healer and horse.”

  “And there are some who think ye had a hand in the disappearance of Henry Stuart,” the younger soldier added, looking at her and then back at Joshua. “We have orders to kill ye.”

  “Do ye think it wise to attack me, Mathias?” Joshua asked, his voice even.

  “Bloody hell, no,” Mathias answered. “But Robert will dismiss us if we do not follow orders. Or count us as traitors, too, and arrest us.”

  “Then let the boy free without anyone seeing,” Kára said.

  Both soldiers looked at her as if she’d asked them to murder Robert themselves. “There are five men guarding the lad,” Angus said, shaking his head. “There’d be no way to do so.”

  Mathias looked back at the gate over his shoulder. “As soon as Liam knew it was ye, he sent someone to rouse Lord Robert and Dishington. Soon the whole palace will know ye are here.”

  “And we will be ordered to attack,” Angus whispered.

  “If ye survive,” Joshua said, his voice low and even, “what do ye think Robert will order ye to do next? Kill a nine-year-old lad? Deliver his head to his mother? Turn against your own family if they are caught being kind to the native people?” Joshua looked up at the tower. “Ask Liam what Lord Patrick will do when he discovers his sister there in the village. I know he keeps her hidden away from the lustful bugger. And ask Tuck how he feels about flogging old men when they refuse to build another palace for Robert’s son.”

  “Bloody hell,” Mathias cursed, rubbing his face. “We do not have time to go around talking to them. Robert will be out any moment. We but came to warn ye.”

  Joshua let something of a smile touch his lips, but with the dark promise of death there, the leer made a shiver erupt within Kára. Did the two men feel the same?

  “A warning?” Joshua said.

  “Aye,” Angus said, glancing behind him. “There is but four of ye against fifty of us here and fifty more in the village who will run here if the beacon be lit.” He pointed to the gate tower, above which a large torch was held, likely soaked in pitch.

  “Then the beacon should not be lit,” Joshua said, staring hard at Angus. The man blinked several times, his face pinched in unease as he gave the smallest tilt of a nod.

  A flicker of hope caught inside Kára. There were only fifty soldiers at the palace right then. They would be almost evenly matched in number even if not in training and experience.

  “Ye may join us if ye wish to win this conflict,” Joshua said.

  For a moment, Kára thought that they might, but then the younger one shook his head. “Lord, I truly want to go back to Edinburgh.”

  “If ye walk off into the night,” Joshua said. “I will tell Robert I slaughtered ye and ye can find a ship to cross with me.”

  “Bloody hell, Joshua,” Angus said, his voice low. “Ye and Dishington trained us to battle well. Ye must retreat before Lord Robert orders us to slaughter ye.”

  “I have never retreated a day in my life,” Joshua said, his words even and rough. “I do not intend to do so now.”

  Before either of them could respond, a voice boomed down from the watchtower.

  “Joshua Sinclair, mercenary Horseman of War.” Robert Stuart’s voice made Kára’s stomach tense.

  Joshua turned away from the two men who ran ba
ck behind the wall into the bailey before the keep. Kára stepped along beside him as he approached the tower. “Return the Flett boy,” Joshua said, “and we will leave ye unharmed this night.”

  Robert’s face pinched in anger. “I am already harassed with the disappearance of my son Henry, and Jean’s horse, and wise Hilda, all of which has happened since you left my palace.” His gaze slid to Kára. “If they are paying you to fight for them, it is with stolen money, my gold.”

  “I fight for what is right, Lord Robert,” Joshua said. “Not for gold.”

  “What is right is respecting the Scottish crown and those who serve it, which these people of Orkney do not understand. And, it seems, neither do you.”

  “Respect for a man who steals away a child?” Joshua asked.

  “A child for a child,” Robert said. “When Henry is returned to me unharmed, then their child will be returned unharmed as well.”

  Kára’s mouth opened, but she clenched it shut again. How could Robert compare his raping, terrorizing, malicious son to a nine-year-old boy who still picked wildflowers for his mother?

  “We would see that the child is alive and unharmed,” Joshua said.

  Kára held her breath as Robert signaled someone below the tower and turned back to them. He squinted out into the night as if he saw something. “Get that bloody torch away from me. I cannot see a damn thing with it blinding me,” he said to the man whom Joshua had called Angus. The soldier had climbed up quickly into the tower. Had Joshua truly won his loyalty while he worked there?

  Kára sucked in a rapid breath as The Brute walked to the open gate, his hand clutched around Geir’s arm as if lifting him to walk. Was he injured?

  “See with your own eyes,” Robert yelled down. “The boy is safe. Can you say the same for Henry?”

  “I have no idea where Henry is,” Joshua said, which was the truth, since Lamont had dumped him and his guards somewhere off the coast.

  Patrick Stuart came to stand on the ground next to The Brute and Geir. “There was blood on your tunic at the tavern,” Patrick yelled. “And we discovered some on the grass beside the chapel of Birsay.”

  “I am the Horseman of War,” Joshua said, his stance as solid as his tone. “I wear blood like maidens wear perfume.”

  “Dammit,” Patrick said. “Whose blood was it?”

  “Mine,” Kára said, her gaze focused on Geir. He stood, looking out at her, his face fighting for bravery, but she could see the fear in the wideness of his eyes. “’Twas my blood on his shirt and beside the chapel. I hit my head there, and he helped me.”

  Patrick leered, his smile wry and his eyes predatory. “Tsk. Tupping with the Horseman of War against God’s chapel. You could have been hit by God’s lightning bolt while being slammed against the wall and impaled by—”

  “We do not have Henry Stuart,” Kára said, her statement loud to cover Patrick’s crude words. “Release Geir Flett, a nine-year-old boy who is innocent in any wrongdoing.”

  “The son of a rebellious woman,” Robert said from his perch. “If he is not already guilty of something against the crown, he will be as he grows.”

  Kára stared defiantly up at the man who represented the oppression of her family and people on Orkney. “Is that how you judge people, Lord Robert? Not by what they have done but by what they may do?”

  “Release the boy,” Joshua called out, the force of his voice like thunder.

  “Not without someone else to hold in his place until Henry is restored to me,” Robert replied.

  “We are not here to trade. We are here to take back what is ours,” Joshua said.

  “You and three others?” Patrick asked. “Against our full regiment.”

  “Half your regiment,” Kára said, making the bastard lord’s son frown at her.

  “And we are not alone,” Joshua said, his arm lifting the torch high into the air. Within heartbeats, torches were lit on all sides of the castle as the twelve showed that they surrounded the palace. With their false warriors in the shadows near them, they looked twice the number. Several guards scattered away from the front to see the other Hillside soldiers.

  Joshua jabbed his torch up in the air twice. Without a sound over the wind, light popped up in the field beyond and on the two sides of the castle that she could see. It moved from man to man across the moor and up the hill as the Orkney warriors stood up out of the tall, dark grasses and lit their torches. Looking out at them, she was amazed to see how the poppets, set away from the light, looked like extra people ready to surround and fight.

  “Bloody hell,” Patrick said, his hand going to his sword. “You raise an army against my father and the crown of Scotland.”

  “King James would find it quite interesting that Robert Stuart actually considers himself the crown of Scotland,” Joshua said, referring to the Latin inscription over the arched doorway into the palace.

  Joshua slammed the pointed end of the torch into the ground next to him with such force that it stood up, and he slid his massive sword free of its scabbard. “And we merely want the boy returned to his mother. No blood need soak the ground at the Earl’s Palace if ye let Geir Flett walk away. Right. Now.” The last two words came like a growl. The promise of pain and death in them made Kára’s middle tighten. Thank heavens they had not had to fight against Joshua.

  “Take him inside,” Robert yelled, and The Brute dragged Geir back. Geir’s gaze sought Kára’s, desperate as if he held onto it to save himself. Would it be the last time she saw him alive?

  “I will take his place!” she yelled. “Stop! I will take his place.”

  “Kára, nay,” Joshua said, his voice low, but his words meant nothing to her. Not when she must save Geir from his father’s fate at the hands of another Stuart.

  “Stripped bare,” Patrick yelled. “Like all our prisoners.”

  Without any thought except that The Brute had stopped dragging Geir away, Kára dropped her short sword, letting her daggers follow to the frozen ground. Within seconds, she had her cloak and boots off.

  “Nay, Kára,” Joshua said, catching her arm, but she yanked it free, turning her gaze on him.

  “I told you,” she said, her eyes running along the contours of his hard face, memorizing the lines and small scars there, the fullness of his mouth, the depth of his eyes. “If it came down to one of us, Geir would live. Take him to your Scotia, Highlander. Take all my people,” she whispered.

  “Ye swore,” he said through clenched teeth.

  “I will not let them take him back inside,” she whispered.

  Turning around, she began to walk toward Patrick. “Let Geir Flett go or I stop,” she yelled, her hands halfway lifting the edge of her tunic.

  Patrick signaled The Brute to halt.

  “I will move for every step the boy takes back to the Horseman of War,” Kára said, knowing all eyes were on her. She looked directly at Patrick, waiting, pitting his lust for her against his father’s desire to keep Geir.

  She drew in a breath when Patrick motioned to Dishington to send Geir forward.

  “Do not release him until we have her,” Robert yelled down.

  If her heart wasn’t thumping so fast and the cold not so painful as she yanked her tunic over her head to reveal her stays, she would have smiled. Oh, they would have her. And she would kill and maim as many as she could before they were forced to kill her to stop the rampage of vengeance she planned to inflict.

  Geir took another two steps forward, and she untied the wrapping around her breasts. His gaze moved away from her when she had to slip it off, baring her breasts to all the eyes along the wall and in the tower. Patrick flicked his fingers at Dishington, who let go of Geir. Her son ran back toward Joshua. Behind her, she heard Joshua curse and his sword clang on the ground, but she could not turn away from Patrick’s predatory gaze. His hand shot out to grab her wrist, and s
he knew she was lost.

  Goodbye, Joshua Sinclair.

  Chapter Twenty

  “To secure ourselves against defeat lies in our own hands, but the opportunity of defeating the enemy is provided by the enemy himself.”

  Sun Tzu – The Art of War

  “Foking hell, I hate the cold,” Joshua murmured as he yanked his belt open, letting his woolen wrap follow his sword to the ground. If he ran to Kára fully clothed and armed, the battle would begin. There would be no chance to save Kára’s people from the slaughter that would ensue. Naked and unarmed would allow him to get to her, because nothing would stop him from that.

  “Geir,” Torben called, and the boy ran past Joshua to the two men.

  Calder came up behind Joshua. “What are you doing?”

  “Getting her back,” he said, his words snapping out as if each one were a curse at the blasted cold.

  “We cannot battle without you,” Calder said, anger lacing his words.

  Joshua’s gaze met his narrowed eyes. “Watch for my signal. I still hope we will not battle. If we are taken, retreat to Hillside. If Corey sees Robert, he will order the ship to sail to the mainland. Ye will have to find passage farther south. If I am successful, I will switch places with Kára. Do not wait for me.” He looked again at the young warrior who had so much to live for: a new wife, a new son, a people to protect. “Understood?”

  Calder nodded, and Joshua looked forward to where Kára stood, her bared back straight and perfect. Shucking his boots, Joshua strode forward, completely nude, like Erik Flett the day Joshua rode away from the palace with plans to be at Girnigoe by Samhain. But then he’d met Kára.

  “Bloody damn hell,” he murmured through gritted teeth as gooseflesh rose over his skin and his ballocks tried to crawl back inside him. Stones pressed into his quickly freezing feet, but he ignored the bruising and cut of the wind.