“And then Patrick will hunt you. I am sure he’s already sent word to King James about the uprising,” said another man. Calder?
“I have seen no rider.”
“There will be one eventually.”
The voices moved back and forth with more words, always more words. She almost succumbed to the darkness again, but she stayed afloat, listening, waiting. None of the voices was the one she needed to hear, the one that had talked to her through the darkness and pain slicing through her skull and side. Joshua.
“Take this with ye. Give it to my brother. Tell him I am dead.” It was Joshua’s voice. Like the sun wavering through layers of water above the surface of the sea, Kára tried hard to swim up through the murky depths toward it.
“Two scraps of material with a knot holding them together?” someone asked. “What does it mean?”
“Cain will know.”
Kára fought harder to focus on his voice. Joshua. Joshua. “Joshua,” she whispered on a breath. The words around her stopped. Silence surrounded her. I have fallen back asleep.
“Lass?” The vibration of the voice tickled her awareness. She held on to it, following it like a fishing line up from the depths. “Kára?” Her name rolled from his mouth. He was there. She fought to answer him, her eyelids so heavy.
“I heard her say my name,” he said, as if talking to the room. She felt someone cradle her hand. Fingers slid along her face, brushing her hair from her cheek.
“I am here, lass,” Joshua said. She clung to the words as she fought to open her eyes.
“Give her some drink,” her amma said.
Kára felt her head and shoulders lifted and a cool cup pressed against her lips. The coolness of honey mead slipped into her mouth and down her throat. She swallowed, and her eyes flickered open.
Dim firelight filled the space, and faces peered down at her. She couldn’t tell where she was, but her gaze fastened onto Joshua’s eyes. Light blue in the sun, they were dark as he stared back, his brows furrowed and hair mussed. His strong jaw was bristled, and she raised her hand to lay against it. “I have been asleep,” she said softly.
“Aye,” he answered, taking her hand in both of his. “For four days, lass. Ye had a fever from the dirty blade Patrick sliced ye with. It set in right away and would not let go.”
“What has happened?” she asked. She blinked, trying to shift, and felt the pain in her side. At least her head did not throb, but it felt heavy like the rest of her.
“I am well,” Geir said, coming to sit by her. She smiled at him, and he kissed her forehead like he was a little man already. “You and Joshua saved me.”
Memories flooded back like a nightmarish wave. “Torben signaled an attack,” she said, feeling her chest tighten.
“’Twas my fault,” Calder said from behind Geir. “He snatched the torch away from me. I should have been prepared.”
“He has died for his crimes,” Amma said, shooing Geir back so she could get in, giving Kára more to drink. Her stomach rumbled. “You need to sip some broth,” Amma said, motioning Geir to bring her some from the fire. He hurried over with a cup.
Kára sipped at it; the rabbit broth was seasoned with herbs, and her stomach unknotted more with each swallow. Joshua helped her sit, and she realized that they were all underground in her den. How had Amma gotten down there? “Are we hiding?” Kára asked.
“Ye needed a safe place to heal undisturbed,” Joshua said.
“Because Robert is scouring Orkney for us and anyone he thinks raised a sword against him,” Osk said. “So aye, we are hiding, but the ship sailed.”
“Those who survived?” she asked, afraid to hear that none had.
“I gave word to retreat as I ran ye out of there,” Joshua said. “Many of Hillside’s warriors listened. They are hiding underground.”
“Retreat?” she asked, searching his strong face. “You said you never would. Once the stone rolls down the hill, it must finish.”
His mouth quirked to the side, reminding her of the teasing times they had before. “And ye swore ye would not surrender yourself to the Stuarts.”
She gave a small nod. “So Robert is not dead?”
“No,” Osk said, standing behind Joshua. “He has been busy burning the village of Birsay.”
“Asmund?” she asked. Would he have tried to keep the soldiers away from his tavern, his home?
“Lamont got him out to the ship,” Calder said. He looked at Joshua. “’Twas a blessing that those not fighting ferried out there before we marched. There would not have been time to send them off safely once we returned from the palace.”
Osk snorted. “Robert and Patrick are having fits that they cannot find anyone to kill. And The Brute—”
“He is alive, too?” Kára asked, looking to Joshua.
Calder shifted. “He was unconscious for most of the battle.”
“Who did we lose?” Kára asked, softly. What lives had been lost to regain Geir?
“Torben,” Calder said. “Slashed down by Robert.” He shook his head. “He let vengeance rule his rage against a father who never acknowledged him.”
“Fiona built his hate,” Amma said. “Robert got her with child and sent her away. She hated him and spurred her son to kill him.” Amma’s lips pinched tight. “She sailed with the rest and will mourn when she finds out.”
Silence settled briefly. “Who else?” Kára asked.
“There were some injuries, cuts, a few twisted ankles, but no more deaths,” Calder said. “It seems that Joshua was respected quite a bit by Robert’s soldiers. When he told them to step down, most of them did.”
Kára glanced at Joshua as Calder continued. “They defended themselves, but from what I could see, they were not attacking except the bastard who I felled.” Pride filled his voice, and Kára noticed the bandage across his head, his arm in a sling.
“With no more deaths?” Kára whispered, searching Joshua’s handsome face.
“No more deaths,” he repeated. His hand came up to cup her cheek. “I told ye that I would save your people. Not through war but through peace.”
The ache of tears pressed against the backs of Kára’s eyes. “Thank you,” she whispered.
Joshua lowered his face to hers, kissing her lips gently. Backing up, he nodded to her, a smile tugging at his lips.
“But now Robert wants Joshua dead,” Osk said. “He says your life is forfeit, too, Kára, for not trading places with Geir. Joshua is to die for killing Henry and turning traitor against the crown of Scotland.”
“Would he follow us to your home?” she asked, looking to Joshua.
“His fury is great,” Joshua said. “It will likely push him to journey there or Edinburgh to demand retribution against my clan and any of your people settling there.”
Her eyes widened as the weight of Joshua’s sacrifice descended upon her. “You sent a letter to your brother saying that you broke your oath to him. We could go farther west, maybe to the isles there.”
Joshua met her gaze. “I want ye to meet my family, Kára. Next to me.”
“And Robert is out for blood,” Amma said. “He will cause a big enough complaint with King James that Joshua’s brother will be forced to give him up if he stays in Caithness. Unless…”
Amma looked up to meet Joshua’s gaze. “Unless…” she repeated.
Joshua’s eyes turned back to Kára. “Unless Robert kills me and sees us both buried.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
“It is only one who is thoroughly acquainted with the evils of war that can thoroughly understand the profitable way of carrying it on.”
Sun Tzu – The Art of War
Joshua’s head rested on his arm that stretched over his head. He lay next to Kára under layers of quilts and furs, listening to her easy breaths.
Only days ago, her brea
thing had been shallow with fever, a sound he never wanted to hear again. When he’d seen that the slice in her side was not too deep, he’d been hopeful, but then the fever had sunk its talons into her. She had roused from the bump to her head just to go under again with fever. He’d run to Hillside and fallen to his knees in thanks that Hilda and Harriett Flett had stayed behind to tend the wounded. With Hilda’s tinctures, poultices, and stitching and Harriett’s constant tending, Kára’s fever had broken, soaking her and flooding him with relief. Praise God! If Joshua hadn’t been raised to slay, and planned to tup throughout his life, he’d have taken up the cross as a priest.
With the sun giving way to the security of night and the others gone back to their own hiding holes, Joshua had helped her wash with warm water and her sweet spicy soap. Alone, they’d eaten, speaking about Joshua’s plan in quiet tones.
The night was cold, and they’d opted to put out the fire in case Robert’s men searched nearby. The smell of smoke and the glow of fire up the old well that led to her den might bring them. Tomorrow would be soon enough to die. If anything went wrong, this might be the last time he got to hold her. “You are not sleeping,” she whispered where she lay, spooned against him.
“Neither are ye.”
Gingerly, she pressed back so she could lie flat, looking up at him. Without the fire, she was a shadow in the sea of darkness. His other senses took over. The feel of her warmth against him under the heavy throws, the sound of her breath and soft words. The smell of the dandelion poultice tied around her waist and the sweet essence from her soap.
Joshua’s fingers brushed the hair framing her face back as if she were as fragile as the flowers of which she smelled. He leaned into her, meeting her lips. They were already open as if she’d been waiting for him to kiss her. They breathed against each other, the press together deepening, and he felt her fingers tangle in his hair. He held her face in his hands, kissing her, breathing her in, long draughts of Kára. She was everything good, even with her stubbornness and risk taking. Aye. Everything.
The lass in his arms there in the dark was more than a mere woman. Kára was brave and clever and so deliciously sensual that he could not imagine thinking of another woman to bed ever again.
She could shatter his plans and hold her head high in doing so. She could sway his mind even when he’d sworn not to bend. She was all-powerful, and his bloody life seemed to hang on her well-being and happiness. He’d realized that when he’d watched her crumple to the stone floor.
Pulling back, Joshua wrapped her in his arms, burying his face in her still-damp hair. He lifted the quilt over their heads to keep her from getting a chill. For a long pause, he held her against him, wishing he could pull her fragile body inside his large one. The slice of a blade, a thrown rock or shot arrow, even a fall from a horse could steal the life from her.
“You’re holding me rather tight,” she said, against his shoulder.
He loosened quickly. “Did I hurt ye?”
“I am not so breakable, Highlander.”
“Aye, ye are, Kára,” he said. Under the blanket he could not see even a shadow of her, but he knew exactly where she was and probably what frown she was giving him. “I will protect ye more. Keep ye close. No more battles.”
He felt her stiffen. “Joshua, I have been taking care of myself for the last nine years. Well, except for the Henry attack. And I suppose Patrick, but otherwise I am perfectly able to stay whole and well.”
“I do not want ye anywhere near the palace on the morrow,” he said, using his fingers to stroke through her unbound tresses.
“I do not think Hilda would let me. Plus, I am already supposed to be dead.”
Her words chilled him. He kissed her forehead. “I would rather put ye on your horse and send ye to Skaill to find passage across.”
“I will be well, Joshua. I survived too much to die from acting dead.” She laughed lightly.
She did not understand. Joshua barely did. This turmoil within him, this simmering rage that her presence calmed. Never before had he felt…peace. But when he held Kára, his warring heart calmed.
There was a long pause between them. “Joshua?”
He ran a hand over his face. “My mother died birthing my youngest brother,” he said.
“The one named Bás or Death?”
“Aye.” He laid his head back down on the pillow level with her face. He knew she was directly before him even if they could not see each other. Perhaps the darkness made it easier to talk.
“My father was a warlord. He loved strength and victory, and he also loved my mother. I remember him laughing with her, deep bellowing laughter. I was young, but I remember it clearly. Because when she died…”
He felt Kára’s hand find his along his naked hip under the covers. Her fingers intertwined with his. “When she died…?” she prompted in a whisper.
“He… His laughter turned to roars, his smiles to gnashing teeth, his tolerance to bloody fury. It was then that he began weaving the legend of my brothers and me being the Four Horsemen.”
“He grieved for her,” she whispered.
“It was as if the shackles that he kept on the frenzy within him shattered with his sorrow, letting out a beast that raged against anyone he saw as an enemy. I never understood how someone as small and gentle as my mother could have tamed him while she was alive. But in the palace, when I saw ye thrown to the floor, blood wetting your tunic…”
She squeezed his hand. “You worry overmuch about me,” she said.
“I do, but I also worry…” He pushed up on his elbow to touch her hair with his free hand. “Ye bring me peace, Kára. I have never felt calm in here before,” he said, raising their intertwined fingers so that her hand rested over his beating heart. “Ye have altered me, helped me quell my want to battle, even as ye did everything to get me to lead your people in war.”
“I thought that was South Ronaldsay,” she whispered.
His chest squeezed. “That altered me, too, but not enough to stop me from journeying on to Lord Robert’s to train his men to fight.”
“But you trained them to defend, not attack.”
“’Tis a thin line between the two.”
“Well, you did something,” she said, “because my people survived the other night.”
He exhaled long. She did not understand. Something had changed in him, something that could prove his complete unraveling. “I worry that if ye die,” he said, “I will…” His lips curled in as if they were unwilling to speak. “I will truly become the harbinger of death, a warrior full of unchecked rage. A perfect version of my father.” Bloody hell. He had said it. “Do ye understand?”
She was quiet for a long moment. Could she hear the thumping of his heart that echoed in his ears? Wrapped together under pounds of bedding in total darkness, he’d opened enough to expose his darkest secret, the thing that made him the most vulnerable.
“Kára—”
“Shhhh…” She unlaced her fingers from his, her finger rising to his lips to gently lie across them.
But he would not keep quiet. “Do ye understand what I am saying?” Did he? Maybe she could put this worry, this frenzy to protect her into perspective.
She leaned into him until he could feel the slightest brush of her breath upon his lips. “Love me tonight, Joshua Sinclair.”
…
Kára’s heart pounded inside her. Did she understand what he was saying? That he would go insane if she died? That her life meant so much to him, that her death could threaten the world in which they lived? That he possessed such deep feelings about her?
Pressing forward, her lips found his directly before her. Her questions melded into a growing heat inside her, a heat that teased her, giving her hope. Joshua Sinclair, mighty Highlander, was rugged, kind, and clever. Full of courage and honor. And he felt something for her: maybe somethin
g powerful and maddening, something she was feeling, too.
But she dared not speak. If she were wrong, the pain would hurt her more than Patrick’s blade.
What had at first been built on carnal satisfaction had grown into much more. She had pushed thoughts of him away to protect herself, allowing it to grow only when she realized that they may not part ways. And now he was asking her if she understood him. She was not certain, and she was too anxious of the pain of being wrong to answer.
Joshua met her kiss with immediate intensity when she slanted her mouth against his. For long minutes they tasted and touched, inhaled and exhaled within their small circle. Her hand slipped down to his hard jack that sat between them.
“Ye are healing,” he murmured against her lips.
“I feel no pain,” she whispered, hooking her knee up and over his hip, bringing their bodies into contact. It was ever so obvious that Joshua’s body had no reservations about her request, and losing herself in the feel of him would push away her worry that she’d said too much. “Love me tonight, Joshua Sinclair,” she whispered as she took ahold of him.
He groaned into her mouth and pressed her back into the bed. She could feel his arm against the side of her head as the other hand slid along her arm to cup her breast. The strumming pulled a cord inside her that resonated all the way down to the crux of her legs.
Keeping his weight off her, his hand continued down her body, riding the hills and valleys of her curves, teasing out all the deliciously sensitive spots. Kára moaned low, his mouth sliding to kiss a path along her neck, sending shivers of building heat up and down her.
As his fingers skimmed the tightly bound bandage around her middle, he paused. “Do not stop,” she said with as much authority as she could muster under the urge to surrender.
He pushed her gently away from him. “Trust me.” The deep resonation of his voice stopped her cry of unjust treatment long enough to feel him pull her back against his chest. With her injured side facing upward, the pressure that made it hurt was gone. Joshua’s top arm wrapped around her, his hand beginning its leisurely strokes along the front of her body. As he reached her crux, his fingers expertly found her, playing a rhythm that made her pant.
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