Highland Warrior

by McCollum, Heather

  Torben came within a foot of him, staring hard into Joshua’s face. Although he looked strong, he had no scars that Joshua could see. Inexperienced young fool.

  “Your services are not needed here, Highlander or Horseman or whatever you bloody call yourself,” Torben said, his words seething. Services?

  Joshua took in all the details of the man, letting his gaze move back up to meet his. Joshua tipped his head slightly to the side, his eyes narrowed. “If my services are to expertly coax moans and screams of pure carnal bliss from that bonny lass over there, I believe I am the only one on Orkney who could do that.”

  Brenna gasped from the bed, balancing there with both hands over her mouth. Kára made some sort of noise, her hands going to her cheeks.

  “You son of a whore!” Torben yelled and lunged, grabbing Joshua’s tunic at the neck. With his hands full of linen, it was easy enough for Joshua to send his fist upward into the man’s jaw. The surprise made him stumble back, hands going to his face. Joshua took aim and punched him in the nose, sending him sprawling backward where Calder had to jump away to miss being hit by Torben’s large body.

  Joshua reached down, dragging the man up as he tried to stop the blood pouring from his nose. “The first punch was for my mother, who was a saint,” Joshua said, lifting Torben and throwing him out through the door flap to land in the main room. “The second was for Kára, whom ye hunt even though she has refused ye. Find your dignity and move on.”

  Calder followed Torben out into the main room, helping him up to move toward the door. Joshua turned back to the onlookers. His gaze found Kára where she stood by Osk, hands still on her cheeks. He narrowed his eyes. “Why exactly am I here?”

  Did the people in the small room know what was in the lass’s mind? “Kára?” he asked. His hands fisted, his muscles contracting as if he knew deep down that the beautiful woman, who had taken him to bed and likely spoiled all other women for him for the rest of his life, had her own mission. And he was part of it. “I become quite dangerous when I feel I have been tricked,” he said.

  Kára lowered her hands and met Joshua’s gaze, her eyes dark in the dim light of several sconces. Even though it was a small space, the distance in her eyes and stance made her feel much farther away.

  He stopped himself from stepping closer, using his control and natural stubbornness to root him to the stone under his boots. “Have I been tricked?” he asked, a fierce warning in the tone of his words.

  “No one is holding you here,” she answered. “So do not get yourself in a lather.” Her hands moved around her as she spoke, but she would not meet his gaze. The old woman and Brenna held onto each other’s arms on the bed, and Osk stood like a sentry next to his sister.

  “Kára,” Joshua said and waited until her eyes settled back on him. “Why did ye ask me to come to Hillside?”

  Her hands clenched where they lay against her thighs. “Joshua Sinclair…” Her chin tipped higher, and she stared him directly in his eyes as she inhaled fully. “My people need you. That is why you are here.”

  His chest clenched. What had last night and this morning been about? Their constant tupping? Laughing together? Clinging together? Learning each other’s taste and smell and exploring every inch of each other’s bodies?

  Kára walked closer and took another large inhale. “Joshua, Horseman of War, I need you to lead my people in war against a tyrant.”

  Betrayal snaked its way through him, changing the hurt, at finding out Kára’s actions had been about using him, into anger. Growing up, hurt always flipped immediately to anger within him. Even as an adult, the change happened in the space of a heartbeat.

  He took a step forward, too, meeting her in the middle of the room to look down into her beautiful face that was tight with conviction. He did not touch her. “Kára Flett, Dróttning, chief of your people.” His eyes narrowed, his face reflecting the twisting of pain that his anger could not suppress. “No.”

  …

  Kára stood staring up into the face of fury, a death mask that changed slowly into something worse—indifference.

  Without thought, she grabbed his arms, holding him there as if he would turn his back on them and sail home to Scotia that very moment. “You helped Robert’s warriors learn how to kill us with ease,” she said. “And now you prepare to leave us like lambs to be slaughtered by his band of wolves.” Her fingers clamped tighter as if to shake him, which would prove only futile. Who could shake a mountain except God? God?

  She swallowed. “You call yourself a Horseman of God and yet you will not fight for those who pray continually for His holy help,” she said. Her eyes squinted as she held his unblinking stare. “God put you in my path at the tavern, a last chance to take back our isle. How can you say no?”

  “God did not seduce me into staying here,” he answered. “That was all ye.”

  She felt the flush, that had flared hot at Joshua’s words to Torben, reignite. What would Amma say when they were alone? Would Osk tell her son that she’d slept with Joshua to keep him on Orkney?

  As if unable to hold himself apart anymore, Joshua’s hand went around Kára’s back. She let go of his arms, and he thrust her up against him as if they were once again coming together in wild passion. It knocked the breath from her, her head tipping back to meet his gaze.

  He leaned in, looming until they were inches apart, and began to speak. “Ye know very little about me, lass, but I will reveal this to ye. I do not respond well to deception,” he said, his words succinct with venom.

  Her mouth opened to deny her tricking him. Unfortunately, that was exactly how it had begun, a desperate plan to seduce him into staying, and perhaps to once and for all end Torben’s insistence that they wed. And they had recently found out that Erik Flett, Kára’s uncle and the chief of the Orkney inhabitants on mainland Orkney, had been captured by Robert’s son. If the leadership of the Hillside people fell to her, she’d do anything for a chance to save them. Even give a stranger your body? The voice in her head made her cheeks flame hot, but she silenced it with resolute will.

  She met his gaze without wavering. “You would have left this morning. Before I could bring you to meet those who will die without you leading them,” she whispered, hoping at least Brenna could not hear her. Why hadn’t Calder come back for her? Instead, they all stood listening. Damn close quarters. There were no secrets at Hillside.

  Her lips pulled back slightly as if she snarled. “Be our teeth to bite back at the wolves. They have taken our people and spilled our blood. Lead us against them. With you, we will finally find victory against the Stuarts.”

  Kára couldn’t read whether her words affected the statue of strength before her. If she didn’t feel the heat of his body against hers, she would think he was truly made of rock. Hard, without regret, unmoved by her words. What will move him? Her mind whirled. Tears? Doubtful. Threats? Laughable. Passion? She’d tried that, but she hadn’t been enough. She almost looked away with her apparent failure, but with a steadying breath, she kept his stare.

  “Lead us, Joshua Sinclair,” she whispered.

  Without any softening, he dropped his arms. “I leave at dawn.” He turned, striding past the bed where Brenna and Amma had witnessed the ridiculousness of her attempt to capture such a beast.

  Her stomach hollowed in shame, bringing the usual pang of desperation. The familiar nightmare surfaced in her mind like it was yesterday instead of months ago, reminding her of her failure. Pale faces, as if they lay sleeping, among their few possessions in the fur-lined grave. Her mother, father, and older sister.

  She looked at Brenna who had lowered down off the bed with the help of her amma. Fear lurked in her friend’s eyes. How cruel Kára had been, bringing Joshua to Hillside. His presence had given her people the hope that the Horseman of War might fight for them, and tomorrow they would watch him ride away from them, from her.


  “He will not help us,” Brenna whispered.

  “As if you could trust him,” Osk said, a sneer on his face. “He is a selfish bastard.”

  Anger pushed past the shame Kára felt, and she rounded on him. “He could have easily slaughtered you last night, all of you.” She threw her arms wide. “Even Geir, but he showed you fools mercy. There is kindness in him.” And generosity. After being wrapped up with Joshua Sinclair, she knew there was much more to him than bloodlust and anger.

  Kára looked to Brenna and Amma. Did they condemn her as sinful for trying to lure Joshua with…hell, the best experience she’d ever had in her life? Would Torben tell everyone in Hillside that she’d abandoned her people for a day of lust with the Highlander? Would their disapproval all be for naught if the Horseman of War rode away? “If I can get him to stay, he could give us the edge to stop Robert and his brutal sons.”

  I leave at dawn. His words mocked her in the silence of the room, as if the people there were repeating them in their own minds, knowing she would fail as their new chief. Kára’s hands fisted tightly against her legs as she exhaled slowly, feeling her hope try to leave her on the breath.

  With the numbers of her people falling, Robert’s power growing, and winter setting in, failure seemed ensured. She took a full breath, meeting the strong gaze of her amma. The wise woman gave Kára a slow nod, the strength behind years of survival in the harsh conditions on Orkney making her as stubborn as the rocks around them.

  “There is nothing you can do to stop him, Kára,” Brenna said, holding her protruding belly as if she might hide the babe she would not acknowledge aloud.

  Bloody hell. Kára reached up, sliding hands over her face to cup the back of her skull. Luring Joshua back to her den had been a risky plan, one of which she had quickly lost control. But… I got him here. The Horseman of War had done what she’d asked. If she were going to fail, Kára would do so after trying everything in her power to save her people.

  “He is going to leave,” Brenna said.

  “Not if I have anything to do with it,” she said, turning to her grandmother. “Amma, do you have any of the sleeping draught I give Geir when he cannot stop tossing from worry?”

  “Aye.” Amma rose from her spot on the bed. She smiled. “The lemon flavor goes nicely in honey mead.”

  “What are you going to do?” Brenna asked, her eyes wide.

  “I am keeping him here until I can convince him to kill Robert and his spawn.”

  …

  “Bloody foking hell,” Joshua roared as he stalked naked around the small stone barn. Opening the door to let in a swirl of snow, he spied the sun through the heavy clouds.

  Even though the Orkney sun did not rise high this time of year, he could still see it was near the apex of its climb. He had fallen asleep after eating and drinking what Kára had sent to him the night before. She hadn’t brought it herself, making him almost seek her out, but fury still ate at him. Fury at himself for falling for her tricks and at her for being so damn clever and beautiful.

  A shiver tore through him, and he slammed the heavy door against the icy breeze and patches of snow tucked into the tall grasses. “’Tis the middle of the bloody day,” he said. He had never slept so long before. It wasn’t natural. “She poisoned me and took my clothes.” He turned in a tight circle. “My furs, my sword, my woolen wrap…and my boots!” he yelled, looking down at his bare feet, toes curling up from the cold ground. He was certain that he’d fallen asleep with them on last night, his tunic as well.

  “She must have poisoned me,” he said low through gritted teeth. The only scrap he had, besides the strip around his arm wound, was the flower-painted quilt she had sent, along with peat and a torch to light a fire inside the barn. He grabbed the blanket off the wool tick that he had slept on next to Fuil and folded it around his waist into a mockery of a pleated wrap. It looked ridiculous, the brightly stitched flowers against his large form.

  He had never been deceived by a woman before, or a man, for that matter. His brothers and he had played pranks on one another growing up, but he hadn’t anticipated a trick by the lass. He had not anticipated her asking him to lead her people to their deaths in a futile fight, either. Why the hell else would she have led you to her tupping den? Was it all a farce to get him to stay on Orkney? Joshua’s fist hit a hanging pail, the metallic twang loud in the quiet barn. Cracked, it fell to the earth with the force. Was there no limit to Chief Kára Flett’s boldness?

  He looked to Fuil who had tossed his head at the explosive sound. “And ye let her strip me naked.” The bay horse raised his hoof to scrape the stall door. “Damn woman,” he said from between clenched teeth.

  He pushed through the barn door, and the icy wind of the desolate landscape stole his breath. Why the hell wasn’t he back at Girnigoe Castle right now? Because you let a bonny lass trick you, you arse.

  Stalking, completely naked under the blanket, his damn ballocks pulled up higher than when he had to swim in a frost-edged loch, Joshua strode across toward the hill. The bottoms of his feet burned with cold as he crunched through the thin layer of snow and frost, his fury the only thing heating him. Aunt Merida would scold him for risking illness. He knew that God did not protect him more than other men. ’Twas a legend made by his da, but he would not die from something as piddling as cold, even if he seemed more sensitive to it. Besides, the fire of his anger beat away the attacking wind.

  Down the other side of the slope he saw a lad who looked like the one who had grazed him with the thrown dagger outside the tavern. The boy ran into the door of the underground cottage where he’d left Kára standing with her family last night. She better be in there. Along with his clothes and Sinclair sword.

  He jogged down the slope and stepped through the door. The heat from the central fire washed over him, but what stopped him from moving farther inside was the crowd, the very…short…crowd. All of them sitting across the floor, perfectly quiet and still, except for a few who wiggled in place.

  “Joshua Sinclair…” Kára’s voice shot toward him from the doorway of the bedchamber. “Meet the children of Hillside.”

  Chapter Six

  “It is the rule in war, if ten times the enemy’s strength, surround them; if five times, attack them; if double, be able to divide them; if equal, engage them; if fewer, defend against them; if weaker,

  be able to avoid them.”

  Sun Tzu – The Art of War

  Joshua swallowed down the curse on his tongue, glaring at Kára. She met his gaze unabashedly and then nodded to one little lass who stared back at her. The child looked to be about five years old. Curls framing her round face, the wee one came forward holding a jar.

  “Jam from my móðir, my mum,” she said, tilting her chin high. He stood still, unsure what to do. With a determined frown, the child shook the jar before him. Joshua forced his fist to relax enough to unfurl his fingers and take the jar. The little girl flashed him a smile and turned, sitting back down among the throng. There must have been twenty children in there, perhaps more.

  A lad stood next, serious in face, with a wooden sword strapped to his side. “For your mighty horse,” he said, handing Joshua a turnip. “I heard he is fond of them.” Joshua nodded and then focused on balancing the vegetable on the top of the jar.

  Next stood an older lass with a knitted woolen scarf. She walked toward him, her arms extended. “I made it,” she said, giving him a shy smile.

  One by one, they rose, each one of them handing something to him in some sort of tribute until a pile of wool, dried flowers, food, and painted stones balanced against his bare chest. He would have lowered them to the ground but was afraid they’d topple and the loosely tied blanket covering his loins would fall.

  When the last child sat, Kára crossed her arms over her chest, her feet braced in a battle stance. “I thought you might want to meet the children who will be fo
rced to work on Lord Robert’s new palace this spring. Without pay. Without food. Without the ability to say no.”

  He held all the little gifts in silence. Kára clapped her hands together once, and the children stood as if they’d rehearsed this attack on his conscience. They formed a line to leave, each one stopping before him to curtsy or bow. “Please stay,” the little girl who brought the jam said.

  “I can help you with your horse,” the turnip-gifting lad said.

  “I can knit you another plaid in wool,” the older girl said, giving a curtsy.

  “I think you are the strongest person alive,” said a little lass with wide eyes.

  “We need you on our side.”

  “Take us to victory,” said a boy who was just shy of being called a man. “I will fight with you.” The smattering of freckles over the bridge of his nose brought a hollow twisting to Joshua’s stomach.

  The boy had no idea of the ghosts he conjured within him. All the children plucked at Joshua’s resolve. He looked up at Kára, knowing it had been her plan. He frowned, his gaze rising to where she maintained her stance in the bedroom doorway. Her brother, Osk, peeked by her shoulder along with the younger lad who had been waiting outside, apparently on guard to alert them of his coming. Kára did not look smug nor victorious. She looked damned determined.

  She whispered into the boy’s ear. Who was he, the lad who had kept watch for him and had not tried to sway him with jam and turnips? The boy frowned but strode forward, around the line, and headed back out into the cold.

  As the last child exited, Joshua stood there, arms full, meeting Kára’s gaze. “Ye use children to sway me.” His words were tight, his anger reined in.

  She exhaled. “You need to understand what I am fighting for.”

  It was because of children and the weak, the ones hurt the most by the misery of war, that Joshua had sworn to stop fighting ongoing, constant battles that only wore down each side until one was weaker and surrendered. A war with no winners was brutal and cruel, one he would not fight. And dammit! Kára was asking him to do it again.