Highland Warrior by Heather McCollum (the rosie project TXT) 📗

women before, but none had held his attention for more than one night. Kára intrigued him. She was courageous and willing to give boldly. When he looked into her eyes, he saw there was much going on in her mind even if she was unwilling to share it. A woman with secrets? He smiled to himself at the challenge of uncovering every single one. Could he do it in the time before he sailed? Perhaps he would visit Orkney again despite the cold.

Joshua steered them toward one of the many rises that rolled across the treeless isle. Kára had added her flowered quilt to his wool blanket to wrap around them, and their combined body heat underneath the layers made it a cozy nest.

He inhaled along her ear, where the warmth radiated with her spicy floral scent. “I could stay wrapped up with ye through a freezing blizzard and be content.”

Under the blanket, her hand slid along his thigh. “I would like that.”

As they climbed the incline, three squat stone cottages sat along the coast. Smoke snaked up from center chimney holes through their thatched roofs. “Welcome to Hillside,” she said, sitting up straighter so that she didn’t lean into him. The distance brought a little chill with it, and he resisted the urge to pull her back. Bloody hell, he’d never wanted a woman so much. Even after sating his lust for her numerous times, he only wanted more. He would have to come back in the spring.

Ahead, several men emerged from the houses, crude pikes and swords and pitchforks in their hands. Kára worked her arm out of the blankets and raised it straight in the air, her hand fisted. Weapons lowered, and more people emerged. How many lived in three medium-sized cottages?

Several dogs ran out of the house, barking wildly. Luckily, Fuil did not shy from dogs. “I see why ye have a den for privacy,” he said near her ear and pulled Fuil to a stop. His gaze scanned the frowning people, most of them men with a few women. Several children stood back in the doorways. Their clothes were worn but cared for, and furs wrapped their legs.

“Joshua,” she said, turning her face partway toward him so that she would not be heard by the people. “There’s a man here who thinks I will wed with him even though I have refused him. There may be a bit of hostility from those who support his suit.”

Bloody hell. “Explain.”

“Dróttning Kára,” one older man said, while two other men shooed the barking dogs away. He bowed his head, and the others followed.

“Just Kára, Corey,” she called, ignoring Joshua’s order.

The old man shook his head. “Erik is presumed dead, and you are the next in line to lead us.” His gaze moved past her to Joshua. “Osk told us you would be away for a day, but we did not believe him.”

Who was Osk, and how would he know that Kára would be away? But that question was overshadowed by many others. Erik? Was he the man she mentioned? The one who wanted to wed her even though she’d said no?

A woman of mid-age, handsome in face, stepped out of the cottage. Her gaze locked onto him as she strode forward, frowning. “Who is this, and why is he up against your person?” The vehemence in her voice cut sharper than the wind.

Kára kept her voice soft, as she turned her head toward Joshua. “And he has a mother.” Her tone held a frustration that was beginning to sprout inside Joshua as well. Hostile was quite accurate. Despite her regal bearing, the woman looked like she might throw a sgian dubh at his heart. He’d obviously dealt with aggression in the past. Before coming to Orkney, he’d thrived upon it. But he’d never had to draw on his battle experience to protect himself from a woman nearly two score in years older than him.

I should be halfway to Caithness by now.

Kára let the blankets fall from her body, and the cold immediately dispersed the heat around them, the wind carrying it away. Bloody damn cold. Now he remembered. Kára’s heat had managed to convince him not to continue his journey home.

“This is Joshua Sinclair, Horseman of War from Scotia,” she called out.

“Have you come to kill us?” one man asked.

“Or steal our young women?” the angry mother of the rejected swain called.

“He has come to meet those who call Hillside and Orkney their home,” Kára answered.

“Meet? Helping would be better,” another woman called from the doorway where a child hid in her skirts.

One of the men spit on the ground, drawing Kára’s immediate stare. “And he will be treated as a guest,” she said.

“A guest would not lure a bride away from her groom,” the first woman said.

“Fiona,” Kára said, keeping her voice even but full of authority. “I have told Torben that I am not marrying him. I am a free woman and intend to stay as such.”

Fiona rattled something off in their Norn language and traipsed down the hill behind the three cottages. The remaining people all stared at him, judging and frowning. It was exceedingly apparent these people thought he was a seducer of women and a killer. They did not seem the type to lose their minds and attack him outright, bringing them early deaths, but a little intimidation would help remind them not to be foolish.

His familiar scowl formed in the contours of his face: hard, narrowed eyes, full inhales, the edge of his teeth bared through his scowl. Joshua let the rest of the blankets fall off him because it was virtually impossible to frighten someone while wearing a flower-painted quilt. The cold mattered not, as he leaped down from Fuil, his sword strapped to his back. His height and build should deter any attack. He did not want to kill any of Kára’s people. How about the man who will not take no for an answer?

He turned to help her down,