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

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.

“Kára,” he said, walking closer, swaying slightly to keep the gifts from tumbling to the stone floor. “We must talk.”

“I told you it would not work,” her brother, Osk, said, a sneer on his face. “He is too selfish to help even children.”

“How is leading children into battle against a royal-backed army helping them?”

“Coward,” Osk murmured.

At the same time that Osk chose to risk his life by taunting him, Joshua noticed his stolen boots were on the man’s feet. The combination lit the inferno that had been subdued long enough to allow the children’s words. Taking the time to crouch low, setting his pile carefully on the floor of the main room, Joshua straightened. Without warning, he plowed forward, grabbing Osk off the floor before he could yelp. Joshua threw him through the doorway into the bedroom and onto the bed, grabbing his foot in one hand as he yanked the laces on the boot.

“What the hell, you bacraut!” Osk yelled, his other foot trying to kick Joshua with awkward thrashing that he easily dodged.

“Ye stole my bloody boots,” he gritted out. With a yank, the boot came off, obviously too big for the boy. Joshua dropped Osk’s stockinged foot and grabbed the other boot, yanking it off. Scooping them up, he strode to the other side of the room to jam his numb toes into his fur-lined boots. The lad had already warmed them up, and Joshua grunted at the relief, quickly donning the second one.

Joshua turned in a circle. “Where is my kilt?”

The pregnant woman, Brenna, stood in the doorway to the room, holding his familiar wrap. “She slept with it last night.” She tipped her head toward Kára.

“Brenna,” Kára said, the name a snap of rebuke.

Brenna shrugged. “Well, you did,” she answered, her eyes wide with feigned innocence.

He looked back at Kára, ignoring her brother rooting around under the bed, probably for another pair of boots.

“Ye slept with my kilt?”

She didn’t answer, turning away, but he held it to his nose where the fragrance of her on the wool confirmed her friend’s comment. It shouldn’t matter, but somehow it did, and the fact melted some of his anger.

“And my tunic,” he demanded, looking at Osk.

Osk held his hands up and then plucked at his shirt. “This is mine.”

Brenna shook out his shirt. “Your furs and wool blanket are back in my dwelling where Kára slept.” She tossed it to him.

Joshua looked back at Kára. “Ye poisoned me, stripped me naked, and stole my clothes and sword.”

Kára met his gaze with strength and conviction. “You said you were leaving at dawn.” She shook her head. “I could not let you walk away.”

“So ye poisoned me?” he asked, trying to keep his voice lower than a roar.

“It was a sleeping draught that we use here,” she answered. “Not poison. A mix of herbs that go well in honey mead.”

“A sleeping draught powerful enough to prevent me from waking, as ye pulled my clothes and boots off, is a poison.” He jabbed a finger at her. “Never do that to me again.”

“Pull your clothes and boots off?” she asked, baiting him, and her brother made a gagging noise from the bed.

With a tug, the flowered quilt unraveled from Joshua’s body. He heard Brenna’s intake of breath but didn’t bother to react. Let her leave if she found his nakedness unnerving. She had obviously seen a naked man before, no matter that she lied about being a maid.

“What the bloody hell?” Her…whatever he was, Calder, yelled from the doorway, but Joshua ignored him, too, as he threw his tunic on over his head.

Torben was close on his heels and followed Calder inside the cramped room. “’Tis not civilized to walk around naked before ladies.” His words had a nasal quality, his nose being stuffed with wool. Black circles colored the skin under his eyes, showing that Joshua had broken his nose the day before. “You bloody Scot,” he said.

“Those offended should leave,” Joshua said, his words low. Was the fool willing to risk more pain? Did he love Kára that much? “And last I checked,” Joshua said, “Orkney Isle was part of Scotland.” His gaze pierced Torben. “Ye bloody Scot.” Hopefully, the idiot heard the warning in his growl, because he had only so much restraint. Joshua let out the long piece of plaid wool, pleating it quickly as he stood to wrap it around his waist, belting it in place.

“Joshua,” Kára said, stepping before him, “we have lost our chief, my uncle, Erik Flett, which leaves me in charge of our dwindling numbers. We are persecuted here on Orkney, our home. Anyone with strength is forced to build Robert’s palaces. His newest project is at Kirkwall for his son, Henry.”

Joshua had known Robert was building another castle, but not that the Orkney people were being forced to work on it. “Without pay?” he asked.

“Of course without pay,” Osk said. “And he runs us off lands that we used to hunt on. His soldiers harass our women and capture our men to work, children too. Our healer is still held captive in his damn palace to tend only him, his children, and grandchildren.”

“He uses our people and then throws them away,” Torben said.

Joshua had never seen a healer or nursemaid at Robert’s fortress, but that did not mean she wasn’t held above in the nursery down the hall from Jean’s bedchamber.

“And we need her back very soon,” Calder said, his gaze falling