Highland Warrior by McCollum, Heather (people reading books TXT) 📗

She slapped his arm and frowned. “There are no babes here for you to be glancing at,” Brenna said. She crossed her arms to rest on top of her disputed middle. “We hide from Robert’s men,” she said, “but even when his men do not take our people, cold, poor nutrition, and then disease take many.” Her hands slid over her belly.

“The Horseman of War does not care,” Torben said. Would the man die if Joshua ripped out his tongue? Would Kára frown upon that or be relieved?

Osk stood with his hands fisted. “Our mother and father and—”

Kára held up her hand, cutting him off. “We have all suffered loss at the hands of Robert Stuart, his sons, and the men who work in his employ.” She caught Joshua’s arm. “With you leading us, we could break through his tyranny.”

“Kill him then?” he asked, trying to comprehend her vision for her people. Joshua understood blind vengeance, had fallen prey to it before, and this request held the stench of it.

“Aye, and free our people from his rule,” she said.

He leaned closer. “He is an acknowledged uncle of the king of Scotland, bastard or not. Whoever kills him will be marked as a traitor to the crown.”

“It can be done without witnesses,” she said in a false whisper that was easy for everyone to hear.

“Aye, but then his son will be in power. Have ye met Henry Stuart?”

Her lips pursed tightly together. “Aye.” The one word was filled with bitterness. Joshua knew Robert’s eldest son. Strong, entitled, and confident, he acted much like his father. The glint in her eyes spurred more questions, questions he knew she wouldn’t answer before everyone.

He crossed his arms over his chest. “Then we quietly kill Henry, and then Robert’s second son, Patrick, takes over.” He shook his head. “They are all very much like their father. Once word gets to Edinburgh that all the Stuarts are mysteriously disappearing, James will send his army to quell the hostilities he will judge to be here. And King James is not one to side with the common man.”

Kára crossed her arms, too. In the blue woolen dress, her long hair partly pulled up on top of her head, she looked like a simple country lass. But the strength in her face, the conviction there, made her a warrior, a warrior who would surrender to nothing except death. The realization that she would rather die than surrender to Robert tightened his gut. “I would speak to Chief Flett without so many ears about,” he said.

Kára glanced past him to the door and tipped her head in a silent order. Her brother, still barefoot, came to stand next to her as if he were her guard. “You too, Osk,” she said. “And you, Torben. Out.”

The Torben arse blocked Joshua and rounded on Kára, grabbing her shoulders to look down into her face. I’ll cut his hands off along with his tongue, Joshua thought, his teeth clenched.

“Kára, I will not leave you alone—”

“Go,” she ordered and stepped out from under his grasp. Torben cut Joshua a glare as he walked around him. Either Joshua was losing his intimidating look, or the idiot had more courage than intelligence.

Kára and Joshua stared at each other as the sounds of others’ footsteps on the stone floor of the main room faded, the outer door closing. They stood in heavy silence.

He waited. She was the one asking for his help, arranging this whole trickery to win his agreement, so she should be the one to start. As it was, he didn’t know what to say. Arms crossing again under her full breasts, she looked like she was readying for battle. He would rather kiss her, but to tell her that might get him stabbed. And he was angry at her. Aye, furious. Why was it so hard to hold on to that? Back home he was known for his bad temper and had been compared to his warring father.

Her lips opened, and for a moment nothing came out. She dropped her arms. “What do I say?” She shook her head. “You know firsthand of what Robert and his sons, The Brute, and all their men are capable. You trained them.”

Remorse made Joshua’s jaw ache, but he kept his silence. He’d already explained that he taught them only defensive measures and common-sense strategies to fortify their palace. Although there was often a fine line between defense and offense.

“My people have been here on Orkney since it was ruled by Norway,” she said. “In fact, we are more of that country than of your Scotia, Highlander.”

“Ye are not the first people to be subdued by conquerors,” he said. She needed to understand truths without the affliction of emotion. “Being persecuted and run off one’s land has been happening since the beginning of time, Kára. History is full of unfair and murderous conquest.” Damn him. He’d certainly participated and won many of those back home. Sinclairs were slowly taking over the northern territory of Scotland.

She took a step closer. “You have never been on the side of the conquered, have you?”

He breathed in through his nose. Had she heard of the disaster on South Ronaldsay down at the southern tip of Orkney? Heard how the Horseman of War had led common people to a slaughter?

“I have, and I have no intention of repeating it.” It was why he had begun reading his small translation of The Art of War again. It gave clear instructions on when not to fight. Instructions he had been too arrogant to follow, and those who had trusted him had paid the price.

“Have you witnessed the horrors of watching your family thrown from their home, falling onto the frozen ground, or your horses stolen before your eyes by smiling bandits who say that they are more worthy of your mount than you?” Her eyes narrowed. “Mighty Horseman of War…have you been told you cannot find