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

food to stay alive because it has hopped onto someone else’s land? That you must starve and hope the animal comes back to your little square of turf?”

How could he make her understand? “In my experience, of which I have much—”

“Which, I am thinking, does not include living in the aftermath of losing a war,” she said.

“In my vast experience in war,” he continued, “I have learned that to fight endlessly against a bigger army leads only to more and more death and misery for the smaller. Surrender is the best option for the masses when the alternative is complete extinction. Either learning to work within the new system, or moving to a new location to start anew, saves lives and can bring a sense of peace back to your people.” He reached forward, resting his hands on her straight shoulders. He dropped them when he realized he was reenacting what Torben had done, but he remained close, looking down into her face.

“Be the chief of your people, Kára,” he said, his voice low. “Lead them to a better life away from this misery. Your family can come join ours on the mainland. Become part of the Sinclair clan.” The thought had been growing in his mind, ever since that first tug inside at the thought of sailing away from Kára.

“And leave Orkney behind?”

A slight smile relaxed across his mouth. “We have trees.”

But she did not smile back or soften. “The truth,” she said, “is that you do not wish to help us, because you may lose.”

His eyes closed for a moment as frustration burned inside him. Joshua inhaled, meeting Kára’s steely gaze. “If we fight Robert, we will lose, your people will lose, and you will lead them to their deaths.”

“Is dying for something that is right and just better than living under tyranny?”

“That is a question for each person to decide on their own,” he said. “And again, ye can come to northern Scotland, to Caithness. Your people could blend in with ours. Ye could have many horses.” He knew his brother, Cain, who was the chief of the Sinclairs and conquered Mackays, would take her people in.

She turned away. “Bribery does not sway me.”

Joshua’s hands fisted at his sides. “How about common sense? Does common sense sway ye at all, or are ye as blind as priests standing before the doors of their churches when soldiers come to burn them down, praying God will deliver them and strike down their foes?”

She turned back to him. “You are the foking Horseman of War from God, are you not? If you fight for us, train us, lead us, we may win.”

“If God refuses to interfere even with his priests praying for earthly salvation, He is not going to send lightning bolts down to strike Robert Stuart, his sheriff, and his sons.”

She jabbed him in the chest over his heart. “You are the lightning bolt, Joshua. You strike them down, and my people will handle the rest.”

Joshua’s hands went to his face, sliding down. “Kára…” Her name trailed off, because honestly he did not know what to say. She was so determined that she wasn’t letting his words or logic sink in. “Have ye ever read The Art of War? ’Tis a book from China, translated into French.”

Her brows drew together in angry confusion, as if he’d just asked her if she would like to go on holiday to visit the queen of England. Her mouth opened and then snapped shut.

The front door of the underground cottage opened, and Calder barreled into the back room, out of breath. Kára’s hand went to the six-inch dagger she had at her side as if she were used to having to draw it. She’d grown up in war, but then so had he. But she’d grown up on the weaker side. He had never really known those on the weaker side until he’d come to Orkney.

“’Tis Brenna,” Calder said. “Her waters… She is soaked. She needs a healer. Now.”

“I told ye she was about to drop a bairn from between her—”

“I will be right there,” Kára said. “Get her into bed and send my amma to be with her.”

He nodded and shot back out. Kára ran for a set of shelves to grab some linens. “I must go help,” she said.

“Aye. Her bairn is—”

“We do not mention it,” Kára said. “’Tis superstition, but with death hunting our people, we do nothing to bring the wrath of the fae or trolls or whatever Brenna might believe in.”

“So ye cannot mention the bairn?”

She shook her head. “Not until it is born and healthy, and then it is guarded for days before anyone can see it.” She grabbed up two smocks, shoving them into a bag with some jars.

“There is food in the main room,” she said. He pulled back the question about it being tainted with more sleeping poison.

She stopped her frantic packing, meeting his gaze. “Will you leave then? Now that you have your clothing?”

“Ye still have my sword.”

“Aye, I do,” she said. “Although, I am sure ye have more in your castle with hundreds of horses about,” she said, slanting her northern accent more toward his own.

“We are not done talking,” he said, frowning over her notion of how he lived. “And it is my favorite sword.” He also wasn’t ready to abandon her yet. Maybe he could still talk some sense into her and her people.

“I may be gone for days if things are difficult,” she said. She shifted, and the jars knocked softly in the satchel when she lifted it over her shoulder.

He caught her chin, letting her see the truth in his eyes. “I will be here,” he said, giving up the idea of making it home in time for Samhain. “I have decided that I want ye to live.”

Her brows rose with hope, and he shook his head. “By making ye see reason why ye cannot attack Robert Stuart.”

She huffed, gave him one last piercing gaze, and dodged around