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

kept behind Joshua under the cape as he walked Fuil into the stall, looping the reins on a hook so he would be ready to ride as soon as he came back out, hopefully with her aunt, Hilda. Kára crouched, sliding out from the cape.

A small noise escaped her. She stood in the back corner where a low wall, which needed mending, showed the stall next to them, the stall with Jean’s horse, which wasn’t her horse at all. Broch, the bay horse with the white spot around one of her eyes, turned to look at Kára, moving her bulk toward her. The unique mare tossed her head, her nose sniffing in the darkness. Joshua had never seen a horse with such a marking, and he’d seen hundreds of horses.

Without a sound, Kára slid her arms around the horse’s neck as Broch rested her head seemingly over her shoulder, the two of them comforting each other in silent communication. Bloody hell, he was going to be rescuing a healer and a horse that night. How was he to do so without raising Robert’s army to chase them back to the Flett homestead?

For the first time since coming to Orkney, Joshua wished his older brother, Cain, was there. Horseman of Conquest, Cain had been raised to build effective plans in a very short amount of time. His guidance here would guarantee success. At least tonight. Success in conquering a battalion of trained warriors with a group of locals was not possible even if Kára couldn’t surrender her need for revenge.

Joshua walked over to Kára, her horse raising its head to peer at him. His mouth moved close to Kára’s ear. “Saddle your horse as quietly as ye can while I am inside the fortress. If anyone sees ye, ride her to town for your tavern friend to keep, and I will meet ye in our den.”

Round eyes met his, and she nodded, but lifted on tiptoe to whisper at his ear. “Do not leave here without Hilda.” He nodded, and reluctantly pulled away from her to walk down the aisle.

Chapter Eight

“To know your Enemy, you must

become your Enemy.”

Sun Tzu – The Art of War

“All well?” Alec asked from his pallet in the corner near the door.

“I may be making a quick trip back out if Jean will not take me in.”

“Ye can sleep in the great hall if she won’t have ye. There are extra pallets stacked in the corner.”

Joshua strode to the fortress Robert had named the Earl’s Palace. It was an odd name considering the walls looking out at the bailey on the first floor had musket holes cut into the walls instead of proper windows. Palace? Despite its lavash furnishings and frescos, it was a bloody fortress. The bedchambers and great hall sat on the second floor with proper windows paned with glass. The whole structure, made of local stone, was situated around a square courtyard and freshwater well in the middle. Towers soared upward from three of the four corners where more people could be housed, mostly Robert’s many children who still lived with him. Henry, who would move into his own palace on the east coast of Mainland Orkney, also lived there. Dishington, or The Brute as he called himself, had been given quarters, like Joshua, in one of the towers.

Stepping into the dark entryway, he nodded to two guards who did not question his presence. He had worked with them for three months, gaining their loyalty on the training field as well as off. Killing them would be a burden after befriending many. Did they know the fate of the bandits from whom they stole? Did they know Robert had taken land, horses, and the strongest of Kára’s men to build his palaces under cruel conditions? Did the men care? He had trained the strongest to be stronger so they could subdue any threat with minimal casualties. But if he had known Kára then, known she would never be subdued, would he have continued to train them? Nay. He did not need the coin. He would have moved on. But if he had, Kára’s people would have little chance to survive against Robert.

Several men, sleeping around the perimeter of the lower level garrison, snored. One of them moved from musket hole to musket hole, watching. The guard, Connor, nodded to him, obviously having seen him questioned and allowed to enter the gate. Would he question Joshua when he led the healer out?

Joshua climbed the stairs quietly, with the casual air of a rogue seeking a willing woman. Her father did not really care, as long as she didn’t become pregnant, something Joshua had guarded against. As he walked past Robert’s door, he heard the headboard ramming against the wall. Robert was obviously tupping, mistress or wife. The next door was Jean’s, but he slipped past it. Two more doors down, he stopped to listen. The faint sound of a fussing bairn came through the door. The nursery.

“Joshua?” Jean’s stunned whisper made him pivot. She stood outside her door, wrapped in a white cloak. “You came back?” She lowered the hood, her brows furrowing. “Why are you at the nursery door?”

A story grew in his mind, even as his lips began to move. He smiled. “I thought I heard ye behind this door, but it must have been one of your wee sisters.”

She wrinkled her nose. “One of them is always whining about some pain or ache in the head.”

He walked to her. Even in the dimness of the hallway, he could see her lips were red with rouge, and he smelled the heavy perfume scent she favored. “Ye are on your way out?” he said, his fingers touching the edge of the royal-looking cape. It would be the perfect garment to hide Hilda under. He met her gaze. “To meet a lover.”

Her bottom lip stuck out. “Because you left. You did not expect me to pine away for you, did you?”