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

“Och, but I think ye will,” Joshua parried back. He continued out the gate, his bare arm, encircled by tattoos, high in the air to bid them farewell. He was far enough away that they would not see the chill bumps on his skin.

As he exited, a young lad jumped out of his path. “Pardon, sir,” he said. He was about twelve years old and stood with a younger lad, the two of them with wooden swords. “We are training like ye did with Lord Robert’s warriors so we can fight.” He grinned, his face tilted up at him. “Hamish Kincaid is our da.”

He nodded to the boy who had a few freckles. “My da says you are the wisest warrior he has ever known,” the boy said, and they both looked at him expectantly.

Joshua’s stomach clenched hard as the first lad’s face seemed to change to one with a broad smattering of freckles and a serious frown. He nodded to the boys. “The wisest decision a warrior can make is whether or not he should fight.”

Both boys lost their smiles and nodded as if taking in his wisdom, even though they would probably forget his words before he was out of sight over the rolling hills.

Shouts made him pull his horse to the side near the boys. Several of Robert’s soldiers marched down the hill toward the fortress on the sea. In the center of them walked a man, a completely naked man. Henry Sinclair, Robert’s eldest son, led the man by a rope encircling his neck, a cruel grin on his face. Henry nodded to Joshua as he walked past him on his way into the bailey.

The prisoner had scars across his bare chest and a slash on his side that had dried into a dark line of blood. Despite the frigid weather, he held his head even, staring out as he walked at sword point into the bailey. Just the sight of his bare skin made a shiver run through Joshua. Fok. Too cold for that. The brutal torture warred against Joshua’s determination to put this frozen isle behind him, and he watched Lord Robert turn a vicious smile on the prisoner as he halted by the central well.

“Ah,” Robert said, his words carrying to Joshua on the wind that never ceased to blow across treeless Orkney. “King Erik Flett, naked and near frozen.” Lord Robert and Patrick had already forgotten about Joshua leaving as they grinned at their prize, who was stripped of absolutely everything. Robert nearly strutted as he followed the prisoner into the castle with his sons and hired brute.

Joshua narrowed his eyes at the man who had employed him to make his men clever, strong, and fast. I should have killed him and his sons. The isle would be better for it. But Robert Stuart was the recognized son of the dead King James V of Scotland. Killing him and his family would surely bring royal armies to his clan, the Sinclairs of Caithness, on the mainland.

At least the prisoner was no longer out of doors. God, grant the man a quick and honorable death. Joshua turned back to face the land that sloped upward away from the castle perched before the frigid Birsay Bay, which led to the open sea.

His horse slid easily into a canter with a touch of Joshua’s heels. As soon as they reached the top of the rise, he pulled him to a halt. There wasn’t a single tree on Orkney to stand behind, but he was far enough away that no one would see him reveal himself as fully human. He reached into his leather satchel and yanked out a thick tunic, a fur to throw over his shoulders, and a wool blanket to wrap across his lap and Fuil’s back.

He patted his horse. “I will keep us both warm.” Fuil’s ears turned, listening.

Joshua had earned enough gold training Robert’s men that he could go anywhere. But he missed the soaring oaks and birches and pines of Caithness. Had his brother, Cain Sinclair, the new chief of their clan, managed to keep the peace with the surrounding clans? Or had he showed enough weakness that strife continued? Never having left Girnigoe Castle for any length of time before, Joshua had not lived under anyone other than his father and then his brother. Observing the leadership at the Earl’s Palace of Birsay with the likes of Robert Stuart made Joshua realize how intelligent and fair his brother actually was. Cain had married a Sutherland lass right when Joshua left. Was his bride, Ella, already with child? And what of his other brothers and sister? Was Aunt Merida still making cures and predicting peoples’ deaths?

He watched a flock of birds skimming the moorland. They rose high into the sky as they came upon the Earl’s Palace and all the men surrounding it. The sight made his shoulders ache with tension. “Aye, ’tis time to go home,” he murmured. If he left now, he could be setting the celebratory fires at Girnigoe Castle in time for Samhain to honor those who had died. Maybe he would stay through Hogmanay and set out again when it warmed. South this time. Surely there were warriors he could train in the south, too. Armies he could build up enough to intimidate the English from advancing farther into their country.

Leaning forward in the saddle, Joshua and Fuil shot ahead, flying over the brown-green landscape. Tall grasses lay combed flat, waves of frigid air blowing through the weeds as if a green sea rolled inland across the low hills, the colors being slowly muted with the falling snow. Ahead was the bay south of Birsay, where he could find transport to the mainland of Scotland.

The sun began its descent toward the line between sea and sky as he rode into the small village situated on a bluff above the rocky coast. A row of thatch-roofed cottages faced