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

away from the ocean as if the people had seen enough of it and wished to keep it at their backs. Several dwellings had been burned badly. In fact, the town looked rather abandoned. If he couldn’t find the captain of the cargo boat anchored in the harbor below the cliffs, he’d have to ride farther south to the Bay of Skaill.

Joshua dismounted in front of the squat, two-story tavern, looping Fuil’s reins loosely around a rusty iron spike stuck into the stone wall running the building’s length. He slid a hand down his horse’s nose. “I will find ye a treat inside.” He left the blanket draped over the horse and took his satchel. Two men walked on the far side of the road, eyeing him cautiously. Joshua cast a frown at them that would keep them moving on.

The blast of warmth from the hearth fire inside the tavern was a balm against the cold beating at Joshua’s body. Hopefully, the tavern keeper had a bed to rent for the night and a snug barn for Fuil.

The low-ceilinged room was nearly empty. An old man with deep creases in his face stood behind a stone bar, his bulbous nose perched above a tankard as he took a drink. With no trees about, most of the locals’ furniture and houses were made of the plentiful gray stone that held Orkney up out of the angry sea.

A woman leaned toward him over the bar, her trousers-clad arse nicely rounded and generous and leading to long legs. She wore a short cape and a pair of boots that were laced over fur pelts, a fashion he’d adopted from the islanders to stay warm. Her pale gold hair was woven into an intricate braid that slid down her back, the end tied and tapered as if pointing an arrow toward the crux of her legs.

“Even if Erik is gone, you should still accept Torben,” the old man said before raising his eyes to Joshua. His tankard plunked down on the bar top.

She slapped her palm down. “To appease Fiona?” She shook her head, making her braid swing gently in contrast to the snapping hardness in her voice. “I will not tie myself to a man again.”

So the lass was free of any restraints, like marriage. Joshua’s brow rose.

The old man nodded toward Joshua, and she snapped around, surprise lighting her distinct features. High cheekbones sat in an angular face with a straight nose. Wisps of hair had broken free of her braid to lie in waves along her tan skin. Long eyelashes framed wide-set eyes, but he could not tell their color in the low light given off by the hearth and several oil lamps. Anger narrowed them. What would they look like under a bright sun?

The silence stretched with the wind whistling beyond the walls. Och but Orkney even sounded cold.

“I would like to rent a bed and a stall for my horse for the night,” Joshua said.

“No beds are open,” the old man said.

Joshua glanced pointedly around the empty room. Did the man know Joshua had helped Lord Robert’s men become more efficient to deter the local islanders from raiding his building materials and hunting on his land?

“Then a barn for my horse,” Joshua said and pulled out several coins, letting them clink on the bar top.

“No barn, either.”

Joshua pointed over his shoulder. “Like the one across the road?”

“All the stalls are full.”

Joshua crossed his arms over his broad chest. “Then my horse and I will stay the night in here.”

The old man snorted. “You haven’t enough of Lord Robert’s gold to pay for that.”

Joshua turned his face to the lass. “Will Lord Robert’s gold pay for a drink for the lady and me and a turnip for my horse?”

The tavern keeper looked at the woman as if asking her permission.

“Honey mead,” she said, putting the man in motion. He poured one for her and one for Joshua, sliding the carved tankard to him across the polished stone.

“Turnip is in the cellar,” the elderly man mumbled and shuffled through a closed door behind him.

Joshua studied the lass’s strong profile. She was beautiful with a sharp edge to her, and from her shape, he could tell she was not a girl but a woman. “I am Joshua Sinclair.” He took a drink of the sweet, fermented brew.

“I know who you are,” she said.

He raised an eyebrow. “Who are ye then?”

“No one you need to trifle with.” She slid a glance toward him and then back to her cup. She was as icy as the rest of the isle.

He leaned his back against the bar and propped his elbows on it. “I’m looking to pay for passage to the mainland of Scotland.”

She set her cup down with a clunk. “You are leaving Orkney?”

“Aye.”

“Then you do not war for Lord Robert anymore?”

“I war for no man,” he answered and took a swallow of the refreshing mead.

“How about a woman? Could you war for a woman, be loyal to her?” Her gaze traveled down his form, and Joshua felt rather like she was stripping him bare. He’d had women look at him often as if they imagined him naked, but this woman seemed to be judging him.

He straightened, standing to his full height. “I am loyal only to my own clan back on the mainland.” He tipped his head to the door. “Do ye know the captain of the cargo ship in the bay?”

“Aye. He will be around in the morn.” Her brows furrowed slightly as she continued to inspect him.

Joshua braced his legs in a battle stance, arms crossing again. Hell, if she wanted to strip him naked with a look, or with her hands, he certainly would not mind. Would she?

His gaze traveled along her bare neck to the slope of her breasts that he could see in the open part of her cape. Her waist tapered inward only to flare out over full hips. He’d declared to his brother once that all