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

and dismemberment at the sadistic hands of Robert Stuart showed just how strong he was. But Joshua needed him to confirm his appointment as general or the Hillside warriors would have doubts about whether they should follow all his orders, which would seal their doom.

Joshua waited. Slowly, Erik shifted his stance, his lips parting. “The Highlander’s plans are sound. He is my general in this crucial bid to save young Geir. Follow him to confront Lord Robert.”

When Erik looked back to him, Joshua nodded and turned his gaze to the soldiers standing in the deep night, their torches cutting firelight across their serious faces. “With your chief’s order, make sure to do exactly what I say and signal. If ye do not…” His gaze moved to Kára. “We will lose this clash with much loss of life.”

…

Be alive. Be whole. Be brave.

Kára continued her silent litany as she thought about her son. She saddled Broch, imagining him alive and smiling to keep her breath from galloping too fast and bringing on stars in her sight. He was only nine years old, too young to have learned enough to outmaneuver a sadistic tyrant and his sons and mercenary.

Why had he also gone to the chapel alone? To see the graves on Samhain, of course. They should have all gone together. Then Patrick wouldn’t have found him alone there when he dropped Erik in the middle of town. What better way to cow the local people than to steal and threaten their children?

She stopped, her fingers clenched around the leather strap, and leaned her forehead to rest on her horse’s neck. Lord, keep Geir alive.

“Kára.” Joshua’s voice came from the doorway. “We will march soon.”

She didn’t move and listened to his steps drawing closer. His touch on her shoulder made her lift her head, and she turned to him. He held a torch, the light bright, and she squinted against it. “Broch is ready.”

He bent his face to level his gaze with hers. “We will get Geir back, and then I will take ye and your family away from here. Somewhere ye can be free of all this.”

She was ready to leave Orkney. Before, it was an idea to be considered and weighed. But now, faced with the reality of Robert picking off her family one by one, and his cruel sons abusing their position as they grew into the image of their father, the need to leave was obvious.

Kára nodded. “I will go with you to Caithness. Only death will stop me.”

He caught her chin, his face firm. “Ye are not permitted to die, Kára Flett. I will not allow it, and I am your general.”

The side of her mouth twitched upward. “God rules how a battle turns.”

Joshua leaned forward. “And I am a Horseman from God.” He dropped her chin but kept her gaze. “I have studied war my whole life. I know how to run a battle.”

She watched him closely, his back straightening, his fists clenching. “What happened in South Ronaldsay?” she whispered.

“I did not watch the birds,” he said without hesitation. His hands went behind his head, cradling it, his massive biceps framing his face as he lifted his gaze to the rafters.

“Birds?”

“Aye.” He dropped his arms. “I was too caught up in the challenge of helping the one side of the conflict there to remember to watch the terrain when approaching an enemy.” He shook his head. “There was a boy there, Adam. A few years senior to Geir. He followed me around for days, mimicking my moves and asking me to tell him everything about battles. Smart lad. Starting to grow his strength, too.”

Joshua leaned against the stall, the firelight casting an orange hue across his skin. “I knew they should not war with their neighbors and tried to convince the elders, but they wanted to win back their territory, something I could understand. I learned what I could about the enemy but failed to learn they had hired a mercenary to help them.”

“Like you,” she said simply.

He nodded slowly. “Although I did not fight for them for gold. I fought for them…because Adam asked me.”

“The boy convinced you?” And yet she could not by sleeping with him, using the children to ask him; even the maiming of Erik had not changed Joshua’s mind to help them fight. Not until Geir was taken.

“Aye.” He rubbed a hand down his face. “He took in all my teachings about splitting the enemy, surprising them…everything.”

“Where do the birds figure into this?” she asked.

“We headed out in late afternoon, because I wanted the enemy to see me. I can be intimidating.”

Completely. Her heart sped up thinking about how easily he had sliced through Henry at the chapel. No remorse, no chance for Henry to explain or beg or fight back. Joshua Sinclair, when bent on blood, was death as surely as if he did ride down from God to slaughter at his bidding.

“I hoped my appearance would stop them from fighting. That there could be a truce,” he continued. “We walked quickly toward a hill. I saw a group of seabirds flying low along the hill, up and over. Instead of disappearing, continuing their flight, they rose up abruptly into the sky.”

“It could have been the wind pushing them higher,” she said. Would she have paid attention to the flight of birds?

He shook his head. “It shows my conceit, my feeling I was enough to win the day, that I did not pay but a small part of attention to a signal written out in the book I study.”

“The Art of War,” she said.

“Aye. ’Tis very plainly stated. Birds that change course to fly upward is a signal that there are men hiding beneath.”

“There was an ambush?”

He nodded. “Led by John Dishington. He is a mercenary and will fight for anyone who can pay him.” Joshua crossed his arms before him. “With the chaos of the ambush, the men I led did not follow my signals, and there was great