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

as grim as a monster-tale dragon. Flickering torches sat at intervals along the half-built wall and under the roof covering the guard tower at the gate. Another month would see the fortress fortified with a functioning portcullis and complete twelve-foot wall of stone.

“There will be four guards on the ground outside the keep, two in the guard tower, and two rotating inside the fortress on the first floor,” Joshua said, his voice low. “They are equipped with swords, pikes, and shields. The ones inside also have bows and guns ready to shoot from slots.”

“Damn,” Calder said.

“Which is why success will lie in avoiding all-out battle,” Joshua said. “Because once it starts, like a stone down a hill, we will continue to the ultimate outcome.” He met Calder’s eyes. “Let us not start this, because I do not retreat. Ever.”

He kept Calder’s stare until the man nodded. Joshua glanced at Torben, who kept a scowl on his face. Torben was as stubborn as his mother. He would never nod an approval about anything Joshua said.

I will never retreat either, she thought, not without Geir. As a leader to her people, was she supposed to sacrifice her son to save them? She would never be an adequate leader if that were the cost.

Joshua stopped at a point where the gatekeeper should see his small lantern, like a beacon lost on the ocean of darkness before the palace. He kept it level, knowing the Hillside troops were quietly spreading out, crouched in the tall grasses, waiting for further signals.

“Kára and I will go forward,” Joshua said. “With ye two behind us. If they attack,” he said, looking at Calder, “wait for my signal and then repeat it with your own torch. One thrust of my arm into the air. The other torch holders will mimic the signal so the troops waiting on the shoreside and the east side of the palace will know. Two thrusts to reveal our false numbers.”

Calder nodded and Joshua glanced at Torben. “Ye are to assist Calder if he needs it,” Joshua said. “Otherwise, follow my signals.”

He and Kára began striding toward the gate tower. “I will speak,” Joshua said. “Keep your shield ready and your oath not to enter.”

“Do not worry, Highlander. I have no plans to rush into the devil’s den.”

His gaze moved to the fortress where several men stood with torches, watching them approach. Joshua yanked the ties at his neck, shucking his wrap. He did not wear a tunic, only the end sash from his kilt. The muscles of his shoulders and arms contracted, mounding to show his obvious strength. The tattoo of the horse head on his arm and the sword across his upper back marked him as the Horseman of War. The fierce bend of his brows, flaring nostrils, and clamped teeth behind rolled-back lips marked him as the harbinger of death.

If he were marching against her instead of for her, they’d be doomed. The realization that Joshua had spoken truthfully about not trying to hurt her people struck inside her like lightning illuminating the landscape. If he’d wanted to harm her people under Robert’s orders, they would all be dead.

“Joshua Sinclair?” a man yelled down.

Joshua stopped, Kára next to him. “We have come to negotiate for the release of Geir Flett, an innocent boy of only nine years.”

Two of Robert’s warriors rounded the unfinished gate and approached. Joshua let them get within six feet before stopping them with his palm out. He nodded. “Angus. Mathias.”

“What are ye doing here, Joshua?” the older man asked, glancing up at the tower. He lowered his voice. “Robert counts ye as an outlaw against him and the crown for taking his healer and horse.”

“And there are some who think ye had a hand in the disappearance of Henry Stuart,” the younger soldier added, looking at her and then back at Joshua. “We have orders to kill ye.”

“Do ye think it wise to attack me, Mathias?” Joshua asked, his voice even.

“Bloody hell, no,” Mathias answered. “But Robert will dismiss us if we do not follow orders. Or count us as traitors, too, and arrest us.”

“Then let the boy free without anyone seeing,” Kára said.

Both soldiers looked at her as if she’d asked them to murder Robert themselves. “There are five men guarding the lad,” Angus said, shaking his head. “There’d be no way to do so.”

Mathias looked back at the gate over his shoulder. “As soon as Liam knew it was ye, he sent someone to rouse Lord Robert and Dishington. Soon the whole palace will know ye are here.”

“And we will be ordered to attack,” Angus whispered.

“If ye survive,” Joshua said, his voice low and even, “what do ye think Robert will order ye to do next? Kill a nine-year-old lad? Deliver his head to his mother? Turn against your own family if they are caught being kind to the native people?” Joshua looked up at the tower. “Ask Liam what Lord Patrick will do when he discovers his sister there in the village. I know he keeps her hidden away from the lustful bugger. And ask Tuck how he feels about flogging old men when they refuse to build another palace for Robert’s son.”

“Bloody hell,” Mathias cursed, rubbing his face. “We do not have time to go around talking to them. Robert will be out any moment. We but came to warn ye.”

Joshua let something of a smile touch his lips, but with the dark promise of death there, the leer made a shiver erupt within Kára. Did the two men feel the same?

“A warning?” Joshua said.

“Aye,” Angus said, glancing behind him. “There is but four of ye against fifty of us here and fifty more in the village who will run here if the beacon be lit.” He pointed to the gate tower, above which a large torch was held, likely soaked in pitch.

“Then the beacon should not be lit,” Joshua said, staring hard at Angus. The man blinked several times, his face pinched