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

Joshua saw Angus up at the watchtower where the other soldiers tried to light the beacon that would call Robert’s army from the village. The man’s arms flew up in the air as if he were panicked, but the beacon was still dark. Angus had apparently chosen to keep his oath to Joshua. He had done something to wet the beacon. Having a loyal man in the nest of an enemy was more valuable than gold.

“Think about it, Lord Robert,” Joshua called out as Kára still stood caught by Patrick. “The Horseman of War to do your bidding, to frighten and cow the native peasants so they work for ye, thankful for being alive at all.”

“He has The Brute of Scotland and Orkney for that,” Dishington called out.

Joshua raised his muscled arms and turned partway around without releasing Kára. His arm raked out toward the lit moors around Robert’s palace. The poppets did look like shadows of more men ready to attack, outnumbering them now that Angus had told him only fifty were quartered there. Joshua turned back to Robert. “That does not seem to be working for ye.” He heard Dishington’s sword slide free.

“Hold her, Patrick,” Robert yelled down. “And let us see if the Horseman of War is really protected by God as he fights my Brute with nothing but his frozen jack. If you are slain, Joshua Sinclair, we will take Kára Flett in your stead.” Robert crossed his arms. “Can you conquer my sheriff?”

John Dishington was fully clothed and armed with a sword and likely a sgian dubh or two hidden on his clad body. It was most certainly not a fair contest, but war was never fair. Joshua forced his fingers to release Kára’s wrist, and she was able to pull her cloak up around her nakedness.

Dishington did not even wait for Joshua to accept the challenge. With a roar, he plunged forward as Patrick grabbed Kára out of the way. The weight of his muscle and clothing added to the power behind his rush. Joshua sidestepped, ducking down to avoid his sword strike.

Toes and fingers growing numb, Joshua knew he would need to finish this quickly if he was to save Kára. And he would never allow her to be taken into Robert’s Palace. Even death would not stop him. He would rise up and kill anyone who dared harm her.

What weapons did he have to pit against Dishington? Only his strength and his training in hand-to-hand combat. Both were in jeopardy with the cold making his muscles stiff. Joshua breathed in large inhales through his nose to feed both muscles and brain.

He also knew Dishington’s fighting tactics. The mercenary’s style was brutal, without elegance, and easily guessed. His entire stance hinted at his next move, and he obviously depended on his weapons.

Step one: remove his weapon. Instead of avoiding Dishington’s next lunge, Joshua lowered at the last second, hands clenched together. Slanting his weight, the force of his strike hit Dishington’s grip on his sword, right at the man’s wrist. The immediate reaction was for the grip to open, and Joshua continued the thrust of his shoulder to hit Dishington’s arm. The sword thudded against the packed dirt, skidding to be caught in the tall grass along the path.

Dishington unleashed a dagger from his vest, but Joshua dove, rolling along the pebble-strewn ground. The sharp stones had surely carved scratches into his back, but the cold had numbed his skin, and it hardly mattered. He rose quickly, his thigh muscles still warm enough to lift him, and turned in a battle stance toward his adversary.

“No other blade, Dishington?” Joshua asked, his voice low and goading. Step two: antagonize the enemy to get him to reveal his weakness.

“Once you are dead, Horseman, I will cut your ballocks off and feed them to your woman once I can get Patrick off her.”

Joshua allowed a smirk to grow on his mouth, as he remembered another weapon he possessed. Dishington frowned deeper at failing to win Joshua’s disgust. Joshua stood tall, his arms raised together as if he held his sword high in the air.

With a large inhale, he spoke. “When the Lamb opened the second seal, I heard the second living creature say, ‘Come!’ Then another horse came out, a fiery red one. Its rider was given power to take peace from the earth and to make people kill one another. To him was given a large sword.”

With the emphasis on the last two words, his muscles mounded and bulged. The way he held his arms gave the impression that he did, in fact, have a sword in his hands, a sword wrought by God himself.

Joshua did not need to look along the wall to know his words stirred something primal in those men who heard him, God-fearing men who were raised on legend and biblical warnings. His gaze centered on Dishington. “And when I kill ye, I will walk away and forget all about ye, as will everyone else. And your name will fade into nothingness.”

The tightness in Dishington’s face told Joshua he’d chosen the right threat. The man had named himself The Brute, a name he felt would haunt the world well after he was gone. The biggest insult to the mercenary was to promise him that he would be forgotten.

Step three of combat without his sword: use the environment at hand. Joshua did not have time to rummage around on the side of the road for the lost sword or dagger, and he really did not need them at this point. With a scrape of his nails and numb fingers, he grabbed a handful of dirt and stone. Before Dishington had a chance to rethink a strategy, Joshua ran at him, whipping his arm around with the force of his entire body. The fragments hit the seething man in his face and eyes. The man yelled. Temporarily blind, he swung wildly with his meaty fists.

“Son of a