Highland Warrior by McCollum, Heather (people reading books TXT) 📗

since he’d bound her wound? It seemed like hours when it was likely less than half of one. How deep was the gash? Kára’s survival depended on the answer.

He held her close into him, so he could run faster without faltering. If it were up to him, he’d have pulled her inside his body, but the best he could do was wrap her completely in the wool length. Please live.

Bloody hell, live. Live. Live. Live. The word became a mantra in his head, beating with the quickness of his steps. Because the alternative would tear him apart.

…

Voices. Low, rough, continuing voices, their ups and downs were like waves on the ocean. She tried to focus on them but slipped away again into the nothingness, the fire of pain ebbing into an ache in the darkness.

“Come back to me, Kára.” The voice pulled her, but darkness won.

…

Voices drew her again, words that at first hovered without reason.

“Hunting us.”

“Burned.”

“Hilda will not leave.”

“Fever.”

“Will not stop.”

“Treason.”

Slowly, the random words threaded together into sentences that wavered in and out in volume.

“Robert will not stop until he finds you.” The strong voice came from her amma.

“Until he kills you,” said another, Osk perhaps.

“Or you kill him.” That was Geir. She exhaled, her body relaxing into whatever bed held her. Her son had survived.

“And then Patrick will hunt you. I am sure he’s already sent word to King James about the uprising,” said another man. Calder?

“I have seen no rider.”

“There will be one eventually.”

The voices moved back and forth with more words, always more words. She almost succumbed to the darkness again, but she stayed afloat, listening, waiting. None of the voices was the one she needed to hear, the one that had talked to her through the darkness and pain slicing through her skull and side. Joshua.

“Take this with ye. Give it to my brother. Tell him I am dead.” It was Joshua’s voice. Like the sun wavering through layers of water above the surface of the sea, Kára tried hard to swim up through the murky depths toward it.

“Two scraps of material with a knot holding them together?” someone asked. “What does it mean?”

“Cain will know.”

Kára fought harder to focus on his voice. Joshua. Joshua. “Joshua,” she whispered on a breath. The words around her stopped. Silence surrounded her. I have fallen back asleep.

“Lass?” The vibration of the voice tickled her awareness. She held on to it, following it like a fishing line up from the depths. “Kára?” Her name rolled from his mouth. He was there. She fought to answer him, her eyelids so heavy.

“I heard her say my name,” he said, as if talking to the room. She felt someone cradle her hand. Fingers slid along her face, brushing her hair from her cheek.

“I am here, lass,” Joshua said. She clung to the words as she fought to open her eyes.

“Give her some drink,” her amma said.

Kára felt her head and shoulders lifted and a cool cup pressed against her lips. The coolness of honey mead slipped into her mouth and down her throat. She swallowed, and her eyes flickered open.

Dim firelight filled the space, and faces peered down at her. She couldn’t tell where she was, but her gaze fastened onto Joshua’s eyes. Light blue in the sun, they were dark as he stared back, his brows furrowed and hair mussed. His strong jaw was bristled, and she raised her hand to lay against it. “I have been asleep,” she said softly.

“Aye,” he answered, taking her hand in both of his. “For four days, lass. Ye had a fever from the dirty blade Patrick sliced ye with. It set in right away and would not let go.”

“What has happened?” she asked. She blinked, trying to shift, and felt the pain in her side. At least her head did not throb, but it felt heavy like the rest of her.

“I am well,” Geir said, coming to sit by her. She smiled at him, and he kissed her forehead like he was a little man already. “You and Joshua saved me.”

Memories flooded back like a nightmarish wave. “Torben signaled an attack,” she said, feeling her chest tighten.

“’Twas my fault,” Calder said from behind Geir. “He snatched the torch away from me. I should have been prepared.”

“He has died for his crimes,” Amma said, shooing Geir back so she could get in, giving Kára more to drink. Her stomach rumbled. “You need to sip some broth,” Amma said, motioning Geir to bring her some from the fire. He hurried over with a cup.

Kára sipped at it; the rabbit broth was seasoned with herbs, and her stomach unknotted more with each swallow. Joshua helped her sit, and she realized that they were all underground in her den. How had Amma gotten down there? “Are we hiding?” Kára asked.

“Ye needed a safe place to heal undisturbed,” Joshua said.

“Because Robert is scouring Orkney for us and anyone he thinks raised a sword against him,” Osk said. “So aye, we are hiding, but the ship sailed.”

“Those who survived?” she asked, afraid to hear that none had.

“I gave word to retreat as I ran ye out of there,” Joshua said. “Many of Hillside’s warriors listened. They are hiding underground.”

“Retreat?” she asked, searching his strong face. “You said you never would. Once the stone rolls down the hill, it must finish.”

His mouth quirked to the side, reminding her of the teasing times they had before. “And ye swore ye would not surrender yourself to the Stuarts.”

She gave a small nod. “So Robert is not dead?”

“No,” Osk said, standing behind Joshua. “He has been busy burning the village of Birsay.”

“Asmund?” she asked. Would he have tried to keep the soldiers away from his tavern, his home?

“Lamont got him out to the ship,” Calder said. He looked at Joshua. “’Twas a blessing that those not fighting ferried out there before we marched. There would not have been time to send them off safely once we returned from the palace.”

Osk snorted. “Robert and Patrick