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

are having fits that they cannot find anyone to kill. And The Brute—”

“He is alive, too?” Kára asked, looking to Joshua.

Calder shifted. “He was unconscious for most of the battle.”

“Who did we lose?” Kára asked, softly. What lives had been lost to regain Geir?

“Torben,” Calder said. “Slashed down by Robert.” He shook his head. “He let vengeance rule his rage against a father who never acknowledged him.”

“Fiona built his hate,” Amma said. “Robert got her with child and sent her away. She hated him and spurred her son to kill him.” Amma’s lips pinched tight. “She sailed with the rest and will mourn when she finds out.”

Silence settled briefly. “Who else?” Kára asked.

“There were some injuries, cuts, a few twisted ankles, but no more deaths,” Calder said. “It seems that Joshua was respected quite a bit by Robert’s soldiers. When he told them to step down, most of them did.”

Kára glanced at Joshua as Calder continued. “They defended themselves, but from what I could see, they were not attacking except the bastard who I felled.” Pride filled his voice, and Kára noticed the bandage across his head, his arm in a sling.

“With no more deaths?” Kára whispered, searching Joshua’s handsome face.

“No more deaths,” he repeated. His hand came up to cup her cheek. “I told ye that I would save your people. Not through war but through peace.”

The ache of tears pressed against the backs of Kára’s eyes. “Thank you,” she whispered.

Joshua lowered his face to hers, kissing her lips gently. Backing up, he nodded to her, a smile tugging at his lips.

“But now Robert wants Joshua dead,” Osk said. “He says your life is forfeit, too, Kára, for not trading places with Geir. Joshua is to die for killing Henry and turning traitor against the crown of Scotland.”

“Would he follow us to your home?” she asked, looking to Joshua.

“His fury is great,” Joshua said. “It will likely push him to journey there or Edinburgh to demand retribution against my clan and any of your people settling there.”

Her eyes widened as the weight of Joshua’s sacrifice descended upon her. “You sent a letter to your brother saying that you broke your oath to him. We could go farther west, maybe to the isles there.”

Joshua met her gaze. “I want ye to meet my family, Kára. Next to me.”

“And Robert is out for blood,” Amma said. “He will cause a big enough complaint with King James that Joshua’s brother will be forced to give him up if he stays in Caithness. Unless…”

Amma looked up to meet Joshua’s gaze. “Unless…” she repeated.

Joshua’s eyes turned back to Kára. “Unless Robert kills me and sees us both buried.”

Chapter Twenty-Two

“It is only one who is thoroughly acquainted with the evils of war that can thoroughly understand the profitable way of carrying it on.”

Sun Tzu – The Art of War

Joshua’s head rested on his arm that stretched over his head. He lay next to Kára under layers of quilts and furs, listening to her easy breaths.

Only days ago, her breathing had been shallow with fever, a sound he never wanted to hear again. When he’d seen that the slice in her side was not too deep, he’d been hopeful, but then the fever had sunk its talons into her. She had roused from the bump to her head just to go under again with fever. He’d run to Hillside and fallen to his knees in thanks that Hilda and Harriett Flett had stayed behind to tend the wounded. With Hilda’s tinctures, poultices, and stitching and Harriett’s constant tending, Kára’s fever had broken, soaking her and flooding him with relief. Praise God! If Joshua hadn’t been raised to slay, and planned to tup throughout his life, he’d have taken up the cross as a priest.

With the sun giving way to the security of night and the others gone back to their own hiding holes, Joshua had helped her wash with warm water and her sweet spicy soap. Alone, they’d eaten, speaking about Joshua’s plan in quiet tones.

The night was cold, and they’d opted to put out the fire in case Robert’s men searched nearby. The smell of smoke and the glow of fire up the old well that led to her den might bring them. Tomorrow would be soon enough to die. If anything went wrong, this might be the last time he got to hold her. “You are not sleeping,” she whispered where she lay, spooned against him.

“Neither are ye.”

Gingerly, she pressed back so she could lie flat, looking up at him. Without the fire, she was a shadow in the sea of darkness. His other senses took over. The feel of her warmth against him under the heavy throws, the sound of her breath and soft words. The smell of the dandelion poultice tied around her waist and the sweet essence from her soap.

Joshua’s fingers brushed the hair framing her face back as if she were as fragile as the flowers of which she smelled. He leaned into her, meeting her lips. They were already open as if she’d been waiting for him to kiss her. They breathed against each other, the press together deepening, and he felt her fingers tangle in his hair. He held her face in his hands, kissing her, breathing her in, long draughts of Kára. She was everything good, even with her stubbornness and risk taking. Aye. Everything.

The lass in his arms there in the dark was more than a mere woman. Kára was brave and clever and so deliciously sensual that he could not imagine thinking of another woman to bed ever again.

She could shatter his plans and hold her head high in doing so. She could sway his mind even when he’d sworn not to bend. She was all-powerful, and his bloody life seemed to hang on her well-being and happiness. He’d realized that when he’d watched her crumple to the stone floor.

Pulling back, Joshua wrapped her in his arms, burying his face in her still-damp