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

Kára glanced at him. “And we had to dig our way out of our own graves with no help from you.” She caught Joshua’s hand and tugged him to follow her out from behind the chapel. He stalled her only to pick up his sword.

With the moon hidden in the dense clouds and the lantern light blocked by the stone church, darkness enveloped them. But with the fresh air, it was nothing like being underground in a cemetery. Even the cold that cut through his tunic did not bother him.

As soon as they rounded the second corner to see the dim lights of the village of Birsay below them, Kára pulled Joshua with her around the chapel wall. She pressed him up against the stone like she had done in the barn when they first met and pulled his face down to hers for a kiss. They were dirt-coated and smelling of earth and dead seal, but none of that mattered. Only Kára mattered, Kára…warm and soft and alive.

The kiss was gentle, but she clung to him, and he could feel her tremble slightly. She breathed deeply against him without backing up.

“When I felt you squeeze my hand three times,” she started, pausing as she inhaled and exhaled, “I frantically started to try to move, and for a time I could not even pull my hand out. I was trapped.” Her trembling increased. “But the whole time I kept thinking I had to get out to tell you…” Her hands slid over his face, and he could see the outline of her staring up at him. “Joshua Sinclair…I love you. I need you to know that.” She shook her head. “I could not imagine the pain of dying without being able to tell you what I have only now discovered in my heart.”

Inside Joshua’s chest, the space he didn’t even know was hollow swelled full, and his arms gathered her up against him, his mouth capturing her lips. Never before had he felt such power growing inside him and yet such raw openness at the same time. He was filled with conviction, a new direction, as if coming out of the grave had given him a rebirth. But it was not the earth that had wrought this change in him; it was the woman in his arms, the woman he realized he could not imagine life without.

Her presence in their grave had kept him rooted and strong, patient when the world was erupting around him. Knowing he must live to get her out alive had driven him up out of the earth like a true harbinger of God’s end of days. The words he had used to disturb Dishington had come from a place of desperate need, a need to protect, a need to love Kára Flett.

His palms raised to her cheeks, cupping her gingerly. “I would have ye see me in the light of day, to see what is in my soul through my eyes,” he whispered. “But aye, Kára, I love ye, too.”

Her arms tightened around him, her face reaching up to find his lips again as she stood between his straddled legs, leaning against the chapel. Their kiss was gentle with the promise of passion. The possibilities for a future grew from the kiss, nurtured by her words and the press of her in his arms. A feeling, new and fragile, yet it grew stronger as they clung to each other. The feeling was…hope.

Chapter Twenty-Five

“The general who advances without coveting fame and retreats without fearing disgrace, whose only thought is to protect his country and do good service for his sovereign, is the jewel of the kingdom.”

Sun Tzu – The Art of War

The sway of the ship continued to lull Kára even as the sun rose until it lit behind her closed eyes. Nestled in the comfort of Joshua’s arms, warm and content, she let herself enjoy the sensation instead of pushing fully out of the bliss of sleep. After all, the night had been long, the distance great to reach the Bay of Skaill south of Birsay. Her horse, Broch, had carried Amma and, at times, Geir when he stumbled in exhaustion.

The ship that Calder and Joshua had secured to carry them south to the mainland of Scotland was full beyond capacity. Twenty-five men had remained in Hillside after the initial battle to gain Geir’s freedom from Lord Robert. Even Broch had to stay up on deck, tethered to the rail, swaying over the swells of ocean through the last hours of night.

A groan, followed by the unmistakable sound of retching, made her crack her eyes open. Osk stood leaning over the side, Geir asleep at his feet. Osk wiped his mouth, his gaze turning to her. “Bloody waves,” he murmured.

“’Tis best to stare out at the sea from the bow, face into the wind,” Joshua said from behind her.

Osk nodded and turned, walking toward his chance to feel better. Kára tipped her face up to Joshua. The muted dawn light revealed his strong features, his eyes the color of a summer morning. He stared down at her. The harshness that she’d seen in his face when they’d first met had softened into something like contentment.

She smiled. “You are happy to be going home.”

“I am happy to be bringing ye home,” he said, pulling her up a little higher against him.

She stifled a yawn, enjoying the feel of security against him.

“Ye can sleep longer. There are a couple more hours to go,” he said.

Her mind drifted forward, and her smile faded. What type of reception had Brenna and Corey had? What of the ones who had not wanted to leave Orkney? Would they return on the ship to face the disappearance of The Brute, or would they wait until spring? And she still needed to deal with Torben’s mother. Had word reached her yet of her son’s death? His insolent actions that may have brought death to them all?

“Will