Chapter Four
“There are roads which must not be followed, armies which must not be attacked, towns which must not be besieged, positions which must not be contested, commands of the sovereign which
must not be obeyed.”
Sun Tzu – The Art of War
Kára poured the warmed rabbit stew into two pottery bowls. She wore a soft woolen smock and slippers and padded over to the table where Joshua sat polishing the three daggers that she’d shown him. One was her father’s, one was her dead husband’s, and one was her own. She set the bowls down and moved to sit across from him, noticing he’d put a plump pillow on the seat of her stool.
Without looking up he said, “I thought ye might be a bit sore down there.” He glanced at the juncture of her legs, a roguish grin on his handsome face. “At last count we came together four times.”
“You count?” she asked, watching his strong fingers work the dry cloth over the steel until it shone in the firelight.
“Bloody hell, aye,” he said. “A man has got to have something about which to boast.”
She laughed. “Remind me not to introduce you to my amma then,” she said, speaking about her grandmother. It was easy jesting with Joshua, and after what they had shared over the last night and morning, she felt completely open to him. Except, of course, about her family and her desperate need to get him to stay on Orkney and lead them in war against Robert Stuart.
“Amma means grandmother?”
She nodded, and he smiled.
“Does she live near?”
Did she trust him enough to tell him where their village hid under the hills on the coast? If he was going to train them to fight and lead them, he would have to meet her people. “Aye, we call our small village Hillside. It sits on the coast north of here.”
“I have seen no village along the coast, except the one with the tavern along the bay.”
She watched him closely. “It is mostly hidden. I can take you there today.”
His smile faded. “I was planning to find the captain of that ship in the bay today to secure a passage to the mainland.”
Alarm shot through Kára, but she kept her words even. “You knocked the captain flat on his face last night outside the tavern. Doubtful he will take you onboard.”
“Bloody hell,” he murmured. “I will have to ride south to another port.”
“Why are you so anxious to return to Scotia?” she asked, using the ancient word for Scotland. Did he miss someone there? The thought tightened inside her. “You can stay with us for the winter. With me. Right here.” She moved her arm out to the side to indicate her cozy home.
“My three brothers, sister, and aunt are there,” he said, setting down the daggers to lift his spoon. She watched him take several bites, swallowing appreciatively. “I should see how they fare. And I miss my horses.”
“You have more than the one horse in the barn above?”
“Aye.” He chuckled. “I have over one hundred bays.”
She blinked. “One hundred horses?” He was wealthy? On top of being the most renowned warrior in the land and such a generous lover that she would remember him all the way to the grave?
“My brothers each have a hundred also. We have a large army of mounted warriors.” He pointed his spoon at the walls. “Perhaps ye should come to Girnigoe Castle with me. Ye seem to like horses.”
She inhaled fully and nodded, giving him a small smile. “And not to eat.”
He grinned, shoveling more of the stew into his mouth, a mouth that had done such wanton and wonderful things to various parts of her body. She swallowed hard against the memory.
“Ye paint well,” he said, turning his gaze to the images across her walls. Flowers, horses, ocean scenes decorated most of the flat surfaces in her den.
“My amma is an artist. She can paint anything to look just like the real object. She taught me some of her ways, but I do not have her talent.” She shrugged. “I spend much time down here when the winter blows in for months. So I surround myself with spring.”
He studied the herds she’d painted from his seat. “Ye capture the free spirit of horses well.” She could see him slowly working his way across her scenes, stopping at the larger painting of her horse, Broch.
“Would your brothers and sister come to Orkney with their armies of horses if you asked?” she asked softly.
He turned back to her, his brows lowered. “Getting the horses across the firth would be difficult,” he said, meeting her eyes. There were questions in his stare. “Multiple ships would be required to sail them the six hours over to Birsay. Once on Orkney, there’d be nowhere to house our horses or men.”
Was his sister also a warrior? Were Joshua’s brothers as large as he? Would they fight with him to conquer Robert and his cruel sons?
“Did ye have a horse at one time?” he asked when she didn’t respond.
She nodded, her lips twitching into a smile past the ache of sadness in her eyes. “My family owned several, but I loved Broch the most. She was frisky and ran as fast as the wind along the cliffs.” She blinked.
“Broch? Does it mean something in your language?”
“The halo that encircles the full moon is called a broch. She was born with a white circle around one eye.” She nodded to the painting on the wall.
He glanced that way and then back to her, a frown tightening his face. “How did she die?”
Kára put down her spoon, losing her appetite. “I do not know. She was taken from me.”
He studied the painting. “I think I have seen that horse,” he said. “Alive.”
Her lovely mare was still alive? Kára’s face fell as her chest clenched. She leaned forward, her fist tightening. “Was she being treated well?” she
