He longed to know more about her. She had opened up a small amount on the hill yesterday but had retreated before he could ask… What would he ask? Joshua’s aunt, Merida, had always advised him not to ask questions to which he did not really want to know the answers. But without answers, the questions swam in his head like fish in a barrel.
Had Kára loved her husband? Joshua wanted the answer to be no. She must have married very young to have a son of nine. Had Henry Stuart forced himself on her? That question he did want to know the answer. If it was aye, Robert’s son would die before Joshua left Orkney, regardless of his blood link to King James.
A song began, the voices of the people rising to fill the crowded room, spilling out the open door for those outside to join. It was in their ancient Norn language, the power of it intense with hope and determination so that knowledge of the words was not needed to lift the spirit. Pastor John smiled, his face lit with awe and joy at the show of unity. No doubt the resonating voices raised chill bumps along his skin as they did on Joshua.
His gaze drifted over the warriors of Hillside, counting them, ranking them in skill. So far, he had taught them defensive tactics, maneuvers to keep them alive if attacked, giving them the opportunity to retreat with their lives.
Even though the skills were similar, he had not talked with them about attacking first. Should he begin to teach them offensive tactics and strategies for a siege against Robert? Lead them through exercises, physically and mentally, to transform them into ruthless hunters of human life to kill without mercy?
Joshua thought of some of the men who had become friends to him while he was living at the palace at Birsay. Angus and Mathias, Liam, even Tuck, who talked too much. They had either been assigned to apprentice with Robert or had been hired to guard his lands. They each had their own families back on the mainland, some following them to Orkney and living in the village beyond the palace. A full-out war would see most of them dead or in misery, their families grieving.
It was true that the odds would not be in favor of the Hillside men, but Joshua’s experience could hone them into deadly weapons. They would either kill and conquer or Kára’s people would die out trying. Either way, death would lie heavy on the shoulders of Orkney.
The song ended and people began to file out of the room, smiles and laughter in contrast to his dark thoughts. Joshua felt a brush against his arm and glanced down. Kára’s amma, Harriett, stared up at him. She was draped in a gown similar to the one Kára wore but had a shawl of embroidered lace over her white hair. “You are thinking hard about something, Highlander.”
He turned back to watch Kára lift the bairn from Brenna’s arms, kissing his little forehead and looking down into his face with a joyous smile. “War changes people,” he said. Kára turned gently in a tight circle as if dancing with the bairn.
“We have always been at war,” Harriett answered.
In truth, hadn’t Joshua? From the time he could lift a wooden sword, his father had told him he must grow strong to battle. When his mother died and his father lost his mind in grief, expecting that it was truly the biblical end of days, George Sinclair had officially declared Joshua Horseman of War. From that day on, it was all he was supposed to care about. War and winning war. Even though the numbers showed he had won in South Ronaldsay when he’d tried to help a small group defend their home from a neighboring family, he counted the battle as his first loss. Death and misery had piled up on both sides. He swore never again to lead people where he thought they would die.
“To have a chance at winning against Robert,” he continued, “I would have to make them into brutal, uncaring warriors. Even then they will likely die.”
Kára showed the bairn to her own son, Geir. The lad smiled down at the newborn, gently touching its cheek with the back of his finger.
“The training changes people,” Joshua said. “Brutality twists their souls.”
They stood quietly for a long moment. “How twisted is your soul, Highlander?” Harriett asked, making him look down into her dark blue-gray eyes, the same color as Kára’s.
The piercing gaze seemed to slice into him, searching his multitude of sins. How many battles had he fought, ignoring the fear and pleading in men’s eyes before he killed them? He looked back to the happy smiles of the people still in the room and connected with Kára. She still held the bairn. Her look was curious. Did she wonder what her grandmother was saying to him? Did she hope her wise words would sway him to their side of this unwinnable battle?
“War changes people on both sides, and not for the better,” Joshua answered, avoiding her direct question. He tore his gaze from Kára and met the eyes of the old woman. “Which is why I do not recommend it for your family.”
“You would have us abandon our isle,” she said, her tone giving no hint of her feelings regarding the suggestion.
He had mentioned it only once to Kára. Had she told her grandmother? “Aye,” he said.
“You do not seem the type of man who has ever retreated,” she said.
The very idea made his fists clench, and he crossed his arms over his chest, sliding easily into a familiar battle stance. “I have not.” Even in the battle in South Ronaldsay, with John Dishington fighting him, he had not stopped until both families were decimated.
“I do not think my
