“Aye, but ye would need to swear fealty to my brother, Cain Sinclair, to benefit from the protection of his armies.”
“And yours?”
He clasped her hand where it swung next to her leg, stopping her. She looked up into his face, breathing rapidly past the pain in her throat.
“Ye have my army, Kára Flett,” he said. “Ye have me and my army.” His words had the timbre of an oath, and it sent a thrill through her.
“You can promise that without talking to your brother?” she asked.
He shrugged. “If ye decide ye want my army of bay horses to attack Girnigoe and kill the horses and people, then I will have to rethink my words. Otherwise, Cain will not care if I aid the Fletts of Orkney.”
She smiled, but then a thought wormed its way inside. “What if King James decides the Fletts are enemies?”
She watched his jawline harden as he looked out to the distance where the three cottages marked the hidden village of Hillside. “It would not be the first time the Sinclairs have disagreed with the crown,” he said. “But I will send word to Cain. My younger brother, Gideon, the Horseman of Justice, will be certain to keep the Sinclairs free of my actions, but there should be no reason to blame your people for anything.”
As long as no one tied them to Henry Stuart’s death.
They walked up to the cottages, and Amma rushed out. “What has happened?” she asked, staring directly at the bruising on her neck. Her fingers lifted to Kára’s throat, her face pinching in anger. “This is the work of Stuarts.”
“It is taken care of,” Joshua said, his voice hard.
The fewer people knowing about the conflict, the better. “I will tell you about it later, Amma. Right now, we need to find my trousers and clean clothes for Joshua. I would stand as a warrior before the council.”
Chapter Sixteen
“The art of war is of vital importance to the State.
It is a matter of life and death, a road
either to safety or to ruin.”
Sun Tzu – The Art of War
Joshua felt the stretch of the seams on the borrowed tunic as he walked up the hill next to Kára. Calder was fairly large, but his tunic was still tighter than was comfortable. Joshua hoped he wouldn’t rip it, but he did not need questions about the blood that had smeared and splattered against his own, a mix of Kára’s head wound and Henry’s all-over wound.
From the vileness of the man, Joshua would have guessed his blood to be black. But that was one of the mysteries of life, how blood flowed the same, regardless of evil intent or righteousness. God gifted every newborn bairn with the same potential for good or bad. If only decisions were as simple as cutting oneself and seeing the color to know if one’s intentions were sound or self-righteous.
He glanced at Kára, her features full of strength, as if she felt the weight of a crown pressing down on her and she was determined to hold it up. For her people, she had become the dróttning, the queen. And he had convinced her to lead them away from their isle. Were his intentions for their benefit or his own? Life was much simpler at home.
He shook his head, clearing away the press of guilt. Taking the Hillside people to Caithness would help them, protect them from the warriors he had honed into brutal fighting soldiers for Robert.
Kára stopped before the closed door of the cottage on top of the hill. He watched her shoulders rise, stretching them, letting them sink down her back as she straightened the scarf around her bruised neck. Head high, all signs of fear replaced by calm fortitude. She glanced at him. “I will not mention Henry.”
“’Tis best not to.”
Kára pushed into the cottage and stopped. The room was filled. Chairs were arranged in a half circle toward the back, filled with elderly people, the middle chair left open. But the rest of the room was packed shoulder to shoulder with Hillside people, women and men, no children, not even Geir. Torben stood with his arms crossed, a pout on his face. His mother stood next to him, casting evil glances Joshua’s way.
Was Kára’s son with Osk? Nay. Osk stood inside the door and made motions for people to move so Kára could walk to the chair. She sat in it as regally as if it were a throne. Her grandmother, Harriett, perched next to her. Hilda and Corey sat there, too, representing the remaining elders of the group, along with two other men. Joshua entered, shutting the door behind him to lean against.
“I call this council meeting of Hillside Village open,” Kára said as if she’d been leading these people her whole life. The slight murmur at her entrance quieted to silence.
“Since Chief Erik has not returned, I will serve in his place if the council agrees,” Kára said.
Corey stood and bowed his head to her. “You have our loyalty, Kára Flett, eldest living child of Zaire Flett.”
“Aye.” The room erupted with the single word.
Kára nodded, and Corey took his seat. She looked out at the gathered. “We have winter coming quickly, and I would like to know what we have stored.”
Calder stepped into the little space before the council. “We farmed barley and black oats this summer, which did well. As you know, however, Robert Stuart took half the yield in the midsummer raid, leaving us with limited supply for the rest of the winter into spring.” A man at the end of the row of elders wrote in a bound book.
Damn, Robert. Joshua remembered the bags of oats the man had brought in, saying it was taxes from those on the isle, since they could not pay in gold. Would he have taken so much if he had known how many people resided
