Asmund’s words froze the heat in Kára’s blood faster than the icy wind in her face. Was her uncle dead?
Her people turned to her in silence as she walked forward, frowns on every face and a few women dabbing their eyes. A path opened so she could enter the cottage. Not dead. Erik sat on the center chair that Kára had vacated not long ago. Hilda sat beside him, unwrapping…
“Bloody hell,” Joshua murmured beside her, and Kára rushed forward.
“Uncle,” she said, kneeling down before him to see the bloody stump, his right forearm cut clean away. The pain he must have endured… “Robert cut off your arm,” she whispered.
“My sword arm,” Erik said, his voice rough, as if he had barely survived without proper water. “So I could never raise it against him again. Strangely, I do not remember lifting a sword to any of his men.”
Amma brought him a cup of something, holding it to his lips, but he took it with his left hand. The proud man was dressed in tatters as if his clothing had been rent before being stomped in dirt and given back to him. Joshua said he’d seen him marched into the palace naked.
As if remembering him from the day of his capture, Erik’s pained face filled with hatred as he looked over her shoulder to where Joshua stood. “You are the Horseman of Death to our people. The one training Robert’s warriors to slaughter us.” His face snapped around to Kára. “You have brought the devil to Hillside?”
Kára’s gaze moved between the two proud men. “He is not allied with Robert.”
“I am the Horseman of War,” Joshua said, his face hardened to resemble someone who could bloody well bring the end of the world. “My loyalty is to God and Clan Sinclair, not to Robert Stuart.”
Erik’s dirty, unshaven face still pinched with unleashed fury. “Yet you trained them to kill us.”
“I trained them to defend themselves from raiders, but I tired of Robert’s tyranny and left.”
Erik glanced at Kára. “And are you teaching my people to defend themselves, too? So we can tear each other apart like baited animals?”
“No,” Kára said, shaking her head. “Joshua did not know our plight before coming here. He was on his way back to Scotia but has agreed to help us.”
“I do not want war for your people,” Joshua said. “War will bring only further misery and death.”
“Is not that what you feed on, Horseman?” Erik said.
“King Erik!” Torben called as he strode into the cottage. He cast a dark glance toward Joshua before coming to kneel before her uncle. “A word from you, and my men and I will attack the palace.”
“And all will die,” Kára said. “And incite Robert to order a full attack on our people.”
“When he finds out his son, Henry, is dead by our hand, he will attack anyway,” Erik said, making Kára’s gaze snap to him. “Asmund told me,” he said.
“I killed the foking bastard, not Kára,” Joshua said. “And Robert Stuart or his other son, or his mercenary, The Brute, are welcome to attack me.”
“His hundred men against you?” Torben said with a bitter laugh. “Cocky arse, go right ahead. You deserve to be slaughtered for killing his son. If he finds that we were involved in any way—”
“If Henry’s death remains a mystery, Robert will have no need to attack,” Kára said, her voice riding over Torben’s tantrum. Her gaze connected with each of the five people in the room, landing on Erik. She had thought Asmund wise enough to keep his mouth shut, although having found their chief, the man would have felt obligated to inform him about what had transpired. Hopefully, Asmund was not now whispering what he knew to all the people of Hillside.
Hilda finished slathering a thick salve over the raw end of Erik’s stump and took clean linens from Amma, wrapping them deftly around it. The only sign that Erik was in pain was his silence and closing of his eyes, the muscles in his jaws twitching as he clenched his teeth. They all waited for him to open his eyes.
Erik let out a weary exhale, looking to Torben. “Ready the men for war. We march tonight against Robert and those who stand with him.”
“Ye will lead your people to death,” Joshua said, his arms crossed.
“You are not expected to come,” Erik said.
Kára stood straight, legs braced. “There is a better way. We are welcome in Scotia. Joshua will lead us to the mainland of Scotland where we can build a safe and—”
Erik held his palm out to stop her and pushed slowly out of the chair. He took a step toward her, a slight limp that made Hilda look down at his leg. “We attack tonight,” Erik repeated. “With or without the Horseman of War.”
Joshua stared straight at him, not backing down an inch. “Then have your women stay behind and dig your graves.”
Erik continued to stare in Kára’s eyes, his brows pinching sharply inward. “Better my grave than a boy’s.”
Boy? Kára couldn’t speak, the world suspended in that moment, waiting to see if the weight would fall off her shoulders or crush her.
“What boy?” Joshua asked, coming up next to her.
Erik did not break the tether of their gazes as he answered. “They have Geir.”
…
“Kára, wait,” Joshua called as he raced after her toward the small stable where they had just kissed. How bloody much could change in a matter of minutes. He caught her at the barn door and wrapped his hand around her wrist. She twisted toward him, the wind whipping her hair before her eyes. “Ye cannot get on Broch and ride to Robert by yourself, demanding
