Joshua picked up the length of wool, shaking it out. Jean grabbed his arm, making him turn to her. She was pampered and perfumed and perfectly ignorant. How could he have ever felt her enticing?
“The horse and the woman, Hilda, were not yours to keep, or your father’s to keep, Jean.” He shook his head. “Ye either know little or care little about the atrocities done to the people of Orkney. And I have no time to explain them to ye.”
He turned away, squatting. Checking the wrapping around Kára’s middle first, to make certain it was secure, he took the plaid wrap meant for his hips and laid it over her body, covering her. He tucked the edge under her chin and rolled her enough to get the wool wrapped under her. The heaviness of her sleep felt like death to him, making his heart hammer in his tight chest. He had to get her out of there, out of the battle, somewhere she could be stitched and heal.
“That was supposed to be for you,” Jean said as he continued to wrap Kára up in it.
“She has more need of it at present,” he mumbled, even covering her head, her pale face the only thing showing. He finished by wrapping her cloak around her and stood slowly, Kára draped over his arms, her face against his chest.
Jean stood before the doorway, her arms wide as if to stop him from leaving. The idea was laughable, but nothing was humorous about a night such as this. “Step aside.”
“Joshua, be reasonable. If you continue this way, you will forfeit your life on the gallows.”
“And if ye continue this way, Jean Stuart, ye will forfeit your soul to Hell. Now get out of my way.” His words were low and lethal, making her eyes widen in the presence of his full battle expression. She slid aside, flattening herself against the wall.
There was no time to stop to try to wake Kára or check on the gash in her side. He knew only that he must get her out of there and to safety no matter which way the battle turned. Hopefully, Osk got Geir away and to safety before Torben’s vengeful attack sent everything spiraling toward a bloody end. To die in vain, Torben’s soul would likely haunt the Earl’s Palace forever.
Joshua stepped down the stairwell as quickly as he could while maintaining his balance and clearance for Kára in his arms. With the pitch darkness, he chose to step out on the bottom floor of the keep instead of continuing on to the back door where he’d entered. He swung around the arch into the gallery lined with proudly displayed weapons flanking the walls and strode forward with Kára.
Liam and another soldier Joshua had trained fired their arrows from slits cut into the stone walls for just such a purpose. They turned to him, arrows nocked, eyes going wide.
Joshua shook his head. “Stand down, men,” he said. “This is a battle started by one vengeful man.”
“Ye broke The Brute,” Liam said, not lowering his bow. Made for distance, it would pierce both Kára and him with one thick arrow.
“With your bare hands,” said the other man.
“A fair fight, to retrieve a child and save this woman,” he answered, shifting her harder against him. “Now let us pass. I mean ye no harm.” He would rather slice through anyone in his way of getting Kára to safety, but words would have to be his shield over her.
“Liam, ye know the tyranny here at the palace, the unjust treatment of the weak.” He met the man’s gaze, a good man with whom he’d joked on many occasions after a day of training.
“Since when does the Horseman of War care about the weak?” the other man, a soldier named Iain, asked.
In some ways, he had cared his whole life. Joshua had intimidated most people to stop them from attacking and surrendering their lives. When that didn’t work, a quick strike against the aggressors saved hundreds of weaker villagers.
“Since ye started bedding them?” Iain asked, nodding toward Kára.
“Shut your mouth, Iain,” Liam said and nodded toward the door. “Go on,” he said to Joshua.
Rage at Iain’s slander battled against his need to get Kára away. The raw, hateful emotion roared within him, his face transforming into the pointed stare of an executioner. Iain took a slight step backward, his arrow held before him like a shield. He would have one shot. If he missed, Joshua would tear him apart.
“Iain,” Liam yelled. “Put it down.” A glance at Liam showed him aiming his arrow now at his fellow soldier.
“What the bloody hell?” Iain yelled, dropping the point of his arrow to the floor. “’Tis treason.”
“I will foking tear your limbs off if ye miss,” Joshua said, letting out in his low tone all the pent-up rage he’d felt.
Iain’s face turned pale as Joshua strode toward him. The man seemed to shrink, and Joshua dodged at the last moment to move past him and out the door of the keep, leaving Liam to deal with him.
Outside, fires burned high in the wind. Smoke flooded the bailey, and the familiar clash of men and weapons broke any peace the night might bring. Robert stood inside the gates, his shirt blackened with smoke and dirt. He yelled orders to his younger sons and his soldiers. Without other orders, the trained soldiers followed his. Joshua had seeded the idea of turning against Robert in the men he trained before he left, just in case. In some instances, it worked, like with Liam, Angus, and Mathias, but some remained loyal to the crown, which was Robert here on Orkney.
“Johnathan, Edward, stand down,”
