Robert charged up to him, making Joshua shift Kára to his shoulder where she moaned at the pain the movement inflicted. “How dare you!” Robert yelled, throwing his hand wide. “To bring these people to storm my palace after I housed you for months.”
Joshua had no time for arguing with the tyrant. “Get out of my way, Robert Stuart, or ye will meet the same fate as your Brute.”
“That is right! I am Robert Stuart,” he yelled in full tantrum. “I am a royal Stuart, and you are a traitor, you and all the Sinclairs.”
Joshua came up close to him, looming down while keeping track of the man’s blade. But the look on Joshua’s face seemed to freeze Robert as he stared up at him. “I am independent of the Sinclairs, rescinded my oaths, and have no ties to them.”
“Does not matter! Someone must die for your insolence and treason.” Robert lifted his short sword.
Naked and with one hand holding Kára over his shoulder, Joshua twisted as Robert thrust. The palm of Joshua’s hand hit the blade at the hilt, knocking it from Robert. He was like a spoiled lad, sitting in his palace, eating and sending soldiers to steal away Kára’s people and their possessions and peace. Torben’s fury and impatience must have been the only things that made him fail against the pompous man.
“Perhaps ye should be the one to die,” Joshua said, taking a step toward the man. Robert raised both hands as if ready to defend himself. That he did not draw another blade meant he had none.
Joshua shifted Kára to lie across his arms and turned his back on the bastard. He strode away toward the half-finished wall. He stepped past men he had trained, who paused to watch his march. None of them tried to stop him. Some of them halted their friends from firing out into the night when Joshua shook his head at them. There was no time to do more. He must get Kára somewhere safe.
Stepping around an incomplete wall, he traipsed away with large, ground-eating steps. Calder battled a man known as Bull. Erik Flett stood apart, his sword in his one remaining hand. Fire raging behind him, Joshua strode forward carrying Kára, completely unarmed, completely naked. She lay bundled in her cloak and yards of wool that he refused to believe would be her death shroud. On his way out into the night, men stopped fighting to watch him.
“You abandon us,” Chief Erik called, sweat and ash on his face.
Joshua paused, turning his face to the man. “’Twas Torben who signaled to start the battle, so ’tis not my fight. I strongly suggest that ye cease it.”
Without wasting another moment, Joshua took off in a run as smoothly as he could. Even so, Kára whimpered at the jarring. But the noise meant that she was alive. “Hold on, lass,” he said as he ran her out of the fray. Men of both sides paused to watch him. Did they think that he retreated in fear?
Death before retreat. His father’s words shot through his head, almost making him stumble with the rocks digging into the arches of his feet. Damn. George Sinclair could still haunt him from the grave. Never in his seven and twenty years had Joshua ever run away from an active fight. Even in South Ronaldsay, when people died around him, he did not give an inch of ground. Maybe if he had, more of Adam’s people would have lived to see the next day.
As he neared the top of the hill, he saw the shadow of two people. “Holy God! Kára!” Osk ran over, Geir with him. “Is she…?”
Joshua slowed but continued to walk. “She lives, but she has a gash in her side and hit her head hard when Patrick threw her to the ground.”
“Did you kill him for it?” Geir asked.
Joshua did not answer him. He would not defend his choice to go to Kára instead of giving in to the need for vengeance. “I am taking her to her den.” He glanced at Geir. “She would want ye two to leave this scene. Come with me.”
“No,” Geir said, anger on his face.
“Aye,” Osk said at the same time. He grabbed Geir’s hand. “As your uncle, I am getting you out of this mess or Kára will have my head.” He started to pull the boy along. “And my liver and bowels and heart.” Two steps farther and Osk seemed to remember what he was carrying. “Joshua,” he said and threw Joshua’s discarded boots at him. “It will be faster if you are wearing those.”
“I’m not putting her down,” Joshua said and began to walk.
“Bloody hell,” Osk yelled, dropped Geir’s hand, and ran to get the boots. He caught Geir’s hand again as he ran by, dragging the boy to get in front of Joshua. “We will put them on you. Blast it! Stop for a moment.”
Osk dropped down to the ground with one boot, and reluctantly Geir followed. “I still think we should stay to fight,” the boy said.
Joshua glanced over Kára’s head at her son. For him to grow into a man someday, he must learn when not to fight. “I will teach ye from my book starting on the morrow. Right now, we leave to save your mother.” His tone allowed for no refusal, and Geir nodded.
Behind them, the night was lit with the red glow of burning thatch and hay, but Joshua noticed that shadows of men were fleeing the scene. Had Erik called for them to retreat?
Boots tied and the cloak that Osk had also retrieved thrown over his shoulders, Joshua ran across the rocky ground and through tall grasses hiding ruts. The pounding of his legs and the huffing of the two lads keeping up with him as he ran with Kára in his arms were the only sounds he heard over the wind rushing past his ears. How long had it been
