Highland Warrior

again. She would throw herself onto a blade before she let him take another thing from her.
Not a single muscle in Joshua’s face twitched. He slowly crossed his arms over his chest, his legs braced as if he stood on the deck of a ship. “I came to retrieve something. That is all. The lass but rode with me. If ye do not release her unharmed, ye will die tonight. ’Tis your choice, Dishington.”
“The new chief of the weak islanders happened to ride with you here in the dead of night because you left something behind. If you think that is a believable tale, then you are a fool.”
“Then let us battle,” Joshua said. “The two of us, honorably. As we did in South Ronaldsay. Or are ye afraid I will beat ye again?”
“There was no true winner,” The Brute said, his deep voice snapping out the words. Joshua said nothing, and the bastard continued. “These islanders are a weak people, Sinclair. We are the strong, the mighty, and Lord Robert and the Stuarts will rule this isle. These fools,” he said, yanking Kára up higher against his body, “will die trying to win back their isle.”
She could smell his foul breath as his lips moved near her head. “Bunch of inbred bastards. There is no honor in you if you mix with them or help them. ’Twill lead only to their complete extinction.”
Rage flamed up inside Kára. John Dishington, The bloody Brute, knew nothing of the hardships her people suffered. Cold, hungry, forced to work on Robert’s palaces and fortress walls. Their numbers were dwindling from cruelty and sickness while this bloodthirsty man raped and tortured without justice.
Kára stretched her fingers along her leg to line up with the dagger sheathed in her tall boot, but she couldn’t reach it. The Brute slid his bristled jaw along her cheek, the stubble scratching her.
Joshua’s arms uncrossed to hang ready by his sides. “I said…release her.”
With the blade against her throat, she could barely swallow without drawing blood. Switching up her plan, Kára lifted her hands at the same time she said the devil’s name. “John Dishington, I have a secret for you.”
The Brute snorted. “Oh I am sure you have some secret places upon you I will uncover shortly.”
Staring directly into Joshua’s eyes, Kára slowly drew in breath, fueling her muscles. If she was to die, she wanted to see the strength in Joshua’s face as she left this world.
Pulling one more breath in, Kára curled her tongue to let out a high-pitched whistle. Surprise lit Joshua’s eyes, and his own lips came together as if her action reminded him that he was still armed. He whistled two short bursts of sound, too.
Kára’s mare, Broch, charged through the stall door that was ajar, and Kára shoved against The Brute’s arm. The surprise gave her a heartbeat to react. She dropped and yanked her dagger from her boot, to leap upright, her arm coming around to slash at the bastard’s face.
The Brute grunted as her blade sliced open the skin of his cheek, and he jumped back, his eyes going beyond her to where Joshua no doubt charged. But before he could reach them, Joshua’s horse kicked his stall door, splintering it. Pieces of wood shot everywhere, and deadly hooves flew out of the stall like an avenging angel sent straight from Heaven. The horse’s nostrils flared, ears back, like when Kára’s brother stupidly tried to steal him from the village. The horse barreled into The Brute, knocking him down, his powerful legs trampling over him.
Joshua grabbed Kára, pulling her out of the way of the two horses. The Brute lay flat on the ground, eyes closed, mouth open, his face bleeding freely.
“Is he dead?” she said, her breath heavy as they faced him.
“What goes on in here?” a voice called from the entrance.
“Bring your horse,” Joshua said and clicked to his own mount before running toward the door on foot, his sword out. He was going to cut their way through whatever waited for them there.
Ignoring the trembling in her hand, Kára grabbed the horn of the saddle that she’d placed on Broch before The Brute found her, climbing up to follow behind Joshua and his horse, who trotted after him. When she reached the torchlight circle near the doors, Robert’s warrior was on the ground unconscious. A woman in a white cloak stood there, a chain attaching her to a large rock that sat next to the bloody man.
“Courage runs in your clan,” Joshua said, lifting the rock and leading the woman over to Kára. “Ye are a clever lot.”
“Hilda?” Kára whispered.
Her aunt glanced at the unconscious warrior. “I was not going to let him ruin things after you got past The Brute.”
“Drape the cloak around the two of ye,” Joshua said and handed the rock chained to her aunt up to Kára. He lifted Hilda behind her. The woman quickly draped the wide cloak around Kára for her to clasp in the front.
Joshua stared up at Kára as Hilda tucked the long cape around their legs. “Ye are Jean,” he said, “going out for a midnight ride with me.” He waited for Kára to nod her understanding.
She studied him in the sharp glow of the flame, and her chest tightened. “Is that lip paint on your face?” Her gaze dropped as her brows rose, anger shooting through her. “And down your neck?” Had he been kissing Jean Stuart, or even tupping her, while Kára hid and then got pawed by The Brute? Could there have been time for that?
“Walk slow until we reach the hill,” Joshua answered, ignoring her questions. It wasn’t the time to ask, but his non-answer was answer enough.
Unable to stop herself, Kára murmured, “Her perfume stink clings to this cloak.”
“If Robert’s men give chase, ye ride on to your den to hide with Hilda while I lead them off.”
“I need to get her to Brenna,” she countered.
He grabbed her hand where it fisted around