Highland Warrior Read online

  Table of Contents

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Glossary

  Book of Revelations

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Epilogue

  Historical Note

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  More from Heather McCollum

  The Spinster and the Rake, by Eva Devon

  The Rakehell of Roth, by Amalie Howard

  Hitched to the Gunslinger, by Michelle McLean

  Her Wicked Marquess, by Stacy Reid

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Copyright © 2021 by Heather McCollum. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.

  Entangled Publishing, LLC

  10940 S Parker Road

  Suite 327

  Parker, CO 80134

  Visit our website at www.entangledpublishing.com.

  Amara is an imprint of Entangled Publishing, LLC.

  Edited by Alethea Spiridon

  Cover design by

  LJ Anderson, Mayhem Cover Creations

  Cover art by Photographer: VJ Dunraven/Period Images and martinm303/Depositphotos

  Interior design by Toni Kerr

  MMP ISBN 978-1-68281-570-0

  ebook ISBN 978-1-68281-592-2

  Manufactured in the United States of America

  First Edition May 2021

  Also by Heather McCollum

  Sons of Sinclair series

  Highland Conquest

  The Campbells series

  The Scottish Rogue

  The Savage Highlander

  The Wicked Viscount

  The Highland Outlaw

  Highland Isles series

  The Beast of Aros Castle

  The Rogue of Islay Isle

  The Wolf of Kisimul Castle

  The Devil of Dunakin Castle

  Highland Hearts series

  Captured Heart

  Tangled Hearts

  Untamed Hearts

  Crimson Heart

  Highland Heart

  To those who work to grow peace in our world… Thank you

  Scots Gaelic and Old English Words Used in Highland Warrior

  aàlainn—lovely

  bacraut—asshole (Old Norse)

  blaigeard—bastard

  blide-maet—joy-food (Old Norse-Norn), served to those visiting a newly born baby

  broch—halo around the moon (Old Norse—name of Kára’s horse)

  cac—shite

  daingead—damn it

  dróttning—chief, queen (Old Norse)

  fuil—blood (name of Joshua’s horse)

  konungr—king (Old Norse)

  magairlean—ballocks

  sgian dubh—black-handled dagger

  targe—shield, usually made of wood and lined with steel

  tolla-thon—arsehole

  Whitna whalp—What a devil (Old Norse)

  Book of Revelations

  1 I watched as the Lamb opened the first of the seven seals. Then I heard one of the four living creatures say in a voice like thunder, “Come!”

  2 I looked, and there before me was a white horse! Its rider held a bow, and he was given a crown, and he rode out as a conqueror bent on conquest.

  3 When the Lamb opened the second seal, I heard the second living creature say, “Come!”

  4 Then another horse came out, a fiery red one. Its rider was given power to take peace from the earth and to make people kill one another. To him was given a large sword.

  5 When the Lamb opened the third seal, I heard the third living creature say, “Come!” I looked, and there before me was a black horse! Its rider was holding a pair of scales in his hand.

  6 Then I heard what sounded like a voice among the four living creatures, saying, “Two pounds of wheat for a day’s wages, and six pounds of barley for a day’s wages, and do not damage the oil and the wine!”

  7 When the Lamb opened the fourth seal, I heard the voice of the fourth living creature say, “Come!”

  8 I looked, and there before me was a pale horse! Its rider was named Death…

  Orkney Isle off the northern coast of Scotland

  20 October in The Year of Our Lord 1589

  Chapter One

  “A wise warrior avoids the battle.”

  Sun Tzu – The Art of War

  “Retreating, Sinclair?” John Dishington, the sheriff for Lord Robert Stuart, smirked from his place by the table in the receiving hall of the Earl’s Palace. Cocky, scarred, and always looking for a fight, Dishington was one warrior Joshua Sinclair certainly would not miss when he left Orkney Isle.

  “I will retreat only if God calls his Horsemen back to Heaven,” Joshua said, using the legend around him being the Horseman of War. It was a familiar role and usually shut the mouths of fools. “I am journeying back home to the mainland of Scotland for Samhain, not retreating.”

  Dishington laughed, pushing away from the table. “A pardon for the confusion. You retreated from the field at South Ronaldsay.” Dishington, who called himself The Brute of Orkney, had more thirst for fighting than wish to stay alive.

  Joshua inhaled deeply, his nostrils opening to feed his blood with warrior energy as he turned, the promise of death cutting into the lines of his face. “Lies will see your tongue cut from your screaming mouth,” he said, his tone low. The two warriors assigned to watch the arrow slits in the interior wall backed up near the hearth as if wishing to stay out of an inevitable battle.

  Dishington picked up his tankard, using it to salute Joshua. “Och now, Sinclair. I know you count the battle as a win for your side, but when that lad fell, you carried him from the field. It looked like a retreat to me.”

  Adam. The boy’s face, still and pale as the blood from his wound soaked his tunic. The vision haunted Joshua like a specter stalking him everywhere. His hands fisted as if he could change the outcome of that horrible day. “The battle was over,” he said. “And despite both sides taking too many casualties, we were the victors.”

  Dishington saluted him again with his tankard and took a drink. “As you say,” he said, wiping his mouth, which twisted into a wry grin.

  “I should have lopped your head off at South Ronaldsay,” Joshua said, turning away to nod at the two men he had trained for the last three months. “Stay strong, Tuck, Alec.” They nodded back, and he strode out to the broad double doors of the castle that Lord Robert Stuart, the first Earl of Orkney, called a palace. A bloody palace with arrow and gun slits built into all the lower walls right along
side glazed windows and murals of biblical scenes. When Joshua had agreed to train Lord Robert’s men, the earl had even promised to commission a fresco of the Four Horsemen from Revelations, with Joshua as the Horseman of War in the front.

  “If you had lopped off my head,” Dishington called, following him, “we would not have shared these three months working alongside each other to shape these men into warriors for Lord Robert. Think of all the mirthful sport you would have missed.”

  Sport? Mirthful? “Cac,” Joshua cursed under his breath as he traipsed outside into the autumn chill that seemed worse than at his home in Caithness even though it was not too much farther south.

  Ignoring Dishington, Joshua strode straight for Lord Robert and his son who were in the middle of the interior courtyard by the central well. Patrick was his second eldest son and wore a sword and a frown. Like his brothers, Patrick had become the perfect copy of his sire, with an even worse temperament, especially with regard to the local Orkney inhabitants.

  “I will be off, Lord Robert,” Joshua said, bowing his head to his employer without even a twitch of respect toward his son.

  “You are a damn mercenary, Joshua Sinclair,” Lord Robert said with a half frown. “And yet gold does not sway you to remain at my palace.”

  Joshua looked toward his saddled bay, Fuil, who stood waiting beside Angus Gunn, a friend Joshua had made at the palace. Angus held a handful of oats under his horse’s nose, and Fuil lipped it up.

  “I am the Horseman of War,” Joshua said, his breath puffing white in the snowflakes whipping down from the heavy clouds. “Winter will freeze your enemies, bringing peace until spring, which is too dull for me.”

  The truth was that Joshua did not wish to fight Robert’s battles anymore. In fact, Joshua did not want to fight any battles anymore, a secret he shared only with God. When he realized that Robert Stuart’s clashes with the people of Orkney would never end, the realization had made Joshua itch to move on. That and the oncoming winter.

  “Damn snow. Bloody damn wind,” he murmured, glancing up at the snowflakes swirling down to pock his bare arms. His feet were like ice in his boots. Yet he walked forward with only a sash from the end of his kilt over his bare chest so Robert’s people could see and remember the tattoos around his muscular arms and across his back. The dark swirls on his arm in the shape of a horse, along with the massive sword strapped across his back, reminded them that Joshua was War incarnate, the second Horseman of the Apocalypse, sent from God, to rage and win against his foes. At least that was what his father had told him every day of his life. Maintaining an outward appearance that promised death, to intimidate Sinclair enemies, was an act that Joshua had honed until it became who he truly was.

  He nodded to a small group of the earl’s warriors whom he’d been training, some of them good men. They nodded back, a few raising an arm in response. He stopped before his handsome, muscular warhorse. Fuil’s bay coat shined red, which was why Joshua had named him the Gaelic word for blood. His black tail swooshed with a need to be off on whatever adventure was next.

  “Angus,” he said, his brow rising. “Watch your woman well.” He let his gaze slide to Mathias Campbell, the unscarred lad who’d been attracting all the lasses living in the village north of the castle where the soldiers resided when off duty. He was a rogue with honor, which made him a very poor scoundrel.

  “What is that?” Angus asked, frowning at Mathias. “What about my woman?”

  “Bloody hell, Joshua,” Mathias yelled, his smile broad. “Even leaving ye cause trouble.”

  Joshua laughed. “To keep ye all alert!”

  Angus grumbled a curse but grinned. “Stay alive, Horseman of War.”

  Joshua nodded to him. “I always do.” Several of the men he’d been training laughed.

  It was a shame the Scotsmen hired by Robert to live and work for him could not easily leave Orkney. But Joshua was a free man, and he’d had enough of Robert’s elitist ways. Nay, it was time to head home to Caithness and Girnigoe Castle on the mainland of Scotland, in time for the Samhain festival.

  Liam, another warrior, gave him a wry grin through his thick beard where he stood by the gate of the half-finished outer wall, another of Joshua’s recommended improvements. “I am surprised that Jean unleashed you from her bed,” he said, keeping his voice low. Jean Stuart, Robert’s second eldest daughter, was voluptuous and territorial, not to mention spoiled. The lass was as prickly as her brothers but had enjoyed sparring with Joshua. And tumbling in her luxurious bed.

  “Ah, sweet Jean,” Joshua said, sliding his hand down Fuil’s neck. “She has likely already lured in another for sport.” Throwing a boot up, he mounted easily from the ground and turned Fuil in a tight circle toward the open gate where two other young warriors worked at moving bags of grain. Joshua drew a pebble, which he’d picked up before mounting, from the fold in his kilt. With a flick of his wrist, he shot one at Hamish Kincaid, hitting him in the back of his head. Hamish whipped around to glare at his friend, Randall, who worked next to him.

  “Why’d ye do that?” Hamish asked, rubbing his head.

  “What?” Randall asked. “Lift a bag of oats?”

  “Hit me in the head,” Hamish yelled, making Joshua grin. Aye, he would miss tricking these men.

  Randall caught Joshua’s smile and hit Hamish’s arm, gesturing to him. “Are ye making mischief even as ye leave?” Hamish asked, hands on his hips.

  Joshua smiled, showing his teeth. “Never assume ye know who the true enemy is, Hamish.”

  The man shook his head but grinned. “We will not miss ye, Highlander.”

  “Och, but I think ye will,” Joshua parried back. He continued out the gate, his bare arm, encircled by tattoos, high in the air to bid them farewell. He was far enough away that they would not see the chill bumps on his skin.

  As he exited, a young lad jumped out of his path. “Pardon, sir,” he said. He was about twelve years old and stood with a younger lad, the two of them with wooden swords. “We are training like ye did with Lord Robert’s warriors so we can fight.” He grinned, his face tilted up at him. “Hamish Kincaid is our da.”

  He nodded to the boy who had a few freckles. “My da says you are the wisest warrior he has ever known,” the boy said, and they both looked at him expectantly.

  Joshua’s stomach clenched hard as the first lad’s face seemed to change to one with a broad smattering of freckles and a serious frown. He nodded to the boys. “The wisest decision a warrior can make is whether or not he should fight.”

  Both boys lost their smiles and nodded as if taking in his wisdom, even though they would probably forget his words before he was out of sight over the rolling hills.

  Shouts made him pull his horse to the side near the boys. Several of Robert’s soldiers marched down the hill toward the fortress on the sea. In the center of them walked a man, a completely naked man. Henry Sinclair, Robert’s eldest son, led the man by a rope encircling his neck, a cruel grin on his face. Henry nodded to Joshua as he walked past him on his way into the bailey.

  The prisoner had scars across his bare chest and a slash on his side that had dried into a dark line of blood. Despite the frigid weather, he held his head even, staring out as he walked at sword point into the bailey. Just the sight of his bare skin made a shiver run through Joshua. Fok. Too cold for that. The brutal torture warred against Joshua’s determination to put this frozen isle behind him, and he watched Lord Robert turn a vicious smile on the prisoner as he halted by the central well.

  “Ah,” Robert said, his words carrying to Joshua on the wind that never ceased to blow across treeless Orkney. “King Erik Flett, naked and near frozen.” Lord Robert and Patrick had already forgotten about Joshua leaving as they grinned at their prize, who was stripped of absolutely everything. Robert nearly strutted as he followed the prisoner into the castle with his sons and hired brute.


  Joshua narrowed his eyes at the man who had employed him to make his men clever, strong, and fast. I should have killed him and his sons. The isle would be better for it. But Robert Stuart was the recognized son of the dead King James V of Scotland. Killing him and his family would surely bring royal armies to his clan, the Sinclairs of Caithness, on the mainland.

  At least the prisoner was no longer out of doors. God, grant the man a quick and honorable death. Joshua turned back to face the land that sloped upward away from the castle perched before the frigid Birsay Bay, which led to the open sea.

  His horse slid easily into a canter with a touch of Joshua’s heels. As soon as they reached the top of the rise, he pulled him to a halt. There wasn’t a single tree on Orkney to stand behind, but he was far enough away that no one would see him reveal himself as fully human. He reached into his leather satchel and yanked out a thick tunic, a fur to throw over his shoulders, and a wool blanket to wrap across his lap and Fuil’s back.

  He patted his horse. “I will keep us both warm.” Fuil’s ears turned, listening.

  Joshua had earned enough gold training Robert’s men that he could go anywhere. But he missed the soaring oaks and birches and pines of Caithness. Had his brother, Cain Sinclair, the new chief of their clan, managed to keep the peace with the surrounding clans? Or had he showed enough weakness that strife continued? Never having left Girnigoe Castle for any length of time before, Joshua had not lived under anyone other than his father and then his brother. Observing the leadership at the Earl’s Palace of Birsay with the likes of Robert Stuart made Joshua realize how intelligent and fair his brother actually was. Cain had married a Sutherland lass right when Joshua left. Was his bride, Ella, already with child? And what of his other brothers and sister? Was Aunt Merida still making cures and predicting peoples’ deaths?

  He watched a flock of birds skimming the moorland. They rose high into the sky as they came upon the Earl’s Palace and all the men surrounding it. The sight made his shoulders ache with tension. “Aye, ’tis time to go home,” he murmured. If he left now, he could be setting the celebratory fires at Girnigoe Castle in time for Samhain to honor those who had died. Maybe he would stay through Hogmanay and set out again when it warmed. South this time. Surely there were warriors he could train in the south, too. Armies he could build up enough to intimidate the English from advancing farther into their country.