Highland Warrior, McCollum, Heather [carter reed .TXT] 📗

of his men, large and bearded, emerged from the front of the chapel behind Henry. She swallowed past the thickness of panic wedged in her throat. Of course, he did not come alone. But she was. And to think she had called her uncle, Erik, a fool for being caught alone by Robert’s scouts only to find herself falling into the same trap. She should have let Joshua stay.

“This is a place to revere the dead,” she said. “Leave here before they rise up and strike you down.”

He laughed, walking closer. His hand ran along one of the stone markers as he tilted his head. The wind ruffled his short-cropped hair. “Even though it is still Samhain, and the veil between the real world and the spirit world is thin, I do not see any spirits coming to your aid.” The larger of his two men looked nervous, but the other smiled wickedly. Was he hoping Henry would share her with him? The pig. Because she knew that was what Henry ultimately wanted—her body and her helplessness. Years ago, riding back to the palace, her body ripe with child, the man had rammed his dirty hand up her skirts. She still remembered the pain and humiliation of his touch. How she’d prayed he would not kill her unborn child.

Kára breathed deeply, a plan forming in her head. Thank God her father had included her when he’d taught strategy to Osk. She’d been an apt student when her brother usually ended up rolling in the grass with the dogs.

All three men walked into the churchyard, the gate slamming shut behind them. Kára wove around the headstones as she hurried to the side of the chapel. A quick glance showed a deserted lane through the town. Joshua. Was he truly inside the tavern counting turnips?

She tugged at her dress as it stuck on the thistle and tall grasses, wishing again that she’d worn trousers. Harder to be raped and easier to fight. Glancing over her shoulder, her heart squeezed as Henry and his men made their way after her in a triangular formation, Henry walking forward in the center. She must take at least one of them out of the attack before they reached her.

“Stay back,” she said, her voice strong with warning.

Henry smiled, his condescending grin making nausea roll through her stomach. “I do not want to stay back. In fact, I would like to be very close to ye, Kára Flett. Especially now that ye are not warped with a huge belly. And, since ye stole my father’s healer and my sister’s horse right from under his nose, he will not make me release ye this time. In fact, I think he will let me…punish ye however I want.” His hand went to his cod with obvious intent.

“Broch is my horse, not your sister’s, and Hilda is a person who does not deserve to be locked up for your bastard father’s personal use,” she said. Her right arm was most accurate at throwing. She could grab her mattucashlass and throw it directly into one of Henry’s men. I should kill Henry. Should she? Would it bring the wrath of his father down on her and her people?

“My father is in charge of Orkney,” Henry said, “no matter what you peasants think. We are of royal blood and have the power and might of King James. My father is practically king of Orkney. Ye should bow down to him.”

She’d rather lose her head than bow it to any of the Stuarts. Kára gritted her teeth, breathing through her nose. The grinning guard would be her target. The other was more occupied with looking at all the graves as if ghosts lurked there.

“Go away now, Henry,” she said. “Before I kill you with my bare hands for your crimes against me and my people.” Let him think her unarmed.

He motioned to his guards to advance on her.

“You have been warned,” she said. Her hand grasped the blade in her right boot. With a practiced twist, she released it directly at the leering guard. Thwack. It struck with force, point first directly into his forehead, and he dropped into the tall grass.

“Fok,” the second guard yelled, bending down to see his friend releasing his final breath.

“You will twist in the flames of Hell with him today if you come any closer,” she yelled.

Henry frowned. “Ye will pay for that life. For every life under the protection of the Stuarts that ye take, we will take a life of your dwindling group.” Teeth together, the man seethed, showing the truth behind his previous smile. “Get her,” he yelled, and the second man jumped forward to grab her. He was nearly six feet tall and broad with muscled arms.

Kára yanked her short sword from her scabbard, brandishing it before her. “You will die if you come closer,” she said, but his eyes narrowed. Even if he was wary of spirits, he apparently did not worry about a woman wielding a sword.

He drew his own sword and brought it around toward her.

“Do not maim her,” Henry yelled. “I want her whole.”

Maybe she would kill Henry. But first she must get past this beast. The guard moved slower than she, either because of his bulk, his laziness, or his belief that she would be easy to seize. He came at her, and she spun out of his way, slicing down as she moved. He grunted as she caught his arm. A red line appeared where her sharp blade sliced his tunic.

“Bloody hell,” he cursed, coming back around at her with more force.

Clang. Their blades met, but his strength was superior to hers. Her sword flew from her grip, clanging against a grave marker to drop into the grass. He lunged for her. Forgetting his sword, he wrapped his arms around her, lifting her off the ground.

“Let go!” She struggled in his rough hold, kicking out with her booted feet, but he did not budge. He smelled of