Highland Warrior by Heather McCollum (rainbow fish read aloud TXT) 📕

large shooting stars falling to earth. Horns blown by the boys in the back blared angry notes to send a chill through the earl’s soldiers. Loud and long, the notes rose with the war cries, heralding death and destruction. Those without blades swung long, leather straps that hurled stones with such force that they could cut through any unprotected flesh. The small holes drilled into the stones made them shriek as they flew, adding to the noise.

“Bloody hell,” Joshua cursed, but things were in motion. There was no going back. From the back fields, the waiting Hillside warriors could not see that it was Torben and not Joshua who waved the signal torch.

Torben dropped the torch and leaped forward to attack Robert, but the wiry man had his own sword. Joshua took a step closer to Patrick and Kára, noting that Erik Flett ran forward to come even with Torben, the two attacking Robert.

“I will kill her,” Patrick called, dragging her backward with him. “Leave her with me, and she will live. Unless one of her own people kills her. The fools!” he yelled, using her as a human shield.

Robert’s men ran out from the open gate, armed with shields and swords. Liam and Tuck clashed with Calder and another Hillside man. But Joshua focused solely on Kára. Where was Patrick taking her? Wild eyes and clenched teeth told Joshua that the man probably did not have a plan and was spurred by panic. In his haste and insanity, he could easily slit her throat.

Around Joshua, the chaos and noise of battle splintered the night. More flaming arrows shot overhead, lighting the space before the wall. Clanging of iron pitchforks and yells filled the air with the shrieks of the flying stones as the horns continued to blow a call to arms across the moor. He could try to run back and order a retreat, but experience told Joshua that, like a boulder building speed racing down a hill, a battle, once started, would not stop until it had played out. Bloody foking hell. Both Hillside men and Scotsmen that he’d trained at Robert’s palace were hammering away at one another, and there was nothing he could do but throw his powerful weight into one side or the other if he were to join in.

Torben swung at Robert wildly with obvious fury, almost hitting Erik in the process. Robert, a swordsman of experience, sidestepped the man in one turn, and ran Torben through with his sword. Torben Spence crumpled to the ground on the end of his father’s own blade. Erik held his short sword in his left hand. Robert laughed, saying something to him, and walked away. Erik threw his blade, but it fell without power.

Without his sword or blades or even his clothes, Joshua ran toward the palace, dodging the lowering portcullis to follow Kára into the smoke-filled bailey. He stopped, his head snapping right to left as he tried to see where Patrick had taken her.

“Joshua!” A man’s voice caught his glance. Angus, up in the watchtower where he continued to keep anyone from lighting the beacon that would bring more soldiers, jabbed his sword around the left-side corner of the keep.

Joshua ran, the cold forgotten as the heat from his run and the fires building around him radiated warmth. Avoiding the flaming arrows on the ground, he dashed around the side of the keep, being sure to avoid the slits from where at least two guards would be firing. Coming to the base of the wall, he saw no one.

With a quick glance around, he ran to the wood-plank door at the edge of the sea. Four Hillside men held torches there, two with swords and two with more flaming arrows to send. The soldier guarding the back doorway lay facedown in the tide.

“The boy is retrieved,” Joshua yelled to them. “Return to Hillside.”

“But Kára was dragged inside,” one man yelled.

Joshua didn’t have time to argue with him, turning away to push into the darkness of the narrow, damp stairwell. A distant illumination at the top pulled his focus.

“Let me go, you swine.” Kára’s voice from above made him surge upward, keeping one hand on the wall to guide him blind, his bare feet slapping the granite as he climbed. Where was the whoreson taking Kára? He did not call out to her, not wanting to alert Patrick that he was chasing. Patrick should expect as much, but forethought was not ruling his mind. If it were, he would have left Kára outdoors. Taking her by force had completely sealed his fate.

I will kill him. Vengeance whispered in Joshua’s mind as he continued to pound up the steps. His bare toes dug into the damp stone, and his hand gripped the wall to keep him from falling. Patrick had held a knife to Kára’s throat and had dragged her, nearly naked, away. He would die painfully.

“Let me go.” Kára’s voice funneled down the stairwell. She was struggling, slowing him down, and Joshua was gaining on them rapidly.

“Hold your tongue, woman,” Patrick yelled back, probably realizing she was trying to alert Joshua to her location.

He heard an intake of breath as if Kára struggled, and he let go of the wall, using both his fisted hands to propel him in leaps up the steps. When he reached the top, it was empty, and he threw open the door into what must be Lord Robert’s bedchamber. The door leading from the room into the castle was partway open, showing their route, and he followed out into the corridor.

“Joshua?” Jean gasped, standing outside her room. Her gaze dropped immediately to his nakedness.

“Get back inside your room and bar the door,” he yelled. “The palace is under siege.”

“What are you doing here? Why are you naked?” she asked.

Down below, men yelled, and a door slammed at the end of the hall. “Bar your door, Jean,” he yelled and ran down the corridor. He must reach the door before Patrick could