Pastor John lifted his Bible in the air. “We stand here before your people and before God to hear the oaths that will bind these two together forever.”

“Forever and always,” Cain whispered, staring into Ella’s storm-gray eyes that sparked with the fire that lay within her.

“Forever and always,” Ella whispered back.

Smiling, they both turned to speak the vows for the pastor and their people, the vows that they had already taken into their hearts.

Joshua Sinclair was once the fiercest and most notorious warrior of the mighty Sinclair clan of Northern Scotland. But now there’s nothing and no one that can make him take up arms again. Except a beautiful woman, it seems. Turn the page to start reading Highland Warrior by Heather McCollum.

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Preview of Highland Warrior

Chapter One

“A wise warrior avoids the battle.”
Sun Tzu – The Art of War

Orkney Isle off the northern coast of Scotland

20 October in The Year of Our Lord 1589

“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.”