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 alongside 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.