“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.