Joshua turned his face to the lass. “Will Lord Robert’s gold pay for a drink for the lady and me and a turnip for my horse?”

The tavern keeper looked at the woman as if asking her permission.

“Honey mead,” she said, putting the man in motion. He poured one for her and one for Joshua, sliding the carved tankard to him across the polished stone.

“Turnip is in the cellar,” the elderly man mumbled and shuffled through a closed door behind him.

Joshua studied the lass’s strong profile. She was beautiful with a sharp edge to her, and from her shape, he could tell she was not a girl but a woman. “I am Joshua Sinclair.” He took a drink of the sweet, fermented brew.

“I know who you are,” she said.

He raised an eyebrow. “Who are ye then?”

“No one you need to trifle with.” She slid a glance toward him and then back to her cup. She was as icy as the rest of the isle.

He leaned his back against the bar and propped his elbows on it. “I’m looking to pay for passage to the mainland of Scotland.”

She set her cup down with a clunk. “You are leaving Orkney?”

“Aye.”

“Then you do not war for Lord Robert anymore?”

“I war for no man,” he answered and took a swallow of the refreshing mead.

“How about a woman? Could you war for a woman, be loyal to her?” Her gaze traveled down his form, and Joshua felt rather like she was stripping him bare. He’d had women look at him often as if they imagined him naked, but this woman seemed to be judging him.

He straightened, standing to his full height. “I am loyal only to my own clan back on the mainland.” He tipped his head to the door. “Do ye know the captain of the cargo ship in the bay?”

“Aye. He will be around in the morn.” Her brows furrowed slightly as she continued to inspect him.

Joshua braced his legs in a battle stance, arms crossing again. Hell, if she wanted to strip him naked with a look, or with her hands, he certainly would not mind. Would she?

His gaze traveled along her bare neck to the slope of her breasts that he could see in the open part of her cape. Her waist tapered inward only to flare out over full hips. He’d declared to his brother once that all lasses should wear trousers, and this woman added merit to the opinion. Och but he wanted to run his hands down those slopes. She looked warm and supple, her mouth lush.

“Here,” said the old man, pushing through the back door to drop the turnip on the counter. Thudding, it rolled to the edge. He picked up the pennies Joshua had left and tucked them in his tunic.