by Barbara Bard
Agatha fetched Eamon an ale and brought it to the table. The two of them smiled and made quick eye contact as Eamon picked up the mug and thanked Agatha kindly for her efforts. He then watched Lord Ian dismiss Agatha in a rude manner and based on the unmistakable tension coagulating in the room—he knew that she did not want to be here.
“Tell me,” Eamon said, lowering his voice and leaning in toward Lord Ian. “What dae ye ken of the Hands of God?”
Lord Ian’s face turned pale. He cleared his throat, struggling for a moment to find the words. “I-I…” he stammered. “I ken of a little. Nae good things, I am afraid.”
“Well,” Eamon said, “we believe that a man I killed scouting oot me village was one of their scouts.”
“Ye confirmed this?”
“Nae directly. I had tae put the man down before he took me life.”
Lord Ian sighed. “The Hands of God,” he repeated. “A vile sort, those men. I hae never laid eyes on them before. All I hae heard are the atrocities that they hae committed.”
“We seek tae find them, me and me men. If the rumors of the Hands of God are true, and if this man was indeed a scout, then we worry that an attack on our village is imminent.”
“I understand, though I worry of ye asking fer assistance should a fight rear its head. There are nae many warriors left in me village.”
Eamon held up his hand. “Naw. We merely seek rest fer the evening. I was just wondering if perhaps ye had seen these men, if they had come through this village, perhaps.”
Lord Ian shook his head. “Naw. If they did, I imagine they would hae simply killed us all and burned the village tae the ground.”
“Aye.” Finlay hung his head. “I believe that ye may be right…”
Lord Ian stood. “I am sorry,” he said, “that I could nae be of mair assistance in this matter. However, consider me home and me doors open tae ye and yer men. I shall hae rooms set up fer them in the tavern. As fer ye, Eamon Baird, ye will stay here tonight!” He looked at Agatha. “Agatha—prepare yer room fer Mister Baird. I trust ye will nae mind that he stays in yer room tonight while ye find other lodgings?”
Agatha felt her heart beating out of her chest, elated at the news of Eamon being in close proximity with her before replying with: “Not in the slightest. I shall sleep in the cellar.”
Minutes later Eamon told his men that they were to be set up in the tavern with a place to stay for the evening. He was then assisted by Joanna and Agatha in carrying his saddle and bags up to the second floor where Agatha’s room was. They said nothing the entire walk up, merely exchanging minor glances and smiles as they hauled his bags upstairs.
They came to her door, Agatha opening it slowly and standing aside. “After you, Mister Baird.”
Eamon could not help but note her accent. “Yer Sassenach?”
Agatha hung her head. “I hope that does not offend you…”
He shook his head. “Not in the slightest,” he said, repeating the same words she had spoken just minutes prior.
They walked inside and placed down his bags, the two of them standing just a short distance from one another and experiencing emotions inside of them that made them feel the unexpected tension of being in a room alone together.
Eventually, Agatha broke the silence: “I will fetch you some supper, if you’d like.”
Eamon nodded. “That sounds splendid. Thank ye.”
“Anything in particular that you would like?”
Eamon shrugged. “I am quite famished. Anything will be satisfactory.”
“Anything?”
He nodded.
Agatha drew a breath, worried that their conversation would quickly snowball into something more. “I will fetch you your supper,” she said. “I shall return momentarily. After that, I will leave you to rest.”
“Thank ye, Agatha,” Eamon bid her as she left the room.
Agatha couldn’t help but release an anticipatory breath as she left the room, her heart fluttering and a hand to her chest as she thought of the charming and ruggedly good-looking Highlander. She liked him, a sense of nobility and strength attracting her to him. He was strong, capable, a man who could clearly prove his worth easily. But another thought also quickly crept up into her mind when she thought of him: opportunity. She saw a chance to escape her life of servitude, someone to provide her the salvation she always sought after.
Chapter 4
Rain poured in sheets down the side of the mountain, slamming against it with crashes of thunder that shook the rocky exterior. Inside a cave toward the central part of the mountain, on a steep incline that most men couldn’t climb, twenty-five men dressed in gray tunics sat around a fire, the blaze causing shadows on their garb that made the flaming crucifix stitched into their clothing appear as if it was dancing.
Seated a short distance away by his lonesome was a man with his head bowed, sitting crossed-leg and staring at a small, leather-bound bible with blood-spotted pages.
The man, Simon, repeated the words he read silently without looking, a hand pressed to the page as he recited the silent verses from memory. After a few minutes, he finished, and he returned to the fire and sat beside his men.
“I have spoken to God,” his rich Sassenach voice said. “The time has come to finish our crusade.”
The knights around him said nothing, completely placid, void and without any apparent emotion. They followed orders. They were motivated by their pain. The rest meant nothing more.
Simon looked to one of his knights. “Where is Andrew?” he asked.
The knight shook his head. “He was scouting the Baird’s village,” he said. “He was supposed to return several hours ago—he has not.”
Simon nodded. “What are the chances that he has been caught?”
“Difficult to say. Andrew is a competent man. But the possibility exists.”
Simon took a moment. “It does not matter. Even if Andrew is still alive and interrogated, he will give them nothing. As I said—I have spoken to God. He told me the time has come to end this crusade…”
Simon stood, pacing around his men. They all followed him with a close eye, eagerly awaiting his orders.
“These lands are ripe with sinners,” Simon said. “The pestilence and violence that has plagued these lands has destroyed the very earth that God has gifted to them. All of life is a gift, and it has been squandered by the English and the Highlanders alike. Both sides act as if they have the moral high ground, but they do not. They hide behind the word of God but never truly heed his words or his warnings. Life is sacred, one that is meant to be spent in servitude to the Lord…yet only the men I see seated before me have honored that. Each of you has given over his life to serving a higher power…”
Simon took a moment to breath. He kneeled, his gaze focused on the fire, his pupils glowing in the blaze. “These…disgraced denizens we once fought for have lost their way. They have pillaged and destroyed these very lands that God gifted them. And through their actions they have forced the Highlanders to adopt violent and savage lifestyles in order to survive. It is a cyclical behavior that has developed into a disease…and we are the cure.”
Simon stood for a moment in silence. The crackling of the fire was the only thing filling the air in the cave for a good while.
“As I said,” Simon continued, “the time has come to bring forth the final purging of these lands. It has been a tumultuous journey, but we have identified the location of every English stronghold and Highlander village in these lands. We shall destroy all of them, every last living soul in this land until it is cleansed of this sickness. A new dawn shall arise, and the Scottish Highlands will find itself at peace for the first time in ages. This is God’s will—and we are his dutiful servants that will carry out his plan with a vengeance so swift and unforgiving that every man, woman, and child on this earth will recognize his might and his will.”
Nods were exchanged. Silent prayers were offered up to God.
“Now,” Simon said, hands on his hi
ps. “We must discuss what has happened to Andrew.”
A knight shrugged. “We have no idea of his whereabouts. It is quite possible that the Baird’s have taken him hostage.”
“There is no worry,” another knight said. “Andrew, like us all,
would die before giving us up.”
“Regardless,” Simon said, “it forces us into a position to strike much quicker than anticipated.”
“Do we start with the Bairds? Should we kill them first?”
Simon shook his head. “No. We must take down each clan and English stronghold according to the plan we have set. We cannot deviate. The only way we will succeed is if we adhere to what God has told us to do. The Baird’s time will come, yes, but we must assume that Andrew has been captured or killed. He, like us all, knew the risks of what this crusade entails. His predicament is no longer our concern, and only God can spare his life now, but only if that is his will.”
Simon walked around the fire and came to the entrance of the cave, staring out at the expanse of the Highlands. “Can you feel it?” he said. “Can you feel God’s presence? Can you smell the blood that will be spilt in his name? In his honor?” He smiled. “Our moment has come, my friends. No longer will we sit and wait. Tonight, we rest, but tomorrow we shall begin the final stages of purging these lands. A glorious moment is upon us, and God smiles upon each and every one of you with a proud inflection…our moment has arrived, gentleman…our time to do God’s will is now at hand.”
***
Finlay walked through the village at a slow pace, leaning on his cane and huffing with irritation from the amount of effort it took to do something as simple as taking a stroll. He smiled, reflecting on the past when he was an agile young man, a fierce warrior matched only by a few souls throughout the Highlands. But those days were long gone. He was an old man now, a father, a widower. He was no longer a warrior, no longer a formidable physical presence. But as he made his way through the village, taking in all that he and his wife had built, he could not help but feel proud.
At one point, Finlay felt himself gravitating toward the blacksmith’s shop, the owner and blacksmith, Thomas, was hard at work forging a piece of chain mail as he drew in a deep breath filled with the sweet-scented optimism that tended to lace the early-morning air.
“Working hard?” Finlay asked Thomas.
Thomas looked up and smiled. “Fer noo.”
Finlay moved toward a bench adjacent to Thomas and slowly slipped down. He groaned, sighing after he did so as he felt his bones creak.
“Nae the man ye once were, eh?” Thomas said.
Finlay shrugged. “The passing of time. It happens tae us all.”
“It is the strength of the spirit that counts. I hae ken men and women who hae lived long lives with ailments far worse than ye.”
“It is the accumulation of all the battles I hae fought, me dear Thomas. It has finally taken its toll. I would be lying if I said I dinnae miss the days of charging into battle on horseback.”
Thomas laughed as he examined his progress on the chainmail. “Ye actually relish wartime, Finlay? I am hearing that correctly.”
Finlay waved the comment off. Squinted. “Naw, naw. That is nae what I mean. I suppose…I suppose I am just saying that I miss me agility. I miss many things, quite frankly.”
“Such as?”
Finlay smiled. “Me wife. Isla. Some days it feels as though she has just passed. It aches me heart. I wonder how long it will be this way.”
Thomas sighed, his own memories of love and loss pouring into his mind. He approached Finlay and sat down on the bench next to him. “It will nae ever pass, Finlay. Ever.”
Finlay hung his head, digging the tip of his cane into the ground. “Sometimes…sometimes I question this life and all that it entails. I find myself on mair than one occasion telling me children that all bad things shall pass, that heartache and pain are only temporary, that they make ye stronger.”
“Ye speak the truth.”
Finlay shook his head. “I find myself having a hard time accepting that notion, as of late.”
“It happens tae us all.”
“It happens tae frequently, Thomas. I hae promised so many people, including myself, that one day the pain and hardships would pass. That me clan, me family, and me children would be able tae live in peace…” He sighed. “It seems that notion is only sustained fer so long afore something terrible strikes.”
Thomas said nothing as Finlay stood and began pacing in a circle.
“I dinnae,” Finlay said. “I dinnae how much a man can take afore he finally breaks…”
Thomas stood and walked up behind Finlay. “There is naw other option, Finlay. Life is a struggle. It is nae meant tae be easy. Ye ken as well as any of us that it is the fight that builds character, that makes us stronger.”
Finlay turned on his heel, fire in his eyes. “I want peace, Thomas. I want me children and their children and their children’s children tae live free of all the struggles I and me clan hae gone through. We hae seen nothing but war, nothing but turmoil, and this scout that entered our village the other day is yet another reminder that another fight is on the horizon…”
Thomas nodded. Jutted his chin. “Then we will fight as we always hae. We will repel whoever comes into our village as we hae done time and time again. We are the Baird clan. We hae survived this long, and I am incline tae believe that we will continue tae do so.”
Finlay felt himself on the verge of tears, shaking his head and wishing that his wife was by his side to offer him comfort. “A leader does nae break down as I am right noo,” he said. “This is nae how I should be composing myself.”
Thomas huffed. “That is a complete lie, Finlay.”
“Why dae ye say that?”
“Because ye are human. That is why. Tae pretend like ye dinnae feel and hurt and think like the rest of us is simply untrue. Those who dinnae take the time tae think aboot what pains them is something that a man of, let’s say, Lord Henry’s caliber tends tae exude—those are the madmen. The men without a soul or conscience.”
Memories of the strife that came about twenty years prior flooded Finlay’s mind. He recalled the late Lord Henry’s wrath and all of the destruction it had entailed—yet another reminder of the perpetual struggles that he seemed to have fought all his life.
“Aye,” Finlay said. “I am nae Lord Torstein. He is an honorable man. He helped us fight fer many years.”
Thomas smiled. “Naw,” he replied. “Ye are nae. And that is a good thing. And dinnae think fer a moment that questioning life and God and everything else makes ye weak. Ye are nae weak.” He gestured around. “Ye are the leader of the Bairds. Ye brought us tae this place, ye and yer wife Isla. Ye gave us hope, and ye hae fought every day tae preserve it. Ye are a leader, Finlay Baird. And I am proud tae call ye me frien…”
Finlay turned around. Thomas extended his hand as tears came into his eyes—proud tears. Finlay scooped up Thomas’ hand, shook it, and said: “Thank ye, me frien. Ye words encourage me.”
“Always,” Thomas said as he broke the embrace. “And there is also one other bit of comfort I can offer ye in these trying times…”
Thomas went behind his work bench, reached into a drawer, and produced a bottle of whiskey. Finlay smiled when he saw the copper liquor and moved toward Thomas to partake in a much-needed moment of alleviation.
Chapter 5
Eamon and the Bairdsmen had settled their belongings before Lord Ian invited them to his domicile to partake in drinks. Agatha was in the kitchen when the Bairdsmen entered, preparing food and drink for the large party as she and Eamon occasionally stole a smile-complimented glance at one another.
“Come!” Lord Ian said, gesturing around the long table “Sit!”
The Bairdsmen each took a chair, Lord Ian making it a point to be seated beside Eamon. “I trust yer accommodations,” he said, “are tae yer satisfaction?”
Eamon smiled. “Aye. Very much so.”
<
br /> “Good and well, me frien. I want ye tae feel as comfortable as possible during yer stay in me village.”
“I am sorry tae say that I hae not personally been here afore, Lord Ian. Me father has. Finlay Baird.”
Lord Ian smiled as Agatha began bringing the food to the table with Joanna’s assistance. “Yer father is a good man,” he said. “Many battles he has fought. I hae heard the stories. Sadly, me days of war are long behind him. But I dae hae many a memory of taking up the sword.”
One of Eamon’s men smirked and winked at Eamon. Eamon hid his smile at the thought of Sir Ian claiming that a man of his size and state of health ever being able to run, much less fight.
“Tell me,” Lord Ian said between shoving food in his mouth, “about how ye plan on taking down the Hands of God.”
