by Barbara Bard
“Hello, me love,” Finlay said. “I could nae sleep. Tae much is on me mind…”
Finlay then felt Isla reply. He knew that it was all in his head—but perhaps it wasn’t.
“Ye never could sleep mair than a few hours,” her voice said.
Finlay smiled. “I thought it was from drinking, me love.”
“Naw…ye just think tae much.”
“I think I inherited it from ye.”
“Naw…it has always been this way…”
A tear rolled down Finlay’s cheek. “I dinnae ken,” he said, turning his eyes up toward the heavens. “I dinnae ken what tae dae, me love. We fought so hard and fer so long to rid ourselves of strife. But there is always something. There is always a new battle tae be fought.”
“That is life, me love,” Isla’s voice said. “It will always be this way. We fooled ourselves into thinking that it can be something different.”
“Our children should nae hae grown up this way. I wanted them tae hae peace.”
“What they experienced made them strong, me love. It made them into the people they are today. They are nae soft. They are strong—ye and I hae made them this way. Ye should be proud, me love. I ken that I am. And I am proud of ye too…”
Finlay felt a smile stretch across his face as a single tear slid down his cheek. He reached out and rested his palm on the cross in front of him, closing his eyes once more and pretending that he was delicately caressing his wife’s cheek. “I love ye,” he bid to his passing wife, hoping that the voice he was hearing in his head was indeed from his long-lost love. “I will always love ye…”
“Father…?” a voice called out from behind him.
Finlay turned and saw his daughter, Rose, cross-armed and rubbing her eyes from having just awakened.
“Rose,” Finlay said as he grunted and stood on his cane for balance. “What are ye doing up? The hour is late.”
Rose nodded. “I could say the same, father…I saw ye through me window. Are ye all right?”
Finlay nodded as he took another look back at Isla’s grave. “I am just visiting yer mother. I dae that on occasion.”
Rose walked toward her father. “Aye,” she replied. “I dae the same sometimes. It makes me feel like she is still here.”
“It does…aye…”
Rose took a moment to offer up her next inquiry. “Were ye talking tae her, father?”
Finlay felt his heart skip a beat. “Aye,” he replied. “I was…Ye maist think I am crazy fer doing so.”
Rose shook her head. “Of course nae, father…” she laughed. “I hae done the same on many occasions.”
Finlay turned to his daughter and smiled. “Really?”
She nodded. “Mair than once. Sometimes…” she smiled. “Sometimes I feel like she…speaks tae me.”
Finlay flexed his brow, excited to know that he was not the only one who felt the same. “Aye!” he said with enthusiasm. “It just happened a moment ago. I could hear her voice. She was…well, she spoke tae me like she always did.”
“With encouragement.”
“And love.”
“And laughter.”
Another tear rolled down Finlay’s cheek. “Even in death,” he said, “yer mother still comforts me.”
Rose joined in shedding a tear. “Same with me, father. Same with me…” She stepped in and rested her head on her father’s shoulder. “She is proud of ye. I hope ye ken that.”
Finlay hooked his arm around his daughter’s shoulder and nodded. “And I guarantee,” he said, “that she is extremely proud of ye too, me daughter.”
Rose hugged her father and pulled him in close. “Ye should stop worrying so much,” she said.
Finlay squinted. “Aboot what?”
“Aboot us finding peace.”
Where ye…did ye hear me talking of such things?”
Rose shook her head. “Naw…but I can tell. And ye hae always spoken of such things. All is well, father. I am happy. I promise ye that. And that is all that matters.”
Finlay hugged his daughter tight. Neither said a word as they stood at the foot of Isla’s grave. After a moment, Finlay turned his head up to the heavens, smiled, and thanked his wife for sending him the perfect messenger angel at just the right time.
Chapter 7
Sir Ian knocked on the door to Agatha’s room early the next morning. Eamon was dressed by the time he answered, making it a point to not look at one another and acting as if nothing took place between them the night before.
“Good morning!” Sir Ian greeted. “How did ye sleep, Eamon?”
Eamon shrugged. “Good and well.”
“I trust Agatha did nae disturb ye?”
Eamon shook his head, waving the comment aside as if it meant nothing. “She fetched me supper and then kept to herself in the cellar. I found plenty of rest…”
“So,” Sir Ian said, clapping his hands together. “What are yer plans, Eamon Baird?”
“I believe it is time fer me and me men to disperse,” Eamon said. “We hae quite a ride ahead of us.”
“Where dae ye plan on heading?”
“To see the McManus clan. If the Hands of God are as difficult tae track as it seems, we will need tae move with haste.”
A nod from Sir Ian. “I shall give ye supplies fer yer journey. Aboot two days’ worth. I hope that will suffice.”
A nod from Eamon. “Aye. That should serve us well. And I thank ye fer yer hospitality.”
Sir Ian bowed. “It is me pleasure.” He pointed to Agatha, waiting a few feet away, a glint of hatred in his eye. “And ye. I want ye tae clean the stables. The horses hae left quite a mess from Eamon and his men last night.” He laughed, moving away from the door and heading back downstairs.
Eamon turned and looked at Agatha. A look of complete and utter defeat washed across her as she moved to the window and looked out longingly into the horizon.
“I cannot do it anymore,” Agatha whispered. “This man will work me until I die, Eamon. I…I cannot.”
Agatha began to weep. Eamon moved in and grabbed her gently by the shoulders. “Dinnae think such things,” he said.
Agatha shook her head and looked into Eamon’s eyes. “You don’t understand. He is ruthless. He is unkind. He wants vile things from me and when I refuse, he punishes me by making me do all these terrible tasks. He will not let me be at peace and he will not let me leave this place.’’
“Then I shall return. I shall locate the Hands of God, dispose of them, and come back tae free ye.”
Agatha wiped the tears from her eyes. “It will be too late by then,” she said. “Who knows how long it will take for you on your crusade…I fear I will be well and gone by the time it happens.”
Eamon sighed, caressing Agatha’s cheek and burying her face into his chest. “What can I dae?” he said. “What can I dae tae take this burden away from ye?”
Agatha drew a deep breath and thought back to something she was told the day before: “Let me run away,” she said. “Let me go with you…”
Eamon’s heart began racing faster than the steed he had ridden into the village. “Run away? With me?”
Agatha nodded. “I cannot stay here a minute longer. I need to be free. Take me with you. If you feel for me as I feel for you, then the thought has undoubtedly crossed yer mind as well.”
Eamon took a step back. “What ye are asking will bring aboot a wave of consequences.”
“Then so be it! The consequences I would face staying here makes the troubles of leaving with you pale in comparison.”
Eamon began pacing as he seriously considered Agatha’s words. He didn’t want to say that he had feelings for her. He was much too fragile from losing his last love to admit such a thing. But he would be lying to himself if he said that he didn’t feel something for her, some kind of yearning.
“If I dae this,” Eamon said, “there will be consequences, nae only from Sir Ian, but from me own clan as well.”
Agatha took a
step forward, looking at Eamon as if he were her only salvation—which he indeed was. “Please,” she pleaded. “Do not leave me here. Take me with you. I will face the damages that will occur standing alongside you…Please, Eamon Baird. Please rescue me from this plight…”
Eamon looked at Agatha for a long moment. He knew he had already made his decision—it was just a matter of taking a deep breath, nodding, and admitting out loud that he would take her with him.
***
The Bairdsmen were gathered in the center of Sir Ian’s village an hour later. The villagers assisted in loading them with fresh supplies as Eamon walked up to Sir Ian and made a last minute request.
“Sir Ian,” Eamon said. “I ask one final thing of ye…”
Sir Ian held out his pink and meaty hands. “Anything! Whatever ye need!”
“I require a wagon,” Eamon said. “Fer the supplies. I fear that our horses will be too weighed down from the load.”
Sir Ian stroked his beard, squinting as he thought about it. “I dae hae a wagon,” he said. “But it is only one of three in me possession.”
“I would be willing tae pay ye fer it…”
Sir Ian squinted. “Really? How much?”
Eamon produced a small leather bag filled with coins and held it up. “This much,” he said. “And believe me, it is mair than enough.”
Sir Ian took the bag, opened it, and looked inside at the gold coins. He smiled, more than willing to give Eamon the wagon that he needed. “It is done!” he said, turning to one of his men. “Ye! Fetch one of the wagons from the stable! The best one!”
Eamon, already having put a plan in motion to smuggle Agatha out, said to Sir Ian: “The red wagon I saw will suffice. I can tend tae brining it forth myself.”
Sir Ian waved him off. “With what ye hae paid—take it!” He moved in and embraced Eamon. “Ye are a good man, Eamon Baird. I shall speak highly of ye tae those who ask.”
Eamon, reeling from the sweaty stench that Sir Ian oozed, stood back and nodded. “Thank ye kindly. And I wish ye well in yer plight.”
“Ye as well, Eamon Baird! Ye as well!”
Moments later, Eamon entered the stables with several of his men hauling in bags of supplies. The red wagon that Eamon had spoken of was in front of them, and as his men moved to load the supplies in back, he said: “I will tend tae this. Gae and prepare the men tae disembark.”
Lukas, one of the Bairdsmen, squinted and said: “Are ye sure?”
“Aye,” Eamon said. “We maist move soon. I merely require a moment with me own thoughts.”
Not questioning their leader any further, the Bairdsmen dropped their bags and left the stable to tend to the other men.
Eamon, waiting for the men to leave, moved to the back of the wagon and pulled the flap aside. Hidden underneath a few empty sacks was Agatha, curled up in a ball and making not a peep.
“Be silent,” Eamon said. “We will be leaving soon.”
A tear rolled down Agatha’s cheek. “Thank you,” she said. “I owe you my life, Eamon Baird.”
Eamon smiled and began loading the supplies, doing his best to conceal Agatha beneath them and offering her a small ration of supplies for sustenance for the travels to come.
Minutes later, the wagon was tethered to a pair of steeds and brought to the front of the line of Bairdsmen preparing to disembark the village.
Lukas, on his horse beside Eamon, said: “We are ready, Eamon.”
Eamon nodded. “Aye. Let us finish this crusade.” He turned and looked at Sir Ian. “Good luck to ye!” he said.
Sir Ian, still holding onto the bag of coins that Eamon gave him, waved him goodbye and turned back to his home.
“Bairdsmen!” Eamon shouted at the top of his lungs. “We ride!”
The Bairdsmen then disembarked from the village, riding in a single file line with the red wagon taking the lead. Minutes later, they disappeared over the horizon and left the village, with no one the wiser that Agatha Pickering had been smuggled out right under Sir Ian’s nose.
Sir Ian, seated in his kitchen, continued to count and recount the coins that Eamon had given him. One of his warriors, a man by the name of Sean, stood beside him with a smile stretching across his face.
“Quite a payout that man gave ye,” Sean said.
“Aye,” Sir Ian said with a laugh. “He paid well over what he should…what a fool!” He laughed some more, counting the coins over and over again.
“Perhaps a drink is in order,” Sean said.
Sir Ian nodded. “Aye. I believe ye tae be right.” He turned his head toward the ceiling. “Agatha!” he shouted. “We require a drink! Come down here! Noo!”
Silence held sway for several seconds. Not a peep was made.
“Agatha!” Sir Ian shouted again; more agitated this time. “Come down here! Noo!”
Still the silence held sway. Angered, Sir Ian pushed out his chair and stood up. He turned to Sean. “Fetch that wench immediately,” he said. “Tell her she is in serious trouble.”
Sean nodded. “Aye, sir. Right away.”
Sean then fled to the upstairs as Sir Ian set about thinking about all the things he could buy with his new wealth. Minutes later, Sean returned to the kitchen with haste. “Sir!” he said. “I cannae fine Agatha.”
Sir Ian turned around. “What?”
“I cannae find her, sir.”
Sir Ian pocketed his coins and moved upstairs with haste. He looked around Agatha’s room, then the other, and finally screamed at the top of his lungs. “Where is she?”
Sean shrugged. “I dinnae—”
Sir Ian made a backhanded swipe and slapped Sean in the face. “She was told tae clean the stables. I want her found. Noo!”
Sean quickly exited Sir Ian’s home, recruiting two more men to assist him in the search for Agatha. They scoured the village, looking in every place high and low to find her. A half-hour passed with Agatha’s name being shouted out at the top of their lungs—but she was nowhere to be found.
“Sir Ian,” Sean said, worried that he would be struck again. “We cannae find her.”
Sir Ian’s face turned beet red. “Where is that whore? Where could she hae gone?”
“We checked everywhere, sir. We dinnae ken.”
Sir Ian kicked at the dirt. “Bloody whore!” he turned around in a circle. “Agatha! Where are ye! Come out noo or I will take yer head!”
The other villagers stared on as Sir Ian shouted Agatha’s name repeatedly. After a few more minutes, it became wholly apparent that she was no longer among them.
“How could this happen?” Sir Ian said. “Where could she hae gone?”
No one said a word as Sir Ian shook his head. He then stuffed his hands in his pockets, thinking of possible places she could have gone—and then his hand rested on the sack of coins Eamon had given him. A sack of coins that was worth more than Sir Ian should have received.
Sir Ian’s eyes lit up, a dire thought creeping into his mind. “That bastard…” he seethed. “I cannae believe it…”
Sean perked up. “What is it?”
Sir Ian, fire in his eyes, looked at Sean and gritted his teeth. “Eamon Baird,” he said. “He took her. He took her with him! That bastard overpaid me tae sneak her oot of here!”
Sean and the other warriors exchanged looks as Sir Ian spit on the ground. “What should we dae, sir?”
Sir Ian crooked a finger. “Mount all the men. Gae after the Bairdsmen. Find them. Find Agatha and bring her back tae me.”
“And what of the Bairdsmen? I am sure Eamon will protest.”
Sir Ian flashed a crooked smile. With an insane look in his eye he said: “Hunt them down. Do not take no for an answer. Leave no man who protests alive.’’
Chapter 8
The wagon bounced along a dirt path that narrowed and twisted down a steep hill. Agatha, safely and discreetly hidden aboard, felt her heart beating faster than it normally did. She took a deep breath, held it and released. “Relax,” sh
e whispered to herself. “Everything is fine…Everything is fine…”
Agatha took a glance toward the flap covering the back of the carriage, wondering if Eamon was close by and when he would check in on her. “Patience…” she whispered. “Patience…”
Eamon, riding close to the rear of the carriage, tossed the occasional glance over his shoulder every few minutes. Lachlan, the man riding next to him, caught onto Eamon’s glances and finally spoke up: “Someone we should be looking out fer?”
