by Barbara Bard
***
Finlay shot awake in his bed; his tunic clinging to his chest from the thick perspiration. He looked around in a panic, trying to shake himself out of the nightmare he had just experienced. It had felt so real—the Hands of God storming his village and destroying everything and everyone he loved. In the nightmare, he was unable to help his people, paralyzed with fear as throats were slit and a fire was set to burn down the entirety of the village.
Finlay clutched his chest with his hand, his muscles strained and tightening from the anxiety. He tried to think of what Isla would say if she were still alive: “Easy, me love…there is naw need tae fret…all is well…”
Finlay reached out to the right side of his bed. It was always empty. After all, it was Isla’s side. Ever since her passing, he was unable to sleep on her side. The sheets were crisp and untainted by his sweat.
Finlay pressed his palm into the mattress, closing his eyes as a single tear slid down his cheek. As the crickets chirped outside the window, he rested his head back against his pillow, turning and facing the left side of the bed as if Isla were still there.
“I miss ye, Isla…I miss ye so much…”
It pained him, every day since her passing. It pained him to know that no matter how hard he tried, no matter how much time had passed—he still missed the woman he loved. The only solace he found was when he looked into the eyes of his children and saw the same hue and color that Isla sported passed down to them.
A knock sounded at his door. Finlay knew that it couldn’t have been anyone else but Rose. “Come in,” he said.
The door opened, Rose standing in the doorway with a sorrowful look on her face. “Father,” she said softly, Finlay hearing traces of Isla in her tone. “I heard ye screaming.”
Finlay sat up in his bed, nodding and weeping. “I cannae sleep,” he said. “Nightmares plague me mind.”
Rose approached the bed. “Lay back down, father,” she cooed, displaying the soft-natured and maternal tone that Isla sported. “Lay back…”
Finlay laid back on his pillow as Rose got down beside him. “What troubles ye?” she asked.
Finlay closed his eyes, the tears still plentiful. “I miss her so much, Rose. Every day. Every evening that passes. I am so sorry. I feel as if we hae this conversation mair than we should.”
Rose shook her head. “There is naw timeline with grief, father. There is naw quick solution. That hole in yer heart will never be mended.”
Finlay shook his head. “I fear,” he said. “I fear fer what will happen tae us.”
Rose shook her head. “Dinnae fear, father. Eamon is oot there. He will destroy these men afore they can touch us. Ye maist rely on yer clan. Ye hae fought yer entire life. It is yer children’s responsibility noo. Let us take care of ye…”
Rose rested her palm against Finlay’s cheek, cooing him as he closed his weary eyes and took comfort in his child’s touch. “All is well, father,” she assured him. “All is well…”
***
The Bairdsmen had set up camp several miles away from where they had been ambushed by the thieves. A meal had been prepared, drinks had been shared, and Eamon and Agatha were then together inside of his tent, the two of them laying side-by-side as they stared deeply into each other’s eyes.
“I dinnae ken,” Eamon said.
“What?” Agatha inquired.
“What it is aboot ye. There is…there is something about ye that draws me close. I cannae explain it.”
Agatha rested her palm on Eamon’s chest. “Your heart beats fast, Eamon.”
Eamon placed his hand on top of Agatha’s hand. “I am just scared…”
They said nothing for several moments—and then Agatha leaned in and pressed her lips gently against Eamon’s. They kissed slowly and tenderly for several moments, and before long, the rhythm increased, and they were passionately embracing and locking their mouths together as if it were their last night on earth.
Agatha then began stripping off her garb. Eamon did the same. Moments later, they were nude, and they slowed the fevered pacing of their kissing to a slow and subtle dance.
Eamon slowly mounted himself on top of Agatha, careful not to crash her with his weight, still kissing her as she gently placed himself inside of her. Eamon began to push, slowly, delicately, the two of them making love as passionately and as slowly as possible.
Agatha coiled her arms around Eamon’s neck, her eyelids fluttering as she rested back and released a deep breath from the pleasure.
Eamon cupped Agatha’s face in his hands, looking at her longingly like she was the solution to all of life’s troubles. He continued to thrust, their bare chests pressed together, a silent comfort being passed from one to the other.
Outside of the tent, the slow and serene trickling of a nearby river covered the sounds of their passionate lovemaking. Eamon turned over, Agatha on top of him and grinding in a slow dance on his lap. The grinding increased, and both felt themselves on the cusp of climax.
Eamon then pulled Agatha in close, once more locking lips with her as they finished in unison and slowly rested again beside each other.
Eamon traced his finger along Agatha’s jawline. The two of them said nothing, merely smiling at one another as they held each other close and prayed that the night would live on for eternity. They were comforted in that moment, and neither of them wanted the morning to arrive with all of the troubles that came with it—but they knew it would. But until it did, they held each other close, feeling the breath of the other on their necks as they slowly drifted off to sleep.
Chapter 10
The Bairdsmen were in the midst of packing up their camp. Eamon and Agatha were in the lead, speaking to one another in hushed tones as Lachlan approached them.
“Eamon,” he said. “We should discuss what our next course of action is.”
Eamon nodded. “Aye,” he replied. “We maist.”
Lachlan jutted his chin. “Our home is nay far fae here.”
Eamon looked over his shoulder. “Indeed it is nae.”
“I suggest we return and leave Agatha with the rest of our people. Then we should disembark again and seek out the Hands
of God.”
Eamon sighed. “Me father will nae be pleased with what has transpired…”
Lachlan shrugged. “It is a chance we maist take. Our village is the closest in these parts. If we wait tae take Agatha tae another village, it might take tae long…”
Eamon said nothing as he thought through his options. He knew that Lachlan was right—but he also knew the fury that his father would bestow on him once he discovered who Agatha was and the circumstances that brought them together.
He sighed. Nodded—it was the only choice to make.
The Bairdsmen arrived back in their village an hour later.
Finlay had spotted them approaching from his window and rushed out as fast as his feet could carry him to greet them.
“Eamon!” Finlay shouted, still recovering from the nightmare the evening before. “Ye hae returned.”
Eamon got off of his horse and rushed over to embrace his father. They hugged for a long moment, Finlay then broke the hug and cupped his son’s face in his hands. “I feared I might hae lost ye, boy…”
Eamon shook his head. “I am still here, father…”
“The Hands of God? Did ye find them?”
Eamon shook his head again. “Nae yet. But we encountered another Highlander village. A man by the name of Sir Ian is the leader. He told us that the McManus clan is oor best bet in tracking them down. He is of the mind that they possess knowledge of the whereabouts of the Hands of God.”
“Then why hae ye returned? Why are ye nae seeking out the Hands of God?”
Eamon sighed, hanging his head as he turned and gestured to Agatha in the rear of the formation. “Father,” he said solemnly. “I maist confess something…”
Finlay crossed his arms, knowing his son’s tone well to know that he was about to tell him
something he would not like. “What is it?” he asked with a paternal inflection.
“Sir Ian,” Eamon continued. “Had a woman in his employ. He was…abusive. He…Well, the woman was certain that Sir Ian was going to push her to her own demise, so…”
Finlay looked up as Agatha approached, her fingers entwined and eyes trying desperately to focus on Finlay without showing any shame.
Finlay sighed and hung his head. He knew the rest of the story before Eamon even had a chance to finish it. “Ye dinnae,” he said. “Please tell me ye dinnae…”
“He was hurting her, father,” Eamon pleaded. “I had naw choice.”
Finlay held up a finger. “It was nae yer decision tae make. If this woman belongs to Sir Ian, then she belongs to Sir Ian. Dae ye hae any idea what will happen noo because of this?”
Eamon said nothing. He looked away from his father’s gaze, ashamed.
Finlay turned his attention to Lachlan and the rest of the Bairdsmen. “And where were ye in all of this?” he said, scolding each of them as he turned his gaze from one man to the other. “Why did ye nae stop him?”
The Bairdsmen said nothing, all of them finding it hard to make eye contact with Finlay as he shamed them.
Finlay looked back at his son, still shaking his head. “Sir Ian will come after her,” Finlay said. “Ye ken that. Dae ye nae?”
Eamon took a beat—and then he nodded. “I ken, father…I ken.”
Finlay took a moment to collect his composure. He then turned and found Rose standing just a few feet away from him. “Rose,” he said. “Take our friend here inside. Fetch her a meal and some clean clothes. We will figure out how tae handle this situation, but until that time, she is our guest.”
Rose nodded and greeted Agatha before leading her back to the house. Agatha made it a point to look at Eamon as she walked away from him, and Eamon nodded and winked at her to reassure her that all was still well.
“Ye hae made a grave mistake, me son,” Finlay said. “Why is that?”
Lachlan took a step forward. “Finlay, we—”
Finlay held up his hand. “I want a word alone with me son,” he said. “I want the rest of ye tae leave me sight. Gae. Noo.”
The Bairdsmen departed the area, neither of them looking at Finlay or Eamon as the two of them were then left by themselves.
“Why?” Finlay pleaded. “Why did ye dae this?”
It took Eamon a moment to answer. All he could think to do was shrug. “I dinnae ken, father,” he replied. “Something…there is something aboot this woman. Something I cannae explain.”
Finlay could not help but smile as memories of the first time he met his wife began to play back in his mind. He saw so much of himself in his son in that moment. He was angered, frustrated that Eamon could be so reckless—but it wasn’t that he didn’t understand.
Finlay waved his hand through the air and pulled his son in close for another embrace. “We shall figure this oot,” he said. “But let us eat and rest first. Aye?”
Eamon nodded, feeling much like he did when he was a child, when he was scolded by his father for making a reckless mistake. “Aye, father,” he said. “Aye.”
The two then walked side-by-side toward Finlay’s home. The both of them could not help but toss a glance in the direction of Isla’s grave as they did.
***
Sir Ian’s men rode in a close huddle. They approached the same narrow pathway that led downhill to the area where the Bairdsmen had been bombarded by the thieves. The man in the lead, Thomas, held up his hand when he spotted several decaying bodies of the thieves that had been left behind after the ambush. “Hold!” he yelled.
The men came to a settle. Thomas hopped off of his horse and approached one of the gray and bloated bodies, a flurry of flies hovering above and taking apart the corpse piece by piece. He smirked, shook his head. Then he turned to the man next to him.
“The Bairdsmen were here,” Thomas said.
The man next to him furrowed his brow. “How dae ye ken?”
Thomas gestured to the bodies. “This is the work of the Bairdsmen. Naw question. They are some of the fiercest warriors in the land. Only they could have taken these men down. I hae naw doubt…”
Thomas kicked the body, the flies scattering as Thomas then stepped away.
“Where dae ye think they could hae gone?” the man next to him inquired.
Thomas looked around. “I believe,” he said, “that their village is a few hours ride from here. Nae many hae been there. Finlay Baird, the leader of the clan, has always made it a point tae keep his village closed off from the rest of the world.”
“What should we do?”
Thomas thought through his options. “Our orders,” he said, “are tae bring Agatha back. We maist dae exactly that.”
“But what of the Bairds? What happens if we confront them?”
“I imagine a conflict will arise.”
“Is that a wise move? We hae naw conflict with them. We are nae allies, but we are nae enemies either.”
“Eamon Baird made himself an enemy of us the moment he took Agatha. It is because of his actions that we find ourselves in this current predicament.”
The man next to Thomas sighed. “So…what dae ye want tae dae? Ye are in charge, Thomas. Sir Ian leaves it tae yer discretion tae make these decisions.”
Thomas took a moment to breath in the air—still ripe with the aroma of decaying bodies. He almost took it as a sign. “We continue tae the Baird’s village,” he said. “We shall confront Eamon and the rest of them and demand that they surrender Agatha.”
“And if they refuse?”
“I dinnae imagine that they will?”
“But what if they dae?”
Thomas turned and looked at the man next to him, his gaze filled with intent and fury. “Then we will dae what needs tae be done. Mount yer steed. Prepare tae move oot.”
The man next to Thomas gave the orders to the rest of the men and mounted his horse. Moments later, the collective group of riders continued charging down the path, ready to meet up the Baird’s and negotiate a peace—or war, if need be.
***
Simon lit the fire in the middle of the camp. His men were gathered around him, all of them waiting for him to say something. Simon took a moment to read his bible silently, offering up quiet prayers to God inside of his head as he did so.
“All of you,” he said, “have conducted yourselves in a magnificent fashion. We are in the early stages of our campaign, but if it continues to play out as it has so far, I sense nothing but victory for us on the horizon.”
His men nodded. Looked at one another. Each of them proud to be doing God’s work.
“We have several more villages to tend to,” Simon said. “We shall strike the next one this evening. It is two hours ride from here.”
One of the Hands of God raised his hand. Simon nodded and allowed him to speak.
“We have lost two men,” the warrior said. “Henry and George. They were dispatched of their mortal coils during last night’s outing.”
Simon nodded. “They are with God now. They have found their peace…” he began pacing in a circle, holding up his bible for the rest to see. “I will remind all of you that your presence here on this earth is temporary. Your mortal bodies are but vessels for God. While we are on this earth, we live to serve Him and Him alone. Our ultimate reward is death. Our goal is death. Death is the releasing of our spirits to the heavens…it is the greatest gift that God can bestow.”
Simon looked around at all of his men, each of them smiling eagerly as they heard the words. They prayed for death as Simon did. They craved that ultimate reward—but the one man trembling in the corner seemed to indicate otherwise as Simon caught onto his trembling.
Simon approached the man and got down on one knee. “Why do you tremble, brother?”
The trembling man bit his lip. “I-I…” he stammered. “I fear death, Simon.”
“Did you not just heed my
words?”
The trembling man nodded. “I do…but I still cannot help myself from shaking…”
Simon sighed, placing his bible away and staring at the trembling man for several moments. “There is no room,” he said, “in this troupe for fear. Fear is not an option. Fear makes us weak, and when one of us is weak—it strains us all.”
The trembling man said nothing, looking up at Simon with a pleading pair of eyes. Simon then reached into the back of his waistband, produced his dagger, and stabbed the man in the heart. None of the other Hands of God reacted as the man was killed instantly—no one ever questioned Simon or his methods.
