by Barbara Bard
Eamon dismounted his horse, stepping further into the fields, the heat from the fire causing a thin layer of perspiration to gather on his torso. “I hae heard this knowledge firsthand, Simon. Yer wife and child are nae dead. They are alive, thriving in England with a Sassenach Lord. Ye were lied tae, Simon. Yer wife and child are alive!”
“Liar!” Simon hollered at the top of his lungs, charging toward Eamon with full force with his sword raised high above his head.
Eamon withdrew his own weapon, rushing toward Simon and ready to engage. The two men closed the gap, Gavina and the other Bairdsmen waiting the situation out as Gavina held up her hand to give the order to the other Bairdsmen to wait for Eamon to make the first move.
Simon came after Eamon with a downward scythe of his sword, Eamon parrying the attack as the metal of Simon’s blade collided with his own. Eamon pushed Simon back, Simon responded by swiping his blade over the top of Eamon’s head. Eamon ducked under the swipe, Simon’s blade nearly taking off his head as Eamon rolled to the left and came back to his feet.
“Bastard Highlander!” Simon seethed, taking several more swipes at Eamon but finding no success with landing a blow.
Eamon parried each incoming attack, pressing Simon back and attempting to land his own blows but finding no success.
Gavina watched on as the two men went back and forth, eager to jump in to Eamon’s aid but holding out hope that he would become the victor. After a few more exchanges between Simon and Eamon—the moment arrived when Simon managed to bury the tip of his blade into the Highlander’s sternum.
“Eamon!” Gavina cried out as she watched him fall to the ground.
Simon smiled with delight, retreating into the blaze and disappearing from sight.
Gavina dismounted her horse and rushed to Eamon’s side as Eamon clutched at his chest with his hand. His palms were soaked with blood, the wound flowing freely as Gavina cradled his head in her hands.
“Gavina,” Eamon said weakly. “Ye hae tae gae after him!”
Gavina checked Eamon’s wound—the cut was deep, bleeding profusely, a look of sheer panic overcoming Eamon’s face. She pressed her hand to his chest to stave the bleeding, and in the throes of dealing with her wounded family member, she turned to the Bairdsmen and shouted: “After him! Noo!”
The Bairdsmen rode in a collective huddle and pursued Simon, riding in a hot and heavy hustle as their horses galloped through the blaze.
Simon, having a significant amount of headway from the Bairdsmen, mounted his horse tethered to a tree not far away and pulled the bow and arrow he had stuffed into his saddle. He lined up a shot, aiming the tip of the arrow at the blaze in front of him. Moments later—the Bairdsmen burst through the fire, four of them riding side-by-side. Simon released the string, the arrow flying through the air and landing square in the chest of the Bairdsman in the lead.
The Bairdsman fell from his horse, falling into the fire and becoming consumed by the flames. Simon bucked his horse; riding as quickly as he could away from the area to the designated spot he had told the Hands of God to rally at.
Simon rode far ahead of the Bairdsmen, his horse’s speed unmatched by the others. He zigzagged through a forested area, the Bairdsmen unable to keep up with him as he gained yard after yard and disappeared from sight.
“Damn it!” one of the Bairdsmen yelled before turning to the other men. “Arrows! Noo!”
The Bairdsmen halted, two of them pulling out bows and arrows and launching several in Simon’s direction. A flurry of arrows flew past him, missing him by mere inches before one managed to bury itself into the small of Simon’s back.
Simon, lurching forward, felt the sting but did not break his stride. He continued to ride hard and fast away from the area, disappearing into the darkness and leaving the Bairdsmen behind as they gritted their teeth and seethed.
“He is tae far gone,” of the Bairdsmen said. “We cannae pursue him.”
Another on the Bairdsmen shook his head. “Come. We maist inform Gavina…”
The Bairdsmen rode in sync and did an about face, all of them eager to pursue Simon and take him down though they knew at the moment it was not a possibility.
Back in the field, Eamon was still bleeding out, Gavina pressing on the wound as her hands became soaked with crimson.
“Hang on,” Gavina said. “Ye will be alright.”
Eamon shook his head, panting and heaving. “How,” he said, “does he manage tae evade us like this?”
“His time will come. I promise ye that…”
Eamon’s eyelids fluttered, Gavina’s eyes going wide as she saw the life starting to retreat from his body. The Bairdsmen that had been pursuing Simon then returned, Gavina looking at them with an anticipatory gaze in the hopes that they had good news. But when one of the Bairdsmen sheathed his weapon and shook his head—she knew that Simon was still alive.
Gavina turned her attention back to Eamon. “Just hang on,” she said. “We will get ye help.” She examined the wound, the bleeding still continuing. Eamon then passed out, Gavina at a loss as she worried that he was about to follow in his father’s footsteps to the gates of Heaven.
***
Agatha shot up in her bed, a thin layer of sweat on her brow as her heart raced incessantly. For a moment, she thought she was dying, her whole body coated with pain as she clutched her hand to her chest.
“Eamon!” Agatha shouted out. “Oh my God! Eamon!”
The door to her bedroom opened. Rose rushed inside and arrived swiftly to Agatha’s aid. “Agatha!” she said. “What is it?”
Agatha was panting, struggling to find the words as Rose gripped her hand. “It is Eamon,” she said. “Oh my God, it’s Eamon!”
Rose grabbed a cloth and dabbed at the sweat that had accumulated on Agatha’s brow. “It is just a bad dream. That is all.”
Agatha shook her head. “It is not…No, it is not. I saw him. It was as vivid as the sun. Eamon has been hurt. Something has happened to him!”
“Ye are just worried. It was just a bad dream.”
“It wasn’t! I promise you that. Something has happened to my love. I can feel it!”
Rose held Agatha close, running her fingers through her hair and doing her best to try and help Agatha control her breathing. “Relax,” she said. “Ye maist try and slow yer breathing.”
“I saw it, Rose,” Agatha said, looking at her friend square in the eye. “I saw it as clear as day—Simon wounded Eamon. Something has happened to him. This was not a nightmare, it was a prophecy.”
Rose could see the conviction in Agatha’s eyes, the concern, the truth spilling out of her like water bursting over a dam. She could sense that Agatha was being forthright, that something indeed had happened to her brother.
“It is okay,” Rose said, saying it more for herself than for Agatha. “I promise ye that Eamon is alright.”
Agatha began to weep. “I am not crazy, Rose. I’m telling you—I saw him get hurt!”
“I believe ye,” Rose said, though she really didn’t want to. “I believe ye…”
Agatha began to cry uncontrollable, sobbing as she buried her head into Rose’s lap. “Please God,” Agatha pleaded. “Please bring Eamon back! Please say that he is not hurt!”
Rose continued to comfort Agatha as she cried, holding it together for sake of the woman’s sanity. But as Agatha continued to weep, after a few moments—Rose began to weep too.
Chapter 29
Eamon was still bleeding out, Gavina’s hand pressed to his chest with the assistance of Lachlan.
“This is nae good,” Lachlan said. “He’s is nae going tae last much longer.”
Gavina was looking around feverishly, hoping to find something or someone who could assist in bringing Eamon away from the light. She knew they were running out of time, that the more seconds that passed and the more blood that spilled out of Eamon was time wasted. “Dae we hae ointments?” she asked. “Anything that can help?”
Lachlan shoo
k his head. “He needs someone with knowledge of the body tae help. We cannae dae this on our own.”
Gavina’s eyes went wide, a thought popping into her brain. “I ken!” she exclaimed. “I ken of a man who can assist.”
“Who?”
“He’s is nae far from here. He is well versed in medicine. He can provide us with what we need tae help Eamon.”
“Where is he?”
Gavina jutted her chin toward the west. “That way. His name is Delaney. He lives alone. He has brought many men back from the brink. We need tae gae tae him. I hae naw doubt that he can help Eamon.”
Lachlan nodded toward his horse. “Can Eamon handle the ride?”
Gavina shook her head. “It is nae wise tae move him. We need tae bring Delaney here. Gae, Lachlan. Fetch him. Bring him here as quickly as possible.”
“And if he refuses?” Lachlan asked.
Gavina squeezed Lachlan’s arm, the fear of her nephew bleeding out causing her heart to race. “Make him,” she said. “Dinnae take naw fer an answer.”
Lachlan nodded, quickly standing and retreating toward his horse. He mounted it, moving quickly away from the area as fast as his horse could carry him.
Gavina watched on as Lachlan fled, her hopes and prayers going with him. She turned her attention back to Eamon, still pressing down on his wound as his face turned an ashy shade of white. “Just hang on,” she said. “All will be well.”
Eamon’s lips parted, but he could not muster the energy to speak. It was too difficult, the life slowly retreating from him as Gavina pressed down on the wound.
“Can ye hear me?” Gavina said. “Can ye hear me, Eamon?”
Eamon subtly nodded, the energy he exerted causing him to pass out.
“Me God,” Gavina said. “Stay with me, Eamon. All will be well. I promise ye…”
Another one of the Bairdsmen approached, looking on Eamon’s condition with the utmost concern. “He is fading,” he noted.
Gavina gritted her teeth. “I am aware. But he does nae need words like that tae be spoken right noo. He needs hope. He will survive. He has to survive.”
“What should we dae? Should we gae after Simon?”
“Simon is lost fer noo. But we will catch up tae him. We need tae tend tae Eamon first.” She shook her head. “I should nae hae let him fight Simon. We should hae fought with him.” She ran her fingers through Eamon’s hair, coating it with his own blood. “Just hang on, Eamon…Just hang on…”
***
Eamon saw a bright light, shining with an intensity he had never before experienced. His body felt lightweight, like it wasn’t touching the ground. The light soon dissipated, a field of tall grass in front of Eamon now that stretched on seemingly into eternity.
He looked around, a cool breeze chilling his neck. Off in the distance, he could hear the sounds of a Scottish hymnal being sung by a young child. The sound was faint, but the voice was haunting and solemn as it sang.
Eamon moved toward the sound, squinting as he tried to find where the young boy or girl was who was making the noise. The grass around him was up to his waist, lightweight and flowing in the breeze with the same consistency of water. Eamon outstretched his arms, running his hands through the tall grass and feeling the slickness of it in his fingertips.
The hymnal grew louder, the voice now in clear view. It was a young boy’s voice, Eamon finding the tone strikingly familiar—I hae heard that voice before, he thought. I know who that young boy is…
Not far ahead of him, Eamon could make out the outline of the young boy, standing in the field with his head turned toward the heavens. Eamon approached with cautious footing, unsure of what was going to happen as he came a few feet shy of the boy.
The boy’s voice was filled with sorrow, singing to the sky as if he were singing to God, his song a prayer and the lyrics pleading for something that Eamon could not understand. Eamon approached the boy, reaching out his hand from a few feet away.
“Eamon…” a more than familiar voice called out from behind him.
Eamon turned around swiftly, his head rotating like a hawk as he laid eyes on the face of the voice speaking to him—it was his father Finlay. But he was much younger, not that much older than Eamon’s own age.
“Father?” Eamon said.
Finlay smiled. Eamon looked back to look at the boy and found that he was no longer there. Eamon then looked back at his father, confused as his mouth went slack.
“What is happening?” Eamon said.
Finlay shook his head. “It is nae yer time yet, me son. There is so much left tae be done.”
Eamon glanced around the open fields, the breeze still blowing and becoming increasingly warmer as time went on. “Where am I?” he asked.
Finlay moved up to his son. “Outside heaven, Eamon.”
“Is this real?”
Finlay nodded. “Aye. I am very much standing here with ye.”
A tear slid down Eamon’s cheek. “This is heaven? Ye are here in heaven?”
“Aye, me son. And it is as splendid as the tales of it state that it is.”
Eamon trembled as he mustered the courage to speak his next words: “Is…mother here?”
A proud smile stretched across Finlay’s face from ear-to-ear. “Aye, me son. She is. And she’s looking down at ye as we speak.”
Eamon couldn’t help but beam. He walked up to his father, just inches from him as he stared deeply into his eyes. “I am nae ready tae die, father. I want tae finish this campaign. I want to see Agatha. I love her, father. I did nae think it was possible, but I dae.”
Finlay gently laid his hands on his son’s shoulders before pulling him in for an embrace. “Ye will live, Eamon. Ye will see her again. And when ye are a man of old age—I will be here waiting fer ye. We all will.”
Eamon held his father close, wanting to hold onto the moment for as long as possible.
“Wake, Eamon,” his father said. “It is time fer ye tae gae home. Wake up, Eamon…Wake up…”
***
“Wake up, Eamon!” Gavina said, seeing her nephew’s eyelids flutter as he slowly came back to life. “Come on noo! Wake!”
Eamon’s eyelids opened, a sliver of color returning to his face. He looked up and saw that daylight had broken, and he was surrounded by all of the Bairdsmen as he laid on a cot inside of a tent. Standing behind him was an old man with a grey beard and bushy eyebrows. His arms were crossed, looking on at Eamon with satisfaction as the young man fully rose from his slumber.
“There we gae,” the old man said. “That’s it…”
Eamon cleared his throat, parting his lips as he spoke wearily. “Where am I? Are we in the village?”
Gavina took Eamon’s hand into her own. “Naw, nephew. We are still oot. A man was fetched tae tend tae yer wounds. He says yer going tae be alright.” She looked up at the old man for approval—he nodded.
“Aye,” the old man said. “Ye sustained quite an injury, but ye will live.”
“How long until he can move?” Gavina said.
“Ideally, nae fer awhile.”
Gavina shook her head. “That is nae an option. We hae pressing matters tae tend tae. I need tae ken when he can be able tae get up as soon as possible.”
The old man stroked his beard, a look of critical thinking on his pensive face. “A half day,” he said. “The wound has been properly dealt with. His mobility will be limited, but I imagine, once he has plenty of water mixed with the ointments that I gave ye, that he can move aboot in a half day.”
Gavina nodded. “A half day it is,” she said as she reached into her pocket and pulled out a sack of coins.
The old man held up a hand. “Naw payment.”
“Why is that? Ye were brought here on a moment’s notice.”
The old man gestured to Lachlan, standing not that far from him. “Yer man explained tae me that ye hunt the Hands of God. They are monsters. Pure evil, and I want tae dae what I can tae help assist ye in bringing them down.”
Gavina extended her hand and shook the old man’s. “Thank ye,” she said. “We owe ye so much noo.”
The old man nodded and left the tent, moving back to his horse and preparing tae depart from the area. Gavina turned her gaze back on Eamon, his breathing less harsh and senses starting to fully recoup. “How dae ye feel?” she asked.
Eamon shook his head. “Nae that great. I feel weak. But better than I did afore.”
“Ye will be back on yer feet in naw time, Eamon. We shall finish what we started soon.”
Eamon looked his aunt in the eye. “I saw him…I saw him in a field.”
