by Barbara Bard
It took Eamon a moment to snap himself out of his trance. “What?”
Lachlan forked a thumb over his shoulder. “Ye keep looking over there.”
Eamon waved away the comment. “Nae a thing. Me mind is just wandering.”
Lachlan leaned in. “Is it that woman?”
“What woman?”
Lachlan laughed. “The one I am sure ye were spending maist of the night with, Eamon.”
“Ye dinnae ken that. Ye dinnae ken anything.”
“Ye were nowhere tae be found last night, Eamon. And I saw the looks that ye two were giving each other. It is nae complicated to figure oot.”
Eamon shrugged. Sighed. Tossed a quick look toward the carriage. “She is a kind woman. That is all I will say.”
“Ah…I see.”
“Quit fishing, Lachlan. There is nae a thing tae be caught.”
“Then why dae ye keep looking over yer shoulder?”
Eamon huffed and stared at his friend. “Ye ken…if I did nae ken ye, Lachlan, I would strike ye square in the jaw.”
Lachlan laughed. “I am sure ye will…”
Silence held sway for a few moments as Eamon let his mind drift to thoughts of Agatha. He didn’t understand how he could be so brash. The woman was just a few feet away from him, hidden amongst the ranks of the Bairdsmen with no man the wiser that she was there. Eamon had not loved in a long time, and though he was not bold enough to claim that he loved Agatha, he was certain that there was something drawing him to her that allowed him to sneak her away from Sir Ian—and it was only a matter of time before Sir Ian figured out what was going on.
The group arrived at the bottom of the hill, arriving at the cusp of a forested area where the pathway opened up. Eamon held up his hand. “Hold!” he said. “Let us take a break.”
The Bairdsmen stopped, each man stretching and yawning and taking a moment to catch their breath. Eamon made it a point to have the carriage steered away from the rest of the group, and he walked over to the rear and peeked a look inside and found Agatha looking right back up at him.
“Are ye alright?” Eamon inquired.
Agatha nodded nervously. “Yes…I am…I am just scared.”
“I shall take ye tae the nearest village. I will take ye there, and I will leave ye there.”
“No!” Agatha protested through a whisper. “I cannot be on me own. I have no resources to assist me!”
“We shall figure out a plan. I promise.”
“Don’t leave me, Eamon. Please. I beg of you…”
They connected gazes, Agatha’s pleading eyes piercing straight through to Eamon’s soul and causing a mixture of emotions to swirl inside of his chest.
“Eamon!” one of the Bairdsmen called out. “Come! We are fetching a quick drink from the flask!”
Eamon sighed, running his hands through his hair and beard. “Stay here,” he said to Agatha. “I will only be a moment.”
“Eamon,” the Bairdsmen said again. “What are ye doing over there?”
A few of the Bairdsmen began moving toward the carriage, curious as to what was catching Eamon’s attention.
“Christ,” Eamon huffed. “It won’t be long until me men discover what is transpiring…”
“Eamon,” Agatha said. “Please, don’t let them hurt me.”
“They will nae hurt ye. I promise.”
“Eamon,” Lachlan said, two other Bairdsmen beside him as they arrived at the rear of the wagon. “What is going on?”
Eamon closed the flap. “Nae a thing,” he replied. “I am merely checking on the supplies.”
Lachlan squinted. Waited a beat. “What is going on?”
“What dae ye mean?”
Lachlan shoved past Eamon and attempted to pull apart the flap to the carriage, but he was quickly shoved away by Eamon, much to the surprise of the other Bairdsmen.
“Calm yourself,” Lachlan said, holding his hands up in submission. “What is the problem?”
“Yer inquisitive nature,” Eamon said. “Ye hae been prodding me since we left Sir Ian’s village.”
“Because ye are nae telling us something…What are ye hiding?”
Eamon clenched his fist and his jaw. “Mount yer horses. I am cutting this break short.”
“What is in the carriage?” Lachlan said as he jutted his chin.
“That’s enough.”
“Tell me.”
Eamon looked around and saw the pensive and curious faces of the other Bairdsmen staring at him, waiting for him to say what he was holding back.
“Eamon,” Lachlan said, his tone a little more relaxed. “Tell us…what is going on?”
Eamon knew that he couldn’t wait any longer. Sooner or later the others would find out. He then moved to the rear of the carriage, gripped onto the flap, and pulled it aside. Agatha was revealed, the other Bairdsmen then exchanged perplexed and concerned glances to one another as they laid eyes on her.
Agatha, terrified and shaking as the Bairdsmen looked upon her face, held up her hands and said: “Please…Please, I am sorry…”
Lachlan gritted his teeth and pointed a finger at Eamon. “What hae ye done?”
Eamon held up his hands. “Sir Ian was trying tae kill this woman. I am merely trying tae help.”
“That’s nae yer decision tae make! She is his maid! It is his decision what happens tae her! If he decides tae cut off her head and throw it in a river, that is his choice.”
Eamon took a step toward Lachlan. “Watch yer tone, Lachlan. I will only tell ye once.”
“Dinnae make threats tae me, Eamon! Dae ye ken what position this puts us in? How long until Sir Ian becomes wise tae this ruse and seeks tae hae us destroyed?”
“We shall take her tae the next village. We shall leave her there. If Sir Ian comes after us, we will tell him we hae naw knowledge of what happened tae her.”
Lachlan’s face was red, steam practically radiating off his body as he shook his head. “Bastard!” he seethed as he took a step forward, raised a fist, and struck Eamon square in the jaw.
Eamon felt the sting from the hit but quickly recoiled. He kicked off the ground, tackling Lachlan into the dirt. The two men became entangled, both of them exchanging punches as the other Bairdsmen tried to pry them apart.
“That is enough!” the man named Sean said, pulling Eamon off Lachlan with the assistance of another Bairdsmen.
“Ye hae killed us!” Lachlan said, two men picking him up and holding him back by both arms. “Ye hae given us a death sentence!”
“I am in charge!” Eamon said, pounding a fist on his chest. “I am the leader! If I decide tae rescue ten mair woman, that is me choice!”
“Ye hae nae idea the repercussions that will follow us!”
“So be it!”
Sean stood between both men and held up his hands. “Stop!” he barked. “The both of ye. What is done is done…”
The Bairdsmen fell silent. Only the huff-and-puff breathing of Eamon and Lachlan filled the air as both men took a moment to calm themselves. After a minute, Eamon sighed, bracing himself on his knees and feeling the weight of his decisions pressing down on his chest.
“I am sorry,” he said with the upmost sincerity. “I am…I am so sorry…”
He stood up, Lachlan closing his eyes and feeling his rage slowing burning off. “Why, Eamon?” he asked, his tone much calmer than it was before. “Why did ye dae this?”
Eamon shook his head. “I dinnae, Lachlan…I dinnae.”
Lachlan took a step forward, gesturing to the rear of the carriage. Agatha, now erect, gripped onto the sides of the carriage with fear.
“It is all right,” Lachlan said. “Come. Come oot. It is all right.”
Agatha looked to Eamon for approval. Eamon nodded his head to let her know that all was well. Agatha then slowly slipped out of the carriage, Eamon assisting her with one hand as she smoothed her dress and hung her head.
“It is fine, me dear,” Lachlan said. “There is nae a thing ta
e fear. I am sorry fer me words. I did nae mean them…”
Agatha slowly tilted up her head and looked Lachlan in the eye. “I am sorry,” she said. “I just could not stay with Sir Ian. It was the man’s mission to grind me down.”
Lachlan nodded. “I understand…that large bastard is a handful to deal with.”
Both of them shared a quick and nervous laugh to help break the tension.
“Tell me,” Lachlan said. “Will Sir Ian send someone after ye?”
She nodded. “Most definitely. I am sure that men have been dispatch already…”
Lachlan nodded. Sighed. “Then we maist keep riding. We shall gae tae the next village as Eamon has ordered. From there, we shall figure oot a plan.”
Agatha nodded. “Thank you…And again…I am sorry.”
Lachlan waved the apology away. “What is done is done. There is naw sense dwelling in the past.” He looked to Eamon. “And I am sorry tae ye. Ye are in charge. And I apologize fer questioning yer leadership.”
Eamon shook his head. “Ye had every right tae. It was just—”
A primal war cry then came from the left. Everyone turned to lay eyes on the source of the noise, Eamon perking up immediately at the sound. “Me God,” he said.
“What is it?” Agatha asked.
Lachlan and the other Bairdsmen knew the sound well. “The Kelly clan!” he said, reaching for his sword. “They are a band of thieves and rapists.”
“Quick!” Eamon said, grabbing Agatha by the arm. “Hide in the wagon! Keep yer head low!”
Agatha quickly climbed back inside the carriage and hid as the Bairdsmen drew their swords and took up defensive positions. Moments later—a band of twelve men descended on horseback down a steep incline. Their garb was tattered and disheveled, their faces dirty and scarred. In the lead, a man with a ginger beard drew his sword and cried out the same cry once again as the band of thieves charged directly toward the Bairdsmen.
The fight quickly ensued, the Bairdsmen, thanks to the tutelage of Finlay Baird, quickly struck down several of the men. Lachlan, moments after dispatching one of the thieves, received a cut on his shoulder and recoiled. One of the thieves attempted to strike him down as he spun around, but Eamon stepped in and pierced the man’s heart with the tip of his blade.
The metal of the sword fight clanked and reverberated through the forest. One-by-one the thieves were taken down, with none of the Bairdsmen killed due to their superior swordsmanship, though several did sustain their fair share of cuts and welts.
With only four thieves left standing, the ginger-bearded leader, furious at his loss of numbers, climbed off of his horse and charged toward Eamon. He screamed; his face red as he prepared to take his last stand.
Eamon, pivoting and raising his sword back over his head, took a scything swipe to the left that beheaded the ginger-bearded thief and dropped him immediately to his knees.
The last of the thieves then fled in the direction the Bairdsmen had come from. Eamon, watching as they fled, turned to one of his archers and said: “Finish it.”
The archer took out his bow, lined up a shot, and took the first man down. He repeated the process and took down the other, with no thief left standing as the Bairdsmen then set about tending to their wounds.
Eamon, concerned for Agatha’s safety, came to the rear of the carriage and looked inside. “Are ye all right?” he asked.
Agatha, sweating and red, nodded her head repeatedly. She then leapt into Eamon’s arms and held on for dear life, the two of them holding the embrace and desperate to never let the other go.
Chapter 9
The leader of the Connolly clan went by the name of Dresden. He was nearly the same age as Finlay, and his village rested about fifty miles away from the Baird clan. He was in his quarters, staring out a window with a book in his hand and wondering how much time had passed since he had last seen war. Like all Highlanders, he had fought to maintain peace. Years of turmoil and bloodshed were the cost. But now, seated in his wooden chair, he breathed a sigh of relief and felt confident that his days of war were long behind him.
A scream then erupted from the center of the village. Dresden slowly stood near the window, squinting and curious and wondering if it was just another instance of one of his clansmen having drank too much. When Dresden arrived at the window, however, he saw a fleet of men in gray garb storming through the village—and they were destroying everyone and everything in their path.
Dresden quickly shuffled over to his wooden closet, removing the broadsword that had been stowed away inside so long ago and unsheathing it before moving to the door. He descended the staircase that lead to ground level and came outside. His entire clan was under attack, all of them being struck down quickly by the men in gray tunics and reversed red crosses.
Dresden’s mouth opened; completely taken aback by the sight he was laying his eyes on. Everyone, every man, woman and child in the clan, was being struck down and killed with a swiftness that almost felt inhuman. Once his senses returned, Dresden raised his sword and prepared to attack—but then he felt a searing pain on the back of his head before a blackness took over him and everything fell silent.
***
Dresden awoke, the pain in his head throbbing with a vicious and searing quality that made him feel as if he were on the verge of vomiting. It took a moment for his vision to return, but once it did, he found himself laying eyes on a roaring fire. For a second, he was unable to make it out, but once his eyes fully adjusted, he found that the fire was roaring throughout the village, consuming, and burning everything in its path.
Dresden looked around. The bodies of his clansmen were scattered all along the ground, the blood pooling together in a collective puddle. He looked around and saw himself surrounded by ten of the men in gray tunics, all of them standing with stoic gazes as one of them walked in a straight line toward him.
As the man approached, Dresden realized his hands had been bound and he had been seated on the ground. Blood from the blow to the back of his head was now caking. He looked up at the man approaching him, his face glowing in the light of the fire consuming the village.
The man crouched down and met Dresden at eye level. For a moment, he didn’t speak, but once he did, he said: “Do you remember me?”
Dresden took a beat to soak in the man’s features. He had never laid eyes on him before. “Naw,” he said. “Naw…Naw, I dinnae…”
The man sighed. “My name is Simon…” He tilted up Dresden’s chin with a finger. “Ye really dinnae remember me?”
Dresden tried his best to pinpoint who the man was—but nothing was jogging his memory.
Simon stood back, shaking his head and pacing in a slow, deliberate circle. “Perhaps I cannot blame you,” he said. “It has been quite a long time since we’ve crossed paths, Dresden.”
Dresden took a second to look at the bodies scattered around him. “What hae ye done?” Tears began to flood his eyes. “Ye hae killed me people…”
“I have set them free,” Simon said. “They are with God now. You should take comfort in that fact.”
Dresden wept. “Why…why did ye dae this?”
Simon once again approached Dresden. “Six years ago,” he said. “You fought for this land against a Sassenach army. I was a part of that army. In an attempt to repel us, you mounted an attack on our castle. Our wives were there. Our children were there.” He jutted his chin. “My wife was there. My child was there…” he got down on one knee. “And you ordered them both to die…”
Dresden’s eyes went wide, the memories of the past flooding his mind. “Naw,” he said. “I—”
Simon held up a finger. “You did. Believe me when I say this is the truth because it haunts me every waking day.” He stood up, removing the dagger stuffed in his waistband. “You are part of the reason that these lands are so ravaged with sin. You and the others are responsible for the deaths of countless innocents, and like the flood that Noah endured—the time has come to cleanse the
slate and start anew.”
Dresden shook his head in protest as Simon gripped onto the dagger and took a step forward. “This is the price for your sins…this is the price for the death of my wife and child.”
“Please,” Dresden protested fruitlessly. “Please dinnae…”
Simon stood behind Dresden and pressed the blade against his throat. “Close your eyes,” he said. “And make your peace with God.”
Simon then slit Dresden’s throat and stood back. Dresden fell to the ground, the blood from his wound pouring out and pooling together with the rest of his clan’s.