by Barbara Bard
“Ye left us naw other options, Eamon. What’s done is done. We cannae take back the choices ye made. I wish we could, but we cannae. What we maist consider is some kind of truce with Sir Ian.
The only question is what can we offer him that will allow him tae leave Agatha alone.”
Gavina looked at Eamon. “Ye met him,” she said. “What is it that a man like Sir Ian strives after?”
Eamon huffed. “Food, drink, and coin. He is like any other gluttonous man in these lands. I suppose…” he sighed, “that maybe we can…buy him off.”
Finlay shook his head. “Our resources are finite. There is nae much that we can offer him…as you said, he is a greedy man, and with the coin and food and drink we hae on hand, I fear it will nae be enough…”
Eamon sat back down, rubbing his neck from the tension and feeling as if they were only seconds away from Sir Ian and his forces arriving at the village. “What if we destroy them?” he inquired. “What if we mount an attack and simply end his life afore he can dae a thing aboot this situation.”
Gavina curled her hand into a fist and slammed it on the table. “Damn it, nephew!” she cried out. “Hae ye nae been listening? Dae ye hear yourself? Ye keep entertaining thoughts of death and destruction as a method tae cure this disease that is slowly infesting our village. We attack Sir Ian—then what? We kill every last man, woman, and child, and warrior under his command that would retaliate as a result of our actions? And what aboot our people? What is the guarantee that we will nae lose a significant number of our people in yer plight tae defend this woman? Listen tae yerself! This is a fool’s errand!”
The table fell silent for a moment. Eamon, finding a moment of clarity, was starting to hear his own words and realized how foolish they had sounded. “I am sorry,” he said, mustering the words with the utmost sincerity. “I just…I dinnae what tae dae. I hae made such a terrible mistake…”
Another moment of silence passed. “What’s done is done,” Finlay said. “There is naw sense dwelling in the past…but we will think of something. We will think of a way tae remedy this so that it benefits us all. But we must be critical. We must be wise with our final decision.”
Eamon nodded, taking a deep breath and resting back as they continued to sort through their options.
In the village, Rose and Agatha, walking side-by-side, casually strolled past the tavern as a gaggle of children laughing and playing crossed their path.
“Ye like me brother,” Rose said. “But I suppose that goes without saying.”
Agatha smiled. “Yes…he took a great risk bringing me here. For that I will be forever grateful.” She sighed. “I suppose I owe all of you an apology. I can only imagine what kind of burden this has placed on you and your family.”
Rose waved her hand through the air, dismissing the comment. “We hae struggled our entire life. It has always been one thing after another. Had it nae been fer this situation arising, I imagine it would hae been another.”
“Still…an apology is necessary.”
“Ye ken…I dinnae take ye as a person who falls so hard and quickly fer another. Ye seem tae hae been independent yer entire life.”
Agatha nodded. “I have. Believe me, I am still trying to understand how your brother has cast such a spell on me.”
Rose laughed. “So can I. He is a rough and silly man. I think ye can dae better.”
Both of them shared a laugh at Rose’s quip
“Still,” Agatha said, “he has a good heart. He is a good man.”
Rose nodded. “Aye…that he is.”
“He is lucky to have such a wonderful family to support him. I only wish I could have grown up with the same kind of support.”
Rose shrugged. “We are a tight group. But sometimes—”
“Riders in the distance!” the voice of one of the scouts called out from off to the left.
Rose grabbed Agatha by the arm, their playful conversation and tone quickly turning dire. “Come,” she said. “We maist hide…”
Moments later, Finlay, Gavina, and Eamon emerged from Finlay’s home, weapons in hand and quickly mounting the horses tethered to the post just outside the door. One of the scouts, running with a sword in hand to their location, pointed the tip off to the east.
“What is it?” Finlay said.
“Ten riders,” the scout said, running out of breath. “They are waiting on the outskirts of the village.”
Eamon squinted, cupping a hand above his brow and spotting familiar faces that he knew all too well. He looked at his father and said: “That’s them. That is Sir Ian’s men.”
Finlay noted that the men on horseback seemed calm, waiting with patient demeanors as they stood proud outside of the village.
“We request a conversation!” the man in the lead shouted, his voice faint but still audible.
“I’ll gae,” Eamon said.
Finlay shook his head. “Naw…I will. I fear that yer face might incite problems.” He turned to Gavina. “Ride with me. Grab two of the scout tae escort us…”
A couple of minutes later, Gavina, Finlay, and two scouts rode out to meet Sir Ian’s men. They kept a safe distance but were close enough that they could easily exchange words.
“Ye ken why we are here,” the man in the lead said.
Finlay nodded. “Aye…the woman.”
“Then return her to us immediately. There is naw need fer bloodshed.”
Finlay took a beat. “I cannae turn her over tae ye.”
“Why nae?”
“Because of Sir Ian and his…methods. This man has imprisoned this woman. I dinnae trust him tae dae the right thing.”
The rider adjusted himself on his saddle. “Well, it is nae yer decision tae make. Agatha is property of Sir Ian. He will decide what her fate is. Turn her over noo and we will leave yer village with haste.”
Finlay shook his head. “I cannae dae that…but perhaps a truce can be arranged.”
The rider smirked. Shook his head. “There is naw negotiation. Turn the woman over noo…this will be the last time that I request it…” He inched his hand toward the hilt of his sword, ready to draw it at a moment’s notice.
“Dinnae dae this,” Finlay said. “It is a foolish move.”
“Ye hae five seconds tae turn her over,” the rider said. “Five.”
“Dinnae—”
“Four…”
“I beg of ye—”
“Three…”
“My good man, please—”
“Two…”
“Dinnae—”
“One!”
In the blink of an eye, Finlay drew his sword, swiped it, and knocked the rider’s head clean off. The two men flanking him prepared to move in on Finlay—but they were cut down by several arrows that buried their way into their chests and knocked them from their saddles.
The other riders froze, halfway into drawing their swords.
“Dinnae,” Gavina warned them. “Or we will kill ye all…”
One of the riders, shaking to the point that his teeth were chattering, jutted his chin to Gavina. “Dae ye ken what ye hae done. Ye hae just declared war on our clan!”
Gavina shrugged. “So be it. But I suggest ye leave noo, otherwise prepare tae draw yer final breaths.”
The rider took a moment—then he put away his sword. “Gae!” he shouted to the other riders. “We leave!”
The riders fled back in the direction from whence they had come, the head of their leader still on the ground as Finlay and the others waited for them to fully retreat. As soon as they were gone, Gavina and Finlay sheathed their swords.
Finlay sighed. “Bastards,” he seethed. “They dinnae even attempt tae negotiate.”
Gavina shook her head, staring at the severed head on the ground and ordering a scout to dispose of it. “They will return,” she said. “And soon.”
Finlay nodded. “Aye…We maist confer with the McManus clan. We maist prepare.”
“And what of the Hands of God.”
“We maist figure that oot as well.”
Gavina went slack. “This is dire…trouble brews fer us noo. I fear we lack the numbers tae handle it.”
Finlay turned his horse and headed back tae the village. “Aye,” he replied. “I dae as well..”
They arrived back to Eamon’s location, Eamon staring on in horror as not a word was exchanged. As he witnessed the scout disposing of the rider’s severed head, he could not help but blame himself for the way in which the events had transpired. He knew now, without a doubt, that war was coming.
And soon.
Chapter 13
Eamon rode with Gavina to the outskirts of the McManus clan’s village, resting high up in the mountains and covered with a thin veneer of fog. They rode with three scouts and made sure to approach the top of the village in a slow and steady manner due to the McManus clan’s apprehensive nature. They held an alliance with them—but they were still apprehensive, nonetheless.
“Who is in charge noo of the clan?” Eamon inquired.
“A man named Donovan,” Gavina said. “A few of them perished from sickness nae long ago. Donovan is noo the man in charge.”
They rode for another half-mile up the hill, and at the top they were greeted by a young and wiry man perched on a rock and picking at his fingernails with a thin dagger. “Why ye here?” he asked without looking up, confident of the men waiting in the wings to have his back should the newcomers attempt an attack.
“We hae come tae speak with Donovan,” Eamon said. “We are from the Baird clan.”
The young man ceased picking at his fingernails and looked up curiously. “The Bairds,” he said, a more pleasant tone in his voice as he stood up. “I ken of ye. I was a young lad when ye formed an alliance with me people…”
The young man gestured. Just then—six men with swords in hands stepped out of various hiding places and emerged through the fog.
“May we confer with Donovan,” Eamon pressed. “Time is of the essence.”
The young man took his time—then he nodded and gestured for Eamon, Gavina, and the scouts to follow after him. They rode up the remainder of the hill and arrived outside a small but well-kempt village covered in fog. As they arrived and dismounted, a large man clad in black fur with a large beard to match greeted them. “Who is this?” he inquired.
The young man with the dagger nodded to Eamon and Gavina. “Members of the Baird clan. They wish tae speak with ye.”
The man in black smiled and extended his hand. “Donovan,” he said. “I am the leader here.”
Eamon shook his hand. “Eamon Baird.”
Donovan nodded. “I ken of ye. Yer father is a great man.”
“That he is.”
“And what matter dae ye wish tae discuss with me.”
Eamon turned and motioned to a pathway cutting through into a small forested area. “May we walk?”
Donovan nodded. “By all means…”
Donovan and Eamon then began their stroll, Gavina alongside them with their scouts hanging in the rear.
“There are a couple matters I wish tae discuss with ye,” Eamon said.
“Then speak,” Donovan replied.
“Hae ye heard of the Hands of God?”
Donovan sighed. “Aye…We hae run into them aboot one year ago, right after they slaughtered a group of villagers.”
“Well, it appears that they hae returned. We caught one of their men on the outskirts of our village nae long ago. We are certain they are mounting an attack.”
“I would nae be surprised. I hae the same suspicions. I was just coordinating with me people on how we should gae aboot handling it.”
“What are yer thoughts on an alliance?”
“Dae we nae already hae one?”
“I and me clan is hoping, that ye will join us in our village. We hae plenty of food and resources tae sustain ye.”
Donovan stopped in his tracks, looking at Eamon with a curious eye. “What is this other matter ye wish tae speak with me aboot?”
Eamon drew a breath. “Dae ye ken of a man named Sir Ian?”
Donovan laughed. “Fat bastard,” he said with a nod. “Aye. I ken of him.”
“Well…” It took Eamon a moment to say the rest. “I hae taken a member of his court. A woman. His men arrived several hours ago tae confront me over the matter. We attempted a resolution tae the conflict, but…it dinnae end well.”
Donovan sighed. “That is nae good. Sir Ian has ties with several clans.”
“All Highlander clans dae.”
“Aye, but he holds ties tae a clan called the O’Reilly’s. A fearsome lot. Their numbers are strong. If what ye say is true, then Sir Ian will undoubtedly seek them oot fer assistance in retaliating against ye…”
Eamon hung his head.
“What happened, exactly?” Donovan asked.
“We beheaded one of their men,” Eamon said. “And killed two others. They left us noo choice.”
Donovan soaked in the words and once more began walking. “All of this over a woman,” he said with an amused timbre.
“Aye…but what’s done is done. I cannae change the past.”
“And why should I assist the Baird clan in staving off nae only the Hands of God but Sir Ian’s men as well? It sounds as if this all came aboot as a result of a foolish personal plight.”
“It undoubtedly is. But we are in a bind. We require assistance, and yer clan is the only one that can help us. Ye hae in the past—”
“—and many of our people died as a result. Times hae changed, Eamon Baird. Ye maist understand that I hae tae look oot fer the best interest of me people.”
“I ken. Believe me I dae…but we hae naw other options. Donovan, this is a big moment for every Highlander. The Hands of God will wipe us off the face of the earth if we dinnae act soon. It is vital that we join forces, that we fight together, otherwise…” A sigh. “Otherwise we might as well lay down our arms and allow the inevitable tae occur.”
Donovan took a long moment to look at Eamon. Like Eamon and all the other Highlanders in the land, he had grown weary of battle, weary of the past. But the only option, as all Highlanders knew, was to keep fighting.
He nodded. “Ye hae me friendship, Eamon Baird. I will fight alongside ye.”
Eamon extended a hand. Both men grasped palms and shook. “Thank ye,” he said.
Donovan shook his head. “Thank me when we walk away from this alive…”
***
Sir Ian pounded his pink and meaty fist on his table, the contents of liquor in the chalice beside him spilling out onto the floor. “Bastards!” he screamed, his scouts standing timidly in front of him. “How did this happen?”
The scout in front of him, drenched with sweat, trembled as he informed Sir Ian about what had occurred. “They were swift, me Lord,” he said. “They beheaded our man in the lead in a matter of seconds.”
Sir Ian crooked a finger. “And I hae spent countless time and resources training all of ye tae make sure that ye are capable fighters. Ye should hae destroyed them where they stood! What happened?”
“They attempted tae negotiate a truce with us. They wanted tae barter with us fer the woman, fer Agatha.”
Sir Ian shook his head. “I dinnae want their coin. Even if they had all the riches in the world, it would nae be enough tae buy off what rightfully belongs tae me.”
A pause. No one in the room spoke as Sir Ian toted his large frame around the room. “This cannae stand,” he said, shaking his head. “I want blood…I want all of those bastards in the Baird clan killed.”
The scout took a step forward. “We cannae take them with the numbers we hae on hand, me Lord. We need mair if we are going tae take them oot.”
“Then we will find mair! I’ll pay every man with breath in his body in this land tae bring me back Agatha…” He paced some more, a thought popping up into his mind and accompanied with a wry smile. “The O’Reilly clan,” he said. “They will help us. We hae given them c
ountless resources in the past. I want ye tae take the men and fetch me horse. They are a half-day’s ride from here. We shall speak with them and arrange fer them tae assist us…”
Sir Ian moved to the table and sat back down, turning up the half-depleted chalice of liquor and pouring a gluttonous mouthful straight down his gullet. He wiped his pink and meaty face with the back of his hand, belching before he said: “The O’Reilly clan far outmatches the Baird’s. They are the most fearsome warriors in the land. They will assist us, aye. They will help us fetch back Agatha.”