by Barbara Bard
They engaged, exchanging blow after blow, both of them evenly matched with neither seeming to get an advantage over the other. They attack continued for some time, members of the Hands of God dropping like flies all around. At one point, Simon dropped his guard, and Eamon managed to land a hard swipe at Simon’s left arm and cut it all the way to the bone.
Simon didn’t howl. Didn’t flinch. It was almost as if he didn’t mind the pain. But looking around, he saw that the numbers in his ranks were being depleted, so with a clenched jaw and eyes filled with fire, he ordered a retreat and fought off the incoming villagers before successfully pulling his men out and disappearing into the night.
Eamon stood, huffing and puffing, Agatha alongside him as they watched the Hands of God flee. “Bastards,” Eamon seethed. “Those damned bastards…”
Marcus ran up to Eamon. “Eamon!” he said. “We hae taken one of them alive!”
Eamon turned and saw one of Marcus’ men standing guard over a wounded member of the Hands of God. Eamon sheathed his steel and marched over, grabbing the man by the collar and pulling him to his feet.
“Ye,” Eamon said. “Tell me where they are going! Tell me!”
The man said nothing—Eamon responded by digging his heel into the man’s leg wound. The man shuddered, hollering out into the night.
“I can make this very difficult,” Eamon said. “Tell me what I want tae ken.”
“You can’t stop it,” the man said. “The Hands of God will wipe every one of you of the face of the earth. There is no stopping it. We are messengers of God.”
Eamon grabbed the man’s throat and squeezed, the man’s face turning red as Eamon gripped onto his windpipe with all his might. “Yer treacherous crusade has come tae an end,” Eamon said. “Tell me where yer people are going. Tell me where they hae fled, or I’ll bleed ye oot ever-so slowly.”
The man laughed. “You do not scare me, Highlander. I do not fear death.”
Eamon pulled the fallen knight in close. “Ye may nae fear death…but I promise ye that I will make ye fear pain. I will ask one last time—where are yer men retreating to.”
The member of the Hands of God responded by spitting in Eamon’s face, laughing as he closed his eyes and began to pray.
Eamon turned and looked at Agatha. “Gae. Ye dinnae want tae see this next part…” He then raised his fist and struck the man in the head, dropping him into the mud before stradling him and throwing another punch. “Talk!”
The man said nothing—Eamon punched him again.
“Talk, damn ye!”
“The Lord is my shepherd,” the man said. “I shall not wander…”
Eamon stood, kicking the man in the ribs. “Talk!”
“The Lord is My shepherd…”
Eamon once again planted his heel into the cut on the man’s leg, pressing with all his weight as the fallen knight writhed and screamed on the ground. Eamon could see the color draining from the man’s face, the sweat now coming out of him in thick sheets. It was only a matter of time before he caved in.
Eamon then looked to his left and saw the dead body of a member of the Hands of God, a lit torch still clutched into his hand. “Hand me that,” Eamon said to no one in particular.
One of Marcus’ men retrieved the torch and handed it to Eamon. Eamon then held the fire against the wound of the fallen knight below him, burning his flesh and causing the man to holler out an almost inhuman scream.
“I will burn every inch of ye,” Eamon said. “Tell me what I need tae ken.”
The fallen knight gritted his teeth, screaming in agony as Eamon pressed him to tell him what he wanted to know. Once the pain reached an unbearable level, the fallen knight finally screamed out: “Four miles east. A cave. Forty yards up the mountain. That is where they are! I swear!”
Eamon tossed the torch aside, the man collapsing as Eamon then took his sword, raised it, and ended the man’s life with one swift motion. All those around waited for a moment as the dust settled, Eamon wiping the blood from his blade and knowing that the time had come to send word to Gavina.
“Ye,” Eamon said to Marcus. “Light a fire. Quickly. Make sure it rages fer all tae see.”
The fire was lit, a large pile of spare wood that was placed in the center of the village. Eamon knew that Gavina was nae far away, and the signal would most likely catch her attention. Two hours later, in the dead of night, Gavina and the Bairdsmen arrived in the village with swords drawn.
“Eamon?” Gavina said, squinting with shock as she laid eyes on her nephew. “What is going on?”
Eamon gestured around to the fallen members of the Hands of God. “We were attacked in our journey. I wounded the leader. They hae fled four miles east of here to a cave forty yards up the mountainside.”
“But ye are alright?”
Eamon nodded. “Aye. I am nae wounded.”
Gavina leveled her gaze at Agatha, spotting the sword clutched in her hand. “And ye are alright?”
Agatha said nothing but she nodded.
“We saw the fire,” Gavina said as she sheathed her weapon.
“We were following a trail the Hands of God left.”
“They hae nae gone far. Ye can catch up tae them if ye move fast.”
Gavina took a look around at all of the fallen bodies. “How many did ye kill?”
Marcus stepped in. “Six. Two of our own perished. Another one is wounded.”
“This is a victory fer us,” Gavina said. “Their numbers are dwindling.” She once more looked at Agatha. “Where were ye two headed?”
Eamon drew a breath, prepared to lie to his aunt. “I am taking Agatha tae a remote area of the Highlands. She will be safe there.”
Gavina nodded. “Then ye should move quickly. I shall take the Bairdsmen and set aboot putting down these treacherous bastards once and fer all.”
They embraced, the two members of the Baird family feeling the overwhelming sense that this was the last time they were going to see one another.
“Be well,” Gavina bid her nephew.
“Aye,” Eamon replied. “Ride safe. Be vigilant.” He turned to Marcus. “I am sorry this has happened.”
Marcus waved him off. “It was a pleasure tae fight beside ye. Noo gae. Time is of the essence.”
Eamon extended his hand. “Thank ye, me frien. Ye hae proven tae be most invaluable.”
They shook hands. “Aye,” Marcus said. “Ye as well. Noo gae. Ye mast move fast.”
Eamon and Agatha mounted their horses, riding in opposite directions from Gavina and the Bairdsmen as the two groups sought to finish their journeys and put an end to the madness once and for all.
Chapter 20
Finlay clutched his chest, his heart feeling like it was racing faster than it ever had before. He was seated near the fireplace in his home, the fire crackling and sparking as Finlay leaned forward and did his best to catch his breath.
Rose entered a moment later, rushing up to her father with concern in her eyes as she saw him grabbing at his chest. “Father,” she said. “Are ye alright?”
Finlay nodded, holding out his hand and trying to stave off his daughter’s concerns. “I am alright,” he said. “I am fine.”
“Ye look sick.”
“Naw. I am fine. Really.”
“Are ye sure? I can fetch Mrs. Kelly.”
Finlay shook his head. “Naw. It is just stress. And I am old, dinnae forget.”
“Ye are nae that old, father,” Rose said with a smile. “Ye still look naw older than thirty.”
Finlay laughed, slapping his knee before planting a quick kiss on his daughter’s forehead. “Ye hae always been the humorous one, daughter. I am nae sure we you got it from.”
“Mother was funny.”
“Naw, she was nae. She thought she was.”
“Well, ye are certainly nae funny, father.”
“I hae me moments…” A frown. “It just hasn’t been that way for quite some time.”
Rose cozied u
p alongside Finlay, seated on the edge of the fireplace as she took his hand into hers. “What is troubling ye? Something weighs on yer mind.”
Finlay nodded—but said nothing.
Rose sighed. Hung her head. “It is Eamon, isn’t it? Eamon is the one who is causing ye yer strife.”
“It has been that way since he was a child.” He looked out of the fogged glass window to his left. “Ever since he was a boy, he has always been going against me word. I fear…” A sigh. “I fear that he has done it again.”
“Why dae ye say that?”
Finlay stood, hands in his pockets as he paced near the fire. “After I told him tae take Agatha tae be shipped off,” he said, “I saw a look in his eye, a look that I hae seen afore. When I told him what tae dae, when I gave him a direct order tae take that woman far away fae here…I saw in his gaze that he dinnae intend tae. I believe…I believe that yer brother has fled with Agatha. I believe that he intends tae run off with her and never return.”
Rose looked away, surprise and shock on her face. And then she shook her head. “Why am I nae surprised? It is like ye said—Eamon has always stirred up trouble.”
“It stopped at one point. When he married, when he found a wife, he found his footing. After she died, I think he resorted back tae his old ways, perhaps more so than he did afore.”
Rose stood. “Then we maist find him. We maist stop him afore his actions lead tae dire consequences.”
“There is nae a thing we can dae fer yer brother noo. He has made his decision. He shall hae tae live with the repercussions.”
“But he is family. He is our blood! We cannae allow him tae make such fool hearted mistakes.”
“But we must, Rose. If this is what Eamon has decided tae dae, this is what he has decided tae dae. We cannae stop him noo. We maist let him carry forth what he thinks he needs tae dae, right or wrong. And maybe, just maybe, I am wrong…and I pray to God in the heavens that I am.”
Father and daughter stared on at the fire for a short while, both of them silently offering up prayers to God to return Eamon to them safe and unharmed—but they felt it was a longshot as they stayed quiet and listened to the roar of the crackling fire.
***
Simon’s arm was profusely bleeding from the blow that Eamon had landed. He was in the cave with his men, looking at the open wound and seeing that it was cut all the way to the bone. He did not flinch or wince, not showing any signs of pain as he debated what to do.
“Simon,” one of the men said. “We lost a significant number of our people.”
“I am aware,” Simon said as he prodded at his wound. “But it changes nothing.”
“But our forces are severely dwindling. We may not have enough men on hand to carry forth the rest of our mission.”
Simon turned and faced his disciple. “If God sees fit to dwindle us down to just one man,” he said, “then that will be more than enough to accomplish our mission. God is on our side. We are his messengers, and nothing will stop us in our plight.”
Simon crouched down near the small fire that had been lit, looking at his wound and shaking his head. Another one of his men leaned in, squinting as he examined the wound. “It is a deep cut, Simon.”
Simon nodded, looking around at the pools of blood that were peppered throughout the cave from his wound. He began to feel lightheaded, having lost too much blood and knowing that he needed to do something to stave the bleeding.
He turned to another one of his men. “You. Come. Withdraw your sword.”
The man stood at attention, removing his sword from his sheathe.
“Now,” Simon said, “put the blade in the fire. Make it hot.”
The man obliged, dipping the steel of his sword into the fire and turning it in his hands.
“Wait until it is red hot,” Simon said.
The man followed the orders, toasting the blade in the fire until the steel turned red hot. Simon then held out his arm, looking at the man dead in the eye.
“Cauterize the wound.”
The former knight nodded, heating his sword in the fire. He then took the metal of his blade and pressed it into the wound, cauterizing it before Simon took a few cloth wraps from another man and bandaged his wounded arm.
Simon sat on the floor of the cave and took a moment to breathe. Another one of the knights stepped in. “Simon,” he said. “Are you alright?”
Simon nodded. “Another test of God’s faith,” he said, gesturing to his wounded limb. “Now…we must formulate a plan of attack. Tonight’s events change nothing. We are still set to accomplish our mission. We shall set out at first light. The Baird’s village will be our first point of attack. It seems that a few of their members are not there. God is telling me that they are scrambling, desperate. We will overwhelm them, take the village by force and burn it to the ground. We shall recruit more men while we are there, and then we shall move to the next village, and the next, and the next. We will not stop until we have finished off every last person in Scotland. Failure…is not an option.”
The Hands of God nodded in agreement, Simon then telling them to gather around as he then offered up God a prayer. Outside of the cave, as Simon went about praying, Gavina and the Bairdsmen gathered around, the entrance of the cave barely visible forty yards up the slope, the dull roar of the fire they could see burning letting them know that they had arrived at their destination.
***
Gavina nodded, pointing to the dull glow of the fire just inside the entrance to the cave. “There,” she to the man next to her in a whisper. “That’s it. That must be the Hands of God.”
The man next to her, Brandon, slowly withdrew his sword. “We should overwhelm them. Take them by force while they least expect it.”
Gavina shook her head. “Naw. Nae yet. These men are in dire straits, but their leader is naw fool. We maist plan a course of attack.”
Brandon looked above to the heavens. “Should we wait for daybreak? It should be approaching soon.”
Gavina thought about it. “Perhaps. But I want a sense of their numbers. I want tae ken how many of them are up there.”
“We can send a scout.”
Gavina shook her head again. “Naw. I dinnae want any of our people wandering up there. It is nae wise. But tell the archers tae prepare. I am inclined to attack them with our bows upon first light. It may be the best course of action.”
“Aye,” Brandon said before shuffling off and organizing the archers.
The archers all stood at attention, lined up, side-by-side on the back of their horses as they held their bows at the ready.
“How many are ready?” Gavina asked as Brandon returned.
“All of them. Seven in total. And they are swift.”
“Then we wait for first light. Once it arrives, we will send half our men up the mountain. We will draw them out. Once the Hands of God step out of the cave, we will initiate the attack.”
“Aye. Understood.”
“Or,” a booming voice called out from the cave, his voice echoing like that of God himself, “we can settle this now. Face-to-face.”
The archers aimed their arrows. The other Bairdsmen withdrew their swords. Everyone waited in eager anticipation as they looked to Gavina to give them an order.
Gavina squinted, staring at the dull orange glow emitting from the cave and opening her mouth to speak. “Who am I conversing with?” she asked.
A pause. “My name is Simon. I am the leader of the Hands of God. We are the Hands of God.”
She shook her head. “I find it despicable that ye men carry out such wicked deeds in the name of God.”
“Wicked deeds,” Simon repeated, his voice making him sound larger than life as it echoed off the cave walls. “You Highlanders commit atrocities on a daily basis. You lie, cheat, steal, and allow yourselves to be slaves to your Sassenach masters. You should not speak to me about wicked deeds.”
“Ye kill men, woman, and children alike, Simon,” Gavina seethed. “Naw act
is mair atrocious than that.”
“Because you do not see what the greater good at stake is. These lands are poisoned, my dear. They have been for quite some time—and we are the ones that God has sent to purge you from the suffering and the sin.”
“Spare me yer rhetoric, Simon. I grow weary of it. It is over. Yer campaign has come tae an end. Tonight. Right now. We both ken that there is naw way we shall walk away from this withoot a fight, so come on oot and let us commence with the inevitable.”