by Barbara Bard
A pause—a very long pause. “My dear child,” Simon said. “God is on our side. The divine and his power will see to it that we are successful.”
Gavina took out her sword, a swirling sensation in her chest indicating that she was moments away from engaging in battle. “Enough talk, Simon,” she said. “Face me like a man…”
A silence held sway. After a beat, Simon replied: “So be it,” before the flame inside the cave was extinguished and everything in the immediate vicinity went black.
Gavina and the Bairdsmen waited…and waited…and waited. A long beat held sway before the Hands of God then stormed out of the entrance of the cave, swords in hand, and descended quickly on the Bairdsmen with such overwhelming force that Gavina felt as if they were, truly enough, being attacked by God himself.
Chapter 21
Gavina’s archers were shooting off arrows at the incoming members of the Hands of God. The attack was relentless, but only a few of Simon’s men were struck down. They were agile, scaling down the mountain quickly and attacking Gavina and the Bairdsmen with relentless force.
“Move!” Gavina called out. “Quickly! They are flanking us!”
The Bairdsmen split off in several directions, engaging the Hands of God from every angle. Gavina fended off several of the men, striking them down with quick blows before she found herself face-to-face with the leader Simon.
Simon stood with a pale expression and eyes that appeared to be coated over black. Gavina was stunned. She had a difficult time processing the man in front of her, his appearance more like that of a ghoul than an actual man.
“What hae ye done tae yerself?” she asked, nodding to Simon’s wound.
Simon shrugged, twirling his sword in one hand. “Just another sacrifice for God,” he replied as he moved in and engaged Gavina.
Simon took a scything blow over the top of Gavina’s head. She ducked then attempted to stab at his sternum. Simon spun around, dodging the blow and coming in with another strike at Gavina’s torso. He nicked her chest, a small ribbon of red flowing from the wound, Gavina wincing and crying out as she gave herself a few feet of distance.
Simon moved in again, the two of them exchanging strike after strike with no one getting the better of the other. It was sheer madness all around, Gavina’s men engaging the Hands of God from every angle. Gavina took a quick glance around as she moved away from Simon, trying to get a feel of how the fight was going. But when she turned back around—Simon was no longer there.
“They are retreating!” one of the Bairdsmen yelled.
And indeed, it was true—Gavina saw every member of the Hands of God falling back into the nearby forest, moving with haste and disappearing from sight. They were like ghosts, gone in the blink of an eye and leaving the Bairdsmen alone to their own devices.
Gavina panted and heaved, her sword still at the ready as she looked at each of her men. “How many hae we lost?” she inquired.
One of the Bairdsmen did a headcount. “Four in total.”
“And how many of their men did we strike down?”
“Three.”
Gavina hissed. “Damn it,” she seethed. “We had them surrounded. How did they best us?”
One of the Bairdsmen came alongside her. “It does nae matter. We hae tae move. Noo.”
Gavina sheathed her sword. “We maist follow after them. They are undoubtedly headed fer the village. We maist track them down and destroy them all.”
The Bairdsmen mounted their horses, all of them riding with haste as they retreated into the forest and began desperately searching the whereabouts of Simon and his men.
***
After retreating from the scene, Simon and the Hands of God went to a secondary location they had charted out in advance—a second cave nestled in the forest, surrounded on all sides by shrubbery and completely concealed from view.
The Hands of God entered the new cave, Simon stumbling over himself and falling to his knees.
“Simon,” one of the Hands of God said. “Are you alright?”
Simon reached out his hand, his man pulling him to his feet. “I have lost a lot of blood,” he said. “I must rest. And I require sustenance.”
“But I thought we were fasting. Will that not—”
“We cannot complete our mission if I die before it is accomplished. Fetch me some food. And water. I must recoup. I must regain my senses. Do not build a fire though. And no one speak a word. We must keep quiet. Those Bairdsmen are likely looking for us as we speak.”
One of the men fetched a somewhat stale loaf of bread and some salted meat wrapped in thick brown paper. Simon ate, the food stale and old but nonetheless providing him the nourishment he required.
Another one of the men brought over a leather canteen filled with water, handing it over to Simon as Simon leaned against a rock and took a few slow sips. He breathed slow, closing his eyes and praying silently to God.
“Simon,” one of the men said. “What will be our next course of action?”
Simon drank a little more water before responding. “We shall wait until the morning,” he said, making sure his voice was just shy of a whisper. “Once first light arrives, we shall set out for the next village.” He looked at his wounded arm. “I am at a disadvantage now,” he said, “but I am still in the fight.”
“Do we have enough men on hand to accomplish our task? Our numbers have severely dwindled.”
Simon nodded. “God is on our side. And we shall recruit more men to aid us when we attack the next village. Once we have bolstered our numbers, we shall set about destroying the Bairds.”
A commotion came from outside the cave, the unmistakable sounds of Gavina and the Bairdsmen audible. Simon held a finger to his lips, his men remaining quiet as they listened in on Gavina searching the forest for their whereabouts. Twenty minutes passed as the search went on, but Gavina and her men never discovered their location.
The Hands of God then listened in as Gavina and the Bairdsmen retreated, Gavina cursing at their lack of results. Simon smiled wryly as Gavina and the Bairdsmen departed. “See,” he said, taking another sip of his water and feeling his strength returning. “God is on our side…”
***
Gavina gritted her teeth as her and the Bairdsmen rode back to the village. She was frustrated. She didn’t understand how Simon and his men could be so elusive.
Brennan, the man riding beside her as they rode back to their village, leaned in and said: “Dinnae worry. We will find them.”
Gavina shifted her weight. “I dinnae think that is a guarantee that can be made anymore, me frien. The Hands of God are the maist elusive sort I hae ever dealt with.”
“But their numbers are dwindling. It is only a matter of time afore we hae done away with them all.”
Gavina leered at Brennan. “Is it? How dae we ken that they will nae recruit mair men tae their cause? The Hands of God are like a disease, one that grows as each day passes. The moment we think we hae cornered them they find a way tae slip through our grasp.” She huffed. “We maist bring an end tae this. We maist stop them afore it’s too late.”
“So what course of action dae we take?”
Gavina closed her eyes. She didn’t know what else they could do. The Hands of God were starting to feel as if they were, indeed, blessed by the hand of God himself. It was more than disconcerting to her that Simon was still alive. When she had faced off with him, he looked on the verge of death, yet he was still standing, still breathing, still fighting. It sent chills up Gavina’s spine to think that the man could be so resilient. It instilled a deep sense of fear in her heart and terrified her with the notion that they could be successful in their plight to wipe out every Highlander in the land.
Gavina and the Bairdsmen came to a fork in the road. They were looking over both shoulders the entire time, certain that the Hands of God were lingering, stalking, waiting to strike again and do them all in for good.
“Gavina,” Brennan said, the Bairdsmen coming
to a halt. “What dae ye wish tae dae?”
Gavina drew a breath, filling her lungs as she tried to center her mind. “We shall return home,” she said. “We shall inform me father of our current situation. From there…from there we will hae tae formulate a plan. We will hae tae change our tactics.”
“And what does that look like?”
“Well,” Gavina said, “our attempts tae attack Simon and his men head-on hae nae brought any results. We hae tae figure oot a pressure point tae squeeze, something important tae him that will bring him oot of hiding and right tae our doorstep.”
“That sounds near impossible,” Brennan said skeptically. “Simon and his men believe themselves tae be messengers of God. They dinnae respond tae any threat or logic. They are forces of nature, anarchists tae be mair accurate.”
Gavina shook her head. “Naw…Simon is but a man. He may seem like an entity, but he is human. He has a past. There is something within every man, a soft spot that can be sought out and used tae our advantage. We just need tae figure oot what that is.”
Gavina looked around at the Bairdsmen, all of them weary of fighting and traversing the Highlands. She felt sorry for them, eager to give them respite—but she knew that the fight was far from over. “Gentleman,” she called out. “We are going home. Ride fast. Be vigilant. The last fight is upon us…”
The Bairdsmen rode together back to the village, holding their heads high and ready to engage in the final battle they knew was just days, perhaps even hours away.
***
Connor and Sir Ian were on top of a hill looking down into the Baird’s village. Sir Ian coughed and hacked as they looked down at the villagers. “Can they see us?” he asked, eager to descend onto the Bairds and take them down once and for all.
Connor shook his head. “Naw. We are hidden. They hae naw idea that we are here.”
“Then we should move. Noo. I want this matter tae be dealt with.”
Connor held up a hand. “Patience, me good man. Patience. A level head is required in this situation if we are gonnae come oot on top. The Bairds are naw fools. They are some of the finest warriors in all of the Highlands.”
Sir Ian squinted. “And noo they will be six feet under. They will be mere fables when we are done with them.”
Connor looked over his shoulder to the back of the line, his and Sir Ian’s men all gathered in a huddle and waiting for their orders. “Wait here,” Connor said to Sir Ian. “I shall return momentarily.”
Connor rode to the back of the group, his right hand man waiting for him in the rear. “Are we ready?” the man asked, lowering his tone so only Connor could hear.
Connor nodded. “Aye. We will attack the village with overwhelming force. Once we dae, we shall dispose of Sir Ian.”
“How dae ye wish tae gae aboot this?”
“We shall keep him up here. He is quite unhealthy. There is naw way he has the strength tae fight. Once we finish with the Bairds, I shall come back here and dae away with him myself.”
Connor’s man nodded. “Aye. I shall inform the men that we are ready tae move.”
Connor rode back to the front of the line, Sir Ian waiting eagerly for Connor to give the order to attack.
“Are we ready?” Sir Ian inquired.
“Aye,” Connor said. “But ye maist stay here. I shall handle this with our men. Once we finish, I will come back tae retrieve ye.”
Sir Ian held up a single finger. “Dinnae kill Eamon Baird or the woman. Keep them there. I want tae handle them myself.”
Connor nodded. “Consider it done,” he lied as he turned and faced his men. “Gentleman! Draw yer swords! We ride. Be steadfast. Keep a sharp mind aboot ye. These Bairds are naw fools. Be vigilant, because I promise ye they will be.”
Connor’s men nodded, drawing their swords and preparing to spill blood across the Highlands as they rode together in a huddle toward the front of the Baird’s village.
Chapter 22
Finlay saw the collective group of riders approaching the village from a half-mile out. He knew what was coming immediately, the way the horses galloped in the direction of the village instilling an immediate sense in him that an attack on his clan was imminent.
He retrieved his sword and informed his daughter Rose to fetch the second-in-command of the Bairdsmen, a man by the name of John. “Tell him riders are approaching,” he said. “Tell him to gather our men in full force and be ready to fight.”
Rose wasted no time and informed John and the collective of thirty fighters that had been left behind after Gavina had departed from the village. They collected around Finlay the front of the village, swords, shields, and other weapons in hand, gripping their instruments of death with a white-knuckled grip.
“Hold here,” John said. “Wait fer them tae make the first move.”
The Bairdsmen stood at the ready, itching to fight like a pack of dogs as John walked up and came alongside Finlay.
Finlay stared at the incoming riders with slits for eyes. Waiting. Thinking. Calculating.
John drew a breath. “What dae ye want tae dae, Finlay?”
Finlay jutted his chin. “They’re not the hands of God. They’re Highlanders. I’m just trying tae figure oot who they may be.”
“There’s been a lot of bad blood recently. A lot of grudges tae be had. The Hands of God hae disrupted things immensely.”
Finlay took a step forward. And then he kept walking…and walking…and walking.
John’s eyes grew wide. “Finlay! Where are ye going?”
Finlay continued out into the field, walking closer to the riders. The Bairdsmen exchanged looks, perplexed as to Finlay’s motives.
The incoming riders, their leader Connor at the front, raised his hand and ordered them to stop. They came twenty yards shy of Finlay, the horses tearing up the dirt beneath them as they kicked at it eagerly with their hooves.
Finlay waited, Connor staring at him and figuring out his next move.
“Come and talk,” Finlay yelled out. “There is nae reason fer blood tae be shed.”
Connor took a moment to reply. “I ken of ye well, Baird,” he said. “Ye are quite a legend in these parts.”
“Who are ye? What has me clan done tae attract this horde of yers tae me village?”
“Where is yer son? Eamon?”
Finlay wished he honestly knew of Eamon’s whereabouts. After all that had transpired, he was certain that his son was off somewhere in the Highlands, his newfound love with him, causing him to make foolish mistakes.
“What has my son done,” Finlay said, shifting his weight. “Is he the one that slighted yer clan in some way?”
Connor shook his head. “I was hired by Sir Ian. Yer son took his prized maiden. That cannae gae unanswered, and he has avoided all attempts tae make amends.”
“I dinnae deny that me son has made some questionable choices as of late. But ye are clearly bringing war tae me village fer other purposes. Ye came tae attack, nae tae negotiate.”
“If that’s true,” Connor said with a smile, “then why would I bother speaking tae ye?”
Finlay shrugged. “Because ye are afraid of me.”
Connor clenched his jaw, breathing in deep through his nostrils as he did so. “Ye think I am afraid of ye, old man?”
Finlay nodded. “Ye ken of me. Ye ken what I hae been through. Ye are a young man, nae much older than me son. I ken that ye and yer people hae nae doubt suffered during this time of war. It has turned ye into a man ye never thought ye’d be—but ye hae nae lived as I hae, me frien. Ye ken me. Ye ken who I am—and that makes ye afraid.”
Finlay saw the affliction brewing in Connor. He was clearly a fearsome warrior—but he still feared Finlay, nonetheless.
“I hae been hired tae dae a job,” Connor said.
“Fer one of the vilest men around. Look at ye, Highlander. What is the point of this?”
“It’s as ye said: these tumultuous times hae turned me into a man I may nae necessarily relish being�
��but I hae tae dae what I need tae dae tae ensure me survival and well-being.”
Finlay recognized something in Connor as he spoke, a kind of honest coupled with an almost boyish innocence that he was certain he had seen before. “What is yer name?” he asked Connor.
Connor puffed his chest and replied: “Connor Cross of the Cross Clan.”
Finlay smiled. “Connor,” he said with a soft tone. “Dae ye nae remember when ye were a young boy?”
Connor squinted—confused. “What kind of a silly question is that?”
Finlay laughed. “Ye remember when yer family was lost in the woods because of a yer father’s broken leg fer three days? Ye and yer family thought he would perish.”