by Barbara Bard
Finlay nodded. “Aye. Just an old man with old bones taking a rest.”
“Ye are nae that old, my friend.”
“It is the years of fighting that hae taken their toll on me. That and me son.”
Connor smiled. “Aye. I understand that mair than well. I had a son myself?”
“Had?”
Connor nodded. “He died of illness last season.”
Finlay hung his head. “I am sorry tae hear that. I cannae imagine what the loss of a child can dae tae a man.”
Connor sat on the bale of hay beside Finlay. “There are still days that it haunts me. In fact—every day it haunts me. He was young. I never got tae see him grow into a man. I managed tae miss the years where he became a pain in me side like I did with me own father.”
Finlay smiled, thinking through the fond memories he had of Eamon as a young boy. He was frustrated with Eamon, but he still loved him, nonetheless.
“What is on yer mind?” Connor asked.
Finlay shrugged. “I am hoping that me son is alright. I just…want him tae return. I want tae make things right, as frustrated as I am with him.” He sighed. “I dinnae. I blame myself.”
“Ye cannae blame yerself fer yer son’s actions. They are his and his alone. He is a man, a human being. Men are prone tae making mistakes. Ye ken of this.”
Finlay nodded. “I dae…and I just hope that he is alright. I hope that he is safe.”
A rumble gathered behind them at the front of the village. Connor and Eamon stood, turning their heads and spotting two incoming riders—Eamon and Agatha.
Chapter 24
Eamon saw his father from a distance, his heart racing as his father crossed his arms and waited for him to come up to him. Eamon drew a breath, seeing the look of disappointment in his father’s eyes even from a distance.
Eamon came to a stop a few feet shy of Finlay and Connor, Agatha waiting on her horse as Eamon dismounted and walked up to his father. There was nothing but silence for several moments, Finlay squinting at his son and waiting.
“Father,” Eamon finally said. “I dinnae—”
Finlay took a backhanded swipe at his son, striking him in the face, hard enough that it made noise but with a level of reserve that it didn’t knock his son to the ground. Agatha whimpered, covering her mouth with her hand as Eamon recoiled.
“Ye fool,” Finlay said, seething. “Dae ye ken what ye hae done?”
“Father, I—”
“Silence!” Finlay commanded, pointing a finger at Eamon. “Bite yer tongue, Eamon! I will nae hae ye explain yerself. How many times hae we been in this position? How many times have I had to cover fer yer mistakes?” He huffed, waving Eamon off as he turned away. “Ever since ye were a young child, ye hae been nae a thing shy of a nuisance. Yer poor decision making has nae only affected me, it has endangered our entire village.”
“I hae returned, father,” Eamon said. “I came back tae make things right.”
“And how will ye dae that? What could ye possibly dae tae make things right? Ye went against me orders. Ye disrespected me wishes. As I said, nae only hae ye risked countless lives, ye hae spat in the faces of yer elders.”
Eamon hung his head, his father’s words cutting through him like a knife. He felt ashamed, at a loss of words, unable to say or do anything to dig himself out of the hole he had placed himself in.
Finlay, still spinning, gestured to Agatha. “And ye hae brought her back, as well,” he said, shaking his head. “Ye hae endangered her as well.”
“She came of her own accord,” Eamon said.
Finlay squinted. “Ye dare stand up tae me right noo?”
Eamon diverted his gaze, his father’s stare cutting him to his core.
“Well,” Finlay said, “what’s done is done. There is naw turning back noo. Ye are here, and ye will await the arrival of the Hands of God with the rest of us. I can only pray that ye weren’t followed.”
“We weren’t.”
“You’ll understand if I dinnae believe ye. I dinnae if I can ever believe or trust ye again, Eamon. Ye hae crossed the line one too many times.” Finlay then turned and left, moving swiftly away from Eamon as the rest of the villagers looked on.
Eamon followed after his father in a hustle. “Father,” he said. “Please.”
Finlay waved Eamon off. “Naw. I am finished with these conversations.”
“Please, father! I ken what I hae done is wrong.”
“Ye hae said that before. And ye still insist on going against me wishes.”
Eamon rushed around his father and stood in front of him. “Then cast me oot!” he said. “I will leave if that is what ye want. I am in the wrong, father, I ken. I hae made many bad decisions, and I hae justified them at every turn. I dinnae want tae gae against yer wishes anymore. I will dae whatever I need tae dae tae show ye and our people that I am loyal, that I am willing tae dae anything that is asked of me.”
Eamon was pleading, tears in his eyes as he looked at his father. He was almost childlike in his pleas, feeling the most vulnerable he had in a long time.
Finlay stared at his son; his expression somewhat relaxed though still laced with a current of disappointment. “Why maist ye be such trouble, Eamon? Why maist ye be how ye are?”
Eamon shrugged. “I dinnae what else tae say, father. I dinnae what else tae dae. Tell me. Tell me what I need tae dae tae prove me worth. Please. I dinnae want tae gae against yer wishes ever again.”
Finlay took a moment to look at his son, reaching out and placing his hand on the young man’s face and pulled him in close for an embrace. “Ye hae always been a troublemaker, Eamon. Always…but ye are still me son.”
Eamon held his father tight, Agatha watching with a single tear streaming down her face. “I am sorry, father,” Eamon said. “I will apologize every day if I need tae. I will sleep in the stables, feed the pigs. I dinnae care what ye request of me. I am done questioning ye or deceiving ye.”
Finlay broke the embrace, his hands on his son’s shoulders and squeezing them tight. “I am still angered by yer decisions,” he said. “But that will pass in time. And we hae mair pressing matters tae handle. Yer woman will stay with us. The original plan is naw longer in play.”
Eamon nodded, wiping away his tears. “The Hands of God approach fast. We ran into them along with Gavina.”
Finlay was nodding before Eamon had even finished his sentence. “Gavina told me. I am aware. They nearly destroyed them all when they chased them down. But they fled. She was unable tae find them. I can only assume that they are drawing close.”
“We maist figure oot a plan, father. These men are unpredictable.”
Finlay gestured to Connor, approaching them with an apprehensive step to make sure their father/son quarrel was finished.
“Connor,” Finlay said, “possesses some interesting knowledge about Simon’s past, things that nae even Simon is aware of.”
Eamon squinted. “Such as?”
Finlay nodded to Connor to indicate the time had come for him to take the reins of the conversation.
“Simon,” Connor said, “believes that his family was murdered…but it is nae the case. They are alive…they are very much alive.”
***
Sir Ian spit into the crackling fire in front of him. He and his men had fled from the Baird’s village after being threatened, and he knew that with the numbers of men he had on hand and his lack of knowledge when it came to leading men in a fight, there was nothing more he could do to extract his vengeance upon Eamon or Agatha.
His men were scattered throughout the camp they had set up on a cliffside looking down over a hundred feet into a forested area. Sir Ian was drinking himself into oblivion, bobbing and weaving and scowling as he coughed and hacked and wheezed.
“Sir Ian,” one of his men said. “Will we be returning home soon?”
Sir Ian responded by throwing the glass bottle he was drinking at his men, the bottle shattering into pieces and causing the man
to scatter away. “We leave when I say we will leave,” he said, mumbling his words. “If I say that we sit here several mair nights and drink, then we shall sit here several mair nights and drink.”
Sir Ian stood, walking over to his horse, and fetching another bottle of liquor from the saddle bag. He began to laugh maniacally, the alcohol in his system suppressing any minor shreds of dignity he had. Sir Ian removed the bottle as he laughed, biting the cork on top with his yellow-stained teeth and spitting it onto the ground.
“I dinnae believe,” Sir Ian said, “that I will be needing that any longer…” He took a long swig of the bottle, stumbling over his own feet as the liquid spilled onto his tunic.
Sir Ian tripped over one of his men, laughing as he did so. He wandered back to his seat by the fire, spitting a stream of liquor and causing the fire to puff up. He slumped onto his side, shaking his head, and cursing under his breath. He repeated Eamon and Agatha’s name over and over again, enraged by his defeat and the fact that Connor had betrayed him.
“This cannae stand,” Sir Ian said to himself. “I hae been made a fool of by those three. To hell with them all. They cannae disrespect me. I am Sir Ian! I hae accumulated all the wealth and resources I had fer years, and the maist important things tae me hae been stolen.”
Sir Ian stood up, the liquid courage in his system making him feel alive and confident. “Naw,” he said. “This will nae stand. I will exact vengeance upon the Bairds. I will return tae that village, aye. I will return and kill them all and burn it tae the ground. I will destroy Connor. I will destroy Eamon. I will take back Agatha and make her me bride, and once I hae finished with her, I will dispose of her like refuge.”
Sir Ian took another long swig, puffing his chest and feeling like he had garnered all the confidence in the world. “Aye,” he said, “that is what I will dae. I will gae back. I will take what is mine. I will—”
Sir Ian felt his breath cut short as a gust of air brushed past his ear. He then felt like his stomach was in knots, his breathing a little shallower and an odd sense of fatigue overcoming him. He reached a hand to his sternum, curious as to the change in his energy. He then brought his hand to his face, and when he saw that it was coated in blood due to the arrow jutting out of his chest, he sobered up in all of an instance.
Two of Sir Ian’s men stood up, their eyes wide with shock as Sir Ian looked down and saw the arrow sticking out of his sternum. For a moment, he thought he had been betrayed by one of his own men—but when three more arrows were launched and took down three of his men, he realized quickly what was about to transpire.
Three of Sir Ian’s men fell as a gaggle of warriors in gray tunics with flaming crosses rushed into their camp, swords raised and taking swipes at Sir Ian’s men. The Hands of God flooded the camp, taking down every single one of Sir Ian’s men quickly as Sir Ian fell to his knees.
Sir Ian watched on as his men were slaughtered quickly, the Hands of God moving like thieves in the knight as they disposed of each of the men. The assault was quick, all of Sir Ian’s men perishing in just under a minute as he remained on his knees and watched it play out with nothing shy of fear coating his eyes.
Once the attack was finished, the Hands of God stood aside and made room for their leader Simon to walk through. Sir Ian looked on in horror as Simon approached him, a relaxed and fearless gaze in Simon’s eye as he came up to Sir Ian and looked him square in the eye.
“A rather overweight man you are,” Simon said.
Sir Ian opened his mouth to speak—but only blood trickled out from the corners of his mouth. Simon then reached down and grabbed Sir Ian by the collar, dragging him to the side of the cliff like he was hauling a sack of soiled tunics.
“Gluttony,” Simon said, “is one of the seven deadly sins.” Simon dropped Sir Ian just on the edge of the cliff, standing back and burying his heel into the man’s ribs. “And make no mistake—gluttony is a sin that must be paid for in blood.”
Simon then kicked Sir Ian in the ribs, Sir Ian disappearing over the face of the cliff and falling one hundred feet. He made no sound, no noise whatsoever. After Simon heard the impact of the body hitting the ground, he stole Sir Ian’s horses and retreated with his men to their next destination—the Baird’s village.
Chapter 25
Eamon placed down the glass of whiskey in front of Connor, Connor nodding his thanks as Eamon sat across from him.
“Where is yer woman?” Connor asked.
Eamon nodded over his shoulder. “With me sister. She is resting.”
“She is Sassenach?”
Eamon nodded. “Aye. But she has naw loyalty tae the crown.”
Connor took a sip of his whiskey. “Dae ye plan tae be married?”
Eamon felt his heart skip a beat. “Married?”
“Aye. Married.”
Eamon had never considered the option before. It was the furthest thing from his mind. As much as he had feelings for Agatha, the notion of being wed again terrified him. He did not want to lose someone close to him again, being that he had lost someone he cared so deeply for. It had sent him spiraling down to a madness he had barely pulled himself out of.
“I dinnae,” Eamon said. “I hae nae considered it.”
Connor shrugged. “Life is short, me frien. All Highlanders know this mair than well. Dinnae wait until it is tae late.”
“I just feel there are mair pressing matters at hand.”
“Aye. There are. But there is always time fer family. There is always time tae show those closest tae ye that ye care fer them.”
“Are ye married?” Eamon inquired.
Connor looked out the window to his right. “Once upon a time. I had a child, too. But that is naw mair. I simply live one day at a time noo. I dinnae hae the stomach tae be married again.”
“Speaking of which,” the voice of Finlay said, approaching the table and causing Connor and Finlay tae look, “inform me son of what ye ken aboot Simon.”
Connor took another pull of his whiskey, folding his hands in front of him as Eamon leaned in to hear the story.
“Aye,” Connor said. “As I was telling yer father, Simon went rogue after the death of his wife and child, at least the apparent death of his wife and child.”
Eamon squinted, curious to know more. “What dae ye mean?”
Connor shook his head. “Simon’s wife and child are still alive. They live with a Sassenach Lord somewhere in England. This was a secret that was kept from Simon fer years noo, and he does nae possess this knowledge.”
Eamon slumped into his chair, shocked at the turn of events. “This changes everything.”
“Or nae a thing,” Finlay chimed in. “Simon is a man whose mind is lost. He is disillusioned with his plight, convinced that he is God’s true messenger sent to cleanse the Highlands.”
“Ye dinnae think,” Eamon said, “that revealing this information tae him will serve us in some way?”
Finlay shrugged. “It’s impossible tae ken fer sure,” he said. “We hae tae assume that Simon will attempt tae destroy us all, so we maist prepare fer a battle that will surely come tae our doorstep.”
“His numbers hae dwindled. After his encounter with myself and Gavina, several of his men perished.”
Connor sighed. “He will just recruit mair men. Simon is well-versed in giving ultimatums. He threatens those he recruits with death, and those who will nae join his plight are slaughtered. I am confident that he is carrying this plan through as we speak.”
Finlay looked at his son. “Gavina said that she encountered Simon and the Hands of God about two days ride from here. Does that sound correct?”
Eamon nodded. “Aye. If Simon is headed our way, then he is nae far from arriving.”
“So, what is the plan?” Connor said. “What course of action dae we take?”
“The fight will come tae the village,” Finlay said, “there is naw doubt aboot that.”
“It has happened afore,” Eamon said. “We hae fought mair th
an one clan attempting tae destroy us. Our village is strong, heavily reinforced.”
“Again,” Finlay said, “these are naw ordinary men. I fear, especially after we encountered their scout, that they hae a plan in place tae destroy the village. Naw, we maist formulate a new plan, one that brings the fight tae them.”
Connor leaned in. “So,” he said, “we rally our full forces and gae after Simon. We overwhelm him and destroy him. We hae enough combined men on hand tae make this happen. Simon is fierce, aye, but if we overwhelm him with sheer numbers, there is naw way he or his people can survive.”