by Barbara Bard
Agatha slipped her arms around Eamon’s neck and squeezed. “Do not fret, Eamon,” she cooed. “I am not going anywhere.”
“It is nae that which I fear. I fear of ye being taken from me.”
“Then we will fight tae our very last breaths tae make sure that does nae happen.”
“But we hae naw guarantees. It maddens me so.” He stood, lingering toward the window toward the left and staring at the full moon overhead. “Gavina said something tae me.”
Agatha stood from the bed and stood behind Eamon. “What did she say?”
“She was entertaining the idea of leaving the village, of travelling far away from here. Of finding someplace new tae settle and call our home.”
Agatha shrugged. “What do you think? Is that something you want to do?”
It took Eamon a moment to answer. “All me life I hae lived here,” he said. “I was raised here. All of my fondest memories are here.”
Agatha tilted her head. “You know…I miss my home too. I miss England. Every day. But there is nothing left for me there, nothing but heartache and tragedy. As much as I wish I could return, I know that it is not possible. Family, home, is where your people are. It does not matter the structures, the buildings. It can all be made anew.”
Eamon nodded. “Gavina said the same.”
“Then perhaps we should leave once this is all done,” Agatha said. “It is not a bad idea.”
“But where would we go?”
“There are plenty of places in the Highlands. Aren’t there?”
“Aye. There are.”
“Then let us entertain the notion. Let us indulge the possibility of leaving here once this battle is finished and Simon has been disposed of. There are many memories attached to this place. That I understand. But so many of them are dire. And it seems that this place attracts more trouble than anything else.”
Eamon turned and wrapped his arms around Agatha’s waist. “Then,” he said, “let us entertain that possibility. But until that time—we hae mair pressing matters at hand.”
Eamon pulled Agatha in close, the two of them locking lips and breathing in deep as they took comfort in each other’s embrace. Their kissing was slow, both of them feeling that titillating sensation rising in the pit of their stomachs that was accumulating into that roaring fire of passion that still burned bright between them.
Between their passionate lip-locking, Agatha whispered into Eamon’s ear: “Do we have time?”
Eamon nodded, brushing a loose strand of hair away from Agatha’s face and tucking it behind her ear. “Aye,” he said. “We dae…”
Agatha backed up toward the bed, laying herself slowly on it as Eamon slowly stripped away his garb. Once he was naked, he assisted Agatha in disrobing, the two of them then entangling their naked flesh and dancing with one another for several moments.
They kissed slowly for a while, only kissing, the two of them taking their time for fear that it would the last chance they would ever have. After a few moments, Agatha reached down and gripped onto Eamon’s member. She spread her legs, exhaling softly as she placed Eamon inside of her.
“Go slow,” Agatha whispered, gripping onto Eamon’s arms as he began to thrust.
Eamon moved slowly, in and out, taking his time and pushing himself as deeply into Agatha as he could. She moaned. He moaned, the two of them feeling the ecstasy of the pleasure they were generating coating their entire bodies.
Eamon increased his thrusting, Agatha biting her lip and nodding in approval as he pushed harder and deeper inside of her. Agatha’s eyelids fluttered, Eamon turning up his head and smiling as they felt the moment of climax slowly creeping up on them.
At the last moment, Agatha turned over, mounting Eamon and gyrating her hips as she dug her nails into his chest. Eamon gripped onto Agatha’s buttocks as they felt the moment of climax approach, and as Agatha swayed her hips and the two of them finished at the same time, they held each other’s hands before collapsing onto their side and kissing one another for the longest of moments.
“I love you, Eamon,” Agatha said. “Know that no matter what happens, that love will never die.”
Eamon planted a kiss on Agatha’s forehead. “And I love ye, Agatha,” he replied. “And I will make it me mission tae see that we get through the other side in one peace.”
They remained with one another for the next few minutes, embracing each other’s naked bodies and taking note of every curve, blemish, and soft spot that the other sported. At the same time, they both arose from the bed, donning their clothing and smoothing their appearance before they grabbed their weapons and headed for the door.
“Come noo,” Eamon said. “The time tae protect what we love is at hand.”
***
On Finlay’s rooftop, Gavina and Connor, still watching with unblinking gazes toward the field, waited patiently for Simon’s arrival.
“Soon,” Connor said.
“What?” Gavina asked.
“Simon arrives soon. I can feel it. It’s almost as if the man gives off a scent.”
Gavina nodded. “Aye…I sense it as well.”
A beat passed, nothing but the soft hum of the night and the crackling of the fires they had set filling the air around them.
“I just want tae say,” Connor said, “that it has been a pleasure fighting alongside ye, Gavina Baird. Ye are a fearsome warrior. All the lot of ye Baird’s.”
Gavina huffed. “Aye. I cannae argue this. The Baird’s hae always been a fearsome lot.”
“It has been an honor tae serve alongside ye. Ye will always be a frien of me clan.”
“Likewise, Connor,” Gavina said, extending her hand for him to shake. “Likewise…”
The two of them embraced and shook hands, feeling the mutual respect being passed between one another as they shook. They then waited, still looking out with scrutinous gazes out at the fields, the scent of lavender thick in the air, and the archers ready to set it ablaze waiting quietly in the shadows.
Eamon and Agatha then ascended the rooftop, the two of them keeping low and quiet for fear of prying eyes and ears out in the distance.
“Dae ye see anything?” Eamon asked.
Connor shook his head. “Nae yet,” he said. “But dawn arrives soon, and Simon and the Hands of God I am sure will accompany it.”
Eamon took a glance around at the fires and the damage they had made to the village to make it appear under distress. “I hae ordered the men to rekindle the fires,” he said. “They are starting tae gae out.”
Gavina nodded. “A good idea. We dinnae need Simon tae grow suspicious.” She then looked at Agatha, at the sword gripped with a tight and rigid squeeze in her palm. “Ye fight with us?” she asked.
Agatha nodded. “Yes. This is my home now. I will fight to defend it. But I do not wish to be presumptuous. It is only by your grace that I am being allowed to be a member of this family.”
Gavina waved her hand through the air. “Aye,” she said. “Ye are one of us. Ye are nae being presumptuous. It is an honor tae hae ye fight alongside us.”
Everyone in the immediate vicinity smiled at Agatha, more than pleased and honored to have her among their ranks. The group then fell silent, their vigilant eyes kept homed in on the fields as they gingerly awaited the arrival of Simon and the Hands of God.
***
An hour away from the Baird’s village, Simon, riding alongside his man George, felt that the early stages of fatigue hit him.
“Simon,” George said. “Perhaps you should close your eyes for a spell.”
Simon shook his head. “No. The moment of battle is upon us.”
“You will not be able to fight if you cannot keep your eyes open.”
Simon waved his hand through the air, blinking his eyes to try and stave away his weary state. “God is on our side,” he said. “He will keep me vigilant.”
George reached out and placed his hands on Simon’s shoulder. “Rest, brother. If only for a brief spell. We need
our leader to guide us through this ordeal.”
Simon sighed. He knew that George was right. Steadying himself on his horse, he then slowly closed his eyes and breathed, allowing himself a brief reprieve to gather his senses as he felt himself fall into a slumber. As his eyelids fluttered and sleep overcame him, Simon then found himself in the midst of dream—one in which his wife and child greeted him at the pearly gates of heaven…
Chapter 35
Simon found himself in burning fields, every inch of it consumed by a fiery blaze that reached toward the heavens and licked the sky. Despite the fact that he was standing dead center in the middle of the blaze, not an inch of it consumed him. He could feel the warmth of the fire, licking at his skin, but he was not burned. Not any point of it touched him directly.
He breathed in deep, the smoke filling his lungs and making him feel like he was choking. Despite the fact that he was unaware of where he was, he felt like he was in familiar territory. To Simon, it felt like he had been here before, as if he was reliving a memory he had buried deep in his subconscious.
“Simon!” a familiar voice cried out from a head of him. “Simon! Help us!”
Simon’s heart skipped a beat upon hearing the voice—it was that of his wife. Though she had been gone for quite some time, and many of his memories had been suppressed, he could never forget her tone, laced with a sweet optimism even in the midst of a being surrounded by a towering inferno.
“Delilah!” he called out. “Where are you?”
“We are here, Simon!” the voice called back. “Help us! Please!”
Simon began to trot in a full-out run through the blaze, the fire parting like the Red Seas as he felt his steps heavy and sinking into the ground beneath him. He searched feverishly, unable to locate his wife’s face through the blaze.
He began to panic, throwing his hands up and feeling at a complete loss. “Delilah!” he cried out. “I cannot find you! Where are you?”
The voice did not call back. Simon began to fear the worst. The flames then began to reach higher, and higher, and higher, Simon unable to search any more as his entire vision was obscured.
He sat down in the fields, collapsing into a fetal position as he closed his eyes and squeezed. “Please,” he pleaded. “God…please make it stop…make it stop!”
The sounds of the fire then abruptly ceased. He shot open his eyes, the fires now completely extinguished, not a trace of them to be found. He found himself still in a fetal position, the earth beneath him remarkably unscathed as he slowly stood and looked around.
Simon looked from left-to-right, nothing but the breeze of the wind audible as he spoke through panted breaths: “Delilah,” he said. “Where are you?”
“We are still here, my love,” he heard his wife say.
“But I cannot see you!”
“We are alive and well, my love. We think of you every day. Cease this campaign. Cease this bloodshed.”
Simon gritted his teeth. “I cannot,” he said. “I must find you. I must bring you back to me.”
“It is too late, my love…it is too late…”
Simon hung his head, burying his face in his hands as he began to weep.
“Simon,” another voice called out. “You must awaken…we are close…Simon!”
Simon shot his eyes open. He found himself on his saddle, riding alongside George in an open field, surrounded by the Hands of God as they approached the Baird’s village.
“Simon,” George said. “Are you alright?”
Simon nodded, jutting his chin and holding his head high. “I am fine,” he said, unwavering, despite the dream, to find Eamon Baird and discover the truth about his wife. “Let us do what needs to be done.”
***
Eamon was dreaming. Most did not know when they were slumbering, but Eamon was well-aware that he was in the land of slumber. Much like the dream he had with his father, Eamon was approaching a cottage in a field of wheat. He had not seen the cottage before, but it felt familiar. It felt like home.
Standing outside the cottage was Agatha, tending to a garden as the sun shined brightly overhead. The colors of the cottage—brown, and red, and green—were vibrant. It was a resplendent display that offered a cheerful quality that he had never been used to before.
“Agatha,” he said, smiling as he approached her.
Agatha stood up, turning away from tending to her garden of lilies and showing a ripe stomach full of a baby on the cusp of arriving. “Hello, my love,” she said.
Eamon looked around. Birds were chirping. The breeze was blowing. The sky was a crisp shade of blue that Eamon had never before witnessed. The land around him was pristine, untainted by war and strife and all of the things that Eamon had grown accustomed to.
“Where are we?” he asked.
Agatha approached him, running her fingers through his hair and placing his hand on her belly. “You are home, Eamon,” she said. “You made it. You found the peace that you were always looking for.”
Eamon looked at Agatha’s pregnant belly, a sense of pride overwhelming him and bringing tears to his eyes. “You are with child?”
Agatha nodded. “I am with twins, my love. They are arriving soon.”
Eamon huffed, filled to the brim with happiness. “Twins?”
“Yes. Finlay and Isla. We named them after your parents. They will make us proud, as you have made me proud, as you have made your family proud.”
Eamon embraced Agatha, looking down at his finger and spotting a ring there he hadn’t sported before. He knew it was a dream. He knew this was not real life. But as he held his bride-to-be in the dream, he felt like it was a good omen, a prognosis of things to come.
As Eamon slowly awakened from the dream, and found himself on the rooftop of his father’s cottage and awaiting the arrival of the Hands of God, he looked at the slumbering Agatha and felt himself filled with a surge of optimism that gave him the strength to see things through to the end.
***
Agatha, also in a slumber, found herself ascending a hilltop. Everything was green, a shade she had never seen before, so vivid and rich that it was hard not to stop and soak in the beauty.
“Me love,” she heard Eamon’s voice call out.
Agatha looked to the top of the hill. Waiting for her there was Eamon, standing proudly with his hands folded in front of him. “Eamon?” she said.
He nodded, extending his hand for her to join him. “Come,” he said. “Our time tae be wed has arrived.”
Agatha was beaming. It was a happiness she had never experienced before. Feeling light as a feather, she hotfooted her way up the hill and ran into the arms of her love. They embrace, Agatha planting a warm kiss on his Eamon’s cheek and not wanting to let him go.
“Is this real?” Agatha asked. “Or am I dreaming?”
Eamon shrugged, cupping Agatha’s face in his hands. “It is a dream,” he said. “But live in it. Enjoy it. It is a prediction of things to come.”
Eamon then led Agatha by the hand up the remainder of the hill. As soon as they were at the top, the ground opened up into a small clearing, ripe with flowers of all colors and filled with a collection of people that Agatha had come to know well.
“There are so many here,” Agatha said, glancing from one person to the next. “They are here to see us wed?”
Eamon nodded. “Everyone is in attendance,” he said. “All those we love and cherish.” He gestured to the crowd. “Look fer yerself…”
Agatha looked at all the faces in attendance—she saw Gavina, waving and beaming at her proudly. She saw Rose, winking and crying tears of joy. She saw Connor. The other members of the village, everyone who had come to embrace her as one of their own.
“I am here too, my daughter…” a voice softly cooed from behind Agatha.
Agatha turned around, her eyes lighting up upon hearing the voice. As she faced the voice, she found that she was laying eyes on her mother, just as beautiful as she was when she saw her during the days
that she was happy.
“Mother!” Agatha said, jumping into her mother’s arms and weeping happily.
“My daughter,” Agatha’s mother said. “I knew that you would arrive. I just knew it.”
“I miss you so much. I miss you every day!”
Agatha’s mother ran her fingers through Agatha’s hair, just like she did when she was a child to offer her comfort. “I miss you too, my daughter,” she said. “But I look down on you from the heaven’s every day. I always knew that you would find your happiness. Enjoy it. Live with it. You have earned it.”
Agatha embraced her mother as she looked to her left, Eamon staring back at her with a proud expression.