by Barbara Bard
Finlay could see the red stains on Sean’s teeth. It almost gave off the appearance of blood from the way they were caught in the moonlight. “This is nae what ye should be indulging in, Sean.”
“And what might that be?”
Finlay shook his head. “Put down the bottle, Sean. Ye are thrawn right noo. Ye are still mourning the death of yer brother.”
Sean defiantly took another drink of the bottle and took a step closer to Finlay. “And whose fault might that be, Finlay Baird?” He pressed a finger into Finlay’s chest and pressed. “Ye were the one who told us tae charge? Who was the one who lead us into that attack?”
Finlay held up his hands in submission. “Sean,” he pleaded. “I beg of ye—this is nae the way. Ye need rest. Ye need to have a level head.” He then reached out for the bottle in a gentle motion to take it away, hoping that Sean wouldn’t follow through with his intentions—but Sean slapped Finlay’s hand away, his chin held high and the stink of wine coming off of him in waves.
“Naw, Finlay Baird,” Sean said. “Ye dinnae give the orders around here. I was foolish enough tae follow them the first time around, and me brother was murdered by those Sassenach mongrels as a result.”
“Sean,” Finlay repeated. “Please…”
A moment passed—and then Sean threw a punch. Between his drunken state and Finlay’s superior size it was quite easy for Finlay to duck to his right and out of the way.
Sean wobbled, his feet struggling to find the ground beneath him, as he managed to keep the wine bottle still gripped tightly in his hand.
“Stop, Sean,” Finlay said, curious heads now poking out of their dwellings to get a look at the commotion. “This is nae the way!”
Sean took another drink from the bottle before throwing it over his shoulder, the bottle smashing to pieces as he raised his fists and took on a defensive stance. “Fight, ye bastard,” he taunted, waving Finlay on. “Show me what kind of man ye really are.”
“I will nae do this.”
Sean took another swing, this time from the left and forcing Finlay to move left and raise his arm to block the blow before shoving Sean to the ground.
“Enough, Sean!” Finlay screamed as Denholm and Isla were rousted from their tents. “I will nae fight ye!”
Sean pushed off the ground, his legs pumping and teeth gritting. “So be it,” he said, spitting the mud that had gotten in his mouth as he rushed toward Finlay.
Finlay didn’t want to hurt the man, but as Sean was rushing toward him with all the anger and furiousness in the world fueling his fire, he knew he had no choice. As Sean threw two punches with his right and left, Finlay ducked under the first, blocked the other, and countered with a solid punch straight into Sean’s stomach that he hoped would finally end the fight.
The wind was knocked out of Sean—but he was far and away from giving up. As Isla approached in a hustle and shouted out: “Stop!” it did nothing more for Sean than further add to the anger that was saturating his mind.
“Quiet, ye!” he shouted at Isla, pointing a finger. “This bastard killed me brother!” He then rushed back toward Finlay, his fist raised high over his head and coming down for another blow when Finlay used all of his might to run into Sean and tackled him onto his back.
“Stop!” Finlay shouted.
Sean threw another punch in reply, but before he had a chance to shout out another retort, Finlay cocked his elbow, threw it into Sean’s temple twice, and knocked the poor man out cold.
Finlay stood back, the eyes of the clan upon him and gathering in a circle as Isla stared at him with a wide set of eyes. “I dinnae want to do that,” he said. “I dinnae want to…”
The crowd stood around for a few moments as Denholm and another man set about picking up Sean from the ground and shaking him out of his slumber. Mumbling and drowsy, Sean continued to stare at Finlay in disgust as he was hauled away, the clan looking at Finlay Baird now like a wild animal that they had made the mistake to bring into their home.
He looked at Isla. “I am so sorry,” he said. “I dinnae ken what else to say.”
Isla looked upon him for a long moment, her arms crossed. Every fear she had about Finlay’s involvement in her life becoming validated in an instance. She then turned away, crossed her arms, and moved back inside her tent. The rest of the clan then dispersed not long afterwards, leaving Finlay alone in the cold and dark with nothing but his thoughts and regrets to keep him company.
Chapter 18
Isla was still awake. She had no recollection of what time it was, but she knew a spell had passed since Sean’s scuffle with Finlay outside of the tent. She was laying on her back, her eyes closed and every emotion and thought running through her mind keeping her occupied in a way that she wished it wouldn’t.
“Isla,” a voice called out timidly from the front of the tent.
Isla, brought out of her haze, saw Gavina standing with a bowed head and saddened expression, waiting for permission to enter. “Gavina?” she said. “What are ye doing up at this hour?”
Gavina walked inside, worried about being scolded for not slumbering. “I couldn’ae sleep, nae after Finlay Baird and Sean were scuffling.”
Isla sighed, motioning her younger sister over to sit with her on her cot as she sat up. “Dinnae ye ken,” she said, “that young ladies such as ye require sleep to grow?”
A nod from Gavina. “Aye. But I cannae. I fret so.”
“Why dae ye fret?”
A shrug. “I am scared…I am scared of what is going tae happen…”
Isla felt the tug at her heartstrings and pulled Gavina in close, cooing in her sister’s ear as she delicately ran her fingers through her hair. “Dinnae fret, me young one. There is nae reason tae be scared.”
“Then why dae the clan fret so? I hear the men and women speak of what will transpire. They say that the Sassenach are close, that we dinnae have long tae live.”
“Who says that?”
“All. Every person in the clan.”
Isla shook her head in defiance, both for her own peace of mind and that of her younger sister. “It is nae true, me dear sister. We merely struggle. We are trying tae find a new home, and that can cause much strife and hardship.”
Gavina looked up at Isla with a pleading set of eyes. “Then why dae they say the things that they are saying?”
Isla thought a moment on how to best phrase it, but she knew that her sister was smart, smarter perhaps than she should have been for a young girl her age. “When people are scared,” she said, “they try tae say things that will make the circumstances make sense.”
Gavina squinted. “What dae ye mean?”
A shrug. “It is a little hard to explain. But when a person feels fear, when they are uncertain of how tae handle all of the hardships of life they look fir reasons tae justify their fear.”
“They get angry.”
“Exactly, my dear sister.”
Gavina processed her sister’s words of wisdom. “So what they say is nae true? That bad things are going tae happen?”
Isla shook her head. “Nae, me love.” She cupped her sister’s face in her hands and looked her square in the eyes. “I will never let anything happen tae ye. Never.”
Gavina then buried her face into Isla’s chest, sobbing and sniffling, praying that her sister would make all the terrible things in the world that plagued them go away. “I want tae gae home,” she said through her weeping. “I just want tae gae home!”
“I know, me love,” Isla said, trying will all her might to hide her own tears. “And we will—I promise ye, we will…”
The two of them held the moment for a long while, sobbing and holding onto one another for dear life, trying to make the moment of alleviation last for as long as humanly possible. Eventually, when all their energy had been expended, Isla wiped the remnants of perspiration from her sister’s cheeks and smiled proud. “She wid be proud of ye, ye ken…”
“Whae?”
“Mother.”
A sorrowful nod. “I miss her.”
“As do I…But she left behind a legacy, my young Gavina.” Isla pressed Gavina on her button-sized nose. “Ye are that legacy. One day, who ken when, ye will be the one who leads the clan. Ye will be the next leader.”
Gavina perked up. “Is this so?”
A nod. “It is so. And understand that nae matter what happens; even when ye are in the position of leadership, there will always be hardships tae handle.”
“Father said the same.”
“He was a wise man.”
A moment passed. Gavina squinted. “He likes ye, ye ken.”
A smile from Isla. “Whae?”
“Finlay Baird. And ye like him. Ye can see it in yer eyes when ye look at each other.”
Isla nodded her head but found that any words to describe how she was feeling were evading her. “He is a good man,” she eventually said. “But he will nae be here once we find our new home.”
“Why?”
“Because that is the way it must be, me love. Finlay Baird has his clan, we have our own.”
Gavina shook her head. “But all of his people have perished,” she said. “He has no family left.”
Isla knew the words to be true, but she worried about Gavina’s inquisitive nature further adding to her already conflicted state and decided to move the conversation in a direction she knew would distract the young one. “Remember father’s favored song?” she said.
Gavina beamed. “Aye!”
Isla propped Gavina on her lap, tucked her hair behind her ears, and began to sing, softly enough that it would not wake the others but loud enough that she could still harmonize with her sister. “In this land,” Isla sang, “all yer dreams come true…”
“In this land,” Gavina joined in, “the skies are always blue…”
The two continued to sing, happily lost in the moment and cherishing every note of the song. They repeated it twice, the lyrics and gentle nature of the music eventually causing Gavina’s eyelids to flutter and eventually putting her to sleep. Isla then stayed beside her sister and stayed awake the rest of the night, hoping and praying that her youngest sibling would make it through the fray and fulfill her journey of one day becoming the sterling and brilliant woman their mother and father knew she would be.
Finlay was by the now depleted fire, his eyes fixated on the burning timbers as they dance and cracked in the charcoal-black wood. He felt enraged, uncertain, worried that Sean, who Denholm had finally put to rest in his tent, would awake the next morning, which was only a few hours away, and proceed to go about finishing what he had drunkenly started the night before. “Ye cannae sleep,” a low voice said from behind him.
Finlay turned around and saw Denholm standing over him, a weary look in his eye and a bottle of wine in his hand. “Naw,” Finlay said, focusing back on the dead wood in front of him. “I think that I lost whatever potential I had for it after Sean tried to hit me.”
Denholm shook his head and sat beside Finlay. “Aye,” he said, tossing a glance over his shoulder in the direction of Sean’s tent. “Poor bastard suffered a great loss today.”
“He blames me.”
“He shouldn’t. It was not yer fault.”
“Then why does it feel like it is…?”
“Trust me—it is nae the case.”
Finlay shook his head. “I have been told me entire life that I am tae headstrong, brash, without reserve. It is what…” he held back his tears. “It is what killed me love, so many years ago.”
Denholm squinted. “What dae ye mean?”
Finlay thought back to the past, playing back in all its vivid colors. “I stood up tae a man who insulted her one day, and Sassenach Lord that hae recently occupied a village. He hae nae claim tae the land. He was bound tae leave the following day. But I struck him. Insulted him…he took out his wrath on my sister and me love as a result.” Finlay held his head in his hands, recounting even more stories of his hot-natured quality that caused him to make some very poor choices. “I hae done it again,” he said, shaking his head. “I hae gotten a man killed when I should hae called fer reinforcements.”
“Ye can sit there and ponder through the past all ye want, but it will nae change the outcome of what transpired. Ye drive yerself mad with wondering what might or could have been, Finlay Baird. It is not a healthy state of mind to pursue.”
Denholm sighed, leaning back and perching up on his arm as he bit the cork off the bottle and spit it into the fire pit. “All are confused right noo,” he said, shrugging. “Scared. Uncertain. There is only so much suffering that people can endure before they lash out.” He took a swig, and then offered the bottle to Finlay. Finlay shook his head. “Come, now,” Denholm pleaded. “Drink with me. It is a poor wine anyway. We will nae get pished from this pithy excuse for a drink. Besides, I cannae run the risk of allowing Sean to partake in any more…”
Finlay considered his options and threw caution into the wind. He took the bottle, took a sip, and passed it back to Denholm. A moment passed, Denholm’s mouth opening as he debated telling Finlay what he had overheard as he checked on Gavina in Isla’s tent. “Ye and me sister,” he said, Finlay perking up when he heard the words, “are together…are ye nae?”
Finlay didn’t know how to reply. It took him a moment to muster the courage. “Naw,” he said. “It is nae like that.”
Denholm drew a breath. “I hae been around for some time, Finlay Baird. I ken when a man and woman are drawn tae one another.”
Finlay waved him off. “It was a mistake. Isla said so herself.”
“And she is wrong, my dear frein. I ken my sister. I ken when she is pushing away things that she ken is good fer her.”
Finlay shifted his weight, leaning in toward Denholm. “What dae ye mean?”
Denholm exhaled. “She has been scared tae love ever since the last man was taken fae her. It is only natural. When something good comes her way, she thinks the worst, tries tae find reasons tae leave or cast out those good things. She has done it all of her life.”
It all began to make sense for Finlay, yet he himself was scared of becoming invested in someone who did not want him in return. He exhaled his frustrations, not knowing what to do or what to think. “Life is tae complicated, Denholm.”
A laugh. Another swig. “Why would one ever think such a thing?”
“I just wish I ken. I dinnae ken what tae do.”
“No one does, Finlay Baird.” He leaned in, passing the bottle over to Finlay and whispering like he was divulging a secret. “And that is what all those in existence seem to not grasp.”
Finlay drank. “Which is?”
“That we are all seeking answers, that we all wish to ken everything and be free of guilt or concern. But that is nae life. That is nae how it works. The struggle will be persistent, and it is just a matter of embracing that chaos in order tae function. There is nae closure. There is nae absolutes…”
Finlay huffed. “It sounds as if ye hae it all figured out, Denholm.”
Denholm shook his head. “Hardly. I struggle with these concepts every day, even as I sit ‘ere and divulge these pearls of wisdom tae ye.”
Finlay took a moment. “So…” he began, “how does one, as you say, ‘embrace the chaos’?”
Denholm pondered the notion. Then he gestured to the bottle. “Pass me that bottle,” he said, “maybe it will offer up some answers.” The two then laughed as they shared the drink, momentarily forgetting about their struggles, talking about frivolous anecdotes for a short while before they felt the liquor beginning to make them dreary.
“We must try tae sleep,” Denholm said. “We have to move in the morra.”
“Aye,” Finlay said, passing back the bottle. “That we dae.”
Denholm stood, groaning and stretching as he placed his hands on his hips and thought of something to bid Finlay before his departure. “Just try tae rest,” he said. “I promise that ye and me sister are not finished with…” he
shrugged, “whatever it may be that ye are involved in.”
Finlay nodded, comforted by Denholm words and feeling as if he might be able to acquire a few hours of sleep before the sun peaked over the horizon. “Aye, Denholm,” he said with a nod. “And thank ye.”
“Always.” Denholm then turned to leave. But he turned back, a serious yet playful look in his eye before he said: “But if ye hurt her…” he didn’t finish the rest.
“Ye will kill me?” Finlay asked with a smile.
Denholm pointed. “Ye are a smart man, Finlay Baird. A wise, wise man…”