Her Highland Defender (Scottish Highlander Romance) Page 10

  “So,” the scout said, squinting, “we shall wipe them out, me Lord?”

  Sir Ian nodded. “Oh, aye, we will. We shall kill every man, woman, and child in the Baird clan and burn their village tae the ground.”

  “And what of Agatha?”

  “I want her back alive, naturally. If ye thought her punishment before this transpired was dire, it has only increased tenfold. We shall bring her back here…” He showcased his yellow teeth. “And then I shall have me way with her afore spiking her head into the ground.”

  A half-hour later, Sir Ian rode with the entirety of his men out of the village, his heart set on revenge as he gritted his yellow teeth and thought about nothing save for the terrible things he had planned on doing to Agatha.

  ***

  Eamon, Gavina, the scouts, and the entire collection of the McManus clan arrived back at the village. They were greeted by Finlay, who shook hands with Donovan as he dismounted his horse.

  “Finlay Baird,” Donovan said. “A pleasure tae meet ye.”

  Finlay shook Donovan’s hand. “I hae heard much aboot ye. I cannae thank ye enough fer yer assistance.”

  “Thank me with a drink,” Donovan insisted.

  Finlay motioned to the tavern, speaking with Donovan about tactics and methods for how they would go about fending off Sir Ian and the Hands of God.

  Eamon, searching for Agatha, was greeted by her at the stoop of Finlay’s house. She hooked her arms around his neck, and the two of them embraced like they had not seen each other for years.

  “I missed you,” Agatha said.

  Eamon kissed her cheek. “I missed ye as well. Are ye alright?”

  Agatha nodded. “Yes. I just feared for your safety.”

  “Well, fear naw mair. All is well.”

  “How did it go?”

  “The McManus clan is going tae help us fend off Sir Ian and the Hands of God.”

  “And what of my fate? Your father has not said a word about what he plans to do.”

  “You will not go back to Sir Ian. That is certain…but I cannae say fer sure what he plans tae dae. All we can dae is wait until he reaches a final decision.”

  Tears began welling up in Agatha’s eyes. “Oh, my love,” she pleaded. “I am scared.”

  “Do not be,” Eamon said, stroking her cheek lightly with his finger. “I promise to protect ye. I will make sure that nae a thing happens tae ye.”

  “But war is upon us, not only from Sir Ian, but from the Hands of God as well. You know of the stories. You have heard what they are capable of.”

  “I hae. But I will nae allow ye or me tae live in fear of what may happen. All we hae is the present. We maist remain strong. If we dwell on what we cannae control, it will only drive us mad.”

  Agatha hooked her arms around Eamon’s neck and stared deeply into his eyes. “Why do you help me?” she asked.

  Eamon smiled. “I think ye ken…”

  Agatha returned the smile. “Then say it. Just once. Say it to put my mind at ease…”

  Eamon then gently pressed his lips against Agatha’s and held it for a long moment, the fire that had been kindling between them since the moment they meet growing brighter and hotter with each second that passed. “I love ye, Agatha, mair than ye can ever ken…”

  They held their embrace for several moments, and just like the times they had spent together before, nothing else mattered but the space they shared and the love they felt.

  Chapter 14

  Eamon looked his father in the eye, the villagers around them prepping for battle and reinforcing the strongholds around the village. “I am conflicted, father,” Eamon said. “I feel that I am nae leading the men properly.”

  Finlay shook his head. “It is alright tae doubt yerself. It is only natural.”

  “I hae distracted myself with a woman. It is nae right. It is nae natural.”

  Eamon crossed his arms, huffing at his son’s dismay. “Why dae ye dae this tae yerself, Eamon?”

  Eamon shrugged. “It has been this way since…” he sighed at the memory. “Since me wife died.”

  Finlay knew this to be true. He saw the look in his son’s eyes the day they buried his late wife. Eamon had been much more animated before. He had possessed a playfulness even, a sense of humor that made him a magnetic personality for him to be around. But the day his wife passed, all that had subsided. Eamon became a man who internalized more, who lived in his grief, tethered to it like a ball and chain that he dragged everywhere with him.

  “She was a fine woman,” Finlay said. “We all loved her very much.”

  Eamon closed his eyes as tightly as possible, damming up the tears he could feel surging up inside of him. Anytime he thought of his wife, anytime a memory popped into his mind, he felt nothing but intense sadness that plagued him like a disease. “It still hurts,” he said. “It still hurts just as badly as it did the day she passed.”

  “It is only natural,” Finlay said. “I feel the same fer yer mother.”

  Eamon threw up his hands. “I dinnae understand, father.”

  “Aboot what?”:

  Eamon smiled. “I am…starting to…feel things again. Good things.” He was at a loss of words—but Finlay knew full well what he was attempting to get at.

  “You feel,” Finlay said, “that ye may be starting tae love again?”

  Eamon couldn’t help himself, a single tear sliding down his cheek as he moved to a chair and sat down. “I dae,” he said. “It makes me hopeful. But I dinnae want tae lose it. I dinnae want tae fight fer it. I just wish tae enjoy it All we dae is fight. All we dae is bury our dead and wake up every morning tae fight. I dinnae want tae fight anymore, father. I hae grown weary of it.”

  Finlay stood, walking over to his son and resting his palm on his shoulder. “I hae always admired yer spirit, me son. Ye hae always felt things at such a deep and potent level.”

  “It is a curse, father. That is what it is.”

  Finlay shook his head. “It is a blessing. The love ye hae fer yer family, yer wife, yer clan, is possibly the most potent love that anyone I hae ever ken has displayed.” He smiled. “It is a gift ye inherited from yer mother.”

  Eamon huffed. “She…she always was the most loving woman I ever met.”

  “And so are ye. And ye cannae allow that tae be compromised. It is yer greatest strength.”

  Eamon dabbed away the tears and looked up at Finlay. “Or perhaps me greatest weakness. It is compromising things. It is endangering the safety of the clan.”

  “Ye are merely struggling. We all are. But I dinnae doubt ye, me son. I ken that you will rally and lead our men tae victory. And understand that ye always maist fight fer love. Ye hae tae fight fer the things that ye care fer.”

  Eamon drew a breath, his thoughts now focused on the Hands of God and the ruthless campaign they were engaged in. “I fear of these men,” he said. “They are savages of the utmost caliber.”

  Finlay held his head high, sporting a confident smirk as his tone took on an optimistic timbre. “And we are the Bairds,” he said. “Nae a man or creature in these lands has crossed our paths and attempted tae bring us down without severe consequences erupting as a result. We hae naw choice, son. We maist fight. We maist continue tae press forward.”

  Eamon breathed, standing from his chair and wandering toward the window that looked out at the village he grew up in, at the people in his clan that he loved and cared for so very much. He wanted them to survive, he wanted them all to find peace. He may not have wanted to be their leader—but it was a role that he knew he needed to fill. “I am sorry, father,” he said.

  “Fer what?” Finlay inquired with a pensive expression.

  “Fer me mistakes. Fer having tae entertain this very conversation.”

  Finlay turned his son around, holding his face in his hands and smiling with a proud beam. “Ye are human, me son. We all make mistakes. It is what makes us stronger.”

  Eamon smiled. “Then I maist be the stronge
st man in the village,” he said, somewhat sarcastically.

  Finlay returned the smile. “I concur, boy…I concur.”

  They hugged, father and son holding onto the moment as they held each other tight and felt comfort in each other’s embrace.

  ***

  Rose left the tavern to speak with Finlay and Gavina. Agatha, feeling the kick of the liquor starting to coat her veins, asked Eamon about the current state of her fate.

  “Me father still decides,” Eamon said. “But he will nae be turning ye over to Sir Ian.”

  “Can I not stay here?” Agatha asked, resting her palm on top

  of Eamon’s.

  Eamon shrugged. “It is possible. But I cannae say fer sure. We maist be patient. That is all we can dae.”

  Agatha squeezed her lover’s hand. “I just want us to be together. I feel safe with you.”

  Eamon looked her square in the eyes. “I promise I will nae leave ye, me love. Wherever ye gae—I will follow ye tae the ends of the earth. I promise.”

  Agatha breathed, doing her best to calm her nerves and accept the current uncertainty of the situation. “I hate worrying so…I just wish your father would make a decision.”

  “He will,” Eamon said. “He is a wise man. We just need tae give him the time tae figure out what tae do. But whatever decision he makes will be the right one. Ye will be safe. I swear this…”

  Eamon then leaned in and kissed his love softly on the lips. They shared another drink after that, and both of them made it a point to not speak a word about the subject of her fate.

  ***

  The village burned brightly in the background. All of the men, women, and children inside of it had been disposed of. The Hands of God, gathered in a circle around Simon, waited as he prayed with his weathered bible in hand.

  “Lord,” Simon said softly, sitting cross-legged on the ground.

  “Hear my prayer…see me and my men through this time of strife so that we set forth to do your bidding…we are here to honor you, Lord, and your will that you have so plainly stated on more than one occasion…these lands are close to being purged, and once they are, we will set about the ultimate sacrifice of laying down our lives so that we may join you in heaven…I am your servant Lord…I will forever do your bidding so that the world may know the wonders of your glory…bless us this day…accept the souls of those we have just dispatched so that they may join next to you on your throne…I pray these things now and forever more, my Lord…in God’s name I pray…amen…”

  Simon closed his bible and stood up, turning to face his men who stood with neutral expression and blood-stained swords in hands. “Bring me the survivors,” he said.

  Two of the Hands of God retreated for a moment. They then returned with four Highlander men, their tunics soaked with perspiration and hands bound behind their back. They were trembling, scanning around with wide-eyed expressions as they waited for whatever was going to happen next.

  “Place them on their knees,” Simon ordered.

  The Hands of God placed the men on their knees, lining them up alongside one another before standing back and waiting with their swords at the ready.

  Simon approached the Highlander men being held hostage, his bible still in hand and head held high. “Do you know who I am?” he asked.

  One of the Highlander men, a brute with a red beard, spat on the ground near Simon’s boot. “A bastard,” he said. “A Sassenach thug with nae regard fer any life but his own!”

  Simon took a beat before nodding to one of his men. The man then stepped forward behind the brute, raised his sword, and killed the man in a swift and fluid motion. The other Highlander’s beside him watched on in horror as the man’s body collapsed to the ground.

  “I ask again,” Simon said, “and I pray that you will not offer up an insult in reply—do you know who I am?”

  One of the Highlander men, a raven-haired bloke, slowly nodded his head. “The…the H-hands of G-God,” he stammered, fear coating his vocal chords.

  Simon smirked. “Is that what they call us? No, my dear friend. We have no name. We are merely servants to the Lord our God, just as you are…” He came to kneel in front of the man. “You all have just lost your way. You have forgotten the higher power that you serve.”

  A silence settled as Simon stood back up, nothing but the crackling of the fire burning down the village behind them filling the void.

  Simon began pacing in front of the men, clutching onto his bible like it held all the secrets to life, which, to Simon, it did. “I have spared you men,” he said, “because I sensed something in your spirits as my men set about purging your village. I saw…” He pondered for a moment, “a light within you, a willingness to do the Lord’s bidding.” He nodded to the head of the brute behind him on the ground. “He did not. He was merely an example, an example of what will happen if you do not hear me out.”

  Silence settled again.

  “W-what,” one of the Highlanders stammered, “what dae ye want?”

  Simon held out his hands in a messianic fashion. “I want to know if you wish to turn the tides, if you wish to leave your life of sin behind you and join us on a crusade to do the Lord’s bidding.”

  The raven-haired Highlander huffed. “Lord’s bidding?” he said with an incredulous tone. “Ye ken ye are killing innocent women and children?”

  Simon nodded to one of his men—they quickly beheaded the raven-haired man. The last two Highlanders trembled, worried to their wits end about saying the wrong thing.

  “Will you serve alongside me?” Simon asked. “Or shall I dispatch you now from your mortal coil as I have your friends.”

  The Highlanders shook, worried at how to respond.

  “The time has come,” Simon continued, “to purge yourself of your sins…” He rolled up his sleeve to showcase the brand of a flaming cross seared into his arm. “The time has come to join us or die, so I ask you—what will your decision be?”

  It took only a moment for the Highlanders to answer. Once they did, they were freed from their bonds, stripped naked, burned with the brand of the Hands of God, and given a pair of gray tunics with flaming red crosses to match the other men in Simon’s employ.

  The Hands of God, now sporting two new members, rode off to set about burning down another village and killing all of the residents inside of it.

  Chapter 15

  Sir Ian and his men arrived on the outskirts of the Riley clan’s village. It was quiet, not a creature stirring or a person amongst the ranks of the villagers making any kind of noise as Sir Ian and his men cautiously rode in and came to a stop.

  Four men were lined up side-by-side at the gate leading in, the burly man in the center holding up one hand with another carefully resting on the hilt of his sword. “State yer business,” he said.

  Sir Ian nodded. “Me name is Sir Ian. I hae come tae confer with Connor, yer leader.”

  The burly man shrugged. “I was nae informed of yer arrival.”

  “I understand. But time is off the essence. I wish tae speak with Connor at once.”

  The burly man took a moment to soak in Sir Ian and the rest of the men before turning to the man next to him. “Gae inform Connor of their arrival. Make haste.”

  The man hustled away, running to a nearby cottage and hustling inside.

  “What is the nature of the conversation ye wish tae hae?” the burly man asked.

  “I seek tae request Connor’s reinforcements. The Baird clan has declared war on us.”

  The burly man smirked. “The Baird clan. Aye. I ken of them.”

  Moments later, a tall and raven-haired man with his thumbs stuck into his waistband casually strolled up to Sir Ian and his men. He looked weary, somewhat annoyed perhaps at their presence. He leveled his gaze at Sir Ian and sighed. “Sir Ian,” he huffed. “And what may I ask has brought ye tae me village?”

  “I wish tae speak with ye,” Sir Ian said.

  “Clearly…but why?”

  “The
Baird clan. They hae declared war on me and me people.”

  Connor took a beat. Then he nodded, gestured to the tavern, and said: “Come. Let us hae a drink and discuss the matter.”

  Not long after, Connor and Sir Ian were seated across from each other with glasses of whiskey in hand. Sir Ian, per his gluttonous diet, had requested a plate of salted meat and was stuffing it down his gullet with no sense of pride or manners.

  Connor shook his head. “Dae ye hae naw grace, Sir Ian? Ye will be dead in a week’s time if ye dinnae watch yer eating habits.”