Page 15 of Flanders’ Folly (The Curse of Clan Ross #7)

15

HOME AND HEARTH

* * *

T he journey to Todlaw took most of the day. What should have been a direct route became a winding path as they avoided main roads and open spaces, sticking to the cover of forests. The group moved as one, a strange, silent caravan of the displaced.

The fifteen women and one lassie from the pit was now a party of over forty, what with husbands and eleven wee-uns. Some of them rode on their fathers' shoulders or on horseback. The women, despite their ordeal in the pit, showed remarkable resilience. And through it all, Flanders and Robert were prepared for a pursuit that never came.

By the time Todlaw's walls appeared on the horizon, it was late, and the orange of the sunset glowed behind the silhouette of Flanders’ beloved home and elicited a collective sigh from its new guests.

Flanders signaled to the watchtower with a whistle, and the gates swung open to receive them. As they filed in, the people of Todlaw filled the outer bailey to see for themselves that their young laird had returned hale and healthy. Word spread quickly, and soon Gerts’ people were provided with blankets, hot food, and a warm welcome. Robert took it upon himself to find shelters for them all.

Flanders escorted Lady Stephan to the main tower where she and Brigid were fed. Despite his protests, women from the kitchens soon came to lead Brigid away, along with Gerts so they could bathe. He realized the stench of the pit had attached itself to him as well, so he hurried to do the same.

* * *

Brigid lowered herself into the giant barrel and silently wept for the joy of being surrounded completely by steaming water. It had been so long since she’d been able to indulge in such luxury, and she’d needed it more than she realized. And not just to remove the stench and soil from the past two days.

Likely due to her gift of premonition, she’d been unable to get warm since they’d set out on their Mabon journey. No matter where she found herself—inside some keep, sitting by a fire, or simply wrapped tight in layers of wool, she’d shivered like a fevered bairn. Perhaps her bones had known how much time she’d be spending in that foul, cursed pit or beneath that pallet, in the dugout, huddled against the cold earth.

Or maybe it was the sure knowledge that death had been waiting for her and her sister.

Heaven only knew why she had been spared. But now, the danger had passed. She was devastated and lost without her other half, but she was safe. There was no doubt Flanders would never allow such monsters near her again, so she should, at the very least, be able to breathe slow and relax a mite. And yet…

She tried to sit perfectly still while the women of Todlaw aided Gerts, and though the water around her had settled, waves bubbled up around her and moved away in tiny circles that quickly flattened and died.

Her body trembled. Violent and steady. And no matter how she concentrated, she couldn’t make it stop. Warm and safe and her worries taken from her, and yet her body was trying to tell her something.

A young woman came to the side of the barrel and smiled, then worried when she met Brigid’s eyes. “Auch, lass, what is it?”

“I…I can’t make it stop.”

“What? The shakin?” She smiled again. “Give it time. I remember when my ma brought me to Todlaw. It took a long while before I truly believed I was safe. Ye’re mind might ken it, and yer ears might have heard, but I reckon yer body doesn’t yet understand. It doesn’t mean ye’re broken.”

“W…what are ye called?”

“I’m Willa.”

“Ye’re a comfort, Willa, and I am grateful.”

While Willa helped her wash her hair and her body, the shaking continued, and her helper chatted soothingly through it all. Only when she was dry and dressed and seated before a freshly stoked kitchen fire did her body finally stop denying the blessings she’d been given.

* * *

Despite how thorough he was, Flanders still had to wait another hour before Brigid was returned to him. Then she appeared beside the fireplace in the great hall like an angel with a mane of fire-red hair, her face pink from scrubbing, her eyes wet with tears, and a timid smile on her face.

He’d seen her just like this in his dreams, every detail the same, down to the pale green of her robe.

"Ye've built something remarkable here," she said. With her arms wrapped tightly around herself, he assumed she was either cold or unsure, and he had the cure for either. While he distracted her with words, he took hold of her hand and led her to the laird’s chair, where he sat and pulled her onto his lap. She noticed every movement but, to his delight, she didn’t resist.

"James built it," he said. "I merely maintained it until Young Duncan was grown and able. Though I don’t think my old friend ever intended to leave it behind.”

“James is legend in our clan. Or rather, the man who…took him away is legend.”

“I remember.” He settled his arms around her. “Wickham, wasn’t it?”

“That is what they say.”

“I have always wondered how this…Wickham…knew when and where to come.”

She shrugged, her lovely shoulder rubbing against his chest in the doing. “We are told, when anything important or particularly distressing happens to any of us, we are to get word to The Grandfather—the chieftain of the Muir witch clan. Thomas did so after James and his woman were taken away. When Laird Stephan took Bella…” She exhaled carefully and tried again. “Thomas and Torquil wanted to stay, to try to save her, but I insisted they go home, to report it to The Grandfather.”

“And delivering this report was more important than yer life?”

Brigid shook her head. “I knew—I could see it—that they both would be taken and they would share our fate if they tried to free us. So, I sent them away to protect them. I knew my vision would come to be. They couldn’t stop it. But then, the women…they saved me.”

He pulled her head closer so he could kiss her forehead—a personal gesture of gratitude. “So, is there anything ye believe this grandfather can do for ye?”

She shrugged again. “I cannot imagine what. Thomas said only that he wrote about Wickham and James and the woman in the margins of his book.”

“He recorded that James Duncan and Phoebe were taken away…by Wickham.”

“Yes.”

He chuckled. “Well, perhaps James will think it amusing when he reads this book in the future.”

She smiled. “You believe they went to the future?”

“I do. Someday, I’ll explain. Someday, when we’ve run out of things to talk about.”

She smiled and laid her head on his shoulder, and he marveled at how harmoniously their bodies melded together. For a long while, they simply listened to the crackling of the burning wood. And when she spoke again, she didn’t raise her head.

“Flanders?”

“Aye?”

“Do ye suppose the chaos is behind us? Or yet to come.”

“Auch, we're together now. Will it matter?"

* * *

When she began to fall asleep in his arms, he took pity on her and carried her to the stairwell and to his chamber on the upper level. He’d had his things tucked away and a fire lit. Fresh linens on the bed, a heavy blanket, and someone had placed a cup of wildflowers on the table.

"This is too grand," she protested.

"Nonsense. Ye’re a guest."

She raised an eyebrow. "Is that what I am? A guest?"

He pulled her against him and held her there. She was the dream he’d longed for and the answer to that dream, but he worried he might frighten her if he admitted as much. But neither did he wish her to misunderstand him, which she might if he quibbled.

"Ye're whatever ye wish to be," he said carefully. " Todlaw is yers for as long as ye desire it."

She studied him. "And what of its laird? Is he mine as well?"

He could not hide his delight. "Auch, lass, I've been yers since that night in the forest, though I didn't truly know it until I thought ye dead."

“And now that ye know I live?"

He chuckled. "Now…now I think I should catch my tongue in my teeth lest I frighten ye away. Besides, I should promise nothing until Stephan and Heslington are dealt with."

Her smile disappeared. "Ye mean to go back."

"Aye."

"When?"

"At first light."

She nodded slowly, as if she'd expected this. "I'm coming with ye."

"Not for all the world!"

"Yer permission is irrelevant."

Flanders realized that with this woman, he would have to pick his words carefully. “See reason. I cannot do what I must do if I must also see to yer protection. Need I remind ye that ye nearly died there once already?"

"And yet, here I stand." She lifted her chin defiantly. "I mean to avenge my sister.”

“And I mean to do that avenging for ye. If ye’ll but stay where I ken ye are safe?—"

"Safe?" She scoffed. “If my death is at hand, if my vision was truly for both Bella and me, it matters not where I go. My death will come. Besides,” she smiled to one side, “my magic might prove useful."

"Magic won't stop a sword."

"No, but it might prevent the need for one."

He studied her face, saw the determination there, and knew he was fighting a losing battle. "Ye're a stubborn woman, are ye?”

Pain flared in her eyes. "Aye. A family trait, I’m afraid.”

Flanders understood what he must do, but he feigned surrender. "Very well. But ye stay behind me at all times. And if I say run, ye run. No arguments."

She nodded. "Agreed."

"Sleep," he said, and stepped back, though he dearly wanted to linger. “Tomorrow will come soon enough."

"Flanders." Her voice stopped him. When he turned, she was standing in the center of the room, suddenly looking small and vulnerable. "Will ye stay? Just for a wee while?"

“Nay, lass. When the two of us make our memories, I’ll have no others standin’ in the way. But I’ll sit outside yer door for a mite, until ye sleep.”

She nodded. "But tell me, what will ye do when ye face Stephan and Heslington?"

Flanders had been asking himself the same. "What needs to be done," he answered. "No more, no less."

"That's not an answer."

"It's the only one I have."

She studied his eyes as if searching his soul, his heart. "Ye're not a cruel man, Flanders Leesborn. Don't become one to answer their cruelty."

He managed a simple nod and took his leave.

While he sat outside her door he wondered if she'd had a glimpse of tomorrow and knew what he might be compelled to do. And if so, he hoped it was only a glimpse, lest she see all he was capable of.