Page 18 of Flanders’ Folly (The Curse of Clan Ross #7)

18

NOT SO COMPLICATED

* * *

B rigid found Gerts in a small chamber above stairs sorting through a basket of clothing. The older woman's face brightened when she saw her, though the smile held back a world of grief. She retreated to a long bench and patted the empty space beside her.

"Come sit with me, child."

Brigid joined her and together, they held hands and listened to the distant bustling of a castle preparing for a siege.

"I am sorry," Gerts said quietly. "Bella was a joy."

An unexpected sob caught Brigid off guard. "I keep turning to tell her something, and she's not there."

Gerts set aside her wad of clothing, took Brigid into her arms, and let her weep until she was exhausted. A great storm had been brewing inside her and now that it had been unleashed, there was no reining it back. And through it all, Gerts held on.

Finally, the wave of grief began to ebb, and she straightened and mopped her face. "We could speak through our thoughts, did ye know that? We didn't need words.” Brigid swallowed back another sob for fear of starting all over again. "Now there's just...silence."

Gerts nodded, her eyes glistening. "I remember how the two of ye would laugh, suddenly, as if ye’d heard the same jest, when not a word was spoken. So aye, I suspected as much."

"It was four years ago we saw our deaths in yer forest. I was always so certain it would be the both of us.”

"And yet, here ye are." Gerts squeezed her fingers. "Perhaps ye were spared for a reason."

"A reason for her and not for me?”

"No one can know, lass. But remember that Bella would rejoice that ye were spared, so ye should do the same. To do otherwise is to mock her memory."

For the first time since it happened, Brigid felt the weight of a sister’s responsibility lighten, if only a little. But it was enough to give her a dose of hope. Maybe her duty wasn’t to grieve for the rest of her life after all. Bella certainly wouldn’t want that.

She considered her friend. "How can ye be so calm? Yer husband sits outside these walls, demanding the return of us all."

Gerts snorted, some of her usual spirit back in her smile. "Hector doesn't want me back because he misses me. He hates to lose, especially to Flanders Leesborn."

"Why especially?"

"Because Flanders was James Duncan's right hand, and James was the bane of Hector’s existence." Gerts chuckled. "That man drove my husband to distraction. James with his clever words, almost magical fighting skills, and his strange ways…”

"Magical fighting?”

“Auch, ye’d have to see it to believe it. Taught Flanders and all his fighting men as well. The Bruce favored no man without good reason.”

“In any case, I am relieved ye’re quit of that man.”

"What I’m relieved of is cultivating all that hensbane, of sneaking out to harvest it. Relieved of the ruses to get him to drink it. Relieved of my duty to protect the others. Let someone else step up now.”

“A sad marriage to be sure.”

“No marriage at all. Now, tell me how ye feel about our handsome rescuer. I heard ye this morn. Tell me ye don’t truly wish him roastin’ on a spit with his own longsword."

Heat rushed to Brigid's cheeks. "I didn't say?—"

"Aye, ye did. Only ye suggested he skewer himself.” Gerts winked. “A fine trick, though if anyone could manage it…” Then she laughed.

Brigid groaned and covered her face. "I was angry."

"We heard." Gerts pried Brigid's hands away from her face. "What did the poor man do?"

"He lied to me." Brigid sighed. "He promised I could go with him back to Gallabrae, then he locked me in the bedchamber while I slept."

Gerts stared at her for a long moment, then laughed again. "Oh, child. My husband planned to burn me alive, and ye're upset because Flanders wanted to keep ye safe?"

"It's not that simple," Brigid protested. "He looked me in the eye and lied."

"And saved yer life in the process." Gerts shook her head. "Some men try to prove their love with pretty words and gifts. Others show it by making sure ye live to see another sunrise."

"Love? No, it's not that. He feels responsible for me now, that's all."

"Is it?" Gerts raised an eyebrow. "I saw the way he looked at ye in the pit. That wasn't duty in his eyes."

Brigid looked away. Though she lived through the same hellish night, the woman didn’t understand, and Brigid wouldn’t try to explain. “I just need him to realize that he owes me nothing. He's done enough for me already."

"Owes ye nothing?" Gerts hummed. "Ye think a man like Flanders Leesborn does anything he doesn't want to do?"

Before Brigid could respond, they heard footsteps and looked up. Flanders himself filled the doorframe. His eyes found hers immediately, and something in her chest tightened at the delight in his gaze.

"Ladies," he greeted them with a slight bow. "I'm not interrupting?"

"Not at all," Gerts said, patting the bench on her other side. "Join us."

He settled beside them, his broad shoulders making the space suddenly small. "I came to speak with ye, Gerts. About yer husband."

"Ah." Gerts nodded. "I heard he's back to his nasty self now that Heslington's dead."

"Aye. And that's what concerns me." Flanders leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "He seems certain he'll win this standoff. Do ye ken any reason he might believe The Regent would side with him?"

Gerts frowned, considering. "I can think of nothing. Hector has some friends at court, but he never speaks of them to me, and I pay little attention to his braggin’ to others."

"Could he have discovered something? Have some leverage over Thomas Randolph?"

"Nothing I’ve heard." Gerts shook her head. "But if he’s true to his old form, he won't wait for The Regent's decision. He'll strike now, before anyone can order him not to. Blame someone else for not stopping him soon enough. That's his way."

"Then nothing has changed."

"And The Regent can’t punish him for what is The Regent's own fault." Gerts' eyes narrowed. "And be prepared. He’ll have two thousand men ready to scale the walls by morning."

Flanders cursed under his breath. "That's what I feared."

"No doubt it is why he is so confident. And remember, he has ever planned to scale yer curtain wall since the moment he saw it."

Brigid was shocked the woman could speak so casually about something that might mean death for them both.

Flanders' gaze shifted to her and his voice softened. "How do ye fare?"

She wanted to reach for him, to feel his arms around her as she had the night before. To let him make her feel safe again, to give her hope. But she held back. He'd done enough. More than enough.

"I'm well," she said stiffly.

A flicker of hurt crossed his face before he masked it. "Good. That's...good."

Gerts looked between them and rolled her eyes. "Saints preserve us from stubborn fools."

Flanders stood. "I should return to the war council. Gerts, if ye think of anything else that might help us guess his plan, find me."

"I will."

He hesitated, his eyes finding Brigid's once more. "Will ye join us for the evening meal?"

She nodded, not trusting her voice.

With a final bow, he left, his broad shoulders filling the doorway before he disappeared from view, and she was left, once again, to watch his backside moving away from her.

Gerts rolled her eyes. "Ye're a fool, girl."

"Am I?"

"That man would move mountains for ye, and ye push him away because he tried to keep ye safe?"

"It's not so simple," Brigid protested again.

"It never is," Gerts agreed. "But sometimes, it is not so complicated."