Page 26 of Flanders’ Folly (The Curse of Clan Ross #7)

26

HE’S COMING TO TAKE ME AWAY

* * *

T hat night, Brigid couldn't sleep knowing the war council was still trying to formulate a plan to warn Stout Duncan he was walking into a trap, and to avoid bloodshed. Eventually, she gave up trying, donned her robe, and padded down the hall to see if the men had made any progress. She found Gerts sitting on a bench just outside the door, sleeping soundly, snoring like a well-mannered bear.

Brigid shook her shoulder. "Gerts, go to bed. Nothing more ye can do but rest up, aye?"

The old woman nodded, and Brigid asked a servant to help the lady back to her chambers. Once they were gone, she inched close to the door to listen. A cold night breeze flowed out in a steady stream to ruffle her hair and cool her toes, but the open windows in the room weren't doing much to cool tempers.

"We've been over this a dozen times," Hemming growled. "We can't attack first. Not with Atholl's signature on that judgment. We'd be rebels against The Crown."

"What about the silver?" Robert asked, his voice strained with fatigue. "We could still try to buy Atholl off."

"The bastard wouldn't take it," Snorre replied. "Not now. He's committed himself, sent a copy off to Stirling. If he changes his mind, Stephan will tell Randolph he was bribed. I should have tossed the bastard out this window when I had the chance."

"What if we smuggled the women out?" Rolf suggested. "Through the drainage tunnel?"

"That tunnel's barely wide enough for a child," Flanders said. "And it leads straight to the river. We'd be sending them to drown."

"We could dig a new tunnel," Hemming offered.

"In a night?" Flanders scoffed. "Even if we had a month, we couldn’t dig far enough to reach past Stephan's men."

"What about a distraction?" Robert tried again. "Set fire to something on the far side of the camp?"

"And what then?" Hemming asked. "We still have to get a messenger past their lines. And they'll be watching for exactly that sort of trick."

"We could dress the women as men," Rolf said. "Hide them among our soldiers."

"Possibly. But what would they do to the children, to get them to confess where their mums have gone?" Flanders huffed. “Besides, Stephan likely knows their faces well enough to spot them."

"What about the coins?" Snorre asked. "We could bribe those who watch the postern."

"Possibly. A last resort,” Robert said. He sounded as sleepy as Gerts. “Someone write that down."

"A bird then," Hemming said. "A messenger pigeon. Where can we?—”

“Balmerino Abbey.” Flanders shook his head. “There are better places to send a rider.”

Brigid stepped into the doorway, selfish or not, she wanted Flanders to see her, to choose her, and to find his rest.

Her bright bear looked up. His features softened immediately. "Brigid," he said, with relief. "Ye should be restin’."

"As should all of ye," she replied. "Ye'll think better with clear heads."

Flanders stood and stretched his massive frame. "The lass is right. We've exhausted every option ten times over. Let us adjourn until mornin’. Perhaps something will come to us in our sleep."

The others nodded, too weary to argue further. They filed out past Brigid, each nodding respectfully as they passed. Robert was the last to leave, pausing to clasp Flanders' shoulder.

"We'll find a way," he said, though his voice lacked conviction.

When Flanders would have pulled her into his arms, she took his hand and led him back to his chamber—her chamber now—and guided him to a chair. The fire had burned low, but still cast enough light to see the deep lines of worry etched into his face.

"Sit."

He obeyed.

She moved behind him and placed her hands on his shoulders where she felt hard knots in the already firm muscles. Slowly, she began to rub at them.

He sighed. "I’ve never before appreciated yer hands as I do now.”

She moved her attention to his neck. "I am a healer."

His head dropped forward as she worked, and his breathing deepened. When she moved to his temples, he lifted his head closer to her and sighed again with pleasure.

"Brigid," he said after a while. “Could ye...could ye try to see what's comin’?"

Her hands stilled. "I've tried before. I saw only darkness."

"Will ye try again? Please?"

She moved around to face him and knelt on the thick rug at his feet. Since his touch was what triggered that other vision, she took his hands in hers, closed her eyes, and considered the future. At first, there was nothing, just the familiar void that had greeted her previous attempts.

"I see nothing," she whispered, opening her eyes.

"Once more," he urged. "For me."

She nodded and closed her eyes again, concentrating harder this time. That blackness returned to swallow her, but this time, it seemed as if something lurked just inside. Waiting for her.

"Still nothing," she said, though her voice wavered slightly. "Little more than the darkness."

"Ye see? An improvement already. Keep on.”

Breathing deep, she reached out, imagined pushing past the darkness, straining to see what lay beyond. When she couldn’t penetrate it, she allowed her thoughts to turn and go where they would. In mere seconds, impressions came flooding—men on horseback, hundreds of them, thundering across the landscape. Some wore Stephan's colors, others bore unfamiliar standards. And among them...

She gasped and pulled her hands from Flanders’. Her body began to quake.

"What is it?" Flanders asked, alarmed. "What did ye see?"

"Men," she whispered. "So many men. Riding on Todlaw. Men ye’re not expecting." She bit her lip, unwilling to continue. A tear escaped and traced a path down her cheek.

"There's more. Don’t be afraid. Tell me."

She shook her head, but he took her chin in hand and gently forced her to meet his gaze.

"Tell me, Brigid. Whatever it is, it’s better to know so we can prepare."

"A man is coming," she finally said, her voice breaking. "To take me away."

Flanders' face darkened with fury. "Who?"

"I don't know."

Anger brought all the lines back to his face. His jaw jumped while he smoothed a wayward strand of hair away from her cheek. “Worry not, love. I will simply kill any man who tries." When he noted the alarm on her face, his features softened again. He pressed his lips to her forehead. “Listen to me. The vision ye had before—about yer death—it was wrong, wasn't it? It was Bella who died, not ye."

"Aye, but?—"

"Then there's no reason why this vision can't be wrong too," he insisted. "And even if it's not, I won't let anyone take ye from me. Not Stephan, not Atholl, not the devil himself." He laughed. “It wasn’t the devil ye saw, surely.”

She wished she could say it wasn’t. The truth was, she didn’t know. But she smiled anyway. “Ye can't fight the whole world, Flanders."

"Of a certainty, I can." He lifted her up and onto his lap and tightened his powerful arms around her. "I am like the curtain wall of Todlaw. No one gets past me."

Despite everything, she laughed. "Ye're a stubborn mule, Flanders Leesborn."

"Aye.” He kissed her lips then, but all that he promised in that kiss were things beyond their control. There might well be no future for them, and she dared not hope otherwise.

They moved to the bed where he curled up behind her on top of the blankets, both of them unwilling to spend the night apart when it might be their last. He held her so tightly it was almost painful, as if he could keep her safe through sheer force.

"Sleep," she whispered, stroking his arm. "We are together. And tonight, it is enough."

Sleep claimed him within minutes and his arms gradually loosened their desperate grip, enough so that she could turn to see his face. She memorized every line that had been carved by worry, by laughter, and by petulance. He was determined, even in his dreams.

She traced a finger lightly along his jaw, careful not to wake him. "If ye mean to sacrifice yerself for me," she whispered, "I will lock ye in this chamber come mornin’."