Page 28 of Flanders’ Folly (The Curse of Clan Ross #7)

28

SURPRISE GUESTS

* * *

R obert’s grin reached both his ears. "I think my father will understand if we don't ride out to meet him."

Flanders didn't know which he enjoyed more, seeing Robert’s joy or the agony on the faces of the two men standing in the middle of the road, watching their nefarious plans slip slowly beyond their reach as one of the most powerful barons in Scotland drew near.

He felt a mere whisper of his name in his head and looked to the nearest set of stairs. There, Brigid hovered, biting her lower lip and watching for some sign of hope. He waved for her to join them. If Stephan saw her now, so be it. Having her beside him in a joyful moment was a balm for a heart weary from worry.

He tucked her under his arm and squeezed her against him. "Look there. The black boar on a red field is Stout Duncan’s. If they had planned a trap, I see no signs of it. And Atholl would be a fool to move against us now, without the Regent's express permission."

She squinted at the riders. "He hasn't brought many men with him, has he?"

Robert chuckled. "Look again, my lady. Ye see that shadow on the horizon?"

And indeed, there was a wide swath of movement growing in the distance, undulating as it moved slowly forward. Flanders closed his eyes and thanked God yet again.

The lad gave him a close look. “Mayhap I should have asked just what ye included in that message.”

Flanders shrugged. “Just that we had rescued my woman from Gallabrae, along with Lady Stephan, and that the bastard might try to take them back again. That we might need some help in the coming days.”

It took another five minutes for the old man to get near enough to recognize. The two riders at either side of him, however, were strangers. Though Flanders hadn't been to that Duncan's keep for years, he surely would have known if the man had elevated new faces for his captains. And these two, riding beside him...

He nudged Brigid's shoulder to get her attention, but she wouldn't look away from the coming horsemen. It was just as she'd described her vision. Men they weren't expecting.

The one on Duncan's right hand was a fine tall man who had to rival Flanders in size. Thanks to his helmet, it was impossible to see his face. But it was the other man who concerned him.

Black, odd clothing. Black baldric, a blanket of dark plaid around his hips. Even from a distance, Flanders felt as if the man were seeing directly into his soul. And smiling.

He whispered against her hair. "Looks like the devil has come to Todlaw after all." He watched helplessly as the bastard neared, his heart pounding louder by the second…until the moment he recognized the stranger and the organ fairly exploded in his chest.

A man who will come to take me away…

* * *

Brigid struggled under the pressure of Flanders' hold on her. Only when she gasped for lack of air did he realize he'd nearly crushed her. But at least it broke the spell and she was able to look away from the dark stranger riding into their lives.

Brigid, I assume?

The words came clearly into her head, as if the devil were standing before her.

She dared not answer. The sight of him, combined with the inevitability of her vision, left her trembling with fear. He would take her away, and there was nothing she could do to thwart him.

Easy, lass. I am here to help.

So, he could read more than her thoughts?

Who are ye? she demanded.

In due time, Brigid. In due time.

Stout Duncan gave Atholl and Stephan only a passing glance as he and his retinue forced them from the road and turned for the opening gates. The war council at large hurried down from the wall with wide smiles to greet him. Brigid's slippers barely touched the ground with Flanders' helpful hand around her waist, keeping her close.

"Father!" Robert looked up adoringly at his still-mounted father, no longer the laird of Todlaw, but the boy who missed his family dearly. As soon as the man dismounted, however, it was the father who looked up at the son.

"Robert, my lad!" He chuckled, then cleared his throat. "That is, Laird Duncan , we request yer hospitality. And in exchange, our arms are yers."

Huzzahs rang out from his men and all around the courtyard as the people of Todlaw celebrated their relief.

Duncan waved everyone quiet again and scowled. "What's this I hear about Flanders settling on one woman?"

While everyone laughed, the tall stranger dismounted and removed his helmet. His hair was long and curled and the color that rivaled Brigid's own. "All I can say," he boomed, "is it's about damned time!"

The courtyard fell deathly quiet. Flanders' chest turned as immovable as stone beneath her hand. His mouth hung open, his eyes unbelieving.

"James," Robert whispered. "James, is it ye?"

The man wrapped his arms around the young laird and lifted him off the ground. "It's me, baby brother. Ye're not hallucinatin’."

Stout Duncan beamed as if it were the best day of his life. "I've got my lads back again." Then he noticed Brigid or rather, Flanders’ tight hold on her, and stepped close. "Ye must call me father." He scooped up her hand and kissed the back of her fingers. "And if ye already have a father, I shall be yer favorite."

* * *

Flanders still couldn’t believe it was James who slammed into him and lifted him off the ground, turned in a circle, and set him back down again before pounding the side of Flanders’ shoulder. Somewhere in there, he’d lost his hold on Brigid.

“Come on, mate. It’s not like I’m back from the dead. I’m just…back for a visit is all.” He stepped aside and gestured to the dark stranger Flanders may or may not have labeled rightly when he’d thought him the devil.

“Ye remember Wickham.”

Flanders took a deep breath and eyed Wickham carefully. If he was here to steal Brigid from him, he was mistaken.

The man grinned and held out his hand for Flanders to take. “Flanders Leesborn. I admit, I’ve heard yer praises often enough to make me doubt them.”

“Wickham Muir, is it? I pity a man so homely. Perhaps, if ye linger for a day or two, we can remedy that.” Flanders shook the offered hand, then wiggled his nose as if to demonstrate how Wickham’s might be adjusted for him. “No trouble a’ tall.”

Wickham only grinned wider.

He wasn’t aware of precisely when the older Duncan had won his woman away from him. He had no choice but to follow the pair up the steps.

Hemming shouted from behind. “What shall I tell the earl when he comes knockin’?”

He, Robert, and James shouted in unison, “Tell him to piss off!”

When they reached the top of the steps, he slapped the old man on the back. “I should have kenned it was you who set off the trumpeters in all directions.”

Duncan stiffened. “Flanders, lad, I did no such thing. All my forces were behind me.”

Robert paled and together they searched the southern horizon, the eastern, and what they could see of the north. Shadowy lines shifted in the morning light…in all directions.

Robert swallowed and pointed. “Then who are they?”