Page 29 of Flanders’ Folly (The Curse of Clan Ross #7)

29

THE BOARD IS SET

* * *

U sing trestles and planks, a table was erected in the outer bailey, its surface covered with maps and the stones to hold them in place. They also marked the positions of the enemy.

The morning sun struggled to warm anything through a low bank of gray clouds that hovered overhead as if trying to read those maps over the shoulders of Todlaw's war council. Robert had immediately ceded the head of the table to his father, taking a position at Stout Duncan's right hand while Flanders stood at his left. James, Wickham, Snorre, Rolf, and Hemming completed the circle, with Brigid and Gerts seated on a bench to one side.

Flanders couldn't stop glancing at James. His friend had changed since he’d disappeared eight years before. He was much less gaunt, proving he’d eaten well wherever it was he’d gone. And the gray at his temples and striping his beard proved that time, even in the future, did not stand still. He also looked irritatingly happy.

As for Wickham, the man was a puzzle. He moved with a strange grace, his eyes constantly taking in everything around him. He missed nothing. And simply thinking his name drew his attention. It took far too long for Flanders to realize the bastard might share Brigid’s ability to speak into the minds of others, and probably hear their thoughts as well.

As if proving that fact, the man glanced Flanders way and grinned, which sent chills racing up and down Flanders’ spine.

McInnes, the eagle-eyed watchman, came to stand before them. The wiry man's face was weathered from years of watching horizons, his sharp eyes missing nothing within sight of Todlaw's walls. Behind him waited four watchmen who had abandoned their distant posts and ridden hard to report all they’d seen. Atholl, in a demonstration of his youth and inexperience, had allowed them back through the gates without interference.

"My lords," McInnes began, nodding respectfully to both Duncan and Robert, "the watchmen bring the expected news. We are surrounded."

Robert nodded. "But by whom?"

McInnes took a deep breath. "By half of Scotland, it seems." He gestured to the north. "From the Red Hills, the Morays—red banners with gold crosses." The Regent’s own clan.

Stout Duncan's eyebrows shot up, but he held his tongue.

McInnes gestured to the southwest. “The Campbells. Yellow and black triangles. Unmistakable. And with MacDonalds to boot."

"MacDonald and Campbell together?" Hemming scoffed. "Next ye'll tell us the English have come."

"Aye, well, the Earl of Mar, Lennox, and the Stewarts."

Flanders exchanged a look with Robert. "It seems we've become rather popular overnight."

"But why?" Robert asked, bewildered. "Why would they all come?"

All eyes turned to a grinning Stout Duncan, who suddenly found great interest in examining the table.

"Father?"

The old man chuckled. "I might have sent a missive to Thomas Randolph."

“Aye?” Flanders said. "What kind of missive brings Scotland to our door?"

Duncan's eyes danced. "I merely suggested that the fate of the country and the wee king might be decided at Todlaw in two days' time." He shrugged. "I was guessing, of course. Never trust an enemy with family ties at court."

"A lesson I've learned, Father," Robert said. "And just as important, know your enemy's relations in the first place."

James leaned his elbows on the table. "We assumed Atholl would be called into this ruckus. And Atholl isn’t to be trusted. He won’t…that is, I doubt he will remain loyal to another Bruce king or his regent.” He bit his lips together like he was trying to keep from sharing too much. And Flanders reckoned that, from some future vantage point, his friend might know exactly where Scotland’s fate lay.

"Precisely," Duncan nodded. "The lad's grandfather was Red Comyn. His mother was Stephan's cousin. Flanders’ missive said Stephan was the threat, so I assumed he would call on his connections.”

Wickham, who had been silent until now, spoke up. "And what of Stephan and Atholl? Do ye suppose they’ll dismiss the charges and slink away?"

McInnes grinned. "I surely would.”

“They are stuck,” Flanders said. “They've pulled their men tight around the walls to catch us, but they're caught between us and the clans. And they know it."

"They do," one of the watchmen said. "Stephan’s men are desertin’. Slipping away in small groups."

Flanders felt a weight lift from his shoulders. He glanced at Brigid, who was watching him with a mixture of relief and something else—uncertainty, perhaps. He wanted to go to her, to reassure her that all would be well, but he couldn’t make promises about things he had yet to understand.

"What of their horses?" he asked, remembering the wild scene from earlier. "Have they recovered them?"

"Most ran off," the same man replied. "Strange thing, that. Never seen warhorses spook so badly over nothin’."

"It wasn't nothin’." McInnes glanced at Brigid, then away. “Every horse went mad, rearing and throwing their riders, then bolting as if the devil himself were nippin’ at their heels. But it wasn’t the devil, it was..." He suddenly clapped his mouth shut and looked at his boots.

"Not the devil, ye say?" James raised an eyebrow.

"No. It was weeds," Flanders said, his eyes finding Brigid again. "Our Brigid has a way with plants. She made them grow right before our eyes and reach for the horses' hooves."

Wickham's eyes gleamed with interest. "A talent indeed. Though I suspect yer watchman wasn’t the only one to notice."

Flanders' smile faded. "What do ye mean?"

"I mean," Wickham said carefully, "that if two of ye saw the truth, there are others who did as well. Word will reach Stephan and Atholl. They won’t take it lightly."

Flanders cursed. He'd been so caught up in the moment, in the joy of seeing their enemies discomfited, he hadn’t considered the danger. And danger it was, now that The Bruce was gone.

James placed a hand on Flanders' shoulder. "Dinnae fash. With these armies arriving, Stephan and Atholl have more pressing concerns than one woman."

"Besides," Wickham said with a strange smile, "I’m here to help with that. Trust me.”

Flanders would do no such thing. He'd seen the fear in Brigid’s eyes when she spoke of the man coming to take her away.

"What happens now?" Robert asked, bringing Flanders back to the matter at hand.

"Now," Stout Duncan said, "we wait for Randolph to arrive. He’ll have to decide what to do with a judge who's been caught conspiring with his cousin against The Crown’s closest allies."

"And Stephan?" Hemming asked.

Duncan's smile was cold. "I suspect he will pay dearly, at least for his recent crimes." He looked at Brigid, then at Flanders.

Flanders noted Brigid's shiver and moved to her side to wrap an arm around her shoulders. "It's nearly over," he promised.

"Is it?" she whispered back.