Page 3 of Flanders’ Folly (The Curse of Clan Ross #7)

3

NAKED TREACHERY

* * *

"M istress of the Loom, come forward," Flanders called, his voice easily reaching to the back of the hall. Though a fresh energy charged the air, the crowd was silent except for a few whispers that skittered across the stone floor like nervous mice.

From the corner of his eye, Flanders watched Heslington and Ailis stiffen as the rarely-seen, white-haired woman made her way to the dais. Despite a back bent from years of labor, she moved with brisk steps and cut through the crowd like a seasoned warrior navigating a battlefield. At the foot of the rise, she offered a brief curtsy, her eyes flicking nervously toward the chatelaine and the steward before settling on Flanders. “Yer lairdship,” she greeted, her voice steady.

Flanders softened his demeanor and offered a kind smile. “How do ye fare, madam?”

The woman squared her shoulders, a flicker of pride in the lift of her chin. “Fare? Why, I fare better than most my age, though there are not many left.”

While everyone chuckled, Flanders noted the strength in her arms, visible through her thin sleeves. Her neck and shoulders, too, bore the marks of a life spent in diligent service, not wasted in idleness. His gaze fell on her airisaidh , a garment patched meticulously with stitches so straight and sure they spoke of a craftsman’s skill. “Is this yer work, then?” Flanders asked, gesturing to her attire.

Her cheeks flushed pink. A sad smile tugged down the corners of her mouth. “Auch, aye. From long ago.”

“How many work with ye?”

She puffed out her chest. “More than a dozen, laird. It takes a wee army to clothe so many.”

“And how many yards of cloth do ye complete each day?” Flanders pressed, seeking to understand the depth of the problem.

“Each day?” She shook her head. “Takes weeks and weeks, laird.”

Disappointment brought a sigh from him. He'd hoped the issue was one of productivity, but perhaps it was simply a lack of resources. Yet, he needed to be sure.

The woman began counting on her fingers, her lips moving silently as she counseled with the ceiling, ending with a nod. “Akin to a hundred yards a month, then.” She put her hands on her hips and swung them back and forth as if very proud of that number. A hundred yards of cloth was nothing to scoff at, after all. And with just twelve or so women doing the work. Maybe a yard couldn't be completed in a week, but it was the end result that counted.

Flanders nodded in appreciation. “Ye work hard, all of ye.”

Her flush deepened, but this time with pride. “We do, laird.”

“Now, I’d like ye to look around the hall here and point out to me some samples of yer work. Some recent samples.”

She shook her head, her gaze sweeping the room. “Recent? Nay. Ye’ll not find our work here, other than hers.” She jerked a thumb toward Ailis.

“And why not?”

The old woman tilted her head in the chatelaine’s direction, her eyes suddenly hard. “That one trades it away.”

“Trades it, when we so clearly need it here?” He tried to hide his frustration and motioned for Ailis to approach. “Ye have a plausible reason for this?”

The woman fidgeted with the keys dangling from her hip. “I can get twice as much fabric if I trade it.”

“Twice as cheap, ye mean?”

“Aye. As ye say, everyone works , laird. No need for finery.”

“So ye trade for the coarser stuff.”

“Aye, but?—”

“Half as warm.”

“Aye, but?—”

“I notice ye don’t go lackin’.” Flanders’ gaze fell to the fine wool cote and over gown the woman wore, garments that would keep her warm through any Highland winter.

Ailis looked down at her attire, then back up at Flanders, horrified. “Aye, sir. But I do not wish to disgrace ye. Ye wouldn’t wish me greetin’ the King of Scotland in rags…”

“Not a soul that lives within Todlaw should wear rags!” He found himself on his feet again, wishing he could grab her by the shoulders and shake her until she repented. But that would invite the memory of James to whisper "barbarian" in his ear, and Flanders hated that. “We shall take everything we have on hand and trade it at Stirling, and purchase more besides." To the older woman he said, "As soon as we have the new cloth in hand, I will require ye and yer talented army to pause yer labors for a while to help cover the backs of every one of us before winter. And from this day forward, Todlaw wool will remain in Todlaw.”

Cheers erupted. Tears spilled down the woman's cheeks, and she straightened her back, standing taller than before.

“Mistress of the Loom, will a thousand yards do to start?”

A careful gasp escaped her. “A years' worth of work? Aye.”

“My thanks. Ye may be seated.” He pointed to a man on a front bench to give up his seat for her. Then he turned his attention to Dunstan, the Master of Beasts, who shifted uncomfortably under his gaze. “I presume there is an equally lucrative arrangement for the animals?”

Dunstan’s brow furrowed. “Lucrative? I dinna ken what that means,” he said, glancing at the red-faced steward before nodding. “Laird Stephan pays handsomely for what we can part with.”

“Only the finest, no doubt.”

“Aye, he’s a picky man, to be sure.”

“Cattle?”

“Aye.”

“Sheep?”

“Aye.”

“Geese?”

“Aye. He’ll take the lot of those, if we’d let ‘im.”

“So, our food goes to Gallabrae .”

Dunstan’s eyes widened, his confidence faltering. “Uh…nay, yer lairdship, not…not all!”

“And what do we get in return?”

Dunstan’s face brightened. “Easterling silver, yer lairdship. For yer coffers, o’ course.”

“My…coffers?” Flanders’ voice was icy.

The man’s gaze dropped to his boots, his cap twisted in his hands. “Erm…”

Flanders leaned closer, his voice low and dangerous. “Do ye remember why Todlaw was built, Dunstan?”

The big man swallowed hard. “For protection.”

“Aye, that too. But from the start… everyone works, everyone eats, everyone fights, and no man—or woman—is better than the next.”

Dunstan nodded, still nervous, finally suspecting the trouble he was in.

“Turn around and face the people of Todlaw,” Flanders said quietly. When the man had done so, Flanders waved for Ailis and Heslington to come to the fore and do the same. Then he returned to his chair against which his sword was propped and pulled it from its sheath. No one breathed as he returned to stand behind the three villains.

From his vantage point on the edge of the dais, he could easily see every hungry face. And though he didn’t know whether or not they could judge fairly in their current state, he would still let them decide the futures of those who had betrayed the Oath of Todlaw.

“Good people,” he began, “I will remind ye that I am the most at fault here. I failed in my duty to ye, and I mean to right the wrongs done in my absence. Even when I was in residence, I was blind. But no more.” He sucked air deep into his chest and let it out in a whoosh. “Now, ye must choose the punishment for these three who also betrayed yer trust. Mercy." He drew out the options. "Banishment...or death. It is up to ye.”

He lifted his sword tip over the head of Ailis first, then lifted a brow and waited for the verdict.

It took a moment for the crowd to realize what was expected. It was one of the scullery maids who shouted first. “Banishment!”

Ailis flinched.

Others took up the call. “Death” was suggested by only a few, each time making the woman jump with surprise, but none cried out for mercy. A hard pit of dread ate into Flanders’ gullet when he realized Ailis’ depravity might have been harsher than he knew. Eventually, banishment was adopted by all, and he moved the tip of his sword over Dunstan’s head.

Banishment brought the most enthusiasm, but eventually, calls for mercy made those enthusiasts reconsider. In the end, the Master of Beasts was offered forgiveness.

Flanders had to hide his smile, for their undeserved kindness renewed his faith in the people of Todlaw. But Heslington would be another matter, if the crowd had truly understood the greed and callousness involved. Although, he wouldn’t tell them the extent of what he’d uncovered thanks to yesterday’s celebration.

Most had been on hand to see the reshaping of the steward’s character. Clearly, they now feared him. And though this was their chance for revenge, there were, again, only a few cries for blood.

“Banishment,” Flanders said behind Heslington’s head. “For ye, that is mercy indeed.”

The man turned and sputtered. “M…m…mercy? Banishment is no mercy! Ye have yet to see yer coffers, Laird Leesborn! Ye don’t know what I’ve done for this clan! Ye cannot send me away without giving me the chance to?—”

“Justify yerself?”

“Indeed!”

“Justify this. How many bairns might have died from yer greed?”

“Bairns?”

“Aye. They cannae eat silver.”

“No one said anything about?—”

“Wee-uns starvin? Auch, but I’m certain they have, and just as certain ye’d have turned a deaf ear to them. Just as I couldn’t hear them from a distance.”

“Then ye’re just as much to blame?—”

“Aye! I am! But mine was the sin of neglect. Yers was of intention. I will be here to pay for mine. But ye…ye cannot be trusted inside our walls again.” Flanders waved to the guards. “Take him to his quarters. Find these coffers he brags of. Allow him to pack a small sack—clothes, water, bread only. Then present him at the gate.” He gestured to another guard and one of the scullery maids. “Do the same for yer former mistress. A small sack. Let her keep the finery on her back to remind her of what she deemed more important than yer lives.”

Another guard came forward for Dunstan. Flanders let the big man face him again.

“Ye have a choice. Ye may stay at Todlaw, but ye’ll no longer be Master of Beasts. Ye’ll be given the most menial of work. Or ye can meet us at the gate and go with yer friends. Perhaps Laird Stephan will have a reward for the loyalty ye paid him. But if ye stay, remember that these starving people showed ye mercy today. Whether they continue to do so is up to them.”

Dunstan nodded his bowed head, then gave a timid whisper, “I would stay, yer lairdship.”

Finally, Flanders stepped back to his chair, though he didn’t sit. For the chair was no longer his.

“First things first,” he announced. “Any of ye who can read, write, and add sums may step forward. Todlaw has an immediate need for a new steward. Any woman who can do the same may put her foot in for chatelaine.”

Then he waved to his three guests whom he hadn’t forgotten. As they came forward, they threw off their hoods. He was surprised at the height on Robert Duncan since the last time he’d seen him. The lad had to be nineteen now…

“Laird Leesborn! Thanks to James Duncan, I have just the skills ye’re lookin’ for!” The lad grinned and slapped Flanders on both shoulders with enough strength to cause him pain.

Flanders slapped the top of the laird’s chair. “Say ye’ve come to take yer rightful place here,” he said, grinning back into those dark eyes.

“First, I must learn.” Robert turned to gesture at the people who would soon call him their leader. “But I believe I’ve just had my first lesson.”

“A wise tack. And I vow, before ye’ve learned all the workings of Todlaw, we will make it a place of honor and plenty once more.”