Page 32 of Flanders’ Folly (The Curse of Clan Ross #7)

32

DOLING OUT FATE AND THE EASTERLING SILVER

* * *

F or decades, the people of Todlaw would argue over the particulars of what happened after the Regent began handing out sentences. But they all witnessed, in general, the same events.

First, Moray announced that Laird Stephan had murdered the wrong woman and acknowledged that there was still a witch among them, namely Brigid Muir, the lass that Flanders Leesborn had claimed as his own.

“She cast a spell on our horses,” one of Stephan’s soldiers shouted—a claim that was echoed by one man after another.

By the time Moray had the room back in his control, it was clear to all that no one along the south wall had denied that the woman was a witch. Flanders merely argued that witches were protected by The Crown.

“Be that as it may,” Moray said, “it does not change the fact that Laird Stephan murdered an innocent woman. Though I admit that mistakes do happen, I wonder if there is some compensation that should be made.” He turned to James Duncan. “What do you believe would be fair here?”

James scowled for a moment. “The last time I saw Stephan, I was forced to give up something that meant a great deal to me, and to Todlaw. I would like to see it returned.”

Stephan sneered. “You gave me nothing but a—” He clapped his lips shut and shook his head. “No! Ye have no ken how long it took me to move all those stones to Gallabrae!”

“Nevertheless,” Moray said, “ye shall move them back. It will give ye ample time to think on yer sins.”

“Stones,” Flanders spat. “As payment for murder?” He looked at James and wondered if his friend had lost all reason. But James wouldn’t meet his eye.

Moray frowned at Flanders in warning and went on. “Next charge.” He consulted a parchment in his hands. “Kidnapping. I find, after speaking with Lady Stephan, that no one was taken from Gallabrae against their own wishes. Unless any of ye say otherwise?” He lifted his chin and looked to the back of the room. No one spoke. “Very well. Charge dismissed.”

He consulted his paper again.

Flanders considered taking Brigid’s hand and fighting his way out if something didn’t start making sense. But suddenly, Wickham trespassed into his mind once more.

Steady I say. Remember what I told ye. Keep yer wits. And trust us. Moray is with us.

Flanders took a breath and looked down into Brigid’s eyes. He could tell she was hearing something as well. And more, she didn’t look any more convinced than he was. A quick squeeze of his hand was all he needed, however, to trust her . The others had yet to earn it.

“As for the charge of witchcraft against Lady Stephan, I found no proof of such in our long dealings together and dismiss that charge,” Moray said. “She may go where she pleases. To Stirling with me, or she may stay here. I believe it unwise to return home with yer husband, but I am the last man to claim he understands women.”

This brought laughter from all quarters.

He continued, “I compel no persons included in Laird Stephan’s charges to return to Gallabrae. I believe all of the women accused were the victims of the laird’s ire and nothing more.”

The hall erupted in cheers from those who had been dreading their fate. Stephan was outraged. Atholl was, slowly but surely, adding physical distance between him and his co-conspirator. Soon he’d be inching onto the dais.

“Next, the charge of conspiracy to murder. The intended poisoning of Laird Stephan was the action of the deceased person called Heslington. The man was no spy. This was a case of a chicken coming home to roost. The shame belongs to Laird Stephan for welcoming him in.”

Wickham’s steady gaze, along with the expression on James’ face, warned Flanders there was more yet to come, and that he wasn’t going to like it.

“Three more issues remain,” Moray shouted, to get the revelers to settle once more. “First, there seems to be an issue with the possession of this fine castle. I agree with Atholl that this place is far too fine and defensible for its control to fall into enemy hands. It must be entrusted to only the most loyal and capable of subjects. Therefore, I set aside whatever kinship that exists between James Duncan and Robert Duncan, blood or no.”

Stephan proved himself a true lackwit by straightening his posture as if preparing for a great honor to be bestowed upon him like some crown.

“And I bestow ownership of Todlaw, in total, to Laird Robert Duncan, who will be granted his spurs and title of Knight before I depart.”

Shock and cheers made it impossible for any voice to be heard above the din for a good long while. Robert bowed low, then he embraced his father, his towering brother, then found Flanders and did the same.

Todlaw was safe. It was all Flanders had ever wished…until he met Brigid. Now, she was all he wanted. And her fate was all that worried him.

Moray pounded on the arm of the great chair until the hall quieted. “Next,” he said, “is the matter of recompense for the army needed to surround Todlaw.”

Stephan perked up once more and Flanders stomach turned. He knew it had been a mistake to let Moray know about the silver, friend or not. Wealth made men forget themselves, and it looked like the regent was no exception.

“So, Laird Stephan, I put it to ye. What compensation do ye believe would be fair?”

The bastard suggested a sum that was suspiciously close to the value of Heslington’s hoard!

Moray jumped on it. “Done!”

Atholl got some color back in his face and he and Stephan shared a gleeful smile, though the former still kept his distance.

Moray’s brows rose. “How soon can ye have that much delivered here?”

Stephan’s eyes flew wide when he realized the Regent was asking the question of him. “I beg yer pardon, my lord?”

The Regent smiled. “I asked how soon ye can have that sum delivered here. I’ll need time, ye see, to divide it between the Campbells, MacDonalds, The Earl of Mar, Clan Lennox, the Stewarts, and of course, the Morays. It will only be a token compared to their expense. But the clans loyal to Scotland mustn’t be slighted.” He smirked at Atholl. “Isn’t yer wife a Stewart?”

The man ducked in shame. “Isobel. Aye.”

Moray stared the man down a bit longer to make his point.

“But…but I am loyal,” Stephan whined. “I deserve compensation?—”

“For starting this ruckus with false charges?” Moray scoffed. “I am not so generous as Atholl. Now answer the question.”

“I…cannot say how long it would take…to produce actual coin…”

“Then perhaps…Gallabrae can fetch enough.”

“Can fetch…” Stephan shook his head. “All of Gallabrae?”

“All of Gallabrae.”

“Ye’ll add me to the Disinherited?”

“I’ll do no such thing. Whomever has the coin…” He glanced pointedly at Robert. “Shall hold the ransom to Gallabrae until such time as ye can repay that amount…in coin.”

Stephan laughed nervously. “But Majesty, no one would?—”

“I would.” Robert beamed. “I can settle the matter today.”

Stephan took a step toward the Regent, his eyes fixed on the box beneath the other man’s arse. And Flanders wondered if Heslington had been executed for drugging his laird or if he’d been fool enough to give up all his secrets and had suddenly lost his usefulness.

“Well said.” Moray seemed pleased that the new laird of Todlaw had taken the hint. Although, it wasn’t lost on Flanders that the Regent was, in fact, getting his hands on Heslington’s stolen treasure after all. But it was a small price considering Robert would have control of Gallabrae and be able to help all those souls build a better home and a better life than the one they’d suffered under Stephan’s thumb.

Flanders, on the other hand, didn’t intend to hang about. He would take Brigid and find somewhere to live that was safer for women who could make plants sing and grow…and scare horses away.

“That only leaves one matter.” Moray waved his fingers, summoning Brigid forward. When Flanders stepped to the side to block the way, Moray huffed out a breath. “Very well, bring her yerself, Leesborn. But bring her ye will.”

Steady. Trust us.

A barely discernible nod from Wickham gave him hope. But the fact that James still avoided eye contact worried Flanders even more. Moray’s patience was at an end, clearly, so he decided to trust, if only a little.

“Until recently, the matter of harboring a witch wouldn’t have been at issue,” Moray said, to the room at large. “But The Bruce is gone. And Scotland is in a state. We have no choice but to tread carefully here. And we have decided that a price must be paid for the events that have brought us all together. And we believe this will allow the scales to balance.”

He looked into Flanders’ eyes and inhaled deeply.

“Flanders Leesborn, I find ye guilty of harboring a witch and taunting yer neighbor to the point he disrupted our urgent business at court. I hereby sentence ye to two weeks imprisonment in a location yet to be decided. Take him.”

Two of the Regent’s surprised guards hurried forward and cautiously took hold of Flanders’ arms. Another two came from behind with their weapons drawn and tapped him on the back to alert him. Obviously, they were aware of his skills and feared what he might do. Shackles and chains were produced and attached to his wrists.

He blamed a lapse in sanity for his reasoning, hoping that if he went along quietly, Brigid would be spared a similar sentence, though she was guilty of nothing. He realized too late that Moray was purposefully waiting for him to be taken out the rear stairs before finishing his pronouncements. He hadn’t counted on his voice carrying down the spiral steps as clearly as if Flanders stood before him.

“Brigid Muir, ye’re found guilty of witchcraft, and in two days’ time, ye shall be burned at the stake. May God Almighty have mercy on thee.”

The very soul of Flanders Leesborn, the Bright Bear of Todlaw, protested so loudly they say it was heard for a mile in every direction.

Half of Scotland crossed themselves.