Page 33 of Flanders’ Folly (The Curse of Clan Ross #7)

33

YE MUSTN’T TELL…

* * *

D eep in the ground, at the base of each turret in the curtain wall, a space was constructed for prisoners. No more than ten men at a time could be kept humanely in such a space, but when creating a fortress like Todlaw, a place many men would covet, James Duncan insisted there would be times when men, enemy or not, would need to be imprisoned for the safety of the community. He called it a jail.

Ten turrets. Ten jails.

The man couldn't have known that the first prisoner to be housed in the jail closest to the tower would be his dearest friend.

Flanders cursed himself for not having the forethought that he might one day need to escape one. But no, there were no weaknesses to be found. He'd torn the meager bench apart trying to pry the metal bars loose, and now he was left with only a cold dirt floor and a torch just inside the stairwell for comfort. But he didn't need comfort. He needed out!

Two days. That bastard Moray had given Brigid two days before her sentence was to be carried out. That gave Flanders less than two days to convince someone to unlock the cell door. That was all he needed. Just one chance. And with everyone in Todlaw loyal to him, it shouldn't be too difficult. No need to despair.

The shackles were already beginning to wear on his wrists, but he couldn't blame his jailors for leaving them on. No man in Scotland, save James Duncan, could rival him in hand-to-hand combat.

Once again, he recalled the look on James' face and couldn't fathom why his friend couldn't look him in the eye...unless he'd known what was coming. But why not warn him?

What possible excuse could James have for not doing so?

James could have helped him escape with Brigid before Moray began. At the very least, he could have feigned ignorance. Why had he not?

James had ever been one to champion women. He'd claimed to have known many witches. And he knew for a fact that Flanders loved Brigid. So why not help them?

It made no sense!

Steady I say. Keep yer wits. And trust us. Moray is with us.

Could the answer lie in Wickham’s words?

Did James not warn him of the danger...because there was no danger? Was there truly a plan? A plan that Moray was party to?

Just what had been discussed during that lengthy conversation? Was a plan made then? And did Moray know Wickham could take James away again in the blink of an eye?

Flanders cursed himself all over again for being a fool. Brigid had seen it— a man was coming to take her away . Wickham had come to take her away! And there was nothing she could do to stop him.

Getting Brigid far away from the danger was all well and good, but she was going nowhere without him!

Flanders took a drink from the water skin he'd been provided, to soothe his throat, then he resumed his only strategy…

"James Duncan! Bring me James Duncan!" He pounded a broken plank against the iron bars until his ears rang. "James Duncan, show yerself! Ye great ruddy coward!"

* * *

Brigid paced the confines of Flanders' bedchamber, her fingers tracing the edge of the dagger he'd given her. After the sentencing, Moray's men had escorted her back to the very space Flanders had once locked her inside, but they hadn’t searched her or the room for weapons.

If she didn’t want to face the horror of the fire, she could end it here, now. But she’d never done a cowardly thing in her life. She doubted she could. Besides, there were still two days left for miracles. And if anyone could produce one, it was Flanders Leesborn.

If he managed to get her out of Todlaw, it wouldn’t be the first time he’d been an answer to her prayers. But first, someone would need to free him…

“Please tell me ye’re not plannin’ to use that.”

Brigid spun to face the corner, dagger raised. Where there had been nothing but shadows a moment before, Wickham now stood, watching her with those unsettling eyes that seemed to hold a hundred secrets, one of which must be how to move through walls.

"How did ye do that?"

"The same way I'll take ye away,” he said simply, as if appearing from nowhere was a natural and frequent habit.

Brigid finally thought to lower the dagger.

"I mean ye no harm, lass." He leaned back against the wall, making no move toward her. “I’ve come to help ye, after all.”

“How…how did ye ken I would need help?”

He smiled to one side. “Let’s say I read it…in the margins of a book.”

“The Grandfather’s book!”

“Aye. Considerin’ the year, I grabbed my friend James and rushed to Gallabrae, only to be told ye’d fled to Laird Duncan’s stronghold. I…made some adjustments, and after we got yer sister to safety, we went to Stout Duncan’s, only to realize?—”

“My sister!” She rushed to him, grabbed the front of his shirt, and forced him to bend so she could look into his eyes, to know if he was toying with her.

“Uh…only to realize ye’d gone to Young Duncan’s keep. Forgive me. I should have led with yer sister, aye?” He smiled into her eyes. “Bella is safe. And happily waitin’ for ye to join her.”

She wasn’t ready to let him go. “Why, oh why did ye not tell me the moment ye arrived? Ye could have spoken in my mind. No one would have heard?—

“Because there are witnesses to yer every move. And Flanders’ as well. People who must believe yer anguish is real. So, in the end, they will not question what they see.”

Her mind raced, trying to make sense of what he was saying. But whatever it was, whatever his odd accent, she did believe he was telling the truth. He’d just proven he could manage miracles, and what was more miraculous than the idea that he’d saved Bella from that fire?

“She’s alive?”

He gave up tryin’ to explain. “She’s alive.”

She wrapped her arms around him and squeezed as hard as she could before turning him loose and stepping back. “Who are ye?”

He chuckled. “Well, in future, I am…The Grandfather.”

"Grandfather!” She dropped into a curtsy, then stood when he laughed again.

“Nae need for that, lass.”

“And what ye did here?” She gestured to the corner in which they stood.

“I can step in and out of Time …just as easily as ye step in and out of a door. A happy result of a truly horrific curse, and one which allows me to help some of our people out of difficulties, if the circumstances are right.”

“Our people?”

“Muir witches.”

“I knew ye’d come. I saw it?—”

“I know.”

“I thought, perhaps, ye were death himself.”

Something changed in his eyes. “For some, I have been.” Then the look was gone and he smiled again. “Quick, now. Before we are interrupted, I must explain our plan, why ye must pretend ye ken nothing about it…and why Flanders cannot be told.”

* * *

In his cell, Flanders paused in his shouting to listen.

Brigid?

Her voice was faint but unmistakable.

Flanders!

My love! Where are they keeping ye?

I am back in yer room. I’m safe. Comfortable. And ye?

The same.

The desperation eased and their conversation slowed to a normal pace. They spoke of simple things, basic things, like hunger and loneliness, which was just another sort of hunger. He explained what he suspected about Heslington’s death. She told him that the Regent called for musicians to play in the hall to help drown out the noise he was making. And they finally got around to talking about the bastard’s plans for her in two days.

I’ve been thinking about Wickham, he said. And yer vision. If he has come to take ye away, I want ye to let him. If there is a chance to flee, if he can truly save ye, then do so. Don’t wait for me.

There was a long pause.

I don’t wish to go anywhere without ye.

Never mind me! I’m in no danger. Promise ye’ll go.

Silly man. Do not ask me to lie, remember?

Stubborn woman.

Aye, and ye love me despite it.

Notwithstanding everything, he smiled. That I do.

And I love ye, my stubborn Viking. But I must sleep now. The day was long and tryin’. Until tomorrow…

The connection faded, leaving him alone once more. But now, a seed of hope had been planted. If Wickham could truly save Brigid?—

The sound of footsteps on the stairs interrupted his thoughts. He tensed, ready for whatever was coming. But it was James who appeared and ducked his head to exit the stairwell.

"Ye took yer time," Flanders growled.

James walked slowly, taking in the details of the broken boards and remnants of a bucket that had been demolished, but he said nothing. His face remained solemn.

"Ye're a right bastard."

"I am. And I'm sorry."

"For givin' no warnin'? For lettin' them take her? For standin' by while Moray sentenced her to burn?"

"For all of it." James sighed. "But it had to be this way."

"Had to be?" Flanders gripped the bars and tried once again to shake them from their stone beds. "Explain that to me, James. Explain why my woman has to burn."

"She won't burn." James glanced over his shoulder, then leaned closer. "Wickham doesn’t want ye to know the plan. He insists that yer reactions must be believable for the bastards watching. But I… have had a change of heart.”

“Oh? What changed it? Being called a ruddy coward?”

His friend finally smiled. “Ye do know the right buttons to push.” He leaned closer and lowered his voice. "Listen to me. There's a sound plan, but for it to work, ye must continue to act as if ye know nothing. And under no circumstances can ye tell Brigid."

"Why not?" Flanders demanded.

"Because Stephan and Atholl, and a castle's worth of witnesses will know something is amiss if either of ye appear disingenuous." James gripped his shoulder through the bars. "Trust me, brother. For the sake of all those we will leave behind, tell her nothin'."

We. For all those we will leave behind … They intended to take him with them!

Flanders studied his friend's face, searching for any sign of deception. Finding none, he nodded. "Tell me everythin’."