Page 34 of Flanders’ Folly (The Curse of Clan Ross #7)

34

THAT BLASTED HENSBANE

* * *

A ll night, Brigid rode wave after wave of emotion that kept her from sleeping more than a few minutes at a time. Her elation over her sister’s rescue was difficult to hide. She would have jumped and danced around the room had Wickham not warned her that royal guards stood outside her door, and that guards from court were horrible gossips.

On the other hand, every now and then, she would imagine the plan going terribly wrong, leaving her to burn at the stake for Stephan and Atholl’s entertainment.

How could anyone sleep in that sea of fervor that splashed her from one extreme to the other?

Then, for a respite, she would think about Flanders. It no longer mattered what had brought them together, only that they not be torn apart. There was a chance, Wickham had explained, that he might not be able to take Flanders along, that they couldn’t possibly know until the moment was upon them. And Wickham’s priority was to save her and reunite her with Bella. Anything beyond that was what he called “gravy.”

Of course, Brigid wanted to be noble, wanted to insist that if Flanders couldn’t go, she would stay behind. But the only thing she would be staying for was a fire. And for her to suffer that fate for want of Flanders would likely torture him for the rest of his days. How could she do that to him? And what would that do to Bella?

Come morning, she was left with three possibilities. First, the plan would work and Wickham would get both of them out of Todlaw and she would see her sister again. Or, Wickham would get her out and she would never see Flanders again. And in the worst possible case, the plan would fail completely and she would burn. Of course, there was also the possibility that their plan would be exposed and others would be punished with her…

The plan simply couldn’t fail. And if that meant she needed to keep Flanders in the dark, she would do it.

* * *

Flanders had slept on hard floors before. But in most cases, he’d been wearied enough to sleep unaware of his discomfort. That was not the case this time, and he ended up pacing his cage half the night. In the morning, his keeper delivered a pallet stuffed with feathers—it was the only luxury that could fit between the bars, and under no circumstances was his gate to be opened without The Regent’s direct order.

The only clue that the night had passed was the simple fact that he was given porridge to eat. He’d been hoping for eggs. He’d been dreaming of those lacey-edged eggs since the moment James had removed his helm. But alas…

More feet on the stairs. Soft. No boots . Brigid!

He set his bowl aside and flew to the bars, but it wasn’t Brigid who emerged into the torchlight, but Gerts, carrying a plate with a towel over it.

She read the disappointment on his face and laughed. “Ye’ll forgive me, I think, when ye see I’ve brought ye eggs, cooked by James Duncan himself.” She giggled. “I thought ye mad, years ago, when ye’d go on about these. But I’ve had a few myself this morn.”

Since the plate was too wide to fit through the small gap at the bottom of the bars, he fed himself from the far side while Gerts continued to laugh at him. When he was finished, she took the empty plate, pulled a wineskin off her shoulder, and handed it through.

“I reckon yer throat will feel like fire after all the caterwaulin’.” The smile fell away. “I am sorry, my lad. But don’t give up hope. There is a chance Moray will change his mind. Always a chance my husband and Atholl will do something to anger him further, and he’ll call off the fire just to spite them.” Tears filled her eyes and she used the towel to dry them as she turned back to the stairs. “Not allowed to stay, ye see. But I shall come again.”

He listened while the sounds of her sniffling slowly faded away.

So, Gerts knows nothing of the plan.

Flanders removed the cork from the wineskin and gulped down a full half…before he realized the woman had drugged him. And as he slipped off to sleep, on his meager but cherished pallet, he guessed that the not-unpleasant taste lingering on his tongue…was hensbane.

* * *

Brigid was pleasantly surprised when Gerts was allowed to come visit her. She brought a plate of eggs and a wineskin, along with two eyes filled to overflowing with tears.

Obviously, Wickham hadn’t informed her there was a plan…

When Brigid woke in her bed and noted the morning sun creeping around the corners of the window shutter, she realized the old woman had drugged her. The strength of the flavor of hensbane in her mouth made her wonder if she’d eaten the plants whole and not remembered.

Gerts had stolen from her what might well be her last full day of living!

She splashed water on her face to wash away the final haze of a dreamless sleep, brushed her hair and prepared herself for the day. Then she reached out.

Flanders?

There was no answer. In case he was still sleeping she tried harder.

Flanders?

Brigid?

I’m here! Forgive me! It seems I slept an entire day away!

As did I. Gerts came. Brought me wine…

She could have wept . Then ye were fettled as well!

Aye. Aye. Such precious time lost!

Yes. Lost. But…we were spared the torture of it, I suppose.

He agreed. Listen to me, love. I…I am working on a plan to get free. Promise ye won’t lose heart.

A plan? Was it his alone, or was he telling her that Wickham had come to him as well. If so, she didn’t dare acknowledge what she knew. So she answered him with… Never!

* * *

Flanders wouldn’t have lost heart either, but it worried him when all he was given for his morning meal was another bowl if porridge.

“Wait, Fisbee,” he said, when his jailor would have left with his empty bowl. “I would have ye pass along my petition to The Regent.”

The man blanched. “Me, laird?”

“Aye, ye, Fisbee. Tell Thomas Moray that I would like to be on hand for…the fire. The last face my woman sees should be a friendly one. It should be mine. Tell him to shackle me however he likes, and I will ask nothing more of him. Then give him two words.”

“Two words, laird?”

“Stirling Bridge. Ye’ll remember?”

“I shall remember, laird.”

Everyone at Todlaw had heard the tale of the Battle of Stirling Bridge where, long before James Duncan came on the scene, Flanders fought with William Wallace. It was during this battle that Flanders saved Thomas Moray’s life. The future regent had been tossed off the side of the bridge with a rope around his neck and Flanders managed to keep a hold on him while fighting off the English, until Moray was back on the bridge with his head still attached to his body.

None at Todlaw would be surprised when Flanders chose that moment to leverage Moray’s debt.