Page 42 of Flanders’ Folly (The Curse of Clan Ross #7)
42
JOAN BLOODY ARC
* * *
L ater that night, Flanders found himself in the rear bailey, sitting on smooth stone steps with James, looking up at the sky. It was different here—fewer stars visible, the darkness fading at the edges. Strange lights moved quickly among them, which James called airplanes. And in the near distance, the glow of what he claimed was Edinburgh City created an artificial dawn on the horizon.
"Ye'll like it here," James assured him. "Ye haven't been introduced to technology yet, and technology can make life much more enjoyable than ye could have possibly imagined."
"Ye used to mention that fellow back home," Flanders said. "Who is he?"
James laughed. "Not he. What. Many whats. We'll take it slow so ye won't drown, aye? But trust me."
"More trusting," Flanders sighed.
"Well, trusting got ye here, got Brigid and her sister to safety. And it got me home again to the woman I love." James clapped him on the shoulder. "Aye, I'd say I've trusted the important details of my life to Muir witches. Although..."
"Although?"
"Lorraine and Loretta are...troublemakers." James grinned. "Ye can trust them just fine. Just don't believe a word they say."
“And what if I cannot understand a word they say?”
“Then I suggest ye learn the language. Quickly.”
The language, aye. Vital, yes, but not the most important thing on his mind.
“Flanders, what is it? Besides the wide world ye’ve stepped into. I can see something is amiss.”
Flanders told him about the trouble standing between him and Brigid—that maddening sister.
The big fellow laughed outright, threw his head back and hooted until he couldn’t breathe. “Why didn’t ye say so? And ye livin’ under the same roof as Phoebe! Why, she’s the Joan Bloody Arc of Love.”
“Who is Joan Bloody Arc?”
“Ah, that is one of those sips of history for later. But for tonight, rest easy. By mornin’, my beloved will have a plan all laid out for ye. So take heart. And in a week, she’ll be plannin’ the weddin’.”
* * *
A soft knock on the door roused Brigid from her half-sleep. Her day nurse answered it, then spoke in rapid French that Brigid couldn't follow. She caught only Flanders' name and the word " non ."
"Please," he begged. "I'll not enter. Just leave the door open."
The nurse hesitated, then relented with a sigh. "Five minutes only," she said, then stepped aside.
Brigid shifted slightly, wincing as the movement disturbed her healing legs. The doctor had ordered her to leave the burns exposed to the air, and though the worst of the pain had subsided, she still felt every small movement. The clean sheets beneath her were a luxury, as was her freshly washed hair, but after days in the same room, she was desperate for something—anything—different.
Flanders appeared in the doorway, his broad shoulders filling the frame. He carried a chair, which he placed just outside the threshold. True to his word, he made no move to enter.
"I've brought ye something," he said, settling into the chair. From inside his strange new clothing, he produced a small book bound in red leather. "James gave it to me. It's in French—the New French they speak here. It will help us learn."
"What is it?" she asked, curious despite her fatigue.
"A story. Les Misérables. About a man who steals a loaf of bread and spends nineteen years in prison for it." He opened the book carefully. "I thought I might read to ye. To help pass the time."
The nurse, who had been hovering nearby, nodded her approval and after exchanging a pointed look with Flanders, stepped out of the room.
He began to read, his voice halting at first as he struggled with unfamiliar words. But as the minutes stretched into an hour, his pace increased. He kept a small piece of paper beside him and marked down words and phrases to ask James about later.
When he finally paused, Brigid realized she'd been so caught up in his voice and the story that she'd forgotten where she was.
"I must go," he said reluctantly. "But I'll return whenever ye call for me." He kissed his hand, then blew at the spot as if he could send the kiss across the room to her. It was the sweetest gesture she’d ever seen.
"I'll call often," she promised.
True to his word, he returned twice more that day, reading until his voice grew tired. By evening, Brigid found herself looking forward to the next installment like a hungry lassie waiting for her next meal.
* * *
The following day, Flanders was pleased to see Bella join them. She sat in one of the yellow chairs and tucked her feet beneath her while she drew on her pile of parchment. She pretended to be watching over him, protecting her sister, but he soon realized she was there for the story. Perhaps she’d been listening from the start.
Her presence also made her sister happy, and he learned the pair had never spent much time apart, which helped explain why the relationship was so difficult for Bella to accept.
On the third day, when he moved the small chair into place, Bella surprised him.
"Let me try," she said, holding out her hand for the book.
He surrendered it without hesitation. "By all means." He took the more comfortable chair to listen.
Bella began confidently enough, but soon stumbled over the unfamiliar words. Flanders winced at her pronunciation, but hid his amusement. After a few pages, she sighed in frustration.
"This is harder than it looks," she admitted, handing the book back to him. "I'll leave the reading to ye." Then traded seats with him.
He took it as some small victory.