Page 5 of Flanders’ Folly (The Curse of Clan Ross #7)

5

OLD FRIENDS AND BAD NEWS

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T hey reached the top of the outer gates just as the distant figures of seven horsemen became clearer. The standard they carried was unmistakable—the Royal Banner of Scotland, with its red lion rampant on a gold field. The imposing figure of the King was clearly missing from their party.

With no danger in sight, Flanders returned to the ground and signaled for the gates to be opened, then he stepped out to greet the approaching riders. The sound of hooves on the hard earth grew steadily closer, steadily louder, as did the pounding of his heart until the horsemen reined in their mounts before him.

"Welcome to Todlaw!" Flanders' voice carried all the weight of his soon-to-be-ended authority along with a hint of concern. He recognized each man from countless encounters at the king's side along with James Duncan.

The lead rider, a grizzled veteran named Hewitt, dismounted first. His expression was somber, and he approached Flanders with a heavy step. "Laird Leesborn.” They grasped right forearms. "We bring grave news. King Robert the Bruce is dead."

It was rumored The Bruce suffered from leprosy, though it was not often spoken aloud. And though Flanders was relieved for the end of his old friend’s suffering, he was overcome with grief, both for his own sake and for Scotland’s. The country was still so young.

But there would be time to mourn a' plenty, later. For now, he had to see to the visitors.

"Long live the king," he murmured, thinking of The Bruce's son.

"Aye, long live King David," Hewitt replied, his gaze steady. "He is but a young lad, four years old."

Flanders nodded, his mind racing. "And who will be Regent?"

"David’s cousin, Thomas Randolph, Earl of Moray, has been appointed. It was Robert's wish."

“A wise choice, I think.” Flanders’ thoughts turned to the home at his back. The protection that Todlaw had enjoyed under Robert the Bruce's favor would now be precarious. With a new, young king and a regent in place, the political landscape would shift, and Hector Stephan might see an opportunity to test Flanders’ walls and his resolve.

He turned to the wall and gestured up to Robert. "Robert Duncan, son of James Duncan, and as of this minute, laird of Todlaw."

Robert nodded gravely. There wasn’t much youth left to his young face. "Welcome to Todlaw," he said, with all the command and confidence they might have expected from Stout Duncan, Robert’s father, who firmly held lands at the western range of the Tay Forest.

"Well met, Laird Duncan." Hewitt and the other riders nodded in respect, seemingly unconcerned with the lad’s age. After all their new king was all of four years.

Flanders couldn't help but be proud and allowed Robert to extend their hospitality, which he did without prompting. "Come, rest yer horses and stay the night if ye will. Ye've found us celebrating, and food abounds. Though now, we will be raising our cups to the Bruces."

Hewitt shook his head regretfully. "Grateful, Laird Duncan, but we cannot. We must spread the word of the king's passing and assure Scotland that the throne is far from empty, aye?"

Flanders understood their duty but pressed him. "At least take a moment to rest and eat before ye continue on to Laird Stephan's, for he is not the welcoming sort he once was."

The banner men exchanged glances, a hint of amusement in their eyes. Hewitt chuckled softly. "Aye, we've no doubt of that. So aye, we'll rest a mite...and relieve ye of some of that boar we've been smellin' for the past two leagues."

As they led their horses toward the stables, Flanders walked beside Hewitt, his mind still grappling with the news. "Tell me, what was it like at the end?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Hewitt's face softened. "He was surrounded by those who loved him best. He spoke of his victories, his regrets, and his hopes for Scotland's future. He mentioned ye, Flanders. Said ye were always a man to be trusted, a true friend to The Crown."

Flanders was humbled by the bittersweet honor. "Anything of Laird Stephan?"

Hewitt's expression darkened. "He warned that without his direct influence, Stephan will grow bold. And Moray will have much more important matters to tend to. Ye will be on yer own. Or rather, Robert Duncan will be."

"Don't worry about the young laird. His father and James taught him well. He'll not sit back and allow the Rat Laird close enough to sniff these walls."

"I'm relieved to hear it. Speakin' of James, I reckon if he were still in Scotland, The Bruce would have summoned him to guard over King David, hoping he could have the same influence on his son as he's had on Young Duncan. Perhaps we will soon return with such an invitation for ye, from Moray."

Flanders laughed. "I'd like nothing better than to see Stephan's face if he learned his favorite neighbor joined the king's household!" Then another thought occurred to him. "No doubt, when ye reach Gallabrae, he'll have questions about what ye saw here."

Hewitt grinned. "Then tell us, exactly, what ye most wish for him to hear..."

As they entered the bustling inner bailey, the men were greeted with great interest. Flanders decided to let the news of the king's death spread as it would instead of making an announcement. Let the standard bearers have some peace while they ate. And as soon as they were gone, he and Robert would create a war council.

Though Scotland was currently at peace, trouble was coming to Todlaw—unless they took it to Stephan first.