Page 34 of Flanders' Folly
“It is not.” He made a broad gesture toward the enemy outside.
“Ye ken what I mean. I can see it in yer eyes. Ye’re relieved to know I won’t expect anything from ye.”
He pulled her closer and pressed his lips to hers, demanding she react as she had the night before. And naturally, she couldn’t refuse. But when she was finally allowed to take a breath, he laid his fingers across her mouth before she could speak.
“I am relieved, lass, that ye accepted my apology. But I can see ye’re disappointed. Ye were hoping for a fight, and I’ve robbed ye, plain and simple. So, if ye’re still wishin’ for a stramash, after this business with Stephan is done…” He pecked her lips yet again. “Just keep insistin’ that we don’t belong together, and I’ll oblige ye.”
He released her gently, like he was setting a wild animal free and worried it might come back at him. Then he grinned and left her standing there with nothing to do but watch his backside while he climbed the stairs.
Hot-faced and speechless, she was grateful they hadn’t had an audience. Or so she thought.
When she turned around, she found half the household standing in the entrance to the great hall, grinning like well-fed cats.
17
THE WAR CHAMBER
* * *
The war chamber sat at the top of Todlaw's main tower, a circular room with narrow windows that allowed those inside to see in all directions. A massive oak table dominated the center, its surface scarred from years of daggers stabbed into maps and fists pounded in frustration or triumph.
Flanders entered to find Robert already seated, along with Hemming, the captain of the guard, a stocky man with a face that looked as if it had been carved from granite by a blind man in a foul mood. Snorre, the master of scouts, lounged against the wall, his lanky frame deceptively relaxed. Rolf, the bald-headed, long bearded quartermaster with wild eyebrows, stood at the window, watching Stephan's men with narrowed eyes.
"Ah, the man of the hour," Hemming said with a smirk as Flanders took his seat. "Some of us didn't need the screech of a banshee to wake us this morning. We were already up and about our duties."
The others chuckled, but Flanders merely raised an eyebrow. "And yet, here ye sit, no more prepared than I."
"Touché," Hemming conceded with a nod. "Though I must say, I've never heard such colorful language from a lady's lips. Particularly the bit about yer ancestry and what ye might do with yer own sword."
"Enough," Robert cut in, though his lips twitched with amusement. "We have more pressing matters than Flanders' lady love."
"Love?" Snorre pushed off from the wall. "Is that what we're calling it now? I thought it was more akin to a bear poking a beehive."
Flanders ignored them all and spread his hands on the rough table. "What do we know of Stephan's movements? How many men?" There was no need for leadership in the room. Not with these men.
The teasing ceased immediately.
"Brought two hundred eighty-four that we can count," Rolf reported. "Impressive for just a day’s notice. Though there may be more beyond the pass. Supplies are trickling in."
"And the message to Stirling?" Robert asked. "Any idea what it contained?"
Hemming shook his head. "Their rider left before dawn. Fast horse, light load. He'll reach Stirling in two days."
"And what of our own messenger?" Flanders asked.
"Sent last night, just after we arrived," Robert confirmed. "Our fastest horse and best rider. He should arrive first, if luck holds."
Flanders nodded, satisfied. "Now, to the heart of it. What game does Stephan play? He cannot truly believe Thomas Randolph will order us to release his people so he can burn them as witches."
"Especially not his own wife," Snorre added. "Lady Stephan is nobility in her own right. Her family has connections."
"Connections that haven't helped her much all these years," Hemming pointed out.
Robert drummed his fingers on the table. "The worry is his confidence. Did ye see his face? He believes he'll win this."
"Aye," Flanders agreed. "And with Heslington dead, who's feeding him that belief? The man’s lucid again. Back to his bastard self."
Rolf had a thought. "Perhaps he learned something from Heslington.”
