Page 35 of Flanders' Folly
The men fell silent, each lost in thought. Flanders stared at the map spread before them, tracing the boundaries between Todlaw and Stephan's lands.
"What if it's not about the witches at all?" he said suddenly. "What if that's merely the excuse?"
Robert frowned. "What do ye mean?"
"Think on it. Stephan has wanted Todlaw since James first built it. The Bruce denied him, but The Bruce is dead. What if he's convinced Randolph to redraw the lines, to revisit his claim that James still owed him a great reward?"
"Impossible," Hemming scoffed. "The Bruce's decree was clear. Todlaw belongs to James Duncan’s heir, his brother."
"Aye, but what if Stephan claims Robert isn't James' true heir?" Flanders pressed. "They are foster brothers, after all."
Robert's face darkened. "Let him try. Every man, woman, and child in the glen knows I'm James Duncan's brother."
"By blood, no," Flanders reminded him gently. "By choice, aye. But in the eyes of the law?"
"The king himself recognized me as his heir," Robert insisted. “That should be enough.”
"The Regent must honor that," Snorre said firmly. "He needs The Bruce's allies, which include Stout Duncan. He won't risk alienating them or losing any of them to Balliol’s side.”
"Unless," Rolf said, "Stephan has offered him something he wants more. Only, what could Randolf want more than to continue as Regent, and to see David safely on the throne?"
The room fell silent again as they considered this possibility. They’d fought beside the man in question and knew him well enough to be certain he wouldn’t hand Scotland back to an ally of England, which Edward Balliol was.
Hemming gently hammered at the wall with his fist while he thought aloud. "What could Stephan possibly offer anyone? Just how much wealth can the man have?" Hemming asked.
No one had an answer.
"There's another possibility," Snorre said after a moment. "What if Stephan doesn't expect Randolph to rule in his favor at all? What if the message to Stirling is merely a distraction?"
Flanders straightened. "Go on."
"What if his real plan is to attack before any messenger returns? To take Todlaw by force and present Randolph with afait accompli?"
Robert shook his head. "With two hundred eighty men against our walls? He'd need ten times that number."
"Unless he has allies we don't know about," Hemming suggested. "Or a way inside we haven't considered."
They spent the next hour examining every possibility, every potential weakness in Todlaw's defenses. They discussed secret tunnels (there were none), traitors within their ranks (unlikely), and even the possibility of Stephan having some new weapon or strategy they hadn't encountered before.
By the time the sun climbed high enough to shine directly through the southern window, they were no closer to an answer.
"Perhaps we're overthinking this," Flanders said at last, putting his feet on the table and tipping his chair back. "Perhaps Stephan is simply mad. The years of hensbane may have addled his wits beyond repair."
Robert managed a smile. "Illusory confidence? We can always hope."
A knock at the door interrupted them. Servants entered with trays of food – bread still warm from the ovens, cold meats, cheese, and ale. The men fell on the meal with enthusiasm, their discussion happily postponed.
As they ate, Flanders’ thoughts went to Brigid. He wondered how she was digesting his last declaration. But he’d been perfectly serious, not just trying to distract her. If the lass fancied a good fight, it only made her more appealing. As long as she didn’t try to set his beard on fire when he came in for a kiss…
The thought made him smile.
Hemming noticed. "Thought of something clever, have ye?"
Flanders choked on a fresh cherry and washed it down with a swig while he thought of a reply other than the truth. "Just thinking that for all our worrying, we might be missing something obvious."
"Such as?" Robert asked around a mouthful of bread.
"I don't know. But I can't shake the feeling we're looking in the wrong direction."
