Page 49 of Flanders' Folly
Atholl looked from Robert to Flanders, then to the others in the room. Whatever he saw in their faces made him swallow hard. "I shall render my verdict this evening."
"Excellent." Flanders stood. "Rolf will show ye the way. Pen and paper await. And David?”
The man paused in his eager rush for the door and the chance of cooler air, his back bristling at Flanders’ gall in using his given name.
“Ye’re young. Just startin’. Ye’re about to decide the trajectory of yer life. Choose honor, and history will remember ye for it. Choose dishonor, and yer family will be remembered only with derision.”
24
THE JURY IS OUT
* * *
Brigid watched the men of Todlaw's war council pace the great hall like caged wolves. Tables had been assembled, benches arranged, but no one sat. They were waiting for food, eager to have the meal done with so they could drag Atholl out and put an end to the anticipation.
In light of the tension in the room, the younger children had been taken below stairs to be fed.
Brigid was grateful not to be facing this alone, grateful to have Flanders nearby to assure her she was safe, even if that was only temporary. If only he’d been near when Bella was caught… But no. She couldn’t hold that against him. How could he have known what was happening on the other side of the pass? He'd come as soon as he learned of it, risked everything for a woman he barely knew.
And if she couldn't have her sister beside her now, when she was about to learn her fate, she was blessed to be surrounded by friends.
Flanders paced a large swath of floor that the others left to him, taking exactly eight steps before turning back. Each time he turned in her direction, his eyes found hers, and a thrill shot through her chest. Eight steps closer, then he'd turn away and she could breathe again. Eight steps, turn, and another thrill.
He’d repeated this dozens of times, then he changed tack. He didn’t turn away. With his jaw set, he strode directly toward her, that thrill mounting with every closing step. Without explanation, he lifted the child she'd been playing with and set him gently aside, then took her hand and marched out the back of the hall.
She scurried to keep up.
At the rear corner of the hall stood a spiral stair that led both up and down. He pulled her into the darkness, descended a few steps, then turned toward her. In the dim light, his face was all sharp lines and shadows, but his eyes burned bright. With the difference of a few steps, his face was level with her own.
"I've been a fool," he said, his voice low and impassioned. "Waitin' for the right moment, the perfect words. There's no such thing."
Her heart hammered in her chest. "Flanders?—"
"Nay, let me say it." He took her face in his hands, his touch gentle despite the intensity in his eyes. "Ye came into my dreams four years ago, and I've been chasin' the ghost of ye ever since. Now that I've found ye in the flesh, I'll not let ye go. Not for Stephan, not for Atholl, not for The Regent himself."
Tears pricked at her eyes. "Ye barely know me."
"I know enough. I know these eyes. I know this smile. I know a glow in my belly when ye reach for me.” His thumbs brushed her cheeks. "I know that when ye're near, life makes sense in a way it never did before."
A tear slipped down her cheek. "And if they try to take me?"
"They must go through me first." He pressed his forehead to hers. "I'll volunteer to take yer place, if needed, if it will satisfy those bastards?—"
"No!" She clutched at his tunic. "Ye must promise ye'll do no such thing. I couldn't bear it."
He smiled sadly. "Ye don’t like me to lie, remember? So, I won't. I'll do whatever I must to keep ye safe."
She wept then, for all she'd lost and all she might yet lose. Sorrow washed over them both in wave after wave that might have knocked them to their knees had they let go of each other. And when they’d finally spent their grief, he kissed her—once, twice, again and again, until the world beyond the stairwell ceased to exist.
A stolen bit of joy. Possibly the last.
Finally, they let go and awkwardly wiped each other’s tears. She reached out and made order out of his Viking-blond hair and smiled into his eyes. Her bright bear smiled back. And without another word, in a sort of drunken haze, they left the staircase behind and returned to the hall, their fingers knotted together.
The food had arrived during their absence. Platters of meat, bread, roasted root vegetables and sauces covered the tables, but few of their friends showed much appetite. Gerts caught Brigid's eye and gave her a sad smile, an unspoken understanding.
Together, they took a bench and sat with their shoulders touching. Brigid tried to eat, but the food had no flavor for her. Flanders managed no better.
"Ye know," Hemming said, breaking the heavy silence, "instead of hearin' Atholl out, perhaps we should just wall him inside." He gestured vaguely toward the ceiling. "Let his men try to find him."
