Page 53 of Flanders' Folly
"That tunnel's barely wide enough for a child," Flanders said. "And it leads straight to the river. We'd be sending them to drown."
"We could dig a new tunnel," Hemming offered.
"In a night?" Flanders scoffed. "Even if we had a month, we couldn’t dig far enough to reach past Stephan's men."
"What about a distraction?" Robert tried again. "Set fire to something on the far side of the camp?"
"And what then?" Hemming asked. "We still have to get a messenger past their lines. And they'll be watching for exactly that sort of trick."
"We could dress the women as men," Rolf said. "Hide them among our soldiers."
"Possibly. But what would they do to the children, to get them to confess where their mums have gone?" Flanders huffed. “Besides, Stephan likely knows their faces well enough to spot them."
"What about the coins?" Snorre asked. "We could bribe those who watch the postern."
"Possibly. A last resort,” Robert said. He sounded as sleepy as Gerts. “Someone write that down."
"A bird then," Hemming said. "A messenger pigeon. Where can we?—”
“Balmerino Abbey.” Flanders shook his head. “There are better places to send a rider.”
Brigid stepped into the doorway, selfish or not, she wanted Flanders to see her, to choose her, and to find his rest.
Her bright bear looked up. His features softened immediately. "Brigid," he said, with relief. "Ye should be restin’."
"As should all of ye," she replied. "Ye'll think better with clear heads."
Flanders stood and stretched his massive frame. "The lass is right. We've exhausted every option ten times over. Let us adjourn until mornin’. Perhaps something will come to us in our sleep."
The others nodded, too weary to argue further. They filed out past Brigid, each nodding respectfully as they passed. Robert was the last to leave, pausing to clasp Flanders' shoulder.
"We'll find a way," he said, though his voice lacked conviction.
When Flanders would have pulled her into his arms, she took his hand and led him back to his chamber—her chamber now—and guided him to a chair. The fire had burned low, but still cast enough light to see the deep lines of worry etched into his face.
"Sit."
He obeyed.
She moved behind him and placed her hands on his shoulders where she felt hard knots in the already firm muscles. Slowly, she began to rub at them.
He sighed. "I’ve never before appreciated yer hands as I do now.”
She moved her attention to his neck. "I am a healer."
His head dropped forward as she worked, and his breathing deepened. When she moved to his temples, he lifted his head closer to her and sighed again with pleasure.
"Brigid," he said after a while. “Could ye...could ye try to see what's comin’?"
Her hands stilled. "I've tried before. I saw only darkness."
"Will ye try again? Please?"
She moved around to face him and knelt on the thick rug at his feet. Since his touch was what triggered that other vision, she took his hands in hers, closed her eyes, and considered the future. At first, there was nothing, just the familiar void that had greeted her previous attempts.
"I see nothing," she whispered, opening her eyes.
"Once more," he urged. "For me."
