Page 41 of Flanders' Folly
"Or perhaps," Flanders said slowly, "Stirling was not his destination.”
* * *
That night at supper,Flanders sought out Brigid deliberately. He found her sitting alone by the hearth, staring into the flames.
"Good even.”
She looked up, surprised. "Good even.”
He sat beside her, closer than necessary. "I've missed ye," he said simply.
Her eyes widened. "Ye've been busy."
"Aye. Too busy." He took her hand, half expecting her to pull away. She didn't. "But I find myself thinking of ye even when I should be counting arrows or inspecting the walls."
A small smile curved her lips. "Is that so?"
"It is." He squeezed her hand gently. "When this is over?—"
A horn blast from the walls cut him off. Three short blasts – the signal for approaching riders.
Flanders was on his feet in an instant. "Stay here," he told Brigid, then rushed out the door, leaving her to guess at what he might have said.
* * *
“Horn from the east,”the sentry announced as Flanders ran to the top of the wall. Robert joined him just as the riders came into view. Five men. Four of them guards. A banner of red and gold. But whose?
Three gold stars on a red field—the banner of Thomas Randolph, The Regent himself.
How many times had he fought beneath that very flag?
But no. The Earl of Moray, Regent to the child king, would have dressed better. And he’d have come by coach, not as the soldier he once was. This was someone lesser. A puppet. But whose?
Flanders was afraid he already knew.
20
THE ELEPHANT UP THE RAT’S SLEEVE
* * *
The riders approached the gate with haste, trying to reach their destination before full darkness fell. Their horses were lathered and their heads hung low from a hard journey. The youngest among them, a man with a confident bearing and rich garments, rode slightly ahead of the others. Despite the evident weariness of his mount, his own face showed little fatigue as he reined to a stop before Todlaw's gates.
Robert and Flanders stood atop the wall, watching as the party halted at a respectful distance.
"Hail, Todlaw!" the young nobleman called, his voice carrying easily on the moist evening air. "I seek audience with Laird Robert Duncan."
Robert nodded. "I am he. State yer business."
The man bowed slightly from his saddle. "I am David Strathbogie, Earl of Atholl, sent by Thomas Randolph, Earl of Moray and regent to King David." He reached into his tunic and withdrew a sealed parchment. "I come with full authority to settle the dispute between yerself and Laird Stephan."
Flanders stiffened at the Strathbogie name. Here was the son of a traitor who'd fought against The Bruce in the Wars of Scottish Independence. Only after the tide turned at Bannockburn did the family pledge their loyalty to Scotland's true king. And now this pup, barely older than Robert, was sent to judge them?
Robert's face remained impassive, but his knuckles were white. He’d been a new babe when Bannockburn was fought. This Strathbogie had been all of five.
"We welcome the Regent's interest," Robert replied carefully. "Though we received word just hours ago that he considered this a local matter."
"Aye, that messenger was sent before my appointment." Atholl held up the parchment. "This grants me authority to resolve this as I see fit."
