Page 50 of Flanders' Folly
"Oh, but he'll call out," Snorre countered, a glint of humor in his eyes.
Rolf was eager to join in the jest. "We'd need to shut him up before we shut him in.”
Gerts leaned forward, her expression perfectly serious. "I could prepare some hensbane. Enough to keep him quiet for a day or two."
A deadly silence emanated from the far side of the room. Brigid turned to see Atholl's guards seated together at the farthest table, their faces grim. They had to have heard every word.
The tallest stood and encouraged the others to do the same. "We will see the earl.Now."
Robert stood and nodded, barely keeping his expression in check. "Of course. It is time."
* * *
Brigid and Gerts,the five men of the war council, and four nervous guards made their way out of the hall, up the staircase, and to the solar where the Earl of Atholl had been isolated to deliberate the charges, the defense of those charges, and the strength of his own character.
As they approached the door, Flanders’ hand tightened around hers. He was as anxious as she.
Two Todlaw men stood to either side of the portal. Both were relieved by their approach. "He's been demanding to see ye, Laird Robert," one said. "We told him ye were at table, just as ye said to."
They opened the door to reveal Atholl, red-faced and pacing the chamber. He stopped abruptly, the look in his flashing eyes promised retribution.
Brigid’s stomach sank. Of course, they might have been kinder to the young man, but the more time she spent in the earl’s presence, the less she believed it might have mattered. The man obviously hated everything and everyone associated with The Bruce, so it was a wonder he wanted to have aught to do with the royal household.
"At last," the earl snapped. "Ye’re a fool to keep me waiting.”
"My apologies, my lord," Robert said, with little regret in his smooth tone. "We have a meal prepared if ye've finished yer deliberations."
The guard who'd overheard their jests pushed into the room. "My lord, I believe we should depart immediately."
Atholl's eyes narrowed. "Oh?"
"For yer safety, my lord."
Atholl studied the carefully blank faces before him, then nodded sharply, as if he finally understood his vulnerability and how little love there was for him in that room. "Very well. We leave at once." He tapped his finger on a folded parchment on the table. "My judgement. Remember that my voice is the voice of The Regent in this matter. I’m sending a duplicate to Stirling post haste, and I shall deliver another to Laird Stephan myself."
He pressed a hand to his breast, where he carried the other copies. Then he jerked his hand away, as if he’d revealed too much.
Hemming stepped forward, staring at the spot. "Perhaps we should read it before ye go, my lord. In case we have questions."
"The document is quite clear," Atholl replied coldly. "You will escort us to the gates.Now.”
For a long moment, Hemming stood his ground, sizing up Comyn’s grandson, weighing his fate. Neither Flanders nor Robert said a word. No one moved as the possible scenarios swirled like dried leaves overhead. All anyone needed to do was pick one. Just one move would decide all.
Gerts’ low chuckle broke the silence and, still red-faced, Atholl pushed around Hemming and fled.
Hemming protested to Robert. "We can't just let him go, surely.”
"We cannot murder five men who ride under The Regent's banner," Robert said quietly. "And we cannot send the men of Todlaw to war without just cause."
"Then read it," Flanders said, his voice hard as stone. "Give us cause."
25
SHOULD HAVE THROWN HIM OUT THE WINDOW
* * *
Judgment of The Crown
