Page 60 of Flanders' Folly
James leaned his elbows on the table. "We assumed Atholl would be called into this ruckus. And Atholl isn’t to be trusted. He won’t…that is, I doubt he will remain loyal to another Bruce king or his regent.” He bit his lips together like he was trying to keep from sharing too much. And Flanders reckoned that, from some future vantage point, his friend might know exactly where Scotland’s fate lay.
"Precisely," Duncan nodded. "The lad's grandfather was Red Comyn. His mother was Stephan's cousin. Flanders’ missive said Stephan was the threat, so I assumed he would call on his connections.”
Wickham, who had been silent until now, spoke up. "And what of Stephan and Atholl? Do ye suppose they’ll dismiss the charges and slink away?"
McInnes grinned. "I surely would.”
“They are stuck,” Flanders said. “They've pulled their men tight around the walls to catch us, but they're caught between us and the clans. And they know it."
"They do," one of the watchmen said. "Stephan’s men are desertin’. Slipping away in small groups."
Flanders felt a weight lift from his shoulders. He glanced at Brigid, who was watching him with a mixture of relief and something else—uncertainty, perhaps. He wanted to go to her, to reassure her that all would be well, but he couldn’t make promises about things he had yet to understand.
"What of their horses?" he asked, remembering the wild scene from earlier. "Have they recovered them?"
"Most ran off," the same man replied. "Strange thing, that. Never seen warhorses spook so badly over nothin’."
"It wasn't nothin’." McInnes glanced at Brigid, then away. “Every horse went mad, rearing and throwing their riders, then bolting as if the devil himself were nippin’ at their heels. But it wasn’t the devil, it was..." He suddenly clapped his mouth shut and looked at his boots.
"Not the devil, ye say?" James raised an eyebrow.
"No. It was weeds," Flanders said, his eyes finding Brigid again. "Our Brigid has a way with plants. She made them grow right before our eyes and reach for the horses' hooves."
Wickham's eyes gleamed with interest. "A talent indeed. Though I suspect yer watchman wasn’t the only one to notice."
Flanders' smile faded. "What do ye mean?"
"I mean," Wickham said carefully, "that if two of ye saw the truth, there are others who did as well. Word will reach Stephan and Atholl. They won’t take it lightly."
Flanders cursed. He'd been so caught up in the moment, in the joy of seeing their enemies discomfited, he hadn’t considered the danger. And danger it was, now that The Bruce was gone.
James placed a hand on Flanders' shoulder. "Dinnae fash. With these armies arriving, Stephan and Atholl have more pressing concerns than one woman."
"Besides," Wickham said with a strange smile, "I’m here to help with that. Trust me.”
Flanders would do no such thing. He'd seen the fear in Brigid’s eyes when she spoke of the man coming to take her away.
"What happens now?" Robert asked, bringing Flanders back to the matter at hand.
"Now," Stout Duncan said, "we wait for Randolph to arrive. He’ll have to decide what to do with a judge who's been caught conspiring with his cousin against The Crown’s closest allies."
"And Stephan?" Hemming asked.
Duncan's smile was cold. "I suspect he will pay dearly, at least for his recent crimes." He looked at Brigid, then at Flanders.
Flanders noted Brigid's shiver and moved to her side to wrap an arm around her shoulders. "It's nearly over," he promised.
"Is it?" she whispered back.
30
LET THE GAMES BEGIN
* * *
Thomas Randolph, Earl of Moray and regent to the child king, did indeed come to Todlaw.
His Majesty’s carriage approached Todlaw's gates with a slow, dignified pace that belied the urgency of the situation. From the wall, Flanders watched as the conveyance rolled past Stephan and Atholl, who stood expectantly by the roadside. The Regent barely turned his head in their direction, offering nothing more than the briefest glance through the carriage window.
