Page 62 of Flanders' Folly
Three hours later,Thomas Randolph emerged from Robert’s chambers feeling refreshed, though he could have slept for an entire day, truth be told. He was greeted by the tall and lanky soldier he knew as Snorre and escorted to Todlaw’s impressive war room, where the narrow windows gave him a clear view in every direction and a welcome breath of fresh air.
The fortress was surrounded on all sides by Gallabrae’s men, but on each horizon, another army bided its time.
"Now," he said, settling into the chair at the head of the table. “Tell me everything. From the beginning."
Young Duncan and his council took turns recounting events that had led to this standoff, starting with a corrupt and banished steward, Hector Stephan's accusation of witchcraft, the burning of the first witch, Lady Stephan and other women being sent to the pit. Leesborn told the harrowing tale of the attempted rescue, being sent to the pit himself, and their ultimate rescue. This was all followed by Stephan’s arrival at Todlaw’s gates, of their theories of what motivated the bastard, and Atholl's arrival soon after.
“We were not surprised by Atholl’s biased judgment,” Young Duncan added. “Considering his grandfather was Red Comyn.”
Through it all, Moray had listened without interruption, careful not to allow his expression to reveal his thoughts. When it was finished, he sat back and steepled his fingers. "I feel it only right that I remind ye that I, too, have Comyn blood through my mother’s family.”
He was pleased to see them set back on their heels, if only slightly. Their confidence in their own righteousness needed checking, and he pretended not to notice when, to a man, they shared a silent, nervous exchange.
He enjoyed it so much, in fact, he sought to worry them just a wee bit more. So he asked, “Where is this Easterling silver Heslington stole? The silver that might have bought Atholl's favor?"
Flanders glanced at Young Duncan before answering. "Hidden, Lord Moray. Safe from those who cannot be trusted."
He nodded. "Wise. Now, I believe it's time we heard from our friends outside. Send for Atholl and Stephan."
Flanders’ expression darkened and he shook his head. "I am happy to bring in Atholl, my lord, but I can't guarantee Stephan will leave Todlaw alive."
Moray's gaze flicked to the witch standing in the corner. The Viking was protecting his woman. Completely understandable. But he couldn’t allow one man to put the future of Scotland at risk for a show of chivalry.
"Give it no further thought, Leesborn.Ican guarantee his safety. Is that understood?”
The man inhaled sharply, then inclined his head. "As ye wish, my lord."
31
THE OPENING GAMBIT
* * *
The great hall was transformed into a makeshift court. The immovable chair, still immovable despite the weight of silver that had been rescued from its base, and the smaller table and chairs that usually sat behind it had been removed. Thus, when Moray sat upon The Bruce’s gift, there was nothing to distract attention away from him.
Obviously, there was little of the humble soldier left inside the finery.
Benches had been removed so that everyone in attendance remained standing, except for Lady Stephan, who was given a stool to one side of the dais.
The war council stood along the south wall to Moray’s right. Along the back of the large room waited the women who had been rescued from Stephan’s pit, along with their families.
Though it was unconsciously done, Flanders kept nudging Brigid back so that his own body blocked The Regent’s view of her. And each time he did, she nudged him in return and tried to step forward to see what was going on. She did, finally retreat a step on her own when the enemy entered.
Atholl came first, his steps quick and eager, his face a mask of deference. "Lord Regent,” he said, bowing low. "An unexpected honor. How fares our young king?"
"Well enough," Moray replied coolly. "Though I wonder at your concern, given your recent actions."
Atholl's smile faltered. "I've done only what was expected, my lord. I've represented yer interests in this petty dispute?—"
"Petty? Indeed." Moray's voice was dangerously soft.
Hector Stephan entered and came to stand at Atholl’s side, his gaze darting around the hall like a man who expects it all to be his, and soon. When he spotted Gerts among the women, his face darkened and his eyes narrowed while he waited to be addressed.
“Laird Stephan.”
"Lord Regent,” he said, offering a stiff bow. "I'm pleased ye've come to enforce yer representative's judgment?—"
"Are ye?" Moray leaned forward. "Tell me, Atholl, when ye came to me with Laird Stephan's complaints, why did ye not mention that ye were relations?"
