Page 8 of Flanders' Folly
“No one said anything about?—”
“Wee-uns starvin? Auch, but I’m certain they have, and just as certain ye’d have turned a deaf ear to them. Just as I couldn’t hear them from a distance.”
“Then ye’re just as much to blame?—”
“Aye! I am! But mine was the sin of neglect. Yers was of intention. I will be here to pay for mine. But ye…ye cannot be trusted inside our walls again.” Flanders waved to the guards. “Take him to his quarters. Find these coffers he brags of. Allow him to pack a small sack—clothes, water, bread only. Then present him at the gate.” He gestured to another guard and one of the scullery maids. “Do the same for yer former mistress. A small sack. Let her keep the finery on her back to remind her of what she deemed more important than yer lives.”
Another guard came forward for Dunstan. Flanders let the big man face him again.
“Ye have a choice. Ye may stay at Todlaw, but ye’ll no longer be Master of Beasts. Ye’ll be given the most menial of work. Or ye can meet us at the gate and go with yer friends. Perhaps Laird Stephan will have a reward for the loyalty ye paid him. But if ye stay, remember that these starving people showed ye mercy today. Whether they continue to do so is up to them.”
Dunstan nodded his bowed head, then gave a timid whisper, “I would stay, yer lairdship.”
Finally, Flanders stepped back to his chair, though he didn’t sit. For the chair was no longer his.
“First things first,” he announced. “Any of ye who can read, write, and add sums may step forward. Todlaw has an immediate need for a new steward. Any woman who can do the same may put her foot in for chatelaine.”
Then he waved to his three guests whom he hadn’t forgotten. As they came forward, they threw off their hoods. He was surprised at the height on Robert Duncan since the last time he’d seen him. The lad had to be nineteen now…
“Laird Leesborn! Thanks to James Duncan, I have just the skills ye’re lookin’ for!” The lad grinned and slapped Flanders on both shoulders with enough strength to cause him pain.
Flanders slapped the top of the laird’s chair. “Say ye’ve come to take yer rightful place here,” he said, grinning back into those dark eyes.
“First, I must learn.” Robert turned to gesture at the people who would soon call him their leader. “But I believe I’ve just had my first lesson.”
“A wise tack. And I vow, before ye’ve learned all the workings of Todlaw, we will make it a place of honor and plenty once more.”
4
PUT TO RIGHTS
* * *
The inner bailey was a sight to warm Flanders’ heart, filled with weary but happy people, food a’ plenty, and the peace that comes from high walls and well-trained men to man them.
Instead of eating apart and aloof on the dais, as he used to do, ignoring what might have been happening on the tables below, Flanders sat at the end of one of those tables with a hundred of his people sitting before him and another two hundred to each side of him.
Everyone seemed to appreciate and revel in the stark changes the place had undergone since he'd cleaned house.
Before, if there had been a wary silence over meager meals, and folks stretching provisions, he'd been oblivious. It wasn't until he'd seen that woman eyeing his burnt eggs that he'd finally bothered to look around...
Now, thankfully, the summer air chimed with easy laughter and the clatter of wooden platters spread equally along the trestles. The fragrance of roasted meats mingled with the crisp tang of healthy crops growing on the hillside and the welcome smell of bread from the kitchens. The last time he'd ordered such a meal for the general population to share, it had been an apology, a restitution, an act of survival. This time, it was pure celebration.
Even the dogs, once lean things skulking about the refuse piles, now lounged beneath benches, bellies round as spun barrels, occasionally lifting hopeful heads for another scrap.
Flanders didn't bother hiding his satisfied smile. James Duncan had built Todlaw to be a respectable sanctuary, and by Odin, it was once again.
To his left, Robert tore at a slab of salt pork, his eyes alight with the smug triumph of a man who’d turned a tangle of corruption into order. “I still cannae believe we've made it through all of Heslington’s ledgers." He stuffed the meat in his mouth and followed with a wash of ale, then he leaned close and lowered his voice. "Do ye reckon ye might offer a reward to the man, or woman, who finds the sum of silver still missin?"
Flanders shook his head. "James was all for rewards, but not I. I'll not have one stone upturned to find what's left of that evil dragon's hoard. We found the bulk of it, and we've used it to make us whole again. Perhaps, in the future, James will?—"
He bit his lips together and reached for his drink, to wash the words down again. He'd almost let it slip that James had gone forward in time when he'd left Todlaw behind him. And with the current outrage over witchcraft raging across Scotland like a grassfire, a slip like that would be the worst sort of fodder for his enemies.
Like Hector Stephan.
Robert frowned. "Perhaps James will what?"
"Perhaps, if James ever returns, we could tease him with it, to keep him occupied."
