A guard at each corner leaned down for a look. “Get back out there,” one called. “She’s not found yet!”
“We were ordered to return,” Mael shouted.
“Oh? And why is that?”
“We complained. Been searching all night, haven’t we? So, they called us women and ordered us back to the fort to tend the bairns. We have no choice,” Mael grumbled as if he’d been condemned to muck out the privy houses.
The pair above them burst out laughing and opened the gate without another thought.
“Clever man,” Robert muttered, and hung his head as if he too had been assigned to an odious duty.
As soon as they were clear, the gates swung closed behind them and a giant port bar fell across them and landed in the cradles with a thud, reinforcing the fact that they were, for good or ill, in the belly of the beast.
10
WOLFY THE GUILELESS
* * *
Flanders, Robert, and Mael strode with purpose for a long while and still hadn't lost the interest of the gatekeepers, so Flanders grabbed his fellows by the sleeves and guided them around the corner of the Smithy's enclosure. Over the clanging of hammer and anvil, Robert shouted, "What do ye suggest?"
"We were told to watch over the bairns," Flanders said. "I suggest we do just that."
"Bairns? Why?"
He grinned. "What do bairns do better than their parents?"
Both men shrugged.
"They tell the truth. They tell the truth."
* * *
Flanders had beena regular guest at Gallabrae for many years, and a favored one at that, until James and the king got the best of Stephan, then left Todlaw in Flanders’ hands. He’d been around enough to know the lay of the place, and little had changed in the past eight years. Thus, the longhouse that was reserved for the wrangling of children was just where he expected it to be.
At Todlaw, it was referred to as the child garden, but the corresponding space Stephan provided for his smallest and newest citizens was hardly cheery enough to be called the same. In the low structure, with light coming only from the ends, there was no learning or singing or playing games—the children were all working. Small tasks for small fingers, but nothing playful or enlightening.
A dozen or so children sat in lines along the dirt floor, their small fingers working nimbly at stripping bark from willow branches—wattle that was used for any number of things. Others sat at rough tables, sorting through piles of dried herbs, separating stems from leaves. The smallest ones, whose heads would barely reach above Flanders’ knees, toddled back and forth with tiny scoops to water a line of clay pots where seedlings were planted.
The woman overseeing them—a thin, sharp-faced creature with wild hair and ragged clothes—eyed the three men with suspicion when they entered. "What business have ye here?"
Flanders kept his shoulders hunched to disguise his height and his hood on in case the woman might recognize him.
Mael took the lead. "Laird Stephan sent us to check on the bairns while the search continues."
The woman's eyes narrowed. "Did he, now? And why would he do that?"
Robert spoke kindly. “The witch is still at liberty. The laird fears she might try to steal a child."
The woman's hand flew to her throat. "Odin preserve us!"
"Indeed," Robert added. “So, we're to keep watch until the witch is found. Ye can go about yer business, mistress. We’ll not disturb ye."
She hesitated, then nodded. "I'll fetch more water for the seedlings, then." She hurried out, leaving them alone with the children, leaving the door ajar.
Flanders moved among the older workers. Most kept their heads down, but a few brave ones glanced up, curiosity overcoming caution. He knelt beside a girl of seven or eight summers who was stripping bark with particular care. She was far too young to have seen his face before.
"What's yer name, lass?" he asked softly.
