Stephan blinked rapidly, then his curious expression changed to understanding. "Ah, yes. Witch lovers, like the king. But the king's not here to defend ye, Flanders, is he?" He scowled again and looked at Robert, then behind him, then around the gathering. "Where's James, then?"
One of his guards bent close to whisper in his ear, then the blinking commenced again.
"Dead? Oh, yes, yes. Of course."
"Yer lairdship," Heslington interrupted, "I've ordered chains for Young Duncan. He's worth a fine ransom. And I reckoned we'd all be safest if we put Leesborn in the pit with the witch."
"The pit? Yes, of course." Stephan smiled again. "Ye'll join us for supper, Flanders. Gerts will be pleased to see ye."
"Hakon," Heslington barked at the guard who'd whispered in Stephan's ear. "Take our laird back to the longhouse. It's been a trying night with no sleep. He'll need food and a bed."
Hakon whispered again and Stephan nodded. Judging from the concerned look exchanged between the guard and the former steward, their laird wasn't the man in charge.
Heslington dared step closer, then spoke quietly. "It seems I haven't slipped as low as ye imagined, aye?"
With his chin lifted like the Stephan Flanders remembered, the laird strode toward the longhouse on the hillside, oblivious to the shifting glances exchanged by his own men. He was a puppet now, his strings held firmly in Heslington’s grasp. And yet, they obeyed him still.
Flanders’ gaze swept across the gathered crowd and landed on Wolfy, the wee lad clinging to the leg of a broad-shouldered man with a thick beard and wary eyes. The father’s hand rested protectively on the boy’s small shoulder, his fingers gripping tight in silent warning. His chest rose and fell in slow, measured breaths, but his jaw was locked, his eyes burning with something dangerous.
Not fear.
Defiance.
The man’s gaze flicked toward the pit in the distance, then back to Flanders. Clearly, he and Robert weren’t the only ones resisting the urge to act.
And no one had checked the dugout. Thank the gods, they hadn't thought to ask the boy how many men had been searching for the witch. Too young to count, perhaps his ignorance had bought Mael’s life.
If Heslington meant to burn all the women in that pit, then this wasn’t just cruelty—it was a mistake. Because there were men here who wouldn’t stand idle while their wives and daughters turned to ash. All it would take was a spark, the first man bold enough to step forward.
Thank the gods, this fort was days away from an uprising. Hopefully, only hours.
12
FRIENDS IN LOW PLACES
* * *
Gallabrae’s pit was an impressive affair. Hector Stephans was a poor builder, but he knew how to dig.
The hole was twenty feet in diameter and well over twenty feet deep in the ground with its walls and edges reinforced by stones—some of the very ones James Duncan had been ordered to deliver to Gallabrae, one by one. At least some of them had been put to use, though not in the way The Bruce had intended.
The guards forced Flanders and Brigid down a rough-hewn ladder. He went first so he could help Brigid down after him. Robert had been dragged away, and he could only hope the lad would be treated well enough for ransom purposes.
His feet hit the floor with a squelch. The bottom of the pit was mostly mud with a smattering of rocks here and there. There was nothing to keep the rain out, and the storm from that morning had yet to be absorbed. The place stank of wet earth, offal, and fear—a pit used often, then.
As his eyes adjusted to the dim light, he realized there were more women in there than he expected. At quick count, fifteen women, one girl. That meant more crying bairns in Gallabrae. That meant more motivated fathers who wouldn't look kindly on Heslington burning their wives and a young daughter.
"Flanders!" Gerts emerged from the shadows and embraced him fiercely. "Ye came for us!"
"Aye, though not quite as I planned." He returned her embrace, then held her at arm's length to examine her. She looked tired, wet, but unharmed. "Are ye well?"
"Well enough." Her eyes shifted to Brigid with recognition and concern. "And ye found Brigid."
Brigid stepped forward, her face drawn with grief. "Gerts."
The older woman pulled her into a gentle embrace. "I am sorry about Bella, child. We tried to stop it."
"Which gave Stephan and Heslington an excuse to put ye here," Flanders said glumly.
