Gerts nodded. "Stephan has always been cruel, but Heslington encourages his cruelty. Though lately..." She shook her head. "For days, he’s not been himself. A week ago, he was fine.”
Brigid wiped a tear from Gerts’ cheek. "Age wouldn’t cause such a drastic change. And it wouldn’t be hensbane, unless ye’ve doubled the fettle."
“I haven’t. But perhaps Heslington has found the garden.”
"Or perhaps Heslington has his own poisons.”
Flanders frowned. "We saw Hector. He was confused. And Heslington seems to be the one giving orders now."
Gerts cheered. "Well, the men won’t stand for that.”
Flanders smiled. "Good. That's very good." He looked around at the other women, some huddled together for warmth, others watching them with wary eyes. Some stood apart from the others, balancing on the larger rocks to keep their feet from the mud. "Cheer up, Gerts. Heslington is a fool."
As the afternoon wore on, Flanders paced the perimeter, testing the walls, looking for weaknesses. The stones were solid, but the mortar between them crumbled in places. None of it was sturdy enough to climb. Their only hope lay in intervention from the outside.
Eventually, he settled beside Brigid, who sat with her back against the wall, her knees drawn up to her chest. She seemed lost in thought, her eyes fixed on nothing.
"I've thought of ye often," he said quietly, surprising himself with the admission. "Since that night in the forest."
She turned to look at him, her eyes glistening in the dim light. "Have ye?"
"Aye. I tried to reach ye, in my mind. As ye reached me that night."
A ghost of a smile touched her lips. "I heard ye. Sometimes. When the distance wasn't too great."
"Ye never answered."
"I was afraid," she admitted. "Of what I saw when I touched yer hand. Of what it might mean for us both."
"And now?"
She looked away. "Now Bella is gone, and I'm still here. I don't understand why."
He reached for her hand, hesitated, then took it gently in his. "I'm sorry about Bella. Truly. But I'm not sorry ye're still here."
She didn't pull away. "I sawourdeath, Flanders. Both of us. And chaos. How can that be, unless I am soon to join her?"
"Perhaps what ye saw hasn't come to pass yet," he suggested. "Or perhaps it changed. The future isn't set, surely."
She gave a weak shrug that signified nothing.
As the light began to fade, Gerts moved among the women, offering comfort and quiet words of encouragement. She had no magic like Brigid, but she had a lifetime of wisdom.
Footsteps approached the edge of the pit. They all looked up to see Heslington's smug face peering down at them.
"Comfortable?" he called down, feigning concern. "I hope so, because it's yer last night on this earth. The laird has agreed that ye should all burn in the morning." His gaze fixed on Flanders. "Maybe we won't bother with a stake. We can just fill this pit with wood and light it from above. Save us the trouble of hauling ye all out."
Flanders stood, his face a mask of calm despite the rage coiling inside him. "Ye’re a coward Heslington. It’s a wonder Stephan allowed ye in.”
Heslington's face flushed red. "We'll see who's the coward when ye're begging for mercy tomorrow."
"I've never begged for anything in my life," Flanders replied with a cold smile. "But I'll wager ye will before this is over. Perhaps ye should practice. Ask me now to forgive ye. Let us see how high yer voice can reach. Give me somethin’ to look forward to."
"Empty hopes of a doomed man in a hole," Heslington spat, but his voice wavered slightly.
"Not hopes, but a promise."
The man’s eyes narrowed, his face pinched, but he had no clever retort. With a final glare, he turned and stomped away, then yelled, “Bring the ladder to the longhouse! No one escapes!”
