Gerts moved to stand beside Flanders. "Ye've rattled him."
"Good. He won’t sleep any better than we do tonight.”
They settled back into their places as darkness fell. There was but the smallest sliver of a moon whose light didn’t make much difference in the pit.
There was movement above. Flanders tensed, ready for whatever might come, but instead of guards or Heslington, a basket was lowered on a rope. Inside it were skins of water. When it lowered the second time, there were loaves of bread and strips of dried meat.
"Take it all, quickly,” called a gruff voice from above.
Flanders exchanged a hopeful glance with Gerts. "What did I tell ye?"
Gerts nodded. "The men are with us."
“Aye, but they need a push.” Flanders grabbed hold of the basket before it could rise out of reach. A head peeked over the edge to see what impeded it.
Wolfy’s father. “Let go, man. I cannot lift ye.”
“Listen well,” Flanders hissed. “If ye mean to save yer women, ye’ll need to free them well before dawn, or ye’ll be raisin’ those bairns on yer own! And mark me. Todlaw and Duncan move against Stephan even now. This place will be razed to the ground and yer families with it…unless ye get us all out now.”
The man yanked on the rope again, but Flanders held.
The big beard returned. “What now?”
“Find Young Duncan. Free him. And he’ll help.” He released the basket and it flew up into the darkness.
As they distributed the food among the women, Flanders felt his faith in the men of the Gallabrae grow stronger. Heslington might have Stephan's ear, but he didn't have the hearts of the people. And that would be his downfall.
Brigid touched his arm, her fingers light as a feather. "Ye knew this would happen?"
"I hoped," he admitted. "Men may follow orders, but they love their women more."
She studied his face in the dim light. "And what of ye, Flanders Leesborn? What do ye love more than duty?"
He held her gaze steadily. "I'm beginning to wonder that myself."
Gerts approached them with bread and meat. "Eat now, both of ye. Tomorrow will test us all."
As they ate, Gerts settled on Flanders’ other side. "I've been meaning to ask ye something," she said quietly.
"Ask away."
"Why did ye come? Ye knew it was dangerous. Ye knew Stephan would kill ye if he caught ye."
Flanders glanced at Brigid, who was sharing her bread with the young girl. "I came because I couldn't bear the thought of not trying."
Gerts followed his gaze and smiled knowingly. "Ah, I see." She patted his hand. "Ye know, when I first met ye, I thought ye were just another warrior with more muscle than heart. I'm glad to see I was wrong."
"Don't tell anyone," he said with a wink. "I've a reputation to uphold."
He leaned back against the cold stone wall, watching Brigid across the pit as she comforted the young girl. Even in the midst of her own grief, she found the strength to ease another's fear. Her lively-colored hair caught the faint moonlight, and for a moment, he was transported back to that night in the forest when he'd first felt the strange connection between them.
It surely sounded like folly to feel so drawn to a woman he barely knew. And yet, in this moment, trapped in a pit and facing death, he finally understood why James had been willing to leave everything behind for Phoebe.
Here, in this unlikely place, with death looming over them, he felt more alive than he had in years. He'd spent his life fighting, surviving, and building walls, only to find something worth living for when those walls were no longer his to protect.
Brigid looked over then, her eyes finding his across the darkness. Something passed between them. A recognition. A certainty. She felt it too—he could see it in her eyes, in the slight parting of her lips, in the way she held his gaze without wavering.
As the women settled for the night, bunched together in a mob, Brigid huddled against him on his right. They didn't speak for a long time, just drawing comfort and warmth from each other.
