He chuckled despite himself. "Indeed. But we’ve done all we can. I only hope whatever the bastard has in mind can’t get through our defenses. After all, even elephants can be killed."
For a brief moment, the tension eased. Then Robert approached with news of a scout's return, and Flanders was pulled away once more.
* * *
By the sixth day,Brigid had established a routine. Mornings in the garden unless it was raining, afternoons tending to the children and elderly, evenings in the great hall where she might catch a glimpse of Flandersifhe remembered to eat.
She told herself she was content. She couldn’t go home, but she was safe for the time being. And she had many friends to help her while away the hours. Not much to complain about when so many had been displaced because the mad laird to the east couldn’t be trusted with the wellbeing of his own people.
One day soon, this would all end. Flanders would be eager to see her gone, and she would be eager to go. She was nearly certain that time and distance would heal them both. After all, what they’d shared was merely happenstance and circumstance. Yet each time he entered a room, her heart betrayed her by tripping over itself.
Thankfully, no one else would ever know.
* * *
"Ye're a fool,"Gerts told her bluntly as they sorted through jars of remedies, preparing for a battle that might not come, while the rain poured hard and fast outside.
"I beg yer pardon?"
"Ye heard me." The older woman's eyes twinkled. "Ye push ‘im away then pine for ‘im when he goes."
"I do not pine."
"O’course not. And I'm the Queen of France. I've seen how ye watch him."
Brigid’s cheeks warmed. "It's…difficult to look away."
"At least ye’ve ceased calling it complicated. That’sprogress.”
Was it?
How could such a simple word make her feel so…light?
* * *
On the seventh day,just as the morning storm blew out like a candle in the wind, a horn sounded to the east and all men flooded to the walls. Flanders strode with Robert to the gate, where Todlaw men had been enjoying the view of the enemy getting pummeled into the mud by a brief but furious rain.
Two riders. As they neared, they recognized the established Royal Banner of Scotland with the lion rampant.
When they stopped outside the gates, Stephan didn’t bother joining them, but stood outside his tent and sent one of his men in his stead. When the messenger realized he wouldn’t get more of an audience, he produced a scroll, which he unrolled with much flourish.
"At last," Robert muttered.
“His Majesty, The Regent to King David the Second, regrets that he cannot intervene in what he considers a local dispute. He suggests ye settle the matter between yerselves."
Just as Flanders expected.
Robert wasn’t satisfied. "And what of Stephan's claims?" he demanded. “What charges?”
The messenger shook his head. “I know of none, Laird Duncan.”
Robert exchanged a puzzled look with Flanders, then pressed again. "Hector Stephan sent no message?"
“Not unless it arrived after I was dispatched, three days ago.”
Robert waved for the gates to open to allow the messengers inside. “Refresh yerselves. And give The Regent our thanks.” He turned back to Flanders and the rest of the war council. “Our man saw his rider leave."
"Perhaps he never reached Stirling," Hemming suggested.
