"The very same. Yer Earl of Atholl is the grandson...of the rival Robert the Bruce killed in Greyfriars Church."
A heavy silence fell over the room as the implications sank in. It was no wonder the Strathbogies had fought with Edward of England.
Flanders said what every one of them was thinking. "Thomas Randolph has invited a poisonous snake into the royal nursery."
Brigid swayed slightly on her feet. Flanders guided her to a chair, sat beside her, and secured her hand in his. She gripped it tightly, and the connection became an anchor he desperately needed.
"Take a moment. And when ye're ready, I would ask if ye can see anything of the future. Anything that might help us."
She took a deep breath, nodded, and closed her eyes, her face a mask of concentration. After a bit, she shook her head. "Nothing but darkness. The same blackness I've seen before." Her eyes opened. They were full of regret and dread, but she forced a smile. "Not promising. Perhaps death is still close by, waiting for me."
"No." Flanders squeezed her hand. "I'll not allow it."
"Can we send another rider to Stirling?" Rolf asked. "To request a more impartial judge?"
Hemming snorted. "Look outside. This move was, no doubt, to prevent us from doing just that."
"We must prepare...for his worst." Snorre glanced at the women, then grumbled to his feet and moved to a window. "The advantage is, we already know what that is. What we had thought to prevent, we might have only delayed."
"He can demand all of Stephan's people be returned," Flanders said. "Demand compensation for Robert being caught in his fortress, and for the cost of bringing his army to take them back."
"And if I refuse?" The petulance in Robert's tone betrayed his age.
"Then he will take Todlaw from you," Flanders said, not without great pain. "And likely give it to Stephan."
Gerts nodded sadly. "Which is what my husband has wanted all along."
Robert slammed his fist on the table. "I'll die before I surrender my brother's keep to that rat."
"Maybe we can negotiate," Rolf suggested. "Maybe everything has a price that can be paid. Perhaps he’d rather have treasure in place of his people."
Robert rallied, but only just. "If only we could find the hoard Heslington hid..."
While Flanders explained to the women, who hadn't been told of the missing silver, Gerts began to laugh. It started as a chuckle, then grew until she could barely control herself. Tears streamed down her face.
"Gerts?" Flanders frowned. "What is it?"
She wiped her eyes, still fighting for composure. "Wouldn't it be poetic if that particular snake was our salvation?"
"Yes, but we'd have to find his silver first," Robert said. "And we've looked everywhere."
Flanders studied her closely. "He told you where it is." It wasn't a question. "How did you get that man to share his deepest secret?" He paused. "Wait! Perhaps I don't want to know."
She rolled her eyes. "Ye reckon my husband was the only man in the fort drinkin' hensbane?"
21
THE IMMOVABLE CHAIR
* * *
It was midnight, and though all of Todlaw was awake and wary, the main tower sat in hushed silence. All the children had been moved indoors, filling the floors of each level with blankets and wee bodies, with mothers taking turns keeping watch. The wee-uns thought it some sort of holiday, oblivious to the fact that they'd been brought inside for their safety, in case war was inevitable.
The great hall was no exception, and when Flanders and the war council stepped inside, he begged privacy from the mother on watch, and she was happy to leave them alone so long as they vowed to be quiet.
Gerts kept her secret to the end, barely containing her amusement as she moved to the dais and climbed into the laird's chair.
"The Immovable Chair,” she whispered, then gave a quiet giggle.
