Atholl showed his teeth, miffed at the use of his first name and the reminder that he and Robert were contemporaries. "Then I shall not guarantee their safety when we breach yer walls,Robert."
Robert grinned and turned to Flanders. "Do ye hear that? He believes he can breach our walls.Thesewalls.”
Every Todlaw man within hearing laughed both loud and long—enough to bring the sun up over the horizon.
"Laird Duncan!" Atholl called again. "This is yer last chance. What say ye?"
Robert didn’t hesitate. "I say ye can wait until noon, or ye can explain to the Regent why ye attacked a loyal subject without provocation."
The hens resumed their bickering, but it ended abruptly when Stephan turned and stomped back across the road. But he paused when McInnes, Todlaw’s eagle-eyed scout, shouted from atop a wall turret and pointed west.
“Red banner!”
Red!That could be Stout Duncan! But it was also the color of the Comyn family. Had Atholl sent for his own reinforcements and not known the direction from which they’d come?
Hemming put a hand to his face and shouted back, “Is there a boar?”
“Something dark,” McInnes called. “Might be.”
Flanders exchanged a look with Robert. Both Stout Duncan and the Comyns sported a boar. The question was, was there any gold? He shouted the question to McInnes, then explained to Robert. “Comyn would have gold somewhere. Either sheaves of wheat or a gold stripe, boar or not.”
Riders came into view. Two dozen, perhaps more. Three bore banners. The red was visible even to those with poorer eyesight.
“No gold!” McInnes waved his arm over his head. The man obviously knew his banners. “Black boar, no gold!”
Air filled Flanders’ lungs without invitation. Stout Duncan had come! And it seemed Stephan’s men weren’t prepared to stop him at the moment. The small party need only reach the gates and they’d be safe.
28
SURPRISE GUESTS
* * *
Robert’s grin reached both his ears. "I think my father will understand if we don't ride out to meet him."
Flanders didn't know which he enjoyed more, seeing Robert’s joy or the agony on the faces of the two men standing in the middle of the road, watching their nefarious plans slip slowly beyond their reach as one of the most powerful barons in Scotland drew near.
He felt a mere whisper of his name in his head and looked to the nearest set of stairs. There, Brigid hovered, biting her lower lip and watching for some sign of hope. He waved for her to join them. If Stephan saw her now, so be it. Having her beside him in a joyful moment was a balm for a heart weary from worry.
He tucked her under his arm and squeezed her against him. "Look there. The black boar on a red field is Stout Duncan’s. If they had planned a trap, I see no signs of it. And Atholl would be a fool to move against us now, without the Regent's express permission."
She squinted at the riders. "He hasn't brought many men with him, has he?"
Robert chuckled. "Look again, my lady. Ye see that shadow on the horizon?"
And indeed, there was a wide swath of movement growing in the distance, undulating as it moved slowly forward. Flanders closed his eyes and thanked God yet again.
The lad gave him a close look. “Mayhap I should have asked just what ye included in that message.”
Flanders shrugged. “Just that we had rescued my woman from Gallabrae, along with Lady Stephan, and that the bastard might try to take them back again. That we might need some help in the coming days.”
It took another five minutes for the old man to get near enough to recognize. The two riders at either side of him, however, were strangers. Though Flanders hadn't been to that Duncan's keep for years, he surely would have known if the man had elevated new faces for his captains. And these two, riding beside him...
He nudged Brigid's shoulder to get her attention, but she wouldn't look away from the coming horsemen. It was just as she'd described her vision.Men they weren't expecting.
The one on Duncan's right hand was a fine tall man who had to rival Flanders in size. Thanks to his helmet, it was impossible to see his face. But it was the other man who concerned him.
Black, odd clothing. Black baldric, a blanket of dark plaid around his hips. Even from a distance, Flanders felt as if the man were seeing directly into his soul. And smiling.
