The frown remained. "Aren't ye the one who insists he'll never return? That his woman was from so distant a place they will never come back?"
"Aye. I've said as much. It's just that, I forget sometimes, not to hope."
Robert nodded and took a long drink. "I think yer problem is ye're lonely. Anauld monlike yerself should have found a wife by now."
"No doubt." Flanders wasn't willing to go down that road at the moment, with so many people within hearing, or he'd have a line of women waiting outside his bedchamber by nightfall. So, he brought the conversation back to the missing treasure. "We must let word slip...perhaps through Dunstan, that all the silver listed in Heslington's ledgers has been accounted for and spent. Then, neither he nor Stephan will have reason to come lookin'."
"Aye, sure. But between ye and I, unless he buried it in the ground, where in seven hells did it all go? I've no doubt the records are accurate. He was too bloody proud of his cleverness to lie to himself. And he had enough tucked away to buy his way into King Robert's household.”
Flanders gave a nod and checked to see that no one leaned an ear their way. “Either he was robbin’ Todlaw blind from the start, or he made such a push lately that it’s a wonder they weren’t all bones and ribbons when I last returned from Stirling.” He flicked a glance toward the kitchens, where the cooks bustled about, pink-cheeked and far from starving now. “Ye'll keep on yer toes, Robert? To make certain a Heslington can't happen again?”
Robert muttered something unflattering under his breath and tore off a hunk of bread with his teeth. "I dare him to come back to this side of the pass.” Again, he pushed the food into his maw and wiped his mouth on his sleeve with all the grace of a wild boar. Then he grinned. “Perhaps we should change the rumor, use the missing treasure to lure the bastard back."
Broad-shouldered and steady-eyed, Robert had outgrown the eager lad who once shadowed James Duncan’s every step, dreaming that one day, he'd be as fearless as his foster brother. And now, that day had come.
Flanders' duties were truly coming to an end.
“Nay, ye're right," Robert said, shaking his head. "No use givin' trouble a faster horse, as James used to say."
"Nay. He said don't borrow trouble."
"Then I wonder who it was that said it?" Then his brows flew high. "I know! It was me." They both laughed until they were out of breath. Robert eventually wiped tears from his eyes before turning serious. "What about ye?” He pointed at Flanders with his empty tankard. “We've chosen a good man for steward, a clever but kind lass for chatelaine. And ye said when we had both, ye'd put Todlaw into my hands. So, what’ll ye do now? Be the captain of my guard and nap above the gate?”
Flanders exhaled, glanced around the bailey once again, then lowered his voice to a whisper. "Might be time to think about my own household,” he admitted.
“A wife, then?”
Flanders shushed the man but gave a nod.
Robert laughed quietly. “Ye mean to tell me the Bright Bear of Todlaw is ready to be tamed? And here I thought findin’ Heslington’s hoard was the only adventure ahead.”
“I said I might consider it, not that I’d go huntin' one straight away.”
“Aye, well, when ye do, I pray the lass is willin’. I dinnae imagine ye’d handle rejection so well a second time around.”
Flanders shot him a flat look but grinned despite himself. “Aye, well, this time, I'll look for a woman who hasn't already given her heart to my best friend. That sort of thing drives a man to strong drink."
Robert grinned. “Then I’d best order a ship of kegs from France. Preparation is all.”
The teasing tapered off into comfortable silence. A woman gasped when a dog grabbed a bone from her hand, then the beast was hounded by laughing children. A scullery maid near the kitchen door attempted to sneak a honeyed oatcake for herself. Old Gavin, the baker, caught her wrist, then laughed at the worry on her face. She blushed and then scampered off with the cake stuffed into her apron.
Nearby, a young lad tripped over his own feet and was hoisted upright by a passing guard, who barely broke stride before setting the boy back on his way, ruffling his hair as he went. Laughter erupted from a group of women leaning their heads together over the end of a table, exchanging gossip, no doubt.
Flanders stood and excused himself to walk the perimeter of the wall when his ear caught on a ridiculous claim from a table as he passed.
“I’m tellin’ ye, it was as tall as a man, and its teeth—like bloody daggers,” a younger man insisted, keeping his voice low so children wouldn’t hear. “If I’d paused to gape, I’d have lost my arm, easy.”
Another man interrupted with a scoff. “Daggers? Bah, don’t believe a word! Ye ken well it was a flea-bitten cur barely up to yer knee that chased ye clean across the river! I was there!”
The men’s laughter easily drowned out the women’s and rumbled across the yard like a loud wave breaking on the shore.
Flanders chuckled under his breath. Aye, it was an old tale repeated in a hundred different ways. And for a moment, it was as if James Duncan were sitting where the naysayer was now, leaning back to find Flanders and say,Ye hearin’ this nonsense?
James would have been proud of the bounty of Todlaw—of the people, the laughter, and the security they’d rebuilt. And Flanders, after a long, hard season, finally felt as if he'd done right by its founder.
Robert hurried to catch up to him. His easy grin suddenly faded to something more serious. "I was just thinkin’, even when ye find yer bride, ye won't leave Todlaw behind, surely?"
Flanders tilted his head, surveying the bustling yard, the meager but growing pile of stones in the distance, waiting to form the third tower. There was always something more to be done. “Nay. This will always be home, as long as I'm useful, if ye’ll allow?—"
