Sigefrith stopped in mid-gesticulation and spun around to the opening door.
“Malcolm! How lovely to have you back!”
Malcolm smiled half a smile and knelt before him, which permitted Sigefrith to roughly caress his hair as if he were a favorite dog. “How are you, runt?”
“Good morning, Sigefrith, everyone. Sigefrith…?”
“Come in and take your chair! You will observe by the layer of dust and crumbs that no rear end has dared sit upon it since yours last vacated it.”
“Sigefrith?”
“What is it, runt?”
“May I have a word with you before I dust my chair?”
Sigefrith tilted his head towards the cloister outside. “A word?”
“No, no.” Malcolm took him by the elbow and pulled him into the corner. “Just a question…”
Sigefrith was beginning to worry. “How’s your wife?” he asked gently.
Malcolm appeared to have been on the verge of saying something difficult, but Sigefrith saw it must not have been about his wife, for his face suddenly brightened.
“Ach! Much better! She was only tired, as I suspected. It was her idea for me to get back to work today.”
“Good!”
“All she truly wanted was to lie around for a few days with her head in my lap.”
Sigefrith laughed. “Sounds rather restful for you, too!”
“I made up for it at night,” Malcolm grinned.
“Name of God! I could use one of those holidays myself! Stop your giggling back there!” Sigefrith added for the benefit of his son, friend, and steward who were chuckling at the table. “As if you all wouldn’t like such a one yourself!”
“But that wasn’t what I wanted to tell you,” Malcolm said softly.
“I guessed that. What is it?”
“I just came through the new hall and saw… I saw Brother Myrddin with the young Prince in his lap, and a book, and it looked to me as though Myrddin was trying to teach him his letters.”
Sigefrith grunted. “Think he’s too young, do you?”
“Drage? I don’t know. I was more surprised to see Myrddin with him.”
“Oh, that…” Sigefrith coughed.
“Sigefrith…” Malcolm warned.
“I know you don’t like him, runt, but… you see…” Sigefrith stopped and scratched his hair furiously.
Malcolm rolled his eyes. Malcolm already understood.
“Damn it, runt! Take my advice and never promise anything to a woman while she’s sitting on your lap!”
“Sigefrith, I know you’re a man who keeps his word, but this is your son.”
“Well, and? For Christ’s sake, Malcolm! What’s wrong with the old creature? I’ve met lambs more mean-spirited than he.”
“I don’t know! All I know is…”
“What? You haven’t been able to tell me anything except ‘a feeling’.”
“It wasn’t only ‘a feeling’,” Malcolm whispered. “I never touched him before that day and I have never touched him since, but in that one moment I felt something. And I don’t mean ‘felt’ like ‘I have a bad feeling about this’, but ‘felt’ as in ‘I felt a giant fist punch me in the gut’.”
“Did he hit you?”
“No! But there’s something about him. I swear it. He shall not get anywhere near my son again.”
“Malcolm, if I didn’t love you as I do, you would be feeling my giant fist in your gut right about now.”
“I’m not saying you’re a bad father or don’t love your son. I’m simply warning you, since you didn’t seem to take my warning seriously enough the first time.”
Sigefrith sighed. “I’m watching him. Aelfden is watching him. You’re watching him. But Drage adores him, and, more importantly, behaves for him. If there’s a man who has a chance of teaching Drage to read before he’s twenty, it’s Myrddin.”
Malcolm’s left eyebrow went up while the right went down. “You make me hope I’m wrong,” he whined. “You know how I hate being wrong.”
Sigefrith patted Malcolm’s head. “It will do you some good, runt, now and again. Get you back down to earth after your little holiday.”
Chapters
But he's right, Sigefrieth! God know how he knows, but he's right!