Malcolm begins to lose his head

All through the evening Malcolm had been hovering around the clusters of laughing adults between fits of sulking alone at the edge of the woods. He chafed under a feeling of loneliness that he, who was normally a sociable boy and popular with adults and children alike, could not explain.

Also uncharacteristic of him was his unwillingness to attempt to find an explanation. He felt queerly miserable and shut out of all of this merry-​​making, and it would be a long three days if it kept up, for the festivities surrounding the wedding had only just begun, with the lighting of the Midsummer Eve bonfires.

After the sky had gone quite dark and the fires had already burned for a time, he even went home, thinking he could bear no more of the noise and the crowds and the light. He had climbed onto the highest tower – that from which the Queen his lady had leapt to her death – and looked down onto the valley, out across the dark plain that was dotted by the bright fires and twinkling with the swarms of tiny sparks that were torches and brands in the hands of men.

The greatest swarm, of course, was at the great fire in the market square, where was to be found the creature who would verily become their Queen in two days’ time. But Malcolm looked beyond, across the undulating downs and on to the dim form of Nothelm keep, whose towers appeared against the night by grace of the torches that burned in its recesses and behind its windows, as if it bore an inner fire that only showed itself through a few cracks in its stony hull. But the great bonfire of Nothelm was not to be seen, even from this height, for it lay in a hollow beyond the road, and the road itself was hidden behind the forest that rose unto the downs.

Knowing it was there was not enough and, disappointed, Malcolm had climbed back down and returned to the square and to the laughing crowds.

He hadn’t been there long when he felt a hand fall on his shoulder from on high, and heard Sigefrith say, “Well, potlicker?”

“Well?”

“You must have heard me when I defied any man to be unhappy tonight. I should have known you would take up the challenge.”

“I’m not unhappy.”

“Excellent. Where’s your brother then?”

“Oh, he,” Malcolm scowled. “He’s with Synne and Freya and Ana.”

“I shall thank him for leaving me my bride,” he laughed. “But how can you abandon your own brother to such a fate, Malcolm? Won’t you go to succor him?”

“He doesn’t need my help.”

“In that case, won’t he share with his own brother?”

“I don’t want to share, either,” Malcolm grumbled. “All they do is talk nonsense and poke and smack and pretend to hate each other.”

“I do believe you are jealous!”

“I’m not, either! The girls always like my brother best, and why shouldn’t they? He’s handsomer than I, and will be a lord.”

“Perhaps, but I believe that in truth you are jealous of your brother liking the girls best, and not the other way around.”

“I’m not, either. He’s older, so he has lost his head first. I knew it would happen.”

“Malcolm, Malcolm!” Sigefrith laughed. “You’re twins! How much older?”

“I don’t know. The time it takes for a babe to come after another has opened the way.”

“So I should expect your head to fall off any moment now?”

Malcolm glared at him, which only caused him to laugh again.

“What about your only-​​a-​​cousin, Iylaine?”

“What about her?”

“Your brother hasn’t appropriated her yet?”

“She doesn’t like him.”

“Ah! That must satisfy you in some measure.”

“He tried talking nonsense to her, and that she won’t stand,” Malcolm said with a hint of pride.

“Just the young lady for you, then.”

“She’s only – ”

“I know, only a little girl, and only your cousin,” Sigefrith said, much amused, which infuriated Malcolm.

“Anyway, she’s with her Da. And Bertie.” The Devil! Why did he mention Bertie?

“Oh, Bertie!” Sigefrith nodded thoughtfully. “He doesn’t talk much at all, nonsense or otherwise. You had better watch out for him.”

“Have you finished?”

“I congratulate you, Malcolm. You endured my teasing for longer than usual.”

“My skin is growing into hide.”

“You will have the shell of a tortoise before I’ve finished. But shall I leave you now and allow you to lick your wounds. Why don’t you go see her?”

“See whom?”

“You’re not so innocent as that! Iylaine, I mean.”

“I don’t know,” he muttered.

“That’s the sort of answer I like to hear. Go on with you, Malcolm. Your face is as effective an antidote to any tender feeling as is Father Aelfden’s, and I intend to enjoy my wedding. My compliments to your lovely only-​​a-​​cousin.”

Malcolm looked dubiously up at his shadowed face.

“Go on! Hie yourself! Only be careful to strictly avoid any lofts or hay wagons, and watch you don’t trip over any young lovers in the forest. I know there is no creature you like less!”