Malcolm meets the enemy

Malcolm sat on the king’s throne, quieter than many ten-​year-​old boys could ever be, and none of the chattering people in the hall paid the least attention to him. But his golden eyes were dancing, and he paid attention to them all.

Young Sigefrith had not come home alone, nor had he come with only his wife and baby. There was a pair of blond-​headed Norsemen with him—a young man, about the same age as Sigefrith, and a girl who must have been around Eadgith’s age. He had heard them introduced as the children of Hilda’s mother’s sister, making them Hilda’s cousins as well as the King’s, but more to the point, Sigefrith had brought young Eirik home with him to be his squire.

This alone would have made an enemy out of Eirik in Malcolm’s eyes, for he had entertained ideas of being made Sigefrith’s squire himself. Ten was rather young for such a promotion, but didn’t the King always say that he was disturbingly clever for his age? And hadn’t he already learned to fight when he was so small that a black knife could serve as a sword? And didn’t he already have a magnificent mount?

Moreover, he knew very well that sixteen was young for a knight. He had little respect for a man who would be granted an early knighthood because he got a child on his master’s daughter, even if his King did say that he needed knights badly, and that was part of the reason. Still, Malcolm had held out hope that a particularly young knight would need a particularly young squire. But it looked as though he would be carrying young Caedwulf’s shield around for a few more years.

Nor did he like the look of this Eirik, and he fancied himself a good judge of appearances. He was a burly lad for his age, and Malcolm preferred his men fast and lean, like his cousin and namesake Malcolm.

And he did not like the way the very corners of this Eirik’s mouth turned up when he looked at the King or Lady Eadgith or the Prince and Princess—in short, the people Malcolm loved. Oh, he was polite enough in his poor English, but Malcolm saw the hint of a smile and knew it for condescension. Lack of respect for ladies was bad enough, but an inability to see the worth of a man like the King was an inexcusable flaw. Malcolm fancied himself a good judge of character, and he knew that there were few men like King Sigefrith in all the world.

The girl, Estrid, was much the same as her brother, except for being quite slender. Her lips had the same curl, and it was clear that the two were in league, for they would often look at one another and laugh softly for no apparent reason. In any case, Malcolm had little use for girls, with the exception of his little cousin Baby and perhaps the Princess, who frequently gave him an excuse to take Druid out for a run.

But the worst of all the three, he thought—his one true enemy—that was Ragnhild.

Eirik and Estrid might have snickered at him and soon forgotten him, but Ragnhild had taken one long look at him, and Malcolm had immediately recognized another mind as keen and canny as his own.

He knew she had as well. She had bowed her head slightly and her pretty mouth had curved into a knowing smile. Had she been a man, he would not have been surprised to see her salute him with her knife, as one did in his country when enemies met on neutral ground.

He did not know what she had planned—nothing perhaps, as yet. But even the best of women could not help being nothing but trouble, and this one had the devil’s own eyes.

He knew his King had a grave blindness where women were concerned, and so he, Malcolm, would have to keep his own eyes open twice as wide. She would not do harm if he could help it.