Malcolm make a promise

“You shouldn’t be up here alone, Baby,” Malcolm scolded when he clambered up the ladder and found Iylaine sitting in the loft of the stables, as he had expected.

Iylaine was sitting in the shadow of the bales, wedged into a narrow space between the wall and the hay, and he had apparently interrupted a daydream.

“Oh, Malcolm, you’re home!” She scrabbled to her feet and held out her arms to him.

“Aye,” he said gruffly and let her embrace him. “I saw some of the grooms’ children around,” he told her.

“They won’t find me.”

“I did.”

“Aye, but you know where I like to hide. Besides, Wulsy is here. He won’t let them hurt me.”

“Nor is he! I saw him taking Bacchus and Ruby up to the castle.”

“Well, you’re here now,” she said, and she sat down again and laid her head against one of the bales.

“Aye,” he agreed. “They won’t bother you now.” He sat beside her, leaning his head back against the wall.

A few friendly birds chirped beneath the roof and flitted from beam to beam. The air was warm and heavy with summer and the smell of horses, and a veil of barn dust hung above his head, shimmering like gold in the slanting afternoon sunlight, though he sat in the cool shadows.

Malcolm was normally a busy boy, but just then he saw the attraction of lazing around in the loft.

“What are you doing up here, Baby? No kittens do I see.”

“They’re mostly all old enough to hunt and play outside now. I’m only listening to the birds. Do you ever wonder what they would say if you could understand them?”

“I suppose I mostly think about what it would be like if I were a bird, and could fly.”

“One day you will be an angel, and then you will see.”

“Even if I haven’t been too bad to become an angel, I don’t suppose it will be the same,” he chuckled and glanced over at her.

She was smiling, but her little face had a look of weariness that he did not like.

He sat up and turned to face her. “Have some of those stupid children been bothering you while I was away? I told Bertie to keep an eye on you.”

“Nobody has been picking on me.”

“What’s your trouble, then? Miss me?”

“I guess so,” she said, rather unenthusiastically.

“I was only kidding. I know you don’t care about stupid old me.”

“That’s not true,” she huffed, sitting up and frowning at him. “I guess you’re my favorite boy.”

“I am?” he asked, honestly surprised. “I thought Bertie-​​boy was.”

“Oh, Bertie doesn’t have time to play with me any more. Whenever he has time, he goes to see his Ma.”

“That’s because his Ma is still sad about her little boy that died.”

“I know. I’m not mad.”

“I suppose you’re my favorite girl, too, but that’s only because you’re my cousin. And don’t tell anyone I said that, anyway.”

“I certainly won’t!” she said. “I don’t want anyone thinking you’re my sweetheart.”

That was perfectly fine with Malcolm, but he found himself a little insulted nonetheless to know that she didn’t want to be associated with him.

“Say, my Mama gave me something to give to you,” he said, having been reminded. “She said I could give it to my sweetheart, if I had one, but since I don’t, I said I could give it to my cousin Baby.”

“What is it?”

“It is a little purse, such as she likes to make,” he said, digging it out of the pouch he wore at his waist and unfolding it before her. “I’m glad I may give it to my cousin, and not some other stupid girl, because you see, there is a stag on it, and the stag is the emblem of my family. Not your family, but our families are allies, so it’s all right.”

“It’s pretty,” she said, smoothing the embroidered cloth out over her knee.

“The ladies wear them on their belts, but you don’t have a belt, so I suppose you will have to find something else.”

“Or a belt,” she giggled. “You should thank your Mama for me when you see her again.”

“I suppose I shan’t see her for another year or so,” he sighed.

“Is she nice?” she asked wistfully.

“Oh, she yells a lot, but I suppose that’s because we children are naughty, and not because she isn’t nice. She likes to tease me about you.”

“Why?”

“She says she doesn’t believe in elves, so she says that she thinks I am only imagining you.”

“But I am real.”

“I know! I showed her the scar from when you scratched me. She believes, anyway, because she believes my father, who has seen you. But she likes to pretend. She wants to see you, though, someday. You should come with us next time.”

“If my Da will allow it.”

“He should bring you, anyway. You should know your family.”

“But they’re not really my family.”

“They are too. Not by blood, but that doesn’t matter. It’s different for girls. You will marry one of us, anyway, some day.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” she sighed. “I wish I didn’t have to get married.”

“So do I, but everybody does, except for priests and nuns, and I don’t want to be a priest. I should have to be good all the time.”

“I don’t want to be a nun because they may not go outside into the woods.”

“Or up into the loft. Can you imagine?” he laughed. “A nun up here?”

Iylaine laughed with him.

“I’m glad you don’t want to get married, though. That’s all the stupid girls ever talk about. All of the girls back home want to marry me or my brother. Mostly my brother, because he will be lord someday.”

“That’s all Wynnie and Colburga ever talk about,” Iylaine groaned. “Who they will marry, and how many babies they will have, and what color their hair will be, and what kind of house they will have, and on and on.”

“I shall marry a banshee,” Malcolm announced, “and have sixteen children with purple and green hair, and we shall live in a house made out of gingerbread, and when we get hungry we shall simply pluck a snack off the wall.”

“And I shall marry a goblin,” Iylaine laughed, “and have twenty-​​three children with silver hair, and we shall live in a cave under a hill, and when we get hungry we shall eat grubs.”

“Grubs! Oh!” Malcolm groaned.

“But we shall surely roast them on a stick, first.”

“Oh, that’s better then,” he grinned. “I have an idea, Baby. When we get old, why don’t we pretend we are married? Then no one will want to try to marry us, and we might do as we please.”

“But shouldn’t we have to live together?”

“Not always. Look, Lord Hingwar doesn’t live with his wife – not his first wife, anyway. And my cousin Malcolm hasn’t seen his wife in more than a year.”

“That’s a good idea then. I can live with my Da, and you can go do what you like. But I hope you will come and visit me sometimes. More often than your cousin Malcolm does.”

“Promised.”