Malcolm and Iylaine are not alone

They had not yet sent for Iylaine, but Malcolm thought that she would be likely to hear his voice and come anyway. Indeed, he had scarcely had time to parry a few jokes of the Duke’s before she came in at the far end of the hall and ran halfway across the floor. In that instant she had the face his mother wore when he came home to her. Her smile was all he could see.

Then Murchad, who stood behind him, leaned to the side to get a better view of her, and she stopped beneath the arch as suddenly as if she had run into a wall. Her eyes were wide with surprise for a moment, and then her face went blank.

“Come along, Iylaine,” the Duke coaxed her. “If you act frightened of these two rascals, Dunstan and I shall think you don’t believe we can defend you from them, and our poor feelings will be hurt.”

“He won’t hurt you, Baby,” Malcolm said. “He’s shyer than you, if such a thing is possible. Come on!”

He held out a hand to her, and after a moment’s hesitation she crossed the hall and came to stand before them. But she did not take his hand, and eventually he had to let it fall.

“It’s only my cousin Murchad, Baby. And yours. Old Aed’s seventh son.”

“How many does he have?” Dunstan asked in amazement.

“Nine,” Murchad said. “Seven alive.”

Old Aed had sent his fifteen-​​year-​​old seventh son to live for a while with his elder half-​​sister and Aengus. It was partly meant to be an honor to Sigefrith, but mostly a snub to Maire’s husband, Malcolm’s cousin and namesake. The elder Malcolm seemed to be strangely close to the Scots king, whom Aed abhorred, and furthermore everyone agreed that he had been an abominable husband to Maire, Aed’s darling and the last child of his beloved first wife.

Malcolm’s father had been angry at the slight, at least privately, but Malcolm himself could not work up anything more volatile than disappointment that things had turned out this way. His loyalty to Sigefrith had long since come to overshadow his idolatry of his cousin, who had sinned in ways that Malcolm could not forgive.

Alred was joking and trying to put everyone at ease, but Iylaine was proving unreachable. Malcolm could see that she was disappointed to have found him with Murchad. He could see that she wished she had not come, that she wished she could simply go away again.

And he could see that she was not well. He wondered whether it were merely the sight of her wan frailty after four months spent with men and then several weeks with his bonny, pink-​​cheeked cousins – but no, he was certain that her face was thinner, and she moved with the nervous agitation of an invalid.

Alred’s eyes were on him, he realized suddenly, watching for his reaction. He hoped he had not betrayed it.

Now he too wished he had not brought Murchad. She would not be herself before a stranger, especially not a stranger that he had brought, as jealous as she was. Nor could he ask her before everyone what was the matter with her. He was obliged to laugh and joke with the rest of them and hope it would soon be over.

It seemed that Alred had been able to read at least that much of his thoughts, for he suddenly proposed that Dunstan take Murchad out to meet Bertie and Eadwyn, and thereby allow Malcolm to tell Iylaine the tale of his own heroism without risk of bothersome contradictions from the part of his cousin.

Malcolm sent him a grateful look. He could forgive that close inspection of his feelings, for in this case Alred shared them. He was certain that Alred too had been surprised to see how Iylaine had failed over the summer. He only wondered what her father had thought.