Page 4 of A Constant Blaze

“And your sister? And your mother?”

“Also.”

As if forcing himself, Malcolm relaxed his grip without releasing it. Over Donald’s shoulder, he addressed the king. “Why have you brought my son here?”

The king smiled. “To take your place. I’m sending you home.”

No one moved. The silence rang in the king’s ears. Slowly, Malcolm MacHeth’s hands fell away from his son’s shoulders and back to his own sides. In his eyes, that spark of danger flared and burned.

“Why?” Malcolm asked, the very quietness of his voice a threat.

The king shrugged elaborately to cover his nervousness. “Everyone seems to want it. I’m told it’s unfair to keep you so long, that there’s no fight left in you after two decades. That if I let you go, your sons and your brother-in-law will stop attacking my people and my land. On the other hand, I can’t have you raising rebellion again as soon as you flex your free muscles. One of your sons is still free to cause havoc. You must exert your fatherly authority and keep him in line.”

Malcolm MacHeth smiled. “Must I?”

“Yes,” the king retorted, resorting to an attitude of bluster. “Because I will have your other son here in your old chamber, hostage to your obedienceandAdam MacHeth’s.”

Oddly, it was Donald who turned on the king with scorn. “Clearly you have never met my brother Adam.”

“It makes no difference,” Malcolm MacHeth said abruptly, seating himself once more on the bench. His firm mouth was set in a harsh line. “I will not leave my son here.”

Donald blinked rapidly. “No,” he said hoarsely. “Youmustgo. For everyone’s sake. For Ross.”

Malcolm shook his head. “I will not compel you to a youth wasted in prison. Mine is over, and I’m used to this…half-life.”

The king scowled with growing irritation. “By your leave, sir, it is not up to you! If necessary, I will simply have you thrown out of the gates!”

“Then I’ll sit there, outside the castle gates,” Malcolm MacHeth said stubbornly. “But I will not go home.”

This was not going at all the way the king or Fergus had planned. For the first time since he’d ascended the throne, the king found himself bereft of words. But help came from an unexpected quarter.

Donald threw himself onto the bench beside his father. “No, no, this is right,” he said excitedly. “This is the way it’s meant to be! Adamsawthis, sir. That Fergus would bring about your release. Admittedly, we didn’t expect itthisway, but that doesn’t matter. The gates are open for you, and you must go home for everyone’s sake.” His voice lowered, and he murmured something beneath his breath.

The king, however, had excellent hearing, and to him, it sounded like “It will be all right, I swear. Adam will come for me.”

Poor deluded idiot had lived too long in the wilds of Ross. Everyone knew Roxburgh Castle was impregnable. And if no one, not even the notorious Adam, had been able to rescue Malcolm MacHeth, why on earth would he be able to release the son?

Malcolm MacHeth himself seemed to be of a similar mind. He gazed at Donald a moment longer before he said, “No. Keep both of us if you have to, but I will not leave here without my son.”

Ungratefulbastard. The king knew an urge to run both of them through. Or just to walk away, leaving the door open and hope they’d be gone by morning. Instead, he stalked out and slammed the door closed. He hoped the noise would give Malcolm MacHeth second thoughts.

“Now what in the name of all the fiends of hell do I do?” the king raged to Ferchar of Strathearn, who’d acted as his guardian during these years of his minority.

“Send to Malcolm’s wife,” the earl advised.

The king blinked at him. “And force her to choose between her husband and her son? She hasn’t laid eyes on the husband for over twenty years! Why would she choose him?”

The earl gave a wry smile. “Because absence makes the heart grow fonder? No, she is by all accounts a wise lady. And the husband has much more chance of negotiating the release of the son than the other way around. Or so she will imagine.”

*

“Who’s this?” AdamMacHeth asked without a great deal of interest as a rather baffled and bedraggled man was hauled before him.

Adam was preparing to ride out with Henry, the Norman, to show him the land that had been set aside for him. In truth, it would pay little enough, especially in the early years, but it was a way of binding the Norman to him. The others gave their loyalty because of who he was. Henry, once his enemy, needed feudal allegiance, and Adam didn’t mind obliging.

“He’s a messenger,” Cailean mac Gilleon said in English, pushing the frightened stranger forward. “From the king. He was met soon after he crossed into Ross and…escortedhere.”

Adam blinked and gave the man some more of his distracted attention. “What can the king have to say to me?”

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