Malcolm's pride is briefly shattered

“Good day, Malcolm,” the Duchess said coyly. “For me?”

Malcolm grinned up at her. “A gentleman would say ‘Aye, of course,’ but fortunately I am only a savage Scot and may keep my flowers for their original purpose.”

“Oh, dear. My heart has been broken by a savage Scot!”

“I would give them to Your Grace, mind, and pick some more for Baby, but there aren’t any more. Bertie told me where I could find flowers already on the first day of spring, but that little sprout beat me to them.”

“Ohhhhh, they’re for Baby!” she said with a knowing smile.

“None of that!” he said. “It’s only for my cousin. I suppose she doesn’t like flowers as much as a girl ought, but I don’t know what else to do to cheer up a girl.”

“Well, Malcolm, I’m afraid your dear little pink flowers won’t be enough to cheer Baby up today. In fact, you might as well give them to me, because Baby will probably only trample them underfoot.”

“Why? What for?”

“Oh, she’s been a beast today, Malcolm,” she sighed in exasperation. “If I didn’t know better I should say that she has some savage Scot in her as well.”

“Showing her temper?”

“She wanted to go out to the woods–alone. She was quite frantic.”

“That’s the first time she has wanted to go anywhere in a while.”

“I know, but I couldn’t let her go alone. Dunstan said he would take her, Bertie said he would take her – after her tantrum even Alred said he would take her. But she would only go alone.”

“Got a bug in her ear or what?”

“After the fit she threw, Alred finally told her the only place he was willing to take her was out to the lake to leave her with her father.”

“I shall take her to the woods if she lets me.”

“That would be a relief! I don’t know why she must be alone. Surely Dunstan is quiet enough that it’s almost like being alone. He would probably forget all about her while watching a bird building its nest, or some ants marching, or God knows what else.”

“He should be watching her if that’s why he’s out there. But I shall keep an eye on her.”

“I know you can’t keep your eyes off her,” Matilda teased.

“None of that!”

Malcolm went up the stairs to the door of Iylaine’s room. “Knock knock!” he said as he knocked.

“Enter!” a small voice snapped.

Iylaine was standing by the far wall, her shoulders hunched and her face red and wet.

“Good aft – ”

“What do you want, you stupid beetlebrain cabbagehead?” she shrieked.

“Now then, my fine Baby!”

“I’m not going with you either! So you can just take your – oh! my flowers! my poor flowers!”

Malcolm looked dubiously down at the little bunch of pink buds he carried.

“You were there! And you picked them!” she shrieked as she stomped across the room to meet him. “You were there alone! And I have to stay here!”

“Now, Baby…” Malcolm said. His rapid little mind produced the thought that she might have meant to pick these flowers herself, for her own secret purpose. But to give to whom? Not Bertie-​​boy, surely! “If you wanted to give these flowers to someone, you may ha – ”

“No! Oh! You stupid, stupid idiot! Get out of here! Go! I hate you! hate you! hate you!” she howled, stomping her foot with every hate.

Malcolm backed hurriedly out into the corridor, and she slammed the door in his face.

After a moment spent gathering up the shards of his pride that lay around him, he went back down to the hall.

“I suppose Your Grace may have these flowers after all,” he said, unnerved.

“Oh, Malcolm,” she said mournfully. “What did she say?”

“I don’t remember everything, but it ended with ‘I hate you, hate you, hate you!’”

“Oh, but, Malcolm,” she laughed. “That only means she loves you, loves you, loves you.”

“None of that!” he sighed.