Page 101 of The Refuge

“You know I would not ask this of you, son, but standing as hostage spares Scotland a war with these French who have taken over England.”

“Aye, Father. I know.” The youth was the image of his father and just as courageous.

“Not that it will change the result, but I must know. You are willing?”

Duncan, brave through it all, looked up at his father. “I am willing, sir.”

“For my sake, they will treat you well, Duncan. They know should any harm come to you it would mean war, not just any war but one of vengeance such as they have never seen.”

Duncan nodded, seeming to take it in.

“I was your age when I was exiled to England and I returned to reign as King of Scots. Let them educate you, my son; let them teach you your letters and how to fight like a knight. But do not let them poison your mind to their Norman ways. Always remember you are a Scot, the son of a Scots king and the grandson of another, the one for whom you were named. One day you will return to Scotland to rule our people as King Duncan, the second of that name. Learn what you must to prepare for that role and put aside all else the Normans may try and teach you. William would rule all of Alba if he could. May God never allow it.”

“I will remember, Father.”

Tipping the boy’s chin up, the king said, “I love you, my son. You will always be in my prayers and Margaret’s. And know this. I will raise your brothers, the one that is born and the others who will follow, to know you will reign ahead of them.”

Duncan reached for his father and buried his head in the folds of Malcolm’s tunic, for the king wore no mail this day. Malcolm grasped the boy around the shoulders and held him fast. Steinar saw the tears that filled the king’s eyes, but Malcolm raised his head, calling them back. He was a king first, noble in bearing and manner. But he was also a father.

Steinar’s heart reached out to him, for he had lost his own father to William the Conqueror.

At last, Malcolm set Duncan from him. “Go, my son and Godspeed.”