He lowered Nighean to the ground with a relieved grunt. She whimpered.
“Shhh.” He placed a finger over her mouth. The heat still radiated from her in the dark night. “Remember what I told you.” She clutched his arm tightly in response. He wrapped her up in the woollen blanket and hid her behind the rubbish piled by the side of the hut. The door creaked as he pushed it open. He peeked inside.
He could see a large post and a wooden table by the orange glow from the low-burning coals of the fire. At the far side was a wall of hanging animal hides. That must be where the mother was sleeping.
He glanced behind him at the huddle of huts. No sign of any life. He motioned to Nighean to stay quiet and crept into the house.
Ah, there was the cot, an old horseshoe hung over it. He barely gave the iron a glance. If they’d been clever enough to put it inside the cot, it might have caused problems; hung on the door like that, it was simply decoration.
The wooden cot had high sides of roughly hewn pine. Domnall stood on tiptoe and peeked inside. A fat human baby with a red thatch of hair on his head and plump, wet lips slept on the straw mattress.
Domnall glanced around the room for something to stand on but there was nothing. With a nervous glance at the hides, he put his shoulders against the pine and slowly pushed the cot off balance. The baby shifted sideways as the cot tipped. Domnall gently lowered the cot onto its side and caught the baby.
It hiccoughed but did not wake. Domnall let go of the breath he hadn’t been aware that he was holding. “Nighean,” he whispered. No response. He crept outside. She was dozing again, her fever-flushed face pressed against the cold stone wall. He pressed a finger against her lips and shook her shoulder. “You’ll be safe in the cot in just a moment. Almost there.”
Nighean stumbled behind him into the hut. They needed to move fast now; the baby was snuffling unhappily. Domnall pulled the amulet out of the pouch at his waist. He tied the leather cord around the baby’s neck and pressed the stone to his chest. The old scout took a deep breath, focusing his attention, and then quickly removed the amulet again, shortened the cord, and then draped it around Nighean’s neck before pulling it tight. The illusion of the baby, if it held, would wrap around her like a blanket, covering her from mortal eyes. It was the most basic of foolery, but that was enough.
Domnall laid the baby on the woollen blanket and dragged it out of the cot to the door. “Remember what I said,” he whispered. He helped Nighean into the cot. “Keep the amulet on and don’t speak. Let them carry you.” Her eyes were already closed. Domnall sighed and pushed the cot back upright. “You’ll get some of the milk soon, just stay quiet.”
The baby spluttered unhappily. Domnall half carried, half dragged it out of the hut, pausing only to push the door closed behind him. Then he paused to check on the baby. It was a pleasant enough looking thing, chubby face with wispy red hair and grey eyes wide with amazement. They just needed to get away from the huts, then they’d be fine. He wrapped it up and dragged the blanket through the mud as fast as he could. The baby made curious sounds muffled by the bundle. Domnall dashed past the remaining huts, holding his breath until it burst out of him at the bottom of the hill.
The sheep watched him with dull interest as he swaddled the thing up again with its head free. He pulled it to his chest and tied the corners of the blanket around his neck and waist. It made wet sounds but didn’t cry. Domnall took a deep breath of relief.
He’d done it! A smile broke across his face. Nighean was getting the milk to cure her fever; she was going to be all right. Everyone would be talking about his daring switch. He was a hero. His aches and pains faded as he carried the baby back to the Sithein, looking forward to a warm dinner of oatmeal and a well-deserved nap.
* * *
Domnall’s face was splotched with red when he reached the Sithein valley clutching the huge lump of human baby. He was soaked through from the rain and his shoulder muscles were on fire. When the Cu Sith roared at him at the entrance, Domnall had just about had enough.
“The human is with me, you dumb beast, can’t you see that?” But the Cu Sith shook its shaggy fur and barred the entrance, quite clearly of the opinion that neither the baby nor Domnall should be allowed in. Eventually, someone woke the handler, who held the snarling Cu Sith back long enough for Domnall to get past.
This was not quite the hero’s welcome that Domnall had expected, but his frustration melted away as he reached the nursery. Maeve sat weaving at a small wooden loom. The children were asleep. Domnall waited a few minutes for her to acknowledge him and then gave up.
“It’s done,” he told her. “Nighean is in the cot, sleeping until she gets the healing milk. I’ve brought the baby.”
But Maeve didn’t so much as smile. She watched him as he struggled to untie the blanket, not lifting a finger to help. When he tried to hand the baby to her, she crossed her arms across her chest. “Where’s the milk?”
“Why, it’s in the human mother, of course. That’s the whole point—”
“Not that milk, you coblynau. The milk for the baby?”
Domnall stared at her and then looked down at the sleeping lump in his arms. Milk?
“Any minute now, that baby is going to wake up and expect feeding. What’s wrong with you? You didn’t bring me anything?”
“I . . . where am I supposed to get milk from?” He held the baby out towards her again. Saliva dripped onto his hands as it burbled in its sleep.
“You’ll need to milk a ewe, won’t you. Didn’t Fernie teach you anything?”
“Not about sheep,” he grumbled. “Can’t you just feed it water or something? It’s only for a week.”
“You’ll go straight out and get me milk, Domnall, before the mortal wakes up and screams the place down.”
She finally took the baby from him and turned on her heel. He stared at her back for a moment and then stalked out of the nursery, his ears glowing hot with embarrassment.
The scent of roasting oats led him to the kitchen. He was tired and sore and wet and cold. He’d single-handedly got Nighean safely into the mortal house and carried the baby all the way back. For that, not a word of thanks.
In the kitchen was only a dark-haired fae cleaning the soot from the walls.
“You’ve missed supper,” he said with a glance.
“Breakfast, then? Just a bowl of roasted nuts, anything.”
“Cook’s not up until after sunrise, she’ll do you something then.”
Domnall put his foot down. “I’ve been out all night. Is it so much to ask for some food?”
The kitchen-fae sighed and stomped towards the pantry. He wordlessly handed him a small wooden bowl of shrivelled chestnuts with a huff that said Domnall should be grateful.
He wasn’t. What he needed right now was a full meal and a foot massage and a long tall glass of something cold. At the very least, someone should have offered him a hot breakfast and a spell by the fire before having to traipse out again. Domnall waited until the kitchen-fae’s back was turned and tiptoed into the back pantry, hoping at least to find some berries, or maybe even a pheasant egg. When he discovered the barrel of mead, he swiftly poured a generous helping into a water jug before returning to the kitchen.
He put his feet up near the fire and watched the steam come off them as he ate the cold chestnuts. Someone else should play milkmaid, he decided as he emptied his jug. He’d had enough. All that work and Maeve didn’t spare him a kind word. She didn’t say well done or thank you or even would you like a spell by the fire to warm up while I make you a hot drink? Instead, she called him a coblynau straight to his face and he was just supposed to take it. Sleep stole over him as he considered how exactly he should have responded.
* * *
It couldn’t have been more than an hour when Domnall woke with a start to loud screams. The sluagh were attacking! As he jumped to his feet, the kitchen-fae crashed into him, almond eyes wide with fear. Domnall fumbled uselessly for a nonexistent
bow.
It took a few heart-stopping seconds for Domnall to realise that the unholy screams weren’t coming from fae. It was the human, exactly as Maeve had predicted.
The mortal babe had woken and it wanted its milk.
“Don’t tell anyone you saw me still here,” he hissed, and dashed out of the Sithein, taking the jug with him.
Dawn couldn’t be far off, but right now it was pitch-black out, not even the light of the stars to help guide him. He hiked towards the settlement, remembering the sheep in the valley.
Once out of range of the squalling cries, filling the jug seemed a lot less urgent. Domnall slowed to a walk, listening out for the sounds of predators. It was an easy journey, now that he wasn’t lugging children around with him. Soon he was back at the field where the sheep still stood half-asleep in the dark.
It took no time at all to find a heavy-uddered ewe with her lamb. He stepped behind her and held the jug under her udder. She spooked and stepped forward with a worried look back at him.
He smiled winningly at her and tried again. She took a few more steps and went back to clipping the grass. The next time, he approached her from the front, so she could see him. She stood placidly as he sidled alongside and placed the jug on the grass beneath her. But the moment he touched her udder, she dashed forward with a startled bleat.
Domnall cursed under his breath and tried again, stroking her back as he reached under. She stepped out of his reach again, less frantic this time but still clearly unimpressed with his fumblings. After a few more failed attempts, he sat down on the damp grass with a thump. He didn’t remember Fernie having any trouble with this. Fernie simply brought the ewe some food and then positioned himself beside her and squeezed out the milk. As if to add insult to injury, the lamb butted Domnall out of the way and leaned forward for a drink of its own.
The ewe looked at Domnall with tired brown eyes and then went back to nibbling the short grass. Domnall stared at the cropped short grass, still brown from the winter, and snapped his fingers.
He ran down to the stream, picking broad-leafed greens until his arms were full. Then he trekked back to the ewe and offered her the stack. She happily pressed her nose into the damp leaves. He dashed to her side and grabbed her udder. She looked back, but the temptation of the fresh leaves was too much. She stood her ground, ignoring his fumbling.
Domnall knelt beside her, holding the jug in place with one outstretched leg. He squeezed a hot and hairy teat, grimacing at the smell. Only a few drops escaped. Eventually he discovered a downward pull that streamed the milk mostly into the jug. He struggled to aim and squeeze the teats at the same time, but at least some of the milk was getting inside. Just as he got into a rhythm, the ewe finished off the greens and turned towards him with a hungry look.
Domnall collected a larger pile and raced to get in position the moment the ewe began to eat. He was quicker this time but it was slow-going. The milk sprayed everywhere, missing the narrow neck. His jug was only about half full when the ewe finished the leaves and stepped forward, knocking the jug into the grass.
Domnall picked up the jug and threw it across the field. “I’ll boil your head and feed you to the Brownies if you don’t stand still!” He stalked over to retrieve the jug and then returned to the stream to collect a fresh bundle of greens. He would not return to the Sithein without the milk, not even if he had to kill the ewe to get it out of her.
The streamside was looking quite bare by the time he’d collected his third bundle. He traipsed through the field in the half-light until he found another ewe whose large udder, he hoped, would be easier to milk. He had the hang of it now: as she ate the greenery, he pulled gently down her teats with milk-splattered hands. It seemed easier this time and he half-fancied he heard the ewe sigh with relief as the milk came down. He rested his head against her thick wool and kept pulling. Even though the leaves were long gone, she stood placidly while he filled the jug. As he milked the last few squirts into the jug, the ewe snorted and a small brown pellet dropped directly into the milk with a loud plop.
Domnall stared at the jug for a moment in shocked fury. He smacked the sheep’s backside but his hand sank into the wool without effect. She gave him a bemused look.
With green-stained fingers, Domnall fumbled through the jug and fished it out. The babe wouldn’t know the difference. He threw the pellet at the ewe, who blinked and finished off the greens.
The first notes of the dawn’s chorus began as he shivered in the chill wind. The mortals would be waking; it was time to get home. Maybe this time, Maeve would be grateful for his work.
* * *
The wails echoed through the valley. The babe screamed and hiccoughed and then screamed some more. It seemed incredible that it had kept it up this entire time. Maeve was unlikely to thank him even if he had risked life and limb to get her the milk. Domnall slipped past the sleeping Cu Sith and grabbed a young fae. “Listen, urgent delivery for Maeve.”
The courtier shook her head. “I’ve got to . . .”
“Do you hear that squalling? This will fix it. Get this to the nursery right now.” Domnall drew himself up to his full height, which only brought him equal to the young fae.
She shook her head. “I’m not going near that noise.” She ran in the opposite direction without another word.
Domnall stood for a moment in the suddenly deserted corridor. Well, someone was going to have to deliver this. Domnall half-ran to Tam’s quarters and thudded on the door. Tam was favoured with a room to himself with an actual door, very useful for lying low.
The door opened and a speaker from the 7th council appeared, buttoning his shirt. He gave Domnall an exasperated look and pushed past him down the corridor.
“Oh Finvarra, I’m sorry,” said Domnall, red-faced.
Tam waved a hand vaguely at the sobs still filling the Sithein. “It wasn’t going anywhere anyway.” He raised his voice. “What are you doing up at this time of the morning?”
“Still up,” shouted Domnall over the ever-increasing din. “I was hoping I could crash in your room while you were at work. I’m trying to stay out of Maeve’s way.”
“Is this dreadful mortal noise your fault?”
“No! I did as I was told: Nighean is safe in the crib. It’s not my fault Maeve wasn’t ready for the babe.” The din quieted as he shouted and he abruptly dropped his voice. “A little bit, yes.” He held the jug up. “I need someone to take this to Maeve.”
Tam stepped back, hands up in the air. “I think I might be on her side this time, old friend. You’re free to have a nap here afterwards, but not until you’ve stilled that noise.”
Domnall opened his mouth to argue but Tam closed the door in his face. With a heavy sigh, he slunk to the nursery.
Maeve grabbed the jug of milk. “You took long enough.”
“I took as long as it took.” He knew she’d be like this. “Next time, you can just try asking someone else if you think you’ll get better results.”
“It’d be hard to get worse. There’s not a decent scout left,” she said as she dipped a finger into the jug and then pushed it into the babe’s mouth. “Even if one of the young ones has any skill, there’s no one left to train them properly.”
Domnall clenched his jaw. Fin was training the raw youngsters. Everyone knew he couldn’t fight his way free of a spider web without help. Domnall wouldn’t have done it even if the council had asked, but they hadn’t. They said he lacked finesse, crashing through the Sithein like a wild boar, unable to let go of the past. Well, if modern times meant hiding away in the dark, he’d rather be an outsider in his own clan.
The babe quieted and Domnall sat on the edge of the oak table with a sigh of relief. When it came down to it, the wrong fae had survived the war. The best and the bravest fought the sluagh like cornered she-wolves. All that was left was skulkers afraid for their own skin. He shook off the guilt but the truth remained: his Sithein was a shadow of its former self.
The silence
only lasted for a few seconds before the babe turned bright purple with indignation and started wailing again.
Maeve poured a small amount of milk into a cup and brought it up to its fat lips. “The mortal is over-tired and stressed, you should have brought it hours ago!”
He bit back a sarcastic response. The problem wasn’t the milk. The brat clearly had no interest in the drink Domnall had spent all night collecting. Maybe Maeve was wrong. “Maybe you should—” he began.
“Maybe you should shut up,” snapped Maeve. She dipped a finger into the milk and ran it over the babe’s red gums. It squalled and then paused. She lifted the cup again, placing the edge gently on its bottom lip. It swallowed convulsively and hiccoughed. Then it moved its tongue unsteadily towards the cup and lapped at it like a newborn fox.
Maeve gave a tired sigh and then turned to glare at Domnall. “Don’t you have anywhere to be?”
Domnall bit back a sharp retort. He was tired too, and a thank-you would have been nice. He stalked out without another word.
This time, Tam let him into the room. “You know they’re doing stealth training with the new scout recruits this afternoon?”
Domnall sat down heavily on the straw bed. “Really? Out by the hill?”
“Yeah. Just thought you might want to take a look. Micol’s still in the running.” Tam waved and closed the door gently behind him.
Domnall rubbed his jaw. He should show some interest. But he was still sore that the training was given to that numpty Fin. Fin, who bleated like a trapped lamb the one time they’d come near a human settlement. Domnall agreed to turn back, but the numptie reported Domnall to the council, which was probably why Domnall didn’t get to do the training. But it made no sense to over-protect the new talent. You had to know whether a scout could keep calm when things started going wrong. Who would stand by you at the front line and who would break and run. Who would dare enter a human home to switch out a babe, if they needed the mother’s milk. There was no one else left in the Sithein who could have pulled off what Domnall did, he was sure of that.
Domnall and the Borrowed Child Page 2
