They slept across the fire from each other, and in the morning, she practiced her bow and her hand fighting skills. “You’re getting stronger,” he said, panting. He rubbed his thigh where she had kicked him. “I’ll have a bruise here.”
She beamed. “When will you teach me the sword?”
“When you’re strong enough.”
“Do you need me to kick you again to prove I’m strong enough?”
He chuckled. “That’s not the strength I mean. I’ll know it when I see it.”
They reached Leiden at midmorning. Plain-dressed guards let Connor and Mairead through the gates. They held quarterstaffs at the ready and wore swords on their hips, and Connor noticed Mairead glance up at the arrow notches in the towers above the gate. “Graymen,” he told her. “They train under the old city walls.”
“Under them?”
He nodded. “This city is ancient. Some say the Sidh built it, but even the Sidh queen can’t say for certain. There are caves and hideouts under the old walls. Every male youth of fourteen is required to present himself for training for three years. They don’t see their families the whole time. The elders keep them locked away under the walls or in the center of the city where they train in the arenas. When they can defend the city, they are free to go. Every man who’s completed his training is required to serve at the gates or on the walls for three days of every moon cycle.”
“Why do they call them graymen?”
“Because they wear plain clothes so they’re hard to see. For every one you see guarding the gate, there are five in the crowd who are on duty, but not posted. And since every man is trained the same way, all of them are ready to defend the city at any moment.”
Connor directed Mairead toward the commerce quarter. He found his old favorite public house—the Ciderpress Inn. They rented a room, ate thick porridge and sweet ham, and drank warm, fresh cider. The maid flirted with Connor, but he turned his attention to Mairead and ignored the maid.
When they had finished their meal, Connor stood and took Mairead’s hand. “Let’s find you some better clothes.”
“Connor, I’m fine. I don’t need anything.”
“I’ve watched you shiver yourself to sleep for the last time. I’m finding you something warmer.”
After a morning in Leiden, Mairead had a new set of bracers and two pair of soft leather breeches. Connor also bought her warmer tunics, a fur-lined cloak, and a wrap made of wolf pelts that didn’t smell like dead mice.
As they walked back toward the public house, Mairead stopped and frowned. He turned back. “What is it?”
“Do you hear that?”
He stood still. “I just hear city noise.”
“No, there’s more. I hear crying. Like a child crying.”
He listened for a moment and followed her eyes. “I hear it. It’s a faint mewling.”
“A baby?”
“I don’t know.”
She followed the sound down an alley and behind a building. Connor followed, hand on a dagger in his belt out of habit.
Mairead gasped as she rounded the corner. “No.”
A woman in thin, ragged clothing lay collapsed against a wall, her open mouth and eyes gaping skyward. She had no shoes or cloak, and the dress she wore didn’t cover her legs. The weak mewling sound came from a bundle on her lap. She had been nursing the child, or trying to, when death came. Her shriveled breast was exposed, raw and empty and blue from cold.
Connor knelt and put a hand to her neck, though he knew it was hopeless. “She froze to death. Or starved. She gave the child her shawl.”
“But it’s not that cold.”
“You can say that? As cold as you’ve been these last nights? Imagine if you’d been underdressed and hungry and perhaps sick.”
She closed her eyes. “No. You’re right.” She knelt and picked up the baby. “He can’t be more than a couple of months old. And he’s so cold.” She wrapped her cloak around him. “He needs food. We need to find a wetnurse.”
Connor stood. “Where?”
“Is there a kirok in this town?”
“Across town. But the inn is closer than the kirok.”
She bit her lip. “Sayana Muriel had to give a babe goat’s milk once. Perhaps they have some at the inn.”
He carried their purchases as they walked back to the Ciderpress Inn. Connor asked the innkeeper for fresh goat’s milk. The man blinked in surprise. “Goat’s milk?”
“We found this child,” Mairead told him. The baby fussed weakly from her arms. “His mother was dead. He needs to eat. Do you know any wetnurses?”
“No, but the baker’s wife just had a baby. She may be willing to help.”
“Would you send her to our room?”
“Aye.”
“Is there someone who can care for the mother’s body?” Connor asked.
“I’ll send word to the gravedigger and the elders. We’ll see if we can find the lad’s father.”
Connor took Mairead and the baby to the room. She cradled the baby and fell into a natural swaying rhythm where she stood. She smiled at the bundle. “He’s beautiful.”
“Is he well?”
“He looks well, but his cries are so weak.” She stepped closer to Connor. “Please, take him for just a moment?”
Connor stepped back and held his hands up. “No, this is your business.”
“I need to use the chamber pot.”
“Just set him on the bed.”
“Connor SilverAir, are you telling me you’re afraid of a baby?”
“Not afraid. Just not fond of them.”
She rolled her eyes. “He needs warmth. It won’t kill you to hold him for a moment.” She thrust the bundle at him, and he took it rather than let her drop him. She stepped behind a partition with the chamber pot.
The baby’s eyes were sunken with lack of fluid. He had a dark complexion and brown curls, and his eyelashes were long and thick. He fixed Connor with a brown-eyed stare. “Sorry about this,” Connor told him. “It’s been a long time since I held a babe. You look like you could be Sidh. Was it your father? Your mother didn’t look it.” The child yawned. “I know. You need food. I wish I could help.” A song came to mind. He hummed in a low voice. He summoned the air and wove braids around the baby. A smile passed over the tiny mouth, and the child fixed his gaze on the braids. “You have a touch of it, or you wouldn’t see the braids.”
“You big liar.” Mairead’s voice startled him, and he turned. She stood near the partition, adjusting her tunic. “You said you weren’t fond of babies. Look at you—humming a lullaby and entertaining him.”
He gave her the baby. “My sisters. I had nieces and nephews.”
“Were they—”
“All of them died in the attack on Kiern.”
She touched his arm. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you lost so much.”
“It’s in the past.”
She settled into that rocking sway with the baby again, but she kept her eyes on Connor for some time. He turned away from her gaze, grateful for the knock on the door that saved him from answering more painful questions.
The woman was older than he remembered, but the upswept brown hair and hazel eyes were unmistakable. “Linna!”
“Connor!” She put her arms around his neck. “Lad, it’s been years. Where’ve ye been?”
“All over. I had no idea you lived here.”
“We just moved here a couple years ago. My husband—he’s the baker for the inns around here.”
“The baker’s wife? You’re the woman who just had a baby?”
“Aye—another girl, just about six weeks ago.” She smoothed her skirts and stepped into the room. “Three girls, now.”
“You know each other?” Mairead asked.
Connor gestured to Linna. “This is Donal and Aileen’s oldest daughter, Linna. Linna, this is Mairead. I’m escorting her to Sveklant.”
Linna curtsied. “Mairead. ’Tis a pleasure. Is this the lad?”
Mairead held the boy out to Linna. “His mother was dead and he needs suckling. Can you help?”
“Aye, o’ course.” She untied her dress and sat down as she put the baby to her breast. “He’s a pretty lad, isn’t he?”
Mairead smiled. “He’s beautiful. Is there an orphanage in this town? Or does the kirok help find homes for orphans?”
“No orphanage. The kirok does help when it can.” She smiled. “I’d take him. I wanted a son and ne’er got one. I’ll take him if we canna find his da.”
“You’d decide so quickly?” Connor asked.
Linna scoffed and waved a hand. “’Tis nothing. ’Tis what we’re called for, aye? To help those who canna help themselves?”
Mairead frowned and pulled Connor aside. She lowered her voice and cast a glance at Linna. “Is this really Aileen’s daughter? After what we saw—and it’s too much a coincidence—”
“I know.” He walked back to Linna. “How are your parents?”
“Well,” Linna said. Her eyes softened. “They’re living with Aine and her husband in the far north. ’Tis peaceful. ’Tisn’t far from Svek country.”
Connor sat down across from her. He couldn’t think how to say the words. “We went through the village where you grew up. We stayed with your parents there.”
She frowned and shook her head. “They’ve been living with Aine for years. Took her north after—” She bit off the words. “After ye left.”
“The people we stayed with were Syrafi, we think. After we left, we saw them fly away. There was no sign of the farm.”
“The farm burned years ago. Perhaps ye had a blessing from Alshada.” She winced and adjusted the baby against her breast. “Lad, there’s plenty,” she whispered, chuckling.
Mairead knelt next to her. “Will you be able to feed two babes?”
“Aye, ‘tis naught. I’ve ne’er had trouble suckling a babe. I’ll take the lad overnight and see if we can find his family tomorrow. If no one turns up, I’ll keep him.”
When the baby at last fell into a contented doze against her, Linna pulled her dress back up. “Will ye come for supper, Connor? Meet my family?”
Mairead was about to accept, but Connor shook his head. “No, thank you, Linna. Go with the baby, and we’ll check on you tomorrow.”
She started to say something, but then smiled and nodded. “All right. As ye wish.” She left the room, smiling down at the babe in her arms.
Mairead turned to him. “Why did you refuse? I would enjoy visiting with a woman, and it would be wise for us to see where we’re leaving this child.”
He turned away and started taking off his bracers. “With two young babies, they don’t need guests.”
“That’s ridiculous. I should go help her.” Mairead started to put on her cloak. “I can cook for her, perhaps.”
He snorted a laugh. “Mairead, you can barely set water boiling when we camp, and she’s married to a baker. She doesn’t need a cook.”
Her face reddened. “Then I’ll do her laundry or play with her other children. I’m sure there’s some way I can help. Or do you still think I’m useless?”
He stifled the urge to roll his eyes. “You’re overreacting. I just don’t think we need to intrude on Linna’s life.” He gave her a tilted smile. “Stay here. Take a bath. I’ll take you out into the city.”
She folded her arms. “I thought we agreed this was my job.”
“Taking care of babies?”
“Rendering aid to the poor and those less fortunate. I can help Linna and her family. You’re keeping me from it. Why? Did you bed that woman once and you’re afraid she’ll tell me?”
“Damn it, Mairead, that’s none of your business.” He walked to the door. “We’re staying here. Bathe or don’t bathe—I don’t care. I’m going to the common room. Come find me when you can listen to reason.” He slammed the door behind him before she could respond.
Mairead didn’t follow, so he ordered a bath for her and sat down with ale and a pipe. He was nearly to the bottom of a second tankard of ale when a familiar face caught his eye. The man approached and held out his hand. His grizzled face creased into a wrinkled grin under a shock of gray hair. “Connor Reid. I never thought I’d see ye back this way,” he said.
“Declan Kennon,” Connor said. They clasped arms. “Still running these northern routes? I thought you’d be in Tal’Amun by now.”
Declan grinned. “My wife wishes it so. I canna quite give up the trading life yet.”
Connor chuckled. He had escorted Declan’s livestock trains from Leiden to the northern edge of Espara in his early days as a freelance. Declan and his sons raised hearty northern prairie cattle; they sent the cattle south to Esparan traders who valued them for their thick, furry hides and rich meat. Connor liked working for Declan. He was a fair boss who paid well, and Connor enjoyed the camaraderie with Declan’s hired hands. It wasn’t until he took Declan and his wife east to Tal’Amun one winter that he decided he’d had enough of northern snow and ice.
Declan was a rare breed in Culidar—a man who had turned a few head of prairie cattle into a vast, thriving ranch. But despite his success and the dozens of peasants, hired hands, and small crofters who depended on him, Declan refused to call himself anything more than a simple farmer or merchant. He dressed in plain clothes and ran his own routes, preferring the thrill of the road to the drudgery of ranch life.
Declan motioned for a tankard. “What’re ye doing back this way, lad?” he asked. “Last I heard, ye said ye’d stay in the south where ‘tis warm.”
“I was in the south. I was working for an Esparan kanisse.”
“Working for her?”
Connor grinned. “Sometimes.”
Declan laughed. “I miss ye on the route, lad. ’Twas always fun watching you and the other boys get yourselves into messes with the tavern girls.”
“I’ve outgrown tavern girls.” Connor drank. “You taking cattle south?”
Declan hesitated. “Not this time.” He leaned forward. “What’re ye doing now, Connor? Ye on a job?”
“I am.”
“Can ye leave it?”
“Not really. Why?”
The maid set down a tankard for Declan. He took a long draw off it while she walked away. He leaned forward and lowered his voice. “I need a good man to lead some wagons through Nar Sidhe territory. I’d pay ye well, and there’d be more work in it after.”
Connor frowned. “You have a good man. Angus can take your wagons south.”
Declan’s blue eyes darted toward the maid who passed their table. He lowered his voice more. “Angus is one o’ the best there is, and with livestock he’s fine, but . . .” His voice dropped to a whisper. “There’s silver in the mountains, lad. It’s hard to get, but I’ve managed to fill up some wagons. They pay well for it in Espara.”
Connor leaned forward. “How much are you paying?”
“Enough you wouldn’t have to work again.”
“I don’t have to work now.”
Declan’s eyes narrowed. “What do ye want?”
Connor thought. “Your house in Tal’Amun.”
He laughed again. “Ye’re daft, lad.”
Connor leaned back and drank his ale. “You’re the one who needs help. I confess I like the idea of sitting on a balcony on the Eastern Ridge, overlooking the sea and sipping maki and eating savories from the fine-fingered hands of Eastern ladies.”
Declan considered it. “Ye’d have to give me more’n one trip for that.”
“Three.”
“Six.”
“Five, but you have to give me Angus to finish the job I’m on now.”
“Why Angus?”
“I’m escorting a woman to Sveklant. I need a man who can be trusted to keep his breeches laced and get her there before winter, and I know if Angus drops his breeches for anyone but his wife, she’ll make him wish he’d been born a eunuch.”
Declan nodded. “Done. Do we have a bargain?”
Then he thought of Mairead. Angus is a good man, but he’d never teach her to fight as she asked. He drank his ale, picturing Mairead’s fierce gaze and the stubborn set of her jaw, and closed his eyes. She’s stubborn, overly concerned with the downtrodden, and far too curious about my past, but I promised. I don’t break my word. I just have to be more careful about what information I share.
He shook his head. “Sorry. I can’t do it. But it’s flattering that you’d be willing to give up so much to get my services.”
Declan leaned back in his chair. “Is she worth it?”
Yes. The thought came unbidden. He frowned. “It’s not that. I promised my mother I’d do this. I won’t break a promise.”
The scent of Mairead’s hair drifted to Connor on a wisp of air. He turned toward the stairs to see her enter the room dressed in a light purple linen dress, her hair tumbling almost to her waist. She smelled clean, fresh, and innocent. His breath caught in his throat, and he stood. Men around the common room quieted. Several pointed and a few started to stand, but then she saw him and smiled, and her eyes fixed on his, and he couldn’t look away. “You look like you feel better,” he said, hoping she didn’t hear the tightness in his voice. She’s always pretty, but I had no idea.
Her smile was hesitant and her voice stiff. “I do, thank you.” She turned her gaze to Declan. “Is this a friend of yours?”
Connor gestured, and Declan stood. “Declan Kennon, this is Mairead. Declan is an old employer and friend.”
Declan bowed to Mairead. “My lady. ’Tis a pleasure.” He clasped Connor’s arm. “I understand why ye turned down my offer. I wish ye the best, lad.” He shook his head and left the inn.
Mairead sat in the chair Declan had emptied. Connor drank his ale and tried to ignore the way her dress hugged her slender curves. “Where did you find the dress?”
Ravenmarked (The Taurin Chronicles) Page 18
