Glancing down, Claray stared blankly at the tiny furry face that suddenly poked out of the top of her gown. The baby stoat. Both its eyes were open now, which meant she’d been off a little on the age. It was probably closer to, or a little over, six weeks, she realized, and supposed she should have guessed that by its coloring and size. While its fur was mostly the soft silver down of a newborn stoat, there were hints of the red brown fur it would eventually have. As for the size, it looked to be a good four or five ounces in weight, which was twice what a five-week stoat would be, but perfect for a six-week-old stoat. It would probably double again in size the next week. Stoats did seem to grow quickly at this stage.
When the kit began to squeak in what sounded to her like complaint, Claray smiled faintly. She’d quite forgotten all about the baby stoat, and he could almost have been lecturing her on that. Or perhaps he was complaining that he was hungry, she thought as she realized that while she’d eaten and slept, it hadn’t eaten since she’d slipped it into her gown the night before last. Not a good thing for such a young baby. The problem was, she had nothing to give it. At this age it might be able to eat meat, though they usually ate it raw, and it would still need milk at this stage, but she had none to give it.
Biting her lip, Claray petted the soft head of the small creature, and then gently pinched the loose fur at its neck. Much to her surprise, it immediately sprung back into place when she released it. That suggested it was well hydrated despite not having been fed for more than a day. Claray should have been relieved by that, but instead was just confused. She was also worried, for while she could give it bits of cooked meat when they next ate, she had no way to get it milk.
“Claray?”
Spinning on her heel, she watched the Wolf approach and was surprised to see concern on his face.
“Are ye all right?” he asked as he drew near. “Allistair said ye raced off in a hurry. He thought ye might be sick.”
“Oh.” Claray flushed and shook her head. Guessing that Allistair was one of the men who had been standing guard, she said, “Nay. I am fine. I just needed . . . a moment,” she finished with embarrassment rather than describe what she’d been doing.
Much to her relief, the Wolf understood and nodded. His gaze then dropped to the stoat kit now climbing out of the top of her gown and scaling the material to reach her shoulder nearest to the Wolf. Once there, it sat up and squeaked at him most demandingly.
“He’s probably hungry,” Claray murmured, scooping up the small fellow. “But we have nothing for him.”
“Aye, we ha’e milk.” The Wolf turned on his heel and strode back the way he’d come, leaving her staring after him with surprise.
“Milk?” she asked finally, tripping after him before he got too far away.
He stopped to allow her to catch up. “We are on Dougall land, and there’s a farm or two no’ far from the glade. Yester morn after we stopped here, Hamish rode out to the nearer o’ them and traded for some goat’s milk fer little Squeak there.”
“Squeak,” Claray murmured, a smile tugging at her lips. “Ye named him?”
“Aye, well . . .” He grimaced, looking embarrassed, and then turned away to continue forward, growling, “I could hardly keep calling him vermin. That seemed to upset ye, so—” He shrugged as if it was of no consequence. “Ye can change the name do ye like.”
“Oh, nay. Squeak is perfect,” she assured him, beaming at his back as she hurried to catch up to him. “He does seem to squeak a lot. And it seems directed at you,” she added as she noticed that Squeak had squirmed about in her hand until he could see the Wolf and was continuing to squeak at him in a most outraged manner.
The man slowed and glanced toward the wee kit to see that it was indeed squeaking in his direction, and she thought she saw his lips twitch, but his voice was gruff when he said, “Aye, well, he’s probably demanding his breakfast, and since I was the one feeding him every few hours yesterday, he most like thinks ’tis me job now.”
“Ye fed him?” Claray asked with amazement. It was just something she wouldn’t have expected. In fact, she couldn’t even picture the huge man feeding the wee creature. Squeak wasn’t even as big around as his thumb. Though he did look like he would be longer than it.
“Ye were sleeping and there was no one else to do it,” the Wolf muttered, and then as if he thought she might not believe that, he added, “Me men were busy setting up camp, gathering wood fer fires, hunting and cleaning their kill to cook food fer ye.”
“Aye. I’m sure they were most busy,” she said, lowering her head so that he wouldn’t see the happy smile on her face. He’d fed Squeak. Purely for her, she knew, because he’d wanted nothing to do with what he considered vermin when she’d first found him, and it was just so sweet and kind and she didn’t know what to say except, “Thank ye.”
The Wolf grunted and then muttered, “Ye’re welcome,” and then took her arm to escort her back to camp.
Everyone was awake now and bustling around getting ready to leave. Claray knew the Wolf must be impatient with the delay that this whole day and night of rest had caused, so fully expected to be hustled to the horses and pulled up before the Wolf again so that they could set off. It was something of a surprise, therefore, when instead he settled her on a log and moved off to speak to Hamish before disappearing into the woods. She was even more surprised when Hamish then approached to present her with more cooked fish, a skin of ale and a much smaller skin of goat’s milk for Squeak.
Thanking him, Claray set the square of linen holding the cooked fish on the log next to her, let Squeak climb back up her arm to her shoulder and then opened the skin of ale to drink from. She almost spat it all out on a laugh though when Squeak rushed along her shoulder to her neck and then stretched to try to reach the skin of ale at her lips, his little paws digging at her face. Deciding she would wait until she fed Squeak, she closed the watered-down ale and set it aside to turn her attention to the skin of goat’s milk instead. The problem was she had no clue how she was supposed to feed it to Squeak.
Claray tried opening it and tipping it into Squeak’s mouth, but just ended up drenching the poor creature. She was considering tearing a bit of cloth off of her gown and making some kind of nipple with that for the wee beast when the Wolf returned. He seemed to recognize her problem at once, and simply settled down next to her, plucked the skin of milk and Squeak from her hands and said, “Eat.”
She did as instructed and picked up the fish, but rather than eat, she watched with curiosity as the Wolf poured some milk into his palm, and then set Squeak on his fingers. The wee kit immediately crawled to the base of his fingers and began to lap up the milk puddle.
“So simple,” Claray muttered with self-disgust, and took her first bite of fish, only to blink in surprise when she realized that it was still warm, as if fresh from the fire. It was also still moist and fresh tasting, not day-old meat. Blinking, she glanced at the Wolf with confusion. “When did they—?”
“I set half the men to get up early to hunt and cook more meat and fish so we could eat ere we left,” he said, his attention on pouring some more milk into his palm without knocking Squeak off his perch.