Highland Wolf (Highland Brides #10)(11)

Instead of just getting the few minutes’ rest she’d expected, Conall had let her sleep through the day. Claray had woken again as the sun was setting to find the Wolf pressing another round of oatcakes and drink on her. This time he’d also offered her fish someone had caught in the river. Again, it had been seasoned and cooked over the fire. Fortunately, fish was something Claray had no issue eating. She’d never befriended a fish, so she’d gobbled up the food without hesitation. But much to her embarrassment, once finished eating, she’d again just curled up and fallen asleep.

Now, was the third time she was waking, and it appeared to be the crack of dawn. The sky was just starting to lighten, the darkness overhead turning a deep red that lightened to orange and then a thin streak of yellow as it reached the horizon, but there was no sign of the sun yet.

A glance around showed her that nearly a dozen fires had been built in the large and pretty glade for the men to sleep around. They were now reduced to embers, and the hundred or so men bedded down around them were still sleeping. There were also half a dozen or so men sitting or standing about, obviously standing guard over the others while they slept, but she had no idea where the rest of the men were. She was sure though that there were more somewhere. It had looked to her like at least two hundred men had been following them when she first woke up after leaving Kerr.

Claray turned her gaze to the Wolf again and bit her lip as she looked over his sleeping face. She’d thought that he was handsome the first time she’d seen him, but now, asleep and with the grimness missing from his face, he was more than handsome. He was perfect, with full, pouty lips, high cheekbones and a strong chin. Claray thought she could look at him for hours if she didn’t really, really need to get up and relieve herself. The problem was how to slip out from under the Wolf without waking him.

After some consideration, it did seem the only thing for her to do was to slide to the side until his arm and leg were no longer on her. Taking a deep breath and holding it, she began her maneuver. It was a very slow process, and by the time she was free, Claray was in imminent danger of wetting herself, which would be most embarrassing. Desperate to avoid that, she lunged to her feet and made a dash for the woods, hopping and jumping over the bodies stretched out around the glade rather than taking the time to weave around them. She probably woke a man or two in her rush, and she certainly startled the men who had been left to guard the sleeping party, but much to her relief, none of them moved to stop or question her and simply watched wide-eyed as she fled into the woods.

Claray’s need was so great that she didn’t flee far. She went perhaps ten feet into the trees before stopping and squatting. She barely had time to make sure her skirts were out of the way before her body decided it had waited long enough and began to do what it wished. The reduction of pressure was such a distracting relief that it wasn’t until she’d finished and straightened that she noticed the warm squirming going on between her breasts.

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.”