He stopped for a moment, and she pointed to the river to let him know where she was going. Ever worried about her, Magnus watched her move through the pink heather in bloom until she was out of sight.
The breeze wrapped her in the smell of fishy water, kelp carried from the sea lying on the rocky bank of the river, way before she reached it, and something else. The smell of urine—human and wolf, an unfamiliar wolf shifter she hadn’t smelled before. But also one who was very young. She did not hurry, not wanting to upset a mother and child.
She sauntered, her own child’s breath warming her collarbone. Tamhas stirred, and his eyes opened. He cooed. She rubbed his back in a consoling way. She scanned the riverbank, the reeds, the little inlets where the locals fished.
She heard a baby crying long before she saw it, courtesy of her wolf hearing. Elspeth’s scalp prickled.
The crying grew louder. Tamhas, for his part, went silent, as if he too sensed the gravity of the moment.
At the water’s edge, she found him: a baby boy, wild and flailing in a reed basket, the swaddling that had bound him cast aside. His round face was framed in light brown curls as if he were older than he seemed. Yet he was a newly born babe, thin, needing sustenance.
His mouth opened and he released an angry cry, startling her. His fists battered the air. There was no scent of his mother, no warmth of recent handling. The basket’s bottom was sodden with river water that could have carried him away in a few hours. The boy’s lips had gone a shocking shade of blue.
“Goddess above,” Elspeth whispered, all her doubts and terrors tumbling into a single note of awe. She reached for the baby, her hands steady for the first time since the previous day, and lifted him from the basket.
His skin was slick, mottled with cold, but when she pressed him to her shoulder, he shook with a living force that startled her. He was heavier than Tamhas, but softer, less substantial, as if his bones had not yet made up their mind to stay.
Elspeth scanned the riverbank—no footprints, no discarded blankets, nothing to suggest how the child had arrived. She looked at the trees, half-expecting to see a desperate mother lurking in the shadows, watching to see if her abandoned son would be found and saved. Nothing. Only wind and water and the cries of her own new son.
She pressed the stranger’s cheek to Tamhas’, felt the heat and hunger of both their bodies. This was what she had been denied—twins—and now, by whatever sorcery or mercy, the world had restored the balance. She felt her heart crack open, not with grief but with a terrible, impossible hope.
"Ohmigoddess, a gift from the gods," she murmured, and the words tasted sweet as honey on her tongue. Still, she couldn’t quite leave the spot where the baby was until she tried to find the mother.
She called out, “Hello? Is anyone here?” Just to make sure that the mother wasn’t just a stone’s throw away, but the baby was so soiled, she figured he’d been there for some hours. And he was newly born, just like Tamhas.
She secured the basket to her belt.
With one baby nestled against her body in the carrier, the other cuddled against her body, hidden beneath her shawl to warm him, she tightened her grip on both babies and turned for home, her mind already racing through the practicalities—milk, warmth, shelter.
Perhaps this was a trick, an omen, or some test of her fitness as a mother. She didn’t care. She would raise this stranger as her own.
As she walked, Tamhas stirred and offered a thin, wobbly cry, as if to welcome his new brother. Elspeth smiled, the first true smile since her birthing, and with both boys pressed against her, she made her way back to the croft.
Magnus was busy planting crops, but he quickly stopped when the two crying babies caught his attention.
He rushed to her aid, his feet pounding the muddy ground, and peered at the empty basket, his eyes darting to the wriggling bundle beneath her woolen shawl that wailed like a banshee. "What have ye got there?"
"A wee one left by the river's edge. The gods have answered our prayers."
Magnus’s brow furrowed, but he gave a slow nod. The look in his gray-blue eyes told her everything—her happiness mattered more than his doubts. He'd welcome this child into their home and raise it alongside their own.
None of the crofters nor that of the rest of their pack that lived at the castle had reported a missing infant, which meant this gift could truly be theirs. Magnus's weathered hands would someday guide two strong backs in the fields.
He gathered Tamhas into his arms, hushing the boy's cries while the newfound babe continued its plaintive song.
"He just needs to be cleaned up and fed. He'll be fine," she assured Magnus when she entered the croft, and he followed behind.
Since she was newly in milk, she could feed both the boys. But what about shifting as wolves? Babies shifted at the same time as their mothers. But Elspeth wasn't his mother. She wondered if his mother had died in childbirth. And the babe’s da couldn’t care for it. Why not give him to a family to raise?
"Shifting will be an issue. Tamhas will learn to be a wolf from birth. This boy is one too, but until he's around five summers, he willna be able to shift unless his mother is still alive somewhere nearby and shifts."
"We'll worry about it later." Elspeth quickly removed all the swaddling and saw that he was a healthy boy with what she swore was a wolf's head birthmark on his shoulder. He was stillcrying, not liking being naked, dirty, and hungry. At least she had warmed him, and his lips were a pretty pink.
Her mate placed Tamhas in his bassinet, brought her fresh swaddling clothes, and even cleaned the new baby up. She loved how caring her mate was. Once the baby was clean, she sat on the rocking chair Magnus had made for her and began to feed the bairn. “We'll have to give him a name."
"Aye. Coinneach."
"Coinneach. That’s a nice name. Handsome. He is that. We canna tell anyone we found him because we dinna know why he was abandoned."
