“Better than Fairy-lee.” He chuckled, playing with her name.
“Fairy?” Her eyes twinkled at him. “You can call me that if you want to.”
“I will.” Dougan’s lips cracked, and he realized that for the first time in as long as he could remember, he was smiling. “And what will ye call me?” he asked.
“Friend,” she said instantly, pushing up from the damp ground and brushing loose earth from her skirts before she picked up her bowl and cup.
Peculiar warmth stole into Dougan’s chest. He didn’t quite know what to say to her.
“I’d better go inside.” She lifted her wee face to the rain. “They’ll be looking for me.” Meeting his eyes again, she said. “Don’t stay out in the rain, you’ll catch your death.”
Dougan watched her go, suffused with interest and amusement, he savored the feeling of having something he’d never had before.
A friend.
* * *
“Pssst! Dougan!” The loud whisper nearly startled Dougan out of his skin. He whirled around, ready to deflect a blow from one of the other boys, when he spied a pair of owlish eyes sparkling at him from ringlets spun of moonbeams. The rest of her was cleverly shadowed behind a hallway tapestry.
“What are ye doing out here?” he demanded. “If they catch us, they’ll whip us both.”
“You’re out here,” she challenged.
“Aye … well.” Dougan had tried to fill the emptiness of his stomach with water. Two hours later, while tossing in bed, the plan had somewhat backfired and he’d been chagrined to find that someone had hidden the chamber pot, forcing him to go in search of the water closet.
“I have something for you.” Merrily, she hopped from behind the tapestry and linked her elbow with his, careful not to touch the bandages on his hands. “Follow me.” A door at the end of the hall sat slightly ajar, and Farah shoved him through, closing it softly behind them.
A lone candle flickered on one of several small tables, the light dancing off walls comprised entirely of bookcases. Dougan wrinkled his nose. The library? What would induce her to bring him here? He’d always avoided this room. It was dusty and smelled of mold and old people.
Pulling him toward the table with the candle, she pointed to a chair tucked in front of an open book. “Sit here!” By now she was nigh on quivering with excitement.
“Nay.” Dougan scowled down at the book, his curiosity dying. “I’m going to bed.”
“But—”
“And ye should, too, before they catch ye and flay yer skin from yer hide.”
Reaching into her apron pocket, Farah produced something the size of a tin of potted meat wrapped with linen. Setting it on the table, she uncovered a half-eaten slab of cheese, some dried roast, and most of a bread crust.
Dougan’s mouth watered violently, and it was all he could do not to snatch it from her.
“I couldn’t finish my supper,” she said.
Dougan fell upon the offering like a savage, seizing the bread first, as he knew it would produce the most filling effect. He could hear the rooting, growling noises his throat produced around gaping mouthfuls, and he didn’t care.
When she spoke again, her voice was full of tears. “Dear friend…” Her little hand pressed against his hunched back and patted it consolingly. “I shan’t let you starve again, I promise.”
Dougan watched her reach for the book as he shoved as much of the roast in his mouth as would fit. “Waff’s tha?” he asked around the food.
She spread her tiny, pale hands to carefully smooth across the open pages, and nudged the tome toward him. “I felt bad for not knowing enough about the rifles this afternoon, so I spent all evening searching, and look what I found!” She mashed her wee finger next to a picture of a long Enfield rifle. Beneath it were smaller pictures of different parts of the disassembled weapon.
“This is a Pattern 1851 rifle,” she offered. “And look! Here are the bayonets. The next chapter is about how they’re made and how one affixes them to the top of—What?” She’d finally glanced over at him and something in his expression caused her to blush.
Dougan had almost completely forgotten about the food, for his entire body was suffused with the most intense and exquisite sensation he’d ever known. It was something like hunger, and something like fulfillment. It was wonder and awe and yearning and fear encapsulated in a tender bliss. His chest expanded with it until it pressed against his lungs, emptying them of breath.
He found himself wishing there was a word for it. And maybe there was, lost in all these countless books for which he’d never before had use.
She turned back to the pages, clearing her throat. “They noted all the names of all the different components right below the pictures, see?”