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A Stroke Of Midnight :: Гамильтон Лорел
Страница: 76 из 293She’d cultivated that voice by talking on the phone to other faerie terrier fanciers across the country and theworld. You couldn’t get a new breed of terrier recognized by the American Kennel Club if no one could understand what you were saying to them.
“Denying my heritage won’t change what I am,” I said. “It won’t make me one inch taller, or look one bit more royal sidhe.”
“Mayhaps,” Maggie said, smoothing her hands down her shapeless dress, “but it is not brownie blood that will put you on the throne.”
I reached over to the big cast-iron skillet where it lay on the table. I wrapped my hand around its cool metal handle. It was inert under my hand, just metal to me. I lifted the heavy skillet, changing my grip until I had the balance of it. “But it’s brownie blood that helps me do this.”
Her eyes narrowed at me. “Aye, or human.”
“Or human,” I agreed.
Onilwyn swayed and collapsed back to his knees. If he’d been human, he would probably have been dead.
“What set you and your dogs on him?” I asked.
Two of her terriers had come to her feet, but the plump one still growled at Onilwyn. I realized the dog wasn’t fat, she was pregnant. The bitch was so full of puppies that she waddled when she finally went back to Maggie’s call.
“Dulcie went to sniff his foot,” Maggie said. “She growled at him a bit. She would nae have bit him.” Her thin strong hands balled into fists. She seemed to be controlling herself with effort. “He kicked her, and her full of puppies. He kicked ma dog.”
My first memory was of being in a small dark cupboard with squirming puppies. One puppy was more than my lap could hold. A huge dog sat by the thin line of light of the curtains that covered the front of our hole. The silky fur of the faerie terrier puppies and that alert dog is still an utterly vivid memory. My father once told me what I, at around eighteen months, didn’t remember. My father and Barinthus had both been called away, so my father had left me with Maggie May. The queen’s steward had come unrepentantly to check on some dish for that night’s banquet. If the queen knew my father hid me in the kitchens, it would no longer be a haven for me.
I’d crawled into the cupboard with the puppies and their mother, as I often did. I was very gentle with them even then, Maggie had told me once. When the steward came, she just closed the drapes hiding both me and the puppies. The steward didn’t believe it hid just puppies, so he tried to peek and the mother dog bit him. She protected her puppies and me.
To this day the scent and feel of the terriers was a comforting thing to me.
“Denying my heritage won’t change what I am,” I said. “It won’t make me one inch taller, or look one bit more royal sidhe.”
“Mayhaps,” Maggie said, smoothing her hands down her shapeless dress, “but it is not brownie blood that will put you on the throne.”
I reached over to the big cast-iron skillet where it lay on the table. I wrapped my hand around its cool metal handle. It was inert under my hand, just metal to me. I lifted the heavy skillet, changing my grip until I had the balance of it. “But it’s brownie blood that helps me do this.”
Her eyes narrowed at me. “Aye, or human.”
“Or human,” I agreed.
Onilwyn swayed and collapsed back to his knees. If he’d been human, he would probably have been dead.
“What set you and your dogs on him?” I asked.
Two of her terriers had come to her feet, but the plump one still growled at Onilwyn. I realized the dog wasn’t fat, she was pregnant. The bitch was so full of puppies that she waddled when she finally went back to Maggie’s call.
“Dulcie went to sniff his foot,” Maggie said. “She growled at him a bit. She would nae have bit him.” Her thin strong hands balled into fists. She seemed to be controlling herself with effort. “He kicked her, and her full of puppies. He kicked ma dog.”
My first memory was of being in a small dark cupboard with squirming puppies. One puppy was more than my lap could hold. A huge dog sat by the thin line of light of the curtains that covered the front of our hole. The silky fur of the faerie terrier puppies and that alert dog is still an utterly vivid memory. My father once told me what I, at around eighteen months, didn’t remember. My father and Barinthus had both been called away, so my father had left me with Maggie May. The queen’s steward had come unrepentantly to check on some dish for that night’s banquet. If the queen knew my father hid me in the kitchens, it would no longer be a haven for me.
I’d crawled into the cupboard with the puppies and their mother, as I often did. I was very gentle with them even then, Maggie had told me once. When the steward came, she just closed the drapes hiding both me and the puppies. The steward didn’t believe it hid just puppies, so he tried to peek and the mother dog bit him. She protected her puppies and me.
To this day the scent and feel of the terriers was a comforting thing to me.