Blood Moon (Silver Moon, #3) - By Rebecca A. Rogers Page 0,10

believed the boys were lost and would one day return, or wild animals attacked them and naught remained. One thing is for certain: they never came home.” Her shoulders twitch as she stares down at the table, lost in the memory of those poor souls. “Then the howling came. At night, we could hear the wolves. They were so close, yet never showed their faces, always hidden and protected by the darkness and web of trees. Hunting parties searched for the creatures of the night, and not a single man made it out alive.” She hastily swipes away the tears from her eyes.

I realize something that’s been in front of me all along—Fiona’s husband has yet to show himself. From what little I know of history, it’s that women always married young and produced children. They always had a man to support the family, one who would put food on the table and be a handyman for household repairs. Fiona doesn’t have that.

And if I let my gut do the talking, if I listen to it, it says that her husband was one of the men who went after the werewolves and never returned.

“Oh, my God.” I gasp, covering my mouth with one hand. A spiky, nipping sensation pricks the backs of my eyes, and they begin to dampen. “Your husband . . .”

Fiona nods almost imperceptibly. “Aye,” is all she says. She quickly wipes away more tears. “Presently, ’tis only Francine and myself, and we manage very well. Nevertheless, I would be lying if I said I did not miss him every day.”

I reach out and place my hand on her arm. “Well, of course you do. I’m sure Francine misses him, too. I’m very sorry for your loss. If there’s anything Ben and I can do to help, don’t hesitate to ask us.”

She nods rapidly, letting the tears freely descend her cheeks this time. “My gratitude.” She collects our empty dishes and places them in at the end of the table. “I shall go fetch more water to warm, so ye can bathe.” Grabbing a shawl from a nail tacked into the wood by the door, she wraps herself and steps outside.

Ben purses his lips in a straight, grave line as he tugs me into his arms. He technically may not be my husband, but I can’t imagine losing him the way Fiona lost her love, especially with a child involved. It’s too bad Ben and I can’t return to the past to correct Fiona’s husband’s fate, but if we tried this with all of the people whose lives have been changed because of a tragedy, we’ll never return to Hartford.

“C’mon,” Ben says, coaxing me toward the guest room as he stands. I don’t waver to follow him; my muscles, my bones, and my entire body is too tired, and the warm supper has left me in a relaxed mood. He and I plop down on the soft mattress.

Fiona pokes her head around the corner. “Apologies if I am interrupting, but I have to heat the water in the kettle before I can pour it into the washtub.” She motions toward the brass-colored bathtub across the room. “I have brought in several buckets so ye needn’t wait very long.”

“Want some help?” Ben asks.

“Nay,” says Fiona. “The well is just outside.” She disappears to the main room of the house.

Ben and I lay back on the bed, staring at the ceiling. Without looking, Ben’s hand searches for mine, and upon discovering it, he interlocks our fingers. This is the great part about mine and Ben’s relationship: we don’t need frills or gimmicks to be happy. The intense bond is already there.

“We got lucky, you know,” I whisper. “We could’ve been sleeping in that barn for the remainder of our time here.”

Ben inhales a deep breath and loudly blows it out of his mouth. “Yeah, but we’re not. Everything happens for a reason, right? Maybe we have some divine intervention working in our favor today.”

“Or maybe we just got lucky.”

He turns his head toward me, narrowing his eyes. “Tenacious.”

“Always,” I retort.

“Only a little more time!” Fiona calls from the other room.

I sit up, and Ben rises to his elbows. He closes his eyes, and the moonlight shining through the small window illuminates his face. My angel of the night, I think.

Am I now? he says, raising his eyebrows.

Leave it to Ben to ruin a blissful moment . . .

“Why can’t you just let me check you out when you aren’t