Blood Moon (Silver Moon, #3) - By Rebecca A. Rogers Page 0,8
and Ben’s case, we already know the dangers that lurk behind the wall of trees. Still, I pretend I have no idea what Fiona’s talking about.
I feign shock: eyes widen, mouth slackens, my hand mimics Fiona’s, which remains on her chest. “They all just . . . die? What, exactly, is in there?”
Cute, Princess. Really freaking cute, says Ben.
Shut it! She’s been nice to us so far, and she’s our only chance at surviving this place, so unless you have a better idea . . .
“The two of ye should join me for supper. I shall explain everything over hot fare—and we can get ye washed up. Come,” she says, using one hand to gently press between my shoulder blades and push me toward her home.
See, I enlighten Ben, she wants to help us. HOT FOOD, Ben, hot food! I’m so hungry and my stomach has been growling all day and . . . and . . .
All right, Candra, I get it. Mine has, too. The berries obviously weren’t enough.
Say it, then. Say, “You were right and I was wrong.”
No.
Ben!
“—are ye betrothed? Married?” Fiona says, yanking me out of my mental conversation with Mr. Sore Loser over here.
“I’m sorry, what?”
“The two of ye,” Fiona repeats, “are ye betrothed? Or are ye married?”
Before I can respond, Ben blurts, “We’re married.”
I jerk my head around to face him. He shrugs.
“As I believed,” says Fiona. “I have an extra room the two of ye can share, until ye decide to continue thy travels.”
“We’d be very grateful for that,” Ben says. “Thank you.”
Suppressing my inner thoughts about mine and Ben’s fake marriage, I attempt to see the lighter side of things, like how we’ll have a warm bed to sleep in and a hot meal to eat. I’ll take anything I can get at the moment; it’s better than sleeping with horses. And it’s definitely better than sleeping near the same forest where strange events have occurred. I shudder when reflecting on the crow lady.
“Oh, dear,” Fiona says, “are ye cold? I shall have a bath made for ye after suppertime.”
I can already feel my muscles relaxing. “That sounds wonderful.”
Fiona’s home is on the other side of town, far away from the forest, and the barn Ben and I were sleeping in only the night before. The roof is made of what looks like hay, and the entire structure is composed of stones and wood. Inside, we’re immediately greeted by a table, a fireplace, and wooden shelves used for storing pots, pans, and tableware. Off to our left, three rooms are snugly joined; one straight ahead, the other two on the right, facing the front of the house.
“’Tis not much, but ’tis home. I want ye to meet my daughter.” Fiona beams affectionately. “Francine, dear! Come meet our guests.”
Fiona and Francine, how cute.
I wonder if she was named after France, Ben says.
Oh, my God. No. Just . . . stop while you’re ahead.
What? It’s not out of the realm of possibility. Fiona wants to travel, so she names her daughter after a nearby country.
A young girl of about fourteen emerges from the second room closest to the back. Her fingers are entwined and rest on her apron. Her eyes are downcast. This girl looks anything but happy to see us—not that she’s actually looked up and seen our faces. She comes to a halt at Fiona’s side, and Fiona reaches out to tenderly pet her hair.
“What do ye say?” Fiona squeezes Francine’s shoulder.
“Hello,” Francine says.
“Is she afraid of us?” I inquire.
Fiona seems confused by this statement, but then her features relax. “Ye mean, why will she not look at ye?” I nod, so Fiona continues, “She was born without sight.”
Well, now I feel like a shithead.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” I say. “If you need any help . . .”
Fiona smiles genuinely, adding, “’Tis all right. We have managed well thus far. Now, Francine, show our guests their room while I fetch the water from the well.”
Francine nods and begins walking down the short hallway. Her hand reaches out, grazing the wall, until she stops in front of the first room. “This is thy room,” she murmurs, her voice so soft I can barely hear it.
“Thank you, Francine,” I say. She doesn’t reply. Instead, she continues walking, disappearing into her bedroom.
Ben and I enter the small space. There’s a single bed in the corner, a brass-colored tub on the opposite wall, and a chest of drawers directly to our right. Three candle holders