Blood Moon (Silver Moon, #3) - By Rebecca A. Rogers Page 0,9
with white candlesticks balance out the quarters; one sits atop the chest of drawers, one near a small table beside the bed, and the other rests on the windowsill.
“I can’t wait to sleep,” says Ben.
“I can’t wait to take a bath and eat some food,” I counter.
We plop down on the feathered mattress. A handmade quilt is folded at the foot, and several down pillows are at the head. I’ve never craved slumber so much in my life.
Fiona appears at the doorway. “Supper shall be ready soon. I am sure ye are weary from thy travels, so I made additional portions.”
“That’s very kind of you,” I say. “You didn’t have to do this, you know, but we’re grateful.”
“Very grateful,” Ben adds.
Fiona smiles warmly, and her cheeks flush. “I shall just . . .” she trails off, pointing toward the kitchen in the next room. Her heels click on the floorboards as she walks the short distance to the hearth.
My stomach growls just thinking about a hot meal, and I rub it gingerly. “I’m so damn hungry,” I mumble.
“At least we don’t have to wait awhile before eating,” says Ben. He wraps his arm around my shoulders and pulls me tightly against him.
“Supper is ready!” Fiona calls. Francine passes by our room, her fingers trailing against the wall.
“I feel bad about what I said,” I tell Ben. “About Francine, I mean.”
“Don’t be. You had no way of knowing.”
“Sometimes my mouth just says whatever’s on my mind, like I don’t have a filter.”
Ben cuts me a deadpan glare. “Sometimes? How about all the time?”
“Yeah, okay. You know what I mean.”
We make our way to the dining-room-slash-kitchen area and sit down at the small table, which only has four chairs. Fiona scoops large spoonfuls of piping-hot stew into wooden bowls and places them before us, along with wooden spoons. Francine sits across from me, unblinking. Somehow, I wish there was a way to chat with her, to let her know we’re trustworthy. I have a feeling she’s quiet all the time, though.
“My hope is that ’tis sufficient,” Fiona says, as she takes her seat next to Francine.
Taking my first bite, I assure her it’s perfect. The broth warms my mouth, and I feel it slide all the way to my stomach. I haven’t tasted anything so hearty since we left Hartford behind—and Beth’s cooking.
Apparently, Ben approves, as well, if his grunting and moaning have anything to do with it. I nudge him with my elbow a couple of times so he’ll settle down. The dinner table is definitely not a place to exhibit porn-star qualities.
Though she’s blushing, there’s a smile working its way onto Fiona’s lips. She clears her throat. “I am happy ye find my fare pleasing.”
Ben nods several times, but never looks up from his bowl. He reminds me of the Beast from Disney’s Beauty and the Beast, when he and Belle sit down to eat porridge, and he just buries his face in the bowl. That’s pretty much what Ben is doing right now. I elbow his ribs several times, but he’s too focused on the food, eating like an animal. Finishing off what’s left, he wipes his mouth on the collar of his T-shirt.
“That was fantastic,” he says. “I didn’t realize how hungry I was.”
Fiona reaches across the table and collects his bowl, returning to the stove to fill it with seconds. Ben’s eyes twinkle like a kid who’s been told he can have cookies before dinner. When Fiona sets the bowl chock-full of stew in front of him again, Ben immediately digs in.
Searching for a distraction from Ben’s awful manners, I ask Fiona, “Will you tell us the stories of the dark forest now?”
She hesitates, pinching her lips together, then glances at Francine, who has not yet finished her stew. “Francine, darling, hurry up and eat so ye can say thy prayers and sleep.” She kisses the top of her head, as Francine obediently consumes her dinner.
After she tucks Francine in for the night, Fiona returns to her place at the table. “The stories began over a year ago. Some say they were fables to keep children out of the woods, others say they were as real as us.” She waves her fingers back and forth between Ben and me, and herself. “’Twas not until a couple of young lads ventured out for a hunt and never returned that the fables took new meaning. Most of Colchester chose not to believe that strange creatures lived nearby; they either