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 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 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 looking?”
Grinning like a fool, he says, “Because that’s kind of creepy.” I smack him. “Borderline stalker-ish, even.” I punch him this time. “Jeez, I should just get a restraining order. I mean, look at you—you can hardly keep your hands off me.”
Dramatically gasping, I seize the opportunity to leap on top of him . . . just as Fiona enters the room.
“Oh, my!” she says, clutching at her heart again. “Apologies, I did not intend to interrupt.”
I scramble back into my sitting position. “I promise it’s not like that.”
Making matters worse, Ben mumbles, “Liar. You just wanted to get me out of these clothes.”
I can literally feel heat radiating through my cheeks. Am I . . . blushing? How can he embarrass me like this? Poor Fiona! She probably thinks we hump each other like rabbits. Meanwhile, we haven’t done anything of the sort; we’re too busy steering clear of the wrath of each other’s family.
Fiona finishes dumping the heated water into the tub, while I give Ben the stink eye. He’s too cocky for his own good, just sitting there, basking in delight. I’ll get him back. I swear I will.
As Fiona exits the room to warm more water, Ben reaches out and tenderly runs his fingers across my cheeks. “You’re flushed,” he says. “I can see that even with what little light is in here.” I smack his hand away and he chuckles. “We’re married, remember? Married couples do that stuff all the time.”
“Not in the sixteenth century! They had morals back then.”
“Somehow, I doubt that.”
Fiona returns with more boiling water. She refuses to look at us. I feel so, so mortified. I can’t even begin to express my emotions into words.
“I shall allow the others to heat, and then thy bath shall be ready,” says Fiona. She leaves the room once again.
“Should we start undressing now, or . . .?”
“Ben!” I hit him. Hard. He deserves it.
Sniggering, he says, “Okay, fine. We’ll wait.”
A little while later, our bath is finally prepared, and Fiona retires for the night. Ben and I just sit on the edge of the bed, eyeing the tub like it’s about to magically grow legs and walk out of the room. Finally, I take the initiative to strip. I mean, it’s not like Ben hasn’t seen me naked on this trip already. And maybe, just maybe, I can hold this over his head. Payback’s always a bitch.
I begin with my jeans and shirt, socks and shoes follow, and then my undies and bra. Feigning a seductive air, I turn to him and say, “Aren’t you going to join me?” He doesn’t hesitate; his clothes are off in a fraction of the time it took for me to remove mine. I step into the hot water, allowing the warmth to seep through to my bones. It feels amazing, not only because it’s so chilly outside, but because I haven’t had a bath in two days. Gross.
Ben slides into the tub opposite me, his eyes never leaving mine. They start to glow a deep, rich amber, and that can only mean one thing—he’s completely turned on. Inwardly, I throw a victory party.
But I’m not finished yet.
Oh, he wanted to put on a show, so now he’s going to get what’s coming to him. I rise to my knees and progressively travel to where he sits, allowing him a full view of my exposed torso. Licking his lips, his eyes skim over my body, from head to waist and back up again. When he ogles me once more, there’s no denying the hunger.
“Candra,” he whispers hoarsely.
“Yes, baby?” I dip down and allow my lips to linger just above his. “Is this what you wanted?”
He shakes his head. “No, I want you.” His arms circle my waist so hastily, I react by squealing in surprise. Water sloshes in the tub, like waves crashing against a shore. Ben’s lips crush mine, reckless with passion, as if he’ll never have the chance to kiss me again. My skin prickles underneath his fingertips—even in the steaming water—as they caress my arms, the sides of my breasts, down, down, down my waist, my hips, my thighs, eventually trailing upward from my legs and settling on my rear. He digs his fingers in and yanks me closer. Inadvertently, I moan. Ben gently separates our lips. “Ah, Princess, do you know the affect you have on me?”
Words jumble in my mind, refusing to form on my tongue.
Ben perceives my silence as confirmation that I have no
idea what I do to him. He draws me closer by the throat, gripping it tighter. My eyes half-lidded, I gaze at his curved mouth drawing nearer and nearer to mine. Our lips meet again. My eyelids close on their own accord, and I open myself up to him. His searing breath heats my mouth, delivering more luscious shivers up and down my spine. When his tongue slides out and flicks my lips, leaving a wet trail, my entire body smolders with longing. Every inch of me is ablaze from within.
“God, Ben, please don’t stop,” I plead. This doesn’t even sound like the Candra I know. Who am I, and where did this voice come from? Am I actually begging Ben to do anything he wants to me? I really have lost my mind. But people say love makes a person do crazy things. I believe that.
He chuckles against my throat, gruffly, sending yet another wave of pure bliss across my skin. I honestly don’t know how much more I can handle. One minute it’s my plan to seduce him, the next he’s seducing me. How did this happen?
“As much as I want you,” he says, languidly sweeping his tongue up and down the side of my neck, “I don’t think it should be here, while people are sleeping in the next room.” He pulls my surprised face toward him, until our foreheads meet. With one final kiss, he coaxes me to turn around, my back against his chest.
I’ll admit it: I’m disappointed. My hopes and dreams just came crashing down with one swift blow from Benjamin “Virtuous” Conway. Who knew he could be so honorable? Instead of moping, I shrug off the incident. I’m sure there will be plenty more where this came from.
Distracting me from my thoughts, Ben scoops up the bath water and drizzles it over my shoulders, kissing me where it cascades. His hands rub every inch of my body, and my back arches every time he massages near a sinful area. I even let a couple of throaty groans escape. He knows exactly what he’s doing to me.
“You said we couldn’t do this,” I tell him, unsure how I found my voice.
He sweeps my hair aside, planting delicate kisses on the back of my neck. “I said we couldn’t do that”—more kisses—“but I definitely didn’t say anything about this.”
I shiver and attempt to pull away, but he forcefully grabs my waist, palm even against my lower abdomen, and jerks me against him. I can’t move; he’s too strong.
Blood Moon (Silver Moon, #3) Page 3