Page 123 of Sweetling
He was always affectionate, but especially so after a long sleep. Although they spent most of it together, snuggled in bed, he still found it a separation to make up for. Molly loved it.
Looking forward to their reunion and hearing about whatever wicked things they did in his dreams, Molly made for the kitchen.
It was a relief not to find Bellarand there already, big head rifling through the cold box—again. But it did make breakfast a little lonely, and she was quick to chop the leftover meat and vegetables for the stew so she could start her next task.
With the big pot simmering under the watchful eye of the house, Molly sang one of her favorite songs as she made her way to the front of the house.
Taking up most of the front atrium and some of the stairs sat the many items from the caravan. It’d taken them most of the day to finally roll up to the house, just making it inside before the worst of the rain started in the early evening.
Banked fires in the formal dining room and sitting room lent a little more heat, helping to dry out the lingering dampness. The tarpaulins had been unmoored and placed neatly to the side, and all the crates and barrels had been opened.
Molly peered inside each, amazed at everything he’d managed to buy over just a few days.
Blowing out a breath, she pointed at the easiest decisions. A long dining table, a dozen chairs, and two carpets stepped off the pallets to follow her into the dining room. After choosing which carpet she preferred, Molly directed the table and chairs then began bringing in other furniture to adorn the room.
She soon made a game of it, singing rhymes as the house set the chairs to dancing. The carpet slid across the floor, adjusting the table, while a curio cabinet and washboard trundled across the room in a clumsy jig. Molly laughed and clapped along, spinning in time to her song and to avoid zealous chairs, as she directed where the furniture should go.
It took all morning to arrange the dining room, and it seemed as though she’d hardly made a dent in the forest of furniture crowding the atrium. Savory smells wafted from the kitchen, her stew nearly done, meaning it was time for luncheon.
Molly stretched out her back, turning in little circles and rocking back and forth. She barely had to lift anything with the house’s help, but still, making so many decisions before noon was a task!
Stepping up to one of the grand picture frame windows that lined one wall of the dining room, Molly looked out onto the front of the estate. The rain came down in sheets, gathering in the gutters to pour like a waterfall over the sides. She could hardly see anything through the wet mess of it, and yet…
Drawing closer, Molly squinted, not sure if she imagined movement out between the trees. Surely nothing would be out in this, and surely it was too far away to see, but still, the longer she stood there looking, the more she felt something…looking back.
This looks nice.
Molly jumped, whirling around to stare at the black form taking up the threshold.
Bellarand stood there, dripping water and mud, his mane plastered to his neck and a great puddle gathering around his hooves.
Molly squeaked in horror.
“Not on the carpets!”
Between the overgrown pony, her amorous fae, all the new furniture and goods to sort, and writing each of the girls a return letter, Molly forgot all about the strange little things around the estate. The strange shadow she thought she saw. The glowing eyes when she knew Bellarand to be in the kitchen. The occasional looming presence. Always there and gone again, none of it felt like more than the work of her imagination.
Molly even put the earthquakes from her mind—at least, until she heard Lorna, the dressmaker in Mullon, commiserate with another customer about them.
“I was lucky,” said the dressmaker, “only a few toppled displays. Poor Mina and Renault, their brick oven cracked. With all the other damage around town, the masons haven’t been able to get to them yet.”
“I was wondering why they were still closed,” said the other customer.
The two women chatted a little longer, and Molly waited in the wings, itching to speak with Lorna. Finally, willing the other woman to leave worked, and she bid her farewells.
Hurrying forward with the bolts and threads she wanted, Molly asked, “You felt the earthquakes here?”
“Oh yes,” Lorna sighed, “we felt it all right. Couldn’t believe it—I’ve never experienced one before. I think only Miss Hattie, you know, the dried herb woman down the way, has. She used to live near the old border with Pyrros. Said they’d get them sometimes, the earth would split open and all the houses would shake. Some would even collapse. I’m so glad it wasn’t as bad here.”
“I’m glad to hear there hasn’t been too much damage,” said Molly.
“Nothing serious, just frustrating. Some foundations cracked. The masons and bricklayers are having to call in help from the guilds in Dundúran to repair everything that needs fixing.”
“Have the Darrows been notified about the damage?”
“I’m sure the mayor has said something.”
Lorna didn’t sound confident, so Molly made a note to herself to add a letter to Lady Aislinn with those she was sending along to the girls. It was a strange thought, knowing a letter from her would reach all the way to the heiress herself. One she still wasn’t used to.
