The Crone's Stone by S E Holmes

Author:S E Holmes
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Teen, Young adult, Paranormal, Romance, Urban Fantasy
Publisher: S E Holmes
Published: 2017-12-01T16:00:00+00:00

Seventeen

The next time I laid eyes on Fortescue, he was carrying out his traditional breakfast duties rather than tossing spears with absurd skill. He politely cleared his throat. I heard the clatter of a laden tray set down on my bedside table, too peaceful to open my eyes and make sure. The unmistakable aroma of coffee contradicted the idea. The warehouse hadn’t stocked that particular brew since Noah floated the Ark. Plus the blinds weren’t ascending to flood my room with unwelcome morning sunshine. I nestled into a cosy ball, my head supported by a wonderful pillow – one that wrenched itself swiftly upright. I was tipped unceremoniously onto the mattress.

“Fortescue.” A mortified choke issued next to me.

Uh-oh. I remembered the events of last night too late and worked to get vertical, finally opening my eyes. My gaze switched from Fortescue, standing by the window with well-trained aplomb, to Smith sitting rigidly beside me in bed, his expression that of a rabbit in the fox’s lair.

“There was nowhere else to sleep.” Smithy glanced over at Hugo’s abandoned cot. Looking back, he said defensively, “You didn’t specify!”

What a rare and treasured sight: Smith rattled. It was too amusing watching him battle embarrassment. Give him a cliff to jump off and it was no big deal, but an intruding butler and he went to water. I swore one of Fortescue’s eyebrows trembled with humour. And it was much better to focus on that than the reason for Smithy’s presence under my doona.

“Smooth,” I said. He shot me a furious glare, his tousled hair charming and sticking up all over the place. “Is there any news on Hugo, Fortescue?”

“Sadly no, Winsome. We are expending all efforts to find him.” I could tell; even in the dimness of my room he looked exhausted. My worry for his health sprung back to the fore, competing with concern for Hugo. “I’m a big girl now, I can manage breakfast in the kitchen. You need to go back to bed, Fortescue.” It was a plea with little hope, but I had to try anyway.

“Nonsense, Winnie. It is my pleasure to serve you. The day I am unable to fulfil my duties, is the day I am in my grave.”

His choice of phrase sucked. I changed the subject. “What’s on the menu this morning?”

“Freshly squeezed orange juice, custard and almond Danish, summer fruit salad and … coffee.”

He frowned in reproach. Honestly. I could noodle around in bed with Smithy barely clothed, but mention coffee and the condemnation was rife. Smith observed this exchange with mute curiosity, hiding his bare chest behind a raised sheet.

“Clever.” I leaped out of bed to stop Fortescue from serving us. “Bribing me with food. Maybe to distract me from demanding to know the truth about what’s going on around here?”

“Your guest will be hungry after your strenuous evening.”

Who cared if I’d spent the preceding years famished for something other than alfalfa sprouts? It was unbelievable Smith and I had fallen asleep after all that we’d shared last night.

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