As the fiddle struck up a merry tune, Abigail allowed Roan to twirl her away, and for a few moments, let herself forget they were stuck in a curse together.
As the song came to an end, Conrad was there with an outstretched hand. Roan relinquished his hold, and maybe it was just her imagination, but it felt like he didn’t want to. She felt a thrill run through her at the thought—if only it was true.
Conrad twirled her around the floor amidst cheers and laughter from the rest of the men in the tavern, and Abigail let loose and let herself just have fun.
Dancing with Roan was enjoyable, but right now the two of them didn’t know what they were, and that added a level of caution to their dancing. With Conrad, it was different, and she could just have fun.
The dance came to an end, and the next man was there. Before the night had ended, Abigail had danced with all of them. As she finished her dance with Stumpy, the last man, Abigail took a deep breath and grinned.
“That’s everyone,” she announced. Her cheeks were flushed from exertion, and she was ready to collapse into a chair.
Then Roan was there, holding out his hand.
“One more?” he asked quietly in his deep voice.
Abigail couldn’t keep herself from smiling up at him as she placed her hand in his and nodded to Lyle to play one more song. But instead of the fast songs he’d been playing all evening, he settled into a slower song that almost felt like a lullaby.
Roan pulled her into his arms, and she immediately relaxed into them. She’d been wrong. She didn’t have to be cautious when she was dancing with Roan.
She could completely trust Roan with whatever happened, and as he slowly led her in circles around the room, Abigail couldn’t stop smiling up at him.
This was not what she had expected from the evening, but she couldn’t think of anything more wonderful.
Chapter nine
Roan
Roanwokeupandrolled over, his neck stiff from lying on one side most of the night. Beastie was still insisting that he use her as a pillow, and while she was softer than the floor, she was taller than his pillow. His neck was unaccustomed to sleeping at this angle.
At least he’d had a good dream again.
He had vague memories of Conrad dancing with Beastie, holding her front paws in his hands, and Stumpy insisting she could dance on her own.
But the memories of dancing with Abigail were anything but vague—he could practically still feel her in his arms, how warm and alive and vibrant she was as she laughed when he twirled her out and back into his arms.
He swallowed hard. If only those moments weren’t a dream—he would love nothing more than to dance with her in the real world.
Had she had the same dream again? Would she remember the way they’d danced? Or the way they’d fed the men–
He scrambled to his feet, throwing the blanket off and reaching for his shirt, pulling it on as he hurried toward the kitchen. He had to know if the soup was gone.
Abigail was already up, using her apron to grab the handle of the kettle so she wouldn’t burn her hands as she prepared tea for the two of them.
“The soup?” he asked.
Abigail lit up like the sun itself. “It’s gone,” she exclaimed. “It worked.”
“And you know what I’m talking about,” Roan said, more to himself than to her.
“I know,” she said, her eyes sparkling. “The dream world is real and we’re actually interacting with them in it. So we don’t have to worry about them dying. They may be malnourished by the end of this, but if I can force enough soup into them every night, it might be enough.”
If anyone was capable of force-feeding them enough soup to keep their bodies alive, it would be Abigail.
Roan slumped against the counter as he accepted a cup of tea and murmured “Thank you. Good morning, by the way.”
Abigail chuckled. “Good morning. I had the same thought this morning. That’s why I’m awake before Beastie got to me.”
Roan looked down at the tiny teacup cradled in his hands. It was from his grandmother’s set, the one she’d found in the attic.
