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As he sat and ate, the wind howled as it wrapped around the walls of the inn, and before long, rain pelted against the panes of the glass on the front of the building. Fergus watched the rain through the rippled glass, eerie and ethereal.
“Don’t think I’m goin’ back out in that weather,” a travel-worn man told his companion as they played cards.
“Only a fool would go back out in this weather,” the man replied.
Fergus had thought that after a few hours, he could get back on the road back to Hillow House. Without the rain relenting and with the afternoon wearing on, he realized he might need to consider staying the night. He waved to the matron.
“Any rooms available for the night?” he asked.
“For ye, of course, Milord,” she said, taking his bowl. “Another pint for ye?”
“Sure,” he allowed, pushing his empty mug toward her.
The rain continued to pelt the windows as he enjoyed his second mug. There was something reassuring about sitting in the presence of other people without worrying about his title, his reputation, or the horror of his scars. His thoughts were distracted when the old soldier stood up and sat back down in front of him.
“Days like this always bring back memories,” Tom said. “The thunder reminds me of the cannons.”
“Oh, aye,” Fergus agreed, surprised by his openness.
“Used to bother the missus, me startin’ straight up in bed at night. She don’t even wake up anymore.” Fergus stayed quiet a moment, unsure how to respond.
“You married?” Tom asked.
“Yes,” Fergus told him. “I have not been long, though. She has not experienced that.”
“It gets easier with time. I’d even say that she helped me have fewer dreams, I think. It’s comforting to have her there to hold.”
“Is that so?” Fergus wondered uncomfortably. He could not imagine being able to sleep in the same bed as Edwina, let alone holding her through the night as they slept. He hid himself in his mug.
“It helps to talk about it, too, ye know.”
“Why are you telling me all this?” Fergus asked.
“That haunted look in yer eyes,” Tom mentioned, pointing out the dark circles. “Looks like ye havne slept in a year.”
“Or five.”
“Aye,” Tom laughed. He stood. “Take my word for it. Talk about it, let people in, let them help ye. Ye canne do it on yer own.”
Confused by Tom’s observations, Fergus stared at Tom as he disappeared up the stairs to the rooms overhead. Feeling like he had been visited by a ghost or some sort of sage, he waved for another mug of ale, hoping to drown his memories as the storm continued to rage.
