Chapter 3
Rhodes sat at the long table in the Great Hall, his fingers drumming once against the wood as another laird bowed before him.
“’Tis all I ask, my lord,” the man said, keeping his head lowered, his voice too quick, too eager. “Permission for my men to cut timber on the far slope. We will take only what is needful, nothing more. The land is yours, of course, as is the right for you to decide.”
Rhodes studied him, the weight of his gaze making the man shift and pale. Once, such moments had stirred him, men wary of his power, measuring their words as though he might strike them down. But now it was only tedious.
“You have my leave,” Rhodes said, his voice flat.
The man bowed lower, nearly stumbling in his haste to retreat, relief pouring from him like sweat. Rhodes’s jaw clenched. Not one word of protest. Not one hint of defiance. Always the same.
Rhodes rose from the high-backed chair, his height casting a long shadow across the table. He fastened his sword belt with a sharp tug and strode from the hall, the weight of emptiness pressing harder than the cold winter air outside.
The warriors seated nearby ducked their heads as he passed, murmuring low, cautious greetings. Not one man held his gaze. Not one dared jest or question. They shifted like reeds before the wind, bending with no resistance.
It hollowed him.
By the time he strode out of the keep, the winter air cut at his face like a blade, and the scent of woodsmoke stung his nostrils. The packed earth paths were hard with frost, villagers stepping quickly aside to give him way. They bowed, murmured greetings, kept their eyes averted.
Always the same.
He found Boyce near the smithy, speaking with a pair of warriors. They fell silent at Rhodes’s approach, heads lowering instantly.
Rhodes ignored them, his dark eyes fixed on his friend. “Where does the red-haired lass live?”
Boyce stiffened. “What lass?”
“Fawn. The one who stormed into my hall with fire on her tongue,” Rhodes said, his tone edged. “I asked where her cottage lies.”
Boyce hesitated. “I do not know.”
Rhodes’s jaw tightened, his patience fraying. “Someone does.”
Behind him, Sara’s voice rang out, steady as ever. “I do.”
“Tell me,” Rhodes ordered sharply.
Sara hesitated for only a moment. “On the edge of the woods to the west. A small cottage near the stream.”
Rhodes gave a single nod and strode on.
Behind him, Boyce joined his wife’s side, laying a protective hand on her arm. “You should be more careful, Sara. Folk whisper about her, calling her a witch. I will not have their gossip touch you or the bairn.”
Sara leaned into him, her smile soft. “You worry too much. Fawn is my friend, and a good one. Let them whisper what they will, I’ll not turn away from her.”
Boyce sighed, brushing a stray wisp of hair from her cheek. “I’ll not argue with you, my love. Only promise me you’ll be wary. I could not bear the thought of anything happening to you.”
Her hand covered his, warm and sure. “I promise.”
But as she watched Rhodes’s dark figure cut through the snow-dusted path toward the woods, a shiver rippled over her. For all her words, she knew trouble was coming… trouble neither whispers nor friendship could hold back.
Rhodes left the village behind, his boots crunching through the crust of snow as he followed the path toward the woods.
The air was sharp with pine and frost, his breath streaming white before him.
Though the world was silent, but for the caw of a distant crow, he felt the weight of unseen eyes on him, villagers peering from doorways, murmuring once he had passed.
Always the same. Always submission, never defiance.
Until her.
The path narrowed as it bent beneath bare-limbed trees, their branches clawing at the winter sky. He slowed, ears catching the faintest sound, a movement not his own. Carefully, he followed the noise until the trees thinned to a small clearing.
There she was.
Fawn knelt beside a young doe, her red curls a wild halo against the snow.
Her slim fingers stroked the trembling creature’s neck as she bent close, speaking in a low, soothing murmur.
A fresh gash marred the pale fur, though it had been cleaned, no blood flowing or staining the fur.
Fawn applied a salve to the wound, her touch gentle and unhurried, the doe not at all skittish to her touch.
The kitten lay curled on a flat stone, tail twitching as though pleased to keep watch.
A pair of squirrels darted about, unafraid, chittering softly as they searched the light, snow-covered ground for nuts.
The whole scene was wrong in its rightness, wild things at ease in her presence, bending to her touch as though she commanded them.
Rhodes stilled, the breath caught in his throat. He had seen many things in battle, in life, but never this.
Then her head lifted. Green eyes sharp as glass swept the clearing. The doe’s ears pricked, the squirrels froze, and even the kitten raised its head, all looking toward where he stood among the trees.
“Go,” she whispered, her voice firm but quiet.
At once, the animals obeyed. The squirrels vanished into the trees, the doe bounded off despite her wound, and the kitten leapt down, padding toward the shelter of Fawn’s basket.
Rhodes stepped forward, brushing aside a branch. Snow showered from it, scattering white flakes across his shoulders.
She rose smoothly to her feet, her garments dusted with snow, and she tilted her chin as her gaze met his. “How long did you lurk in the shadows, my lord?”
His mouth curved faintly. “Long enough to see you command beasts as though they were men under orders. Tell me… how did you know I was there?”
Her lips quirked in something not quite a smile. “Your scent.”
His brows drew together. “My scent?”
“Aye.” She crossed her arms, her green eyes never leaving his. “Steel, leather, smoke, and a touch of arrogance. Hard to miss.”
For a long moment, silence stretched between them, the cold air sharp, the tension sharper. And for the first time in more than a year, Rhodes felt as if something came alive in him. It was not submission, not placating obedience, but the sweet, heady taste of defiance.
He stepped fully into the clearing, his broad frame casting a long shadow over the snow. His dark hair caught the thin winter sunlight, and the hard lines of his face seemed carved of stone, yet his eyes… held a glint, sharp and assessing, as though he were measuring more than her words.
“You mock me with talk of scent,” he said, his voice low, a deep rumble that stirred the cold air between them. “But you forget, lass, I am not a beast so easily dismissed.”
Her chin lifted, curls flaming bright against the white of winter. The green of her eyes burned clear and defiant, but there was something else in it, something that sparked before she masked it.
“Nay,” she said, her voice steady though her pulse leapt, “you are worse. At least a beast kills only when it must.”
He should have bristled, should have lashed back with the pride that had become his armor.
Instead, he found himself caught by the curve of her lips, the fire in her gaze, the way she stood slim and unyielding before him, though she barely reached his chest. Her boldness stirred him like no sword ever could.
“You mistake necessity for cruelty,” he said firmly, taking a step closer. Her breath hitched, he saw it, felt it, and it struck him in a place he had not known was vulnerable. “I take what is mine because I can, and because it keeps my clan strong.”
“You mistake cruelty for strength,” she returned quickly, though her voice wavered for the barest moment. Her heart hammered in her chest, she could feel it, could almost swear he heard it. Yet she held his gaze, unflinching. “And there’s naught in me that will bow to such thinking.”
The silence that followed felt weighted and charged. The air between them seemed to hum, as though the whole of the forest held its breath. Rhodes found himself studying the delicate line of her throat, the proud tilt of her chin, the defiance that made her beautiful in a way that stole his breath.
And Fawn, surprisingly, noticed the breadth of his shoulders, the strength in the way he carried himself, tenacious, immovable, dangerous. A shiver coursed through her that had nothing to do with the cold.
His mouth curved then, slow and certain, a smile that promised storms. “You’ll wed me,” he said, his tone low, implacable. “You may fight it with words, but it changes nothing.”
Her breath caught, outrage flashing. “You cannot simply declare—”
“I can,” he interrupted, his voice a dark command. “And I have.” His eyes swept over her, lingering on the proud line of her jaw, the stubborn fire in her gaze. “You’ll be my wife, Fawn. That’s the end of it.”
She stood frozen, words burning on her tongue, but he turned and walked away before she could utter a word.
His heavy footfalls marked his retreat. Yet in his chest something fierce and undeniable stirred. He would have her… nothing would keep him from it.
The kitten clawed his way up Fawn’s cloak, and she scooped him into her hand and clutched him close, her heart still racing as she watched Rhodes disappear among the trees. The scent of leather, steel, and smoke lingered where he had stood, unsettling her far more than she wished to admit.
She bent her head, whispering into the kitten’s soft fur, “Never. Not in this life or the next will I ever wed Lord Rhodes of Clan MacBrair.”
But even as the words left her lips, she felt the heat of his dark gaze as though it still lingered on her skin.
The trees closed in around Rhodes as he made his way back toward the village, his boots biting into the ground. His thoughts lingered on Fawn, her green eyes fierce, her tenacious defiance. She was a challenge, and by God, he would not let her slip from his grasp.
A voice cut through the stillness.
“You cannot have her.”
He stopped.
A figure emerged from the shadows beneath the pines, her cloak dark as midnight, her pale face framed by strands of white hair… the witch. She stood as though she had stepped straight from memory, her presence unsettling the very air around her.
Rhodes’s mouth curved in a dangerous smile. “I wondered when you might come slithering from the shadows.”
Her dark eyes narrowed. “She is not meant for you. Your cursed wish binds you apart from her. Walk away, Rhodes of Clan MacBrair, before you destroy more than yourself.”
A laugh rumbled low in his chest. “You forget, witch, how powerful you made me. No man dares cross me. None disobey. My name alone inspires fear. That will not change, no matter what threats you whisper.”
“I can end it,” she said, her voice like a whispered hiss, “end the wish, end the curse, strip you of the power you begged for.”
He threw back his head and laughed, the sound harsh in the icy air.
“End it? My power is already rooted, and my reputation carved into stone. Take your curse back, witch, and it changes nothing. You? You matter not.” He stepped closer, towering over her, his eyes glinting with a dangerous light.
“And Fawn? She will be mine. Whether you forbid it or not.”
Snow shifted from the branches with the gust of wind that followed his words. The witch’s lips pressed thin, but she spoke no more.
Rhodes brushed past her without a backward glance, laughter low in his chest. Not curse nor witch nor heaven itself would stop him from taking Fawn as his wife.