Chapter 4
Fawn pushed open the crooked wooden door of her cottage, a swirl of cold air following her inside before she gave it a lift and nudged it closed with her hip.
The kitten wiggled in her arms, eager to leap free, and scampered across the rushes to curl in the cloth-filled basket by the hearth she had fashioned for him.
The room was small but warm, the fire glowing steadily, its smoke curling up through the stone chimney.
Shelves crowded with bundles of dried herbs lined one wall, their scents mingling with the sharper tang of pine resin.
A tangle of wild things made the place their own; an owl perched contentedly on the beam above, a wounded fox dozed on a blanket in the corner, and a pair of doves cooed softly in the rafters.
She shed her cloak, brushing the snow from it, and let out a long breath. Her hands still trembled, though whether from cold or from the infuriating exchange with Rhodes in the woods she could not tell.
“Arrogant fool,” she muttered, stirring the fire with a stick. Sparks leapt high, like her temper. “Thinking he can declare me his wife as though I were a lamb in his fold. I’ll see him choke on that word before I ever agree.”
The fox stirred at her raised voice, its sharp eyes glinting in the firelight before it settled again.
“Never,” she whispered to the fox. “Not him. Not ever.”
Yet the memory of Rhodes would not leave her… the breadth of him, the weight of his gaze, the strange heat that lingered long after he’d walked away. She pressed her lips together firmly, as though that alone could banish the unwelcome thought.
With a sharp shake of her head, she turned to the table, where herbs waited to be ground and salves to be mixed. Work was the best cure for such thoughts. Work, and the company of creatures who asked nothing of her but care.
Outside, the wind pressed against the shutters, and she hoped for snow, enough that would keep Rhodes from darkening her doorstep. Though Fawn told herself she wanted no part of lairds or clans or men like Rhodes, a restless unease whispered in her chest all the same.
Two days passed, and though no snow fell there had been no sign of Rhodes.
The relief loosened the knot in her chest, and with it came the small luxury of tending to herself for once.
She had heated water over the hearth, filling a wooden bucket and bathing until the steam wrapped her like a warm cloak.
She rinsed her hair with the sweet-scented wash she mixed from herbs, and when her curls dried, they shone like copper flame, tumbling in wild coils about her shoulders.
Her skin glowed from the warmth, and her cheeks were kissed with a rosy color from the heat and cold alike.
Now she knelt by the hearth, a wounded raven in her hands, found outside not far from her door when she went to empty the bucket.
Its wing was bent awkwardly, fluttering against her tender touch.
On the table beside her sat a small basket lined with soft cloths, ready for the bird’s rest. The kitten perched on the table’s edge, tail twitching, while the fox watched lazily from its blanket.
“Easy,” Fawn murmured, wrapping the wing snugly. She lowered the raven gently into the basket lined with cloth and tucking a bit of wool cloth around the bird. “There now. You’ll be flying again before long.”
The door opened suddenly, a rush of cold air swirling in. Sara hurried in, her cheeks red from the wind, one hand braced on her slightly rounded belly. The look on her face set Fawn instantly on edge.
“Sara?” she asked, rising quickly, brushing her curls back from her face. “Are you all right Is it the bairn??”
Sara’s voice was breathless and urgent. “Nay, the bairn and I are fine. It’s Rhodes. He’s announced it… you are to be his wife.”
Fawn’s breath caught. “What?”
“In three days’ time,” Sara said. “Word’s already spread. He declared it before the clan.”
Fawn’s hands clenched into fists, her fury flashing hot. “The arrogant, overbearing—” Her words snapped off. She pulled her cloak from the peg and swept it around her shoulders.
“Come, Sprig,” she said firmly, and the kitten gave an eager purr and leapt nimbly into the pouch she had stitched to her cloak to carry him, ready to join her.
Sara’s lips curved despite the moment. “Sprig. That’s a sweet name. It suits him well.”
Fawn glanced at her friend, the fire in her eyes undimmed. “Aye. And now he’ll bear witness that I never will wed Lord Rhodes of Clan MacBrair.”
The village grew quiet as Fawn and Sara walked the narrow path, leaving footprints in the light dusting of snow left from last night’s flurries as they headed to the keep.
Doors cracked open, eyes followed, whispers flitted like crows’ wings.
Fawn ignored them all, her chin lifted, her curls blazing against the pale winter sky.
The keep loomed ahead, stark stone against the frosted hills. The great doors stood open, torchlight spilling across the ground. Sara hesitated at her side, but Fawn did not pause, she strode inside as if the place were hers.
The hall fell silent at her entrance. Men straightened, voices stilled, the weight of their stares heavy upon her. At the far end of the room, Rhodes rose from his chair on the dais, his presence filling the hall.
Fawn’s voice rang clear. “You’ve gone too far, Lord Rhodes.”
A murmur rippled through the men. Rhodes descended the dais, each step measured, his gaze locked on hers. “Too far? Nay, lass. I told you in the woods what would come. You’ll be my wife.”
Her eyes flashed. “You told me. I never agreed.”
He stopped before her, tall and motionless, his shadow spilling over her. “Your agreement isn’t needed. My word is law.”
Her hands fisted at her sides, her breath quick. “Then your law is madness. You cannot force me to wed you.”
A slow smile curved his mouth, dark and certain. “Think again. I rule here.”
Sprig poked his small head from the pouch and gave a sharp, indignant mewl. Laughter rippled through the men until Rhodes’s glare silenced it.
His gaze returned to her, the faintest spark of amusement in his eyes. “You’ve more spirit than I thought, Fawn. You’ll make me a fine wife indeed.”
Fawn’s heart pounded with fury, but she refused to lower her gaze. “Over my grave, Lord Rhodes.”
The hall held its breath as the two stood locked in defiance, fire and steel.
“I can arrange that if that is what you prefer,” he said with a glint of humor in his eyes.
Gasps circled the room.
Hearing that, Rhodes said, “We should talk privately.”
Fawn opened her mouth to object, but his hand closed firmly around her arm. Without so much as a backward glance to his men, he steered her toward a narrow passage. The murmurs rose in his wake, but none dared follow.
The narrow passage smelled faintly of stone and old rushes. Fawn tugged against his grip, her chin high, but his stride was determined. “You’ve no right to drag me—”
“I’ve every right,” he cut in, his tone firm but with a sharp edge to it. “And you’ve made certain the whole clan knows it.”
They reached the door to his solar. He pushed it open and guided her inside, shutting it firmly behind them. The chamber was warmer than the hall, the fire burning bright in the hearth, its glow catching on the rough wood of the large table, jugs and tankards waiting there.
Fawn yanked her arm free and glared at him. “You may command your men, Lord Rhodes, but you do not command me.”
He studied her for a long moment, eyes narrowing.
Bloody hell, if there wasn’t beauty in her anger; her curls a fiery tumble about her shoulders, her skin glowing, her cheeks flushed from more than frustration.
A faint, sweet scent clung to her, herbs and something warmer, richer, as though the very air about her was touched by spring despite the winter pressing outside.
“You mistake me, Fawn,” he said, his voice lower now, roughened at the edges. “This is not about command. It’s about what is already settled. You will be my wife.”
Her heart thudded hard, though whether in fury or something else entirely, she refused to admit. “You cannot simply decide such a thing.”
“Why not?” His mouth curved faintly, his gaze lingering where her curls brushed her cheek, where her lips trembled in defiance. “Do you deny there’s fire between us? I felt it in the woods, and I see it now, in your eyes when you fight me. You can lie to yourself, but you cannot lie to me.”
“You are wrong,” she said, her voice steady though her racing pulse betrayed her. “Whatever you think you feel, I will never be your wife.”
He stepped closer, his nearness wrapping around her like the heat of the fire itself. For a heartbeat, her breath caught, and her senses suddenly filled with him.
“You’ll learn, Fawn,” he said, his words a dark vow. “I never lose.”
Her chin lifted, eyes blazing. “Then prepare yourself, Rhodes of Clan MacBrair. Because you’ve already lost.”
Something fierce snapped in him then, her fire, her beauty, her boldness. Before she could draw another breath, his hand reached out grabbing firm hold of the nape of her neck, and he pulled her against him, their bodies colliding, and his mouth claiming hers in a hard, searing kiss.
Fawn stiffened, her hands going to his chest that was as hard as steel against her useless efforts to free herself. The world seemed to tilt, her pulse hammering as his lips moved against hers with raw certainty. Fury and something far more dangerous tangled deep inside her.
When he drew back, his breath warm against her cheek, his dark gaze held hers with unshaken resolve. “You’ll be mine, lass, and no denial will change it.”