Chapter 8
Morning light spilled weakly across the cottage floor, cold and thin, as though even the sun hesitated to rise. Fawn moved about her small home in silence, tidying, feeding her creatures, though her thoughts churned without rest.
Rhodes commanded she wed him.
Her mother commanded she must not.
And Elune, frail, weary Elune, hung in the balance.
“If I wed him, I save her. If I refuse, I doom her, and if I believe my mum, I will live to regret it,” Fawn said quietly to herself.
Sprig sat on the bed, listening, blinking at her with golden eyes as if waiting for her decision.
Fawn shook her head. “I still don’t know what to do.”
Sprig meowed softly, offering what solace he could.
Fawn smiled and reached down, scooping him up and rubbed her cheek against his small head. “Someone who has faith in me, just what I need.”
She placed him in the pouch of her cloak where he nestled against her and fastened the ties of her cloak snugly at her throat.
The moment she stepped outside, the cold struck sharper than the night before, slicing through her as though winter had strengthened its grip.
The air was heavy, the kind that promised snow before long.
She frowned, pulling the cloak tighter. Elune would not last long in such weather, not without shelter.
She made her way through the forest toward the keep, but her mind was far away, circling her dilemma again and again.
A sudden harsh caw of ravens sounded overhead. Their frantic cries echoed from the trees, and a flurry of wings cut across the gray sky. Below, squirrels dashed madly along branches, tails twitching, chattering as though in warning.
Fawn barely noticed. Her thoughts were too deep, her worry too consuming, until footfalls fell across the path ahead.
Two men stepped from the trees, broad-shouldered and grim, their eyes narrowing as they blocked her way.
“Well, if it isn’t the witch of the woods,” one sneered. “Thought you’d be too busy talking to your beasts to wander so close to decent folk.”
The other gave a low chuckle. “Heard she’s hexed Laird Rhodes into marrying her, but then he’s already half under her spell.”
Fawn stiffened, her hand instinctively brushing the pouch at her chest where Sprig stirred. She lifted her chin and forced herself to remain calm. Her gaze drifted over the woods, seeking the presence of any animal who might offer her help, but the path was empty.
The men stepped closer, their smiles curling with malice, and then, abruptly, they both froze.
The color drained from their faces as their eyes shifted past her shoulder.
A chill slid down Fawn’s spine. She turned slowly.
Rhodes stood behind her, silent as death, his dark gaze fixed on the men with a cold fury that could shatter stone.
“Leave,” he commanded, his voice low and dangerous. “Run while you still have your skins and pray I never see your faces again.”
The men stumbled backward, muttering apologies, and fled into the woods without another word.
Silence fell, broken only by the faint rustle of branches in the wind.
Fawn’s heart pounded, though whether from anger, fear, or something else entirely, she could not say. Then his hand took hold of her arm, steadying her before she could step away. His light touch stung in a surprisingly pleasant way and rippled through her.
“I was on my way to you,” he said, his voice still edged with steel. “To hear your answer.”
Fawn tried to ignore the pleasant feeling, but it lingered. So, she forced her attention on the two men’s retreat that still echoed in her ears. But it was the memory of how quickly, how effortlessly, he had silenced them that held her now, not the men themselves.
He had protected her with such ease.
She wanted to dismiss it as arrogance, as nothing more than his claim of authority. Yet her heart whispered differently. What woman would not feel safer at the side of a man who could scatter danger with nothing more than his presence?
And there was another truth, the one she loathed to admit even to herself…
she found him appealing. The breadth of his shoulders, the dark strength in his eyes, the raw certainty with which he moved through the world.
She wished she did not notice, but she did, and it unsettled her more than the men who had just fled.
“Are you well?” Rhodes’s voice cut through her thoughts, a rough edge of concern in it.
He jostled her arm gently and she blinked, realizing she had been staring at him too long, her thoughts laid bare if only he could read them. With a sharp breath, she straightened, forcing composure.
“I’m fine,” she said quickly, though her voice betrayed a faint tremor. “You needn’t hover like a guard dog.”
One corner of his mouth twitched, though he said nothing. His gaze stayed steady on her, and in it she thought she glimpsed more than command, something watchful, something she didn’t quite understand.
Rhodes’s voice broke the silence, low and ruthless. “I’ll have my answer now, or the old woman is sent on her way.”
Just when she thought Rhodes might actually possess a bit of caring, he proved her wrong.
Fawn lifted her chin, annoyed with herself for even considering him appealing, and began walking toward the village, her steps steady, Sprig nestled close in her cloak.
“If you want my answer, then I want something in return. More than Elune’s place among the clan.”
For a moment, Rhodes said nothing, following her with his long strides.
His jaw tightened, prepared to argue, but curiosity poked at him.
Bloody hell, but the woman could vex him, and yet the more she defied him, the more he found himself drawn to her.
Her fire, her stubbornness, the way she met him eye to eye when every other soul in his clan lowered their gaze…
it set his blood stirring in a way no battle ever had.
And it set a fire in his loins he couldn’t wait to feed.
“And what is it you think to demand of me, lass?” he asked at last.
She glanced at him, green eyes clear and unwavering. “You will not hunt the forest as you have. You take too much, and the beasts grow thin. There are plenty of penned animals to feed your clan. The forest should not be stripped bare.”
His brow furrowed, his lips curving into the faintest edge of a smile. “You’ll wed me if I agree to this?”
“I’ll consider it,” she returned, quickly. “There are other matters we must discuss before I make my final decision.”
Inwardly, she already knew the answer she would give, had to give, but her pride would not let her surrender so easily.
A gust of wind swept down the path, sharp with the bite of coming snow. Fawn shivered despite the cloak pulled close around her.
Rhodes noticed. His hand caught hers, rough warmth enveloping her cold fingers and his tone carried the weight of command. “You’ll wear gloves when you’re out in the cold.”
Fawn huffed, tugging slightly against his hold but finding it firm. “Gloves prove too difficult when tending the animals.”
“They’ll keep your hands from frostbite,” he countered.
“And they’ll keep me from doing what needs done,” she snapped back. “And I am well aware of how to protect against frostbite.”
Their bickering carried between them, sharp but alive, as he guided her toward the keep, Sprig’s head poking from her cloak as though curious which of them would win this skirmish.
“We’ll discuss it further in my solar,” Rhodes said finally, his dark gaze glinting with determination.
Fawn’s lips pressed together, her heart thudding fast, not only from the cold, but from the warmth of his hand wrapped snugly around hers.