Chapter 11
Rhodes paced before the hearth in his solar, his broad shoulders taut with the weight of thoughts he could not set down.
“Wolfhounds,” he muttered. “Set upon my flock, bold as you please. Not a kill for hunger but an attack meant to wound my clan.” He stopped, turning on his heels, dark eyes flashing to Boyce. “It was no accident. Someone dared to challenge me.”
Boyce stood steady, arms crossed, but his voice carried a hint of unease. “Or perhaps,” he said carefully, “this isn’t the work of an enemy at all. Perhaps it’s… her.”
Rhodes’s gaze sharpened. “Her?”
“Fawn.” Boyce’s jaw flexed. “The wolves part for her as if she were one of them. The creatures of the forest follow her like hounds at heel. You saw yourself, two wolves standing guard at her side. That’s no natural thing, Rhodes. If she can sway beasts, perhaps she turned the hounds against us.”
“Bloody hell, Boyce.” The words cut like a whip. Rhodes stepped closer, his voice low and edged. “I’ll not hear you speak of her that way.”
Boyce held his ground. “I only speak the truth as I see it. She’s no ordinary woman, and you’d be a fool to not realize it.”
Rhodes’s glare lingered for a moment, then he turned back to the fire, his thoughts a tangle of fury and doubt.
“Nay,” he said at last. “This was not her doing. This was a hand striking at me, at my clan. Someone believes I’m vulnerable and that cannot be allowed.”
He gripped the mantel, firelight painting his features harsh. Vulnerable. The word tasted bitter. He had built himself a man no one dared to cross. And yet the sheep had been slaughtered, the message clear as blood on snow.
“Find out who keeps wolfhounds near enough to use them,” Rhodes ordered. “Quietly. If I’ve been challenged, I’ll answer… and I’ll answer far more boldly, far more deadly.”
Boyce inclined his head, though his frown lingered. “Aye, my lord.”
But as Rhodes stared into the flames, the image that came unbidden was not of enemies or hounds. It was of Fawn, her chin lifted, her eyes bright with defiance, standing fearless in the snow, the wolves at her sides.
And for the first time, he wondered if the greatest challenge he faced did not come from an enemy at all… but from the woman fate had bound to him.
Fawn followed the narrow lane toward the edge of the village, her boots brushing over the falling snow that was gathering strength.
As she passed, she couldn’t help but notice how well-tended the cottages were, shutters straight, thatched roofs tight against the cold, no sign of sagging timbers or patched walls.
Rhodes ruled with a heavy hand, aye, but he provided well for his people.
No family here wanted for safe shelter or were deprived of food.
At the last bend, she found the small cottage that had been given to Elune. Its walls were sturdy stones, the door freshly hung, no cracks for the winter wind to slip through.
Fawn knocked once, Sprig peering out of the pouch as she did, and stepped inside at the sound of Elune’s welcome. Warmth greeted her as well as Elune’s generous smile.
“I am so happy to see you, Fawn. “Elune inclined her head, then motioned to the bench opposite her. “Sit, lass. Share in the chamomile brew with me. It warms better when there’s company.”
Fawn smiled in return, letting her eyes sweep over the snug cottage: a narrow bed tucked against the wall, an extra wool blanket folded at the bottom, shelves stocked with crockery and dried goods, and near the hearth a small table with two benches, one of which she sat down on.
“You’re settled well,” Fawn said, lifting Sprig out of the pouch and placing him on the ground to wander.
Elune’s smile grew as she poured from the clay pot, filling the cup in front of Fawn with the hot brew, her aged hand graceful and steady.
“Aye, Lord Rhodes has been more than generous to me, and it is because of your selflessness.”
Fawn shook her head. “Nonsense, the bargain will cause me no suffering nor my forest friends. So, all worked out well.”
She hoped it was true and that her decision hadn’t been a foolish one.
For a time, they sipped in silence. Then Elune’s gaze sharpened, her voice dropping low. “Tell me, what truly happened with the flock?”
Fawn shared the news, so that the truth would spread and the wolves would be blamed no more. “It wasn’t the wolves. Of that I am certain. The sheep were torn but not eaten. The fur I found was from hounds, wolfhounds. Men had to have had a hand in this.”
Elune’s eyes darkened, her fingers tightening around her shawl. “Or there could be something darker afoot than hungry beasts.”
Fawn frowned. “Darker?”
The old woman’s voice turned to a whisper. “Magic, lass. Perhaps not the wild kind you know, the kind that draws creatures to you, but magic twisted, bent to cruelty. I have seen it before. A hand guiding what should not be guided.”
Fawn stiffened, her heart leaping at the word and Sprig returning to her lap as if he sensed danger.
Magic.
The very thing her mother could sometimes wield unwisely.
“You think this was done by dark magic?” Fawn asked, not having given it a thought.
“I think it is possible. And if so, then there is more at stake than sheep, more even than your clan. There are powers that do not forgive trespass into their realm.”
A shiver slid down Fawn’s spine despite the warmth of the hot brew and the hearth’s heat.
Elune’s eyes lingered on Fawn’s, shadowed with worry. “Be careful. Trouble like this does not stir without reason.”
Fawn tightened her hands around the cup, the chamomile brew suddenly tasting bitter on her tongue. Elune’s quiet warning pressed heavy on her chest, but Fawn forced a small smile.
“You’re safe here now. That’s what matters.”
Elune gave her a long, searching look, then patted her hand. “Safe for the moment, aye. But you, lass… take care with the laird. The wolves may not have harmed you, but men are another matter.”
Fawn tucked Sprig into the pouch and rose, setting her empty cup aside. “I’ll manage him.”
She left the cottage with those words still clinging to her lips. Outside, snow drifted softly across the village, and as she turned down the lane, she nearly collided with the man himself.
Rhodes filled the narrow way, his cloak dusted white, his dark gaze sweeping over her at once. His hand shot out, steadying her by the arm.
“You slip from me too easily,” he muttered, his tone rough but threaded with something else, relief, perhaps, though he masked it well.
Fawn lifted her chin, her heart leaping in spite of herself. “Perhaps you don’t hold tight enough.”
His mouth curved faintly, dangerously. “Oh, I hold plenty tight, wife. Don’t tempt me to prove it.”
The heat in his gaze sparked against hers, warming her far more than the cloak drawn about her shoulders. For a long moment, neither moved, the hush of falling snow wrapping them in their own small world.
The warmth of his hand lingered on her arm, his nearness too unsettling, and Fawn drew in a steadying breath. She brought herself back to the moment, forcing her heart to still.
“I will return to my cottage,” she said firmly. “There are wounded creatures that need tending, and I will be back in the morning.”
Rhodes’s dark brows lifted, and a laugh rumbled low in his chest. “Have you forgotten so quickly, lass? You are my wife now. Your place is here, with me. Not running back to your beasts.”
Fawn’s chin tilted higher, but her pulse quickened all the same.
He leaned closer, his voice dropping rough and deliberate. “And besides… our vows are not yet sealed. The marriage must be consummated.”
She stared at him for several heartbeats, several breaths, fire sparking in her green eyes, and two words shot with the speed of a released arrow from her mouth. “Not tonight.”