Chapter 17
Several hours had passed, and still there was no word of returning to her cottage.
Fawn stood near the steps of the keep, Sprig tucked in his pouch, her eyes scanning the pale sky.
The air carried a bite that made her shiver, but more than that, it held the weight of coming snow.
She knew the scent well enough. If more fell before night, the path back would be buried, and her animals would be left waiting another day.
Her chest tightened, thinking of how Rhodes had given his word to her.
Movement drew her attention. Not far from her, Rhodes strode with long, purposeful steps, Boyce at his side. They spoke low until Boyce spotted his wife stepping out of their cottage and he dipped his head to Rhodes and turned away toward where she waited with a smile.
Fawn cupped her hands to her mouth. “Rhodes!”
He halted, turning his head. For a moment she thought he would come to her, but instead he called out in a brisk tone before turning away. “I have no time now.”
Something hot and sharp flared in her chest. No time? No time to keep his promise?
Before she could stop herself, she bent, scooped up a handful of snow, and rolled it swiftly between her palms. With a fierce flick of her wrist, she sent it flying.
The snowball struck Rhodes squarely between his broad shoulders.
Gasps erupted. Every sound in the village stilled, the scrape of shovels, the chatter of women, even the children’s laughter. All froze as Rhodes stopped in his tracks.
The world seemed to hold its breath as he slowly turned, a few flakes clinging to the back of his dark hair, and his eyes locking on her with a weight that made the air quiver. He stood still a long moment, then, with measured steps, he began to walk toward her.
Fawn refused to flinch, though her heart pounded against her ribs. The villagers’ glances shifted between them, whispers curling like smoke in the frozen air.
When Rhodes reached the center of the yard, he bent swiftly, scooped up a handful of snow, and rolled it into a tight ball. Without hesitation, he sent it flying.
It struck her square in the shoulder.
Gasps rippled, but then a shocked silence followed as Rhodes’s mouth curved into a grin.
No one had ever seen their laird in such a playful manner.
Fawn blinked, stunned, then her eyes narrowed even as a smile tugged at her lips. She crouched, gathered her own handful of snow, and packed it fast.
“This is war!” she shouted, her voice carrying through the stunned villagers.
Snow flew. One after another, they flung icy missiles, laughter spilling free despite the crowd watching in open-mouthed disbelief. Children began to cheer, too astonished to hold back.
Splotches of white spattered Rhodes’s cloak and shoulders; Fawn’s hair glistened with powder. She bent for another, but before she could rise, Rhodes lunged forward. He caught her around the waist, hauling her up against him.
“Victory,” he declared, his grin triumphant as he held her tight.
Breathless, her cheeks flushed from cold and laughter, Fawn met his gaze with a spark of her own. “Aye, victory,” she conceded, her smile bright—until it faltered. Her voice dropped, firm and steady. “But you gave me your word.”
The humor drained from Rhodes’s face, but not from his eyes. He knew well what she meant. He turned his head, his voice ringing sharp and strong across the yard.
“Boyce! Gather a few men and two horses for transport. Now.”
For a moment there was only silence, then the stir of warriors moving, the villagers parting as their laird’s command carried on the cold air.
They had gathered what could be moved, the animals nestled into lidded baskets strapped securely to the horses.
Fawn rode close beside Rhodes, Sprig curled safely in her cloak pouch, while the men followed, the crunch of hooves muffled by the snow.
The cottage was already fading behind them, the air heavy with the promise of more snowfall.
They had not gone far when a figure appeared on the path ahead.
An old man, stooped and hollow-eyed, leaned on a crooked staff as he trudged through the snow. His cloak was threadbare, his beard unkempt, his boots patched too many times to keep the cold at bay. When he lifted his head, his eyes turned wide.
“Keep back!” he shouted, his voice cracked with warning. “Keep back, for witches walk these woods! They brought sickness on my village, illness that cut folk down one by one. I left before death could take me too.”
The horses shied, snorting at his ragged cry. Rhodes’s men muttered low, unease passing from one to the next as they reined their mounts a step away from the path.
Rhodes’s hand went to the hilt of his sword, his eyes narrowing. “Illness, you say?”
The man jabbed his staff toward the trees. “Illness and death! The witches cursed us. And now one follows me even here. She sends her raven to track my steps.”
At that, the cry of a raven split the stillness, sharp and hollow, echoing above them. Every head snapped up, the men’s gazes sweeping the pale sky, searching the branches heavy with snow.
The warriors stiffened, some crossing themselves, others clutching at amulets strung around their necks. Hooves shifted in the snow, restless with their riders’ fear.
Fawn’s breath caught. Her hand tightened on the reins, her heart hammering. If they knew that the raven they feared did not wheel overhead, but rested silent and watchful inside one of the baskets she had secured, its dark eyes gleaming through the weave… what then?
The old man stumbled closer, still muttering of curses and death. His shoulders sagged beneath the weight of his cloak, his steps unsteady in the snow.
“Bloody superstition,” Rhodes said, his voice carrying sharp and certain.
He straightened in the saddle, his tone pitched to every man within earshot.
“An old man’s raving of witches and birds.
If sickness came to his village, it was from thin broth and colder nights, not from creatures of the sky. ”
A few of the men shifted, relief sparking in their eyes at the firmness of his words. Others muttered agreement, glancing at one another as if reassured that their laird feared no shadow, no curse.
Rhodes looked down at the old man, who leaned heavily on his staff, shivering beneath his worn cloak.
“You cannot leave him to wander the woods. He will freeze,” Fawn whispered.
“He could bring illness with him or worse…”
Fawn shook her head. “Or he could be an old man who his clan tossed out because he was the rare one who didn’t take ill. At least shelter him for a few days until you can learn more, or do you not care if you send him to his death?”
“My concern is for the safety of my clan,” he snapped.
“Then you should learn more about him before discarding him in case he knows or saw something that might help you solve the wolfhound problem.”
That she made sense annoyed him and that he conceded to her logic only added to it.
“Your name,” Rhodes demanded.
The old man’s shoulders turned in with fear. “Cander, sir.”
“You’ll not survive the winter alone, Cander. Come with us to Clan MacBrair. You’ll find food, warmth, and shelter there.”
Cander’s eyes gleamed with surprise and a hint of suspicion, then he dipped his chin. “You are generous, my lord. I will not forget it.”
Rhodes urged his horse forward, signaling the column to move again, though unease twisted through him. He let his gaze sweep his men, steady and unflinching.
“If a witch dares to cross our path, she’ll find MacBrair steel waiting. Until then, save your fear for something worthy of it.”
They settled then, shoulders eased, reins slackened, and the horses pressed forward once more.
But as the column moved, Rhodes’s jaw tightened. His gaze slid briefly to the lidded baskets strapped to the packhorses, one in particular where a pair of dark eyes sometimes gleamed through the weave.
The raven.
What if they knew?
The thought knotted his gut. Witches and ravens. The old man’s words would plant roots in the minds of even the bravest. And if his men discovered that his new wife carried one hidden among her menagerie… suspicion would flare, and whispers would grow.
He cast a glance at Fawn. She rode steady beside him, her chin high, her eyes forward, not to draw attention to her or the baskets..
Best they never know, he thought grimly… for her sake.
The village stirred with late-day bustle as Rhodes led the party through its snow-packed lanes.
Children still played in the drifts, their laughter ringing clear as they tumbled and rolled, oblivious to the cold.
Smoke curled from chimneys, richer now with the scent of roasted meat as the evening meal neared.
Men called to one another as they stabled horses, while women hurried about with baskets, cloaks drawn tight against the biting air.
Fawn took it all in, her heart divided between the village’s simple cheer and the baskets strapped to the horses behind them. She glanced at Rhodes, her voice steady, though her hand unconsciously brushed Sprig’s head.
“Where may I make a home for my animals and those that come after them?” she asked, reminding him that she would continue her work with the forest animals.
Rhodes did not answer at once. Instead, his eyes lifted, scanning the keep as it loomed above them. Fawn followed his glance, her breath catching when she saw where he looked. The turret that rose above the north corner, its windows catching the waning light of the day.
“It’s private,” he said at last. “Spacious enough. And well apart from the halls and chambers, it should suit you and your creatures.”
Her lips curved into a sudden, radiant smile, and her heart soared with relief. “I could kiss you for this.”
His mouth twitched, dark eyes holding hers. “Not now but soon.”
Heat stole into her cheeks at the promise in his tone, but before she could answer, they reached the keep steps. And she was too eager to see the room to carry on with the conversation.
Rhodes dismounted, handing off his reins to a young lad waiting to take them. Then he went to his wife and reached up, taking hold of her by the waist, and lifting her with ease off the horse.
How a simple touch could stir her senses, she didn’t know but it did. And the sudden thought of coupling with him again brought a bit of heat to her cheeks.
Rhodes lowered his head to whisper, “I will see to that need of yours soon.”
Instead of denying it, arguing that she had no need, she tilted her chin and said, “Make sure that you do.” Then she swept past him, grabbing the basket with the raven in it and climbed the keep steps.
A slight smile touched his lips and damn if his loins didn’t stir, but then they had been stirring since this morning when Boyce interrupted them. He’d let her settle her animal friends. and then she was all his. And he had distinct plans for the night ahead with her.
Rhodes turned to his men. “You will take the baskets and follow me up to the north turret. And you will be careful carrying them.”
He knew his wife had taken the raven herself for fear of someone seeing the bird.
He would have done so if she hadn’t, after what that lunatic man said about witches and ravens.
He had no doubt his men were eager to spread the news of the man’s ridiculous rantings.
He wished he could prevent it but ordering them not to speak of it would only create more of a problem.
He’d let gossip spread and die on its own.
The men set about unloading the baskets and other items and followed Rhodes into the keep, where Fawn waited in the Great Hall. He took the basket from her and led the way. Fawn following behind him and his men behind her.
At the top, he pushed the heavy oak door open. Warmth spilled out, the glow of firelight flooding the landing.
She stepped inside and aside to allow the men entrance as her eyes swept the chamber.
The space was larger than she had expected—airy and self-contained, with tall windows now shuttered against the fading light and cold night.
A fire blazed in the wide, stone hearth, throwing a steady warmth.
Two chairs were drawn close to the fire, and she imagined her and Rhodes sitting there talking while the cold whipped at the shutters.
Tables of varying sizes filled the room, sturdy and waiting to be put to use.
Neatly stacked baskets, crocks, cloths, and blankets sat atop them, ready for whatever she might need.
With a tilt of her head, she saw exactly where Sage would perch on the rafters and where Bramble and Willow would flutter along a beam. And there was a perfect spot for Ash near the hearth and a chest that would make a perfect nest for Rook.
She felt Sprig stir in the pouch, and she ran her hand gently over his head. “We are at our new home, Sprig.”
He peeked out, peered around, then jumped out of the pouch and made his way to a basket near the hearth, a soft blanket bundled in it, and claimed it as his own.
Fawn smiled, knowing Rhodes had had a hand in that. Actually, in all of it. She had thought he had forgotten about his promise to her, and yet he had created a home for her friends.
Her mum had been wrong. She had wed a good-hearted man whom she could love, if she didn’t already. A thought that brought her joy.
Behind her, Rhodes set down the raven’s basket with deliberate care, his presence filling the space as surely as the firelight.
She leaned back against him and his arm slipped around her waist, drawing her closer as his men delivered the last of her belongings.
“This was kind of you, Rhodes. I am grateful,” she said softly.
“See it as you will,” he said after the last of his men left, shutting the door behind him. “To me, it was a way of making sure my wife stayed where she belonged.”
Fawn turned then, her eyes meeting his, her voice remaining soft. “And where do I belong, Rhodes?”
“With me. Always with me.” He leaned down and claimed her lips in a powerful kiss.