Chapter 24
Rhodes’s stride was purposeful, his grip firm around Fawn’s hand as they entered the keep. The murmur of villagers faded behind the heavy door, replaced by the crackle of torches in the hall. He did not release her.
“I should go to the animals,” she said quietly, glancing toward the stairs. “They’ll be unsettled after all the noise, after the ravens.”
“Not now,” Rhodes ordered. “If you run to them straightaway, it will look as though you care more for them than for what just happened in the village. The people are watching, Fawn. You cannot give them reason to think you hide something.”
Her first instinct was to argue, to rail at the unfairness of it. But she swallowed it down. He was right. As much as it pricked her pride, she saw the wisdom in his words.
“Very well,” she said at last, reluctant but yielding. “Later, then.”
He gave a brief nod and guided her to a table close to the hearth in the Great Hall.
At their presence, the servants shifted uneasily, some bowing, others darting glances their way before returning to their tasks.
Rhodes ordered food and drink be brought to them, and soon a platter of bread, cheese, and roasted meat was set before them with tankards of ale and hot cider.
Fawn had scarcely taken her seat when the great doors creaked open again. Boyce strode in, Sara at his side. The young woman’s hand clutched protectively at her rounded belly, her face pale.
“My lord,” Boyce said, with a bob of his head. “Forgive the interruption, but this cannot wait. We must speak of the witch. The people are frightened. Some say she must be sought out, found, driven away… or worse.”
Sara shivered and pressed her hand harder to her stomach.
Boyce rested his hand briefly at her back as if to steady her. “I’ll not leave Sara alone with talk of witches. All know witches steal the unborn, draw their breath from their mother’s stomach, and leave them to be born lifeless.”
Fawn’s eyes widened, shock snapping through her, leaving her unable to hold her tongue. “That is nonsense and nothing more than old wives’ tales meant to frighten. No witch can do such a thing.”
Boyce stiffened, his jaw working, but it was Sara who whispered, “Yet bairns are born lifeless.”
Fawn’s heart softened. She saw the fear in the young woman’s eyes, felt the tremor in her voice.
Leaning forward, she let her tone turn gentle.
“Aye, bairns are sometimes lost, and it is a sorrow beyond words. But when something cannot be explained, blame is too often laid on another and from that, tales grow, twisted until they no longer hold truth. Do not let such tales frighten you, Sara. You are safe. Your child is safe.”
Sara’s hand patted her belly, as if reassuring the bairn resting within. Her eyes shimmered, fear still clinging but easing at the edges. A small breath left her, almost a sigh of relief, and she gave Fawn a faint, grateful smile.
Boyce’s arm tightened around Sara as if he could shield her with his strength alone. “You truly think it could be Elune or Cander, my lord? You set guards at their doors, but men murmur that no ordinary guard can stop a witch. They fear for their own lives.”
Rhodes leaned forward, his hand braced flat on the table, his voice low but edged. “I said I would not rule anyone out. They are new to the clan, and until I know more of them, they will remain watched. That is caution, not condemnation.”
Sara shook her head, speaking softly but firmly. “Elune is no witch, my lord. She is harmless. A woman alone, weary, grateful for a roof and warm food. She’s not the cause of this.”
But Boyce pressed on, his tone hard. “Kindness can be a mask, a way to weave trust. I tell you, my lord, the men guarding her and Cander are no match if either of them wields dark craft. Fear gnaws at them and they whisper of forsaking the duty.”
The crack of Rhodes’s fist striking the table silenced the hall. The fire snapped in the hearth, and for a heartbeat no one breathed. His eyes swept to Boyce, unflinching.
“Then those men should worry less about witches,” Rhodes snarled, “and more about what I’ll do to them if they dare forsake their duty.”
Silence fell heavy, the only sound the wind tapping at the shutters.
The silence stretched until Sara, her voice trembling yet laced with courage, broke it. “My lord… what of the raven in the turret room? Where did it come from?”
Boyce shot her a sharp look, worry sparking in his eyes as though he feared Rhodes’s temper might flare again.
But before Rhodes could speak, Fawn lifted her chin and answered, her voice soothing.
“He came to me wounded. His wing was torn, and I could not let him die when I might mend it. That is all. When the other ravens cried out, he must have answered, as any creature will when called by its own. They were likely waiting for him—waiting for their mate.”
Sara’s fingers clutched the edge of her cloak, her gaze darting between Fawn and Rhodes. The explanation hung in the air, simple and human against the tangled whispers of witchcraft.
Rhodes’s voice cut through the silence. “That is all for now. We will speak no more of it here.”
Boyce opened his mouth as if to argue, but the sharp look from his laird silenced him.
Rhodes rose slightly, his tone carrying the weight of command. “Take your wife, Boyce. See her settled. We will talk later, just you and I.”
Reluctance shadowed Boyce’s face, but he obeyed, guiding Sara from the hall.
As soon as the heavy door shut behind them. Fawn’s lips parted as if to argue, but Rhodes silenced her the only way he knew how. His lips found hers, not with the fierce urgency that had marked their quarrels, but with a gentleness that stole her breath.
Fawn melted into him, her hand going to rest against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath her touch. His kiss lingered, deepening by slow degrees, as though he meant to brand into her that she was his, protected, cherished, and loved.
When at last he drew back, their foreheads remained touching, their breath mingling in the quiet.
“No shadows, no ravens, no damned warlock will ever take this from us,” he whispered.
Her answering smile was small but sure, her lips brushing his once more in a fleeting promise.
The days that followed were marked by a deceptive calm.
Snow fell in soft, drifting veils, blanketing the village in a hush that seemed almost holy.
For two mornings in a row, Fawn rose with Rhodes beside her, Sprig curled between them like a tiny guardian, and for those brief moments she could almost believe life was simple.
She tended her animals in the turret, her laughter floating down the stairwell as Rhodes came to find her, shaking his head at how the fox tried to steal a bit of bread or how the owl blinked at him with stern disapproval.
In the evenings, they sat together by the hearth in the Great Hall, sharing a trencher of roasted meat, their hands brushing, their glances lingering. The warmth of the fire and the rumble of Rhodes’s low laughter lulled her into a dangerous comfort.
But Rhodes was not lulled. Even as he tucked her close against his side, his thoughts turned restless.
The villagers had begun to relax, smiles became more frequent, voices lighter, the tension easing as the days passed without further trouble.
Yet it was that very ease that made his instincts prickle.
He had learned long ago that storms hid behind quiet skies.
Rhodes rose from bench by the hearth in the Great Hall, setting his empty tankard aside with deliberate motion. Fawn looked up from Sprig, who was batting playfully at the curling ends of her hair while resting on her chest, and saw the resolve etched into her husband’s features.
“What troubles you?” she asked softly, having enjoyed the many days of peace that had passed, while knowing a reckoning was on the horizon.
“Begone,” he ordered the servants, wanting time alone with his wife to talk freely.
Fawn watched them scurry off, wondering what caused her husband’s sudden need for privacy.
Rhodes sat, taking hold of her hand, his touch warm but his voice cool with decision. “The clan grows too content. They believe the threat has passed. I need to know if it has or if it merely waits.”
Her brows drew together. “What will you do?”
“It’s what I’ve already done. I had the guards removed from Elune’s and Cander’s cottages and if either of them is tied to the trouble, mischief will return.”
Fawn’s breath caught, unease racing through her, but she kept her silence. To argue would serve no purpose, not now. Still, the thought clung to her like frost. He was testing the two, testing fate itself.
Rhodes gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “What’s taking so long to reach your mum? It’s imperative we speak with her.”
Fawn opened her mouth, but before she could answer the door creaked open. Boyce entered, guiding a stooped old woman draped in a heavy cloak. Her back was bent with age, her steps slow but deliberate.
“She insists she has news you must hear, my lord,” Boyce said.
Rhodes gave a sharp nod. “Go, then. Be with Sara.”
Boyce’s eyes flared with gratitude. He bowed, then turned to go, a faint thought stirring as he left the hall. His laird understood his concern for his wife, for he too had found love that bound as fiercely as duty.
The old woman raised her head then, and Fawn’s breath stilled in her throat.
Rhodes stared, his lips twisting with grim humor. “Bloody hell, speak of the witch of a mother-in-law, and she appears.”