Theodora pressed her hands together to still their trembling. “I know. And I fear there is no way to make it right.”
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.
