Fawn straightened, clutching the tuft of fur, her voice rising. “Wolves hunt to eat. They take meat back to their den for the old, for the young. But here—” she swept her hand toward thecarcasses, “—not one bite taken. This was slaughter that was ordered and driven by a man.”
Snow continued to fall a bit heavier as silence fell, Rhodes’s men glancing at one another, doubt and suspicion across their faces.
Rhodes’s gaze narrowed on the fur in her hand, then on her fierce green eyes. Dark rage stirred in him, not at her defiance, but at the truth in her words.
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 followedthe 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 furI found was from hounds, wolfhounds. Men had to have had a hand in this.”
