Fawn sat up, annoyed, having thought they would have more time alone together, time to learn more about each other, time to bond.
“Already?” she asked, not hiding the disappointment in her voice.
He glanced back at her, his dark eyes still hot with the remnants of desire, feeling the same as she did, but… “Duty demands it.”
She bit her lip, glancing toward the fox curled in the corner, the doves shifting restlessly in the rafters, Sage solemn in his perch, and Rook croaking low in his nest.
“Aye, you’re right, duty does demand our time. And my duty demands I not leave them.”
His response was firm. “We will return soon. Your creatures and your belongings will be brought to the keep. But we leave now.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Your word on that?”
“You have my word.” The vow came easily enough, though inside he knew it was as much strategy as concession. It had to be done. If she was to truly be his wife, she must belong to the keep. To him. And she would never stop slipping back to this place unless he tore her roots from it himself.
Fawn reluctantly yielded. “Very well. But we return for them today,” she said, worried that his duties might infringe on hers, leaving his word questionable.
Rhodes reached for her hand, tugging her gently from the bed. “Aye. Today.”
“Aye, today,” she confirmed with a strong nod, “for they cannot do without me.”
“Either can I,” he said, his tone serious, then caught her lips with his, stoking the passion that continued to simmer between them.
Rhodes grudgingly ended the kiss, mumbling beneath his breath as he left her standing by the bed to tug on his garments. His linen shirt clung cold against his skin before the wool and leather brought warmth.
“I must tend to the animals before I can leave,” Fawn said, slipping on her tunic over her wool shift.
“Be hasty about it,” he ordered, drawing his cloak over his shoulders and stepped outside.
Fawn wondered over her husband. He seemed two men to her, one who showed a glimpse of a man with a caring heart and another who appeared more of a cold-hearted leader. Could that be what her mum had warned her about?
She would have endless time to find out since she was now his wife. She shook her head and turned her attention to the animals.
The storm had ended,the snow nearly reaching Rhodes’s ankles as he walked toward Boyce and several of his warriors. The relentless wind had left snowdrifts that would hamper travel and the horses stamped and snorted, their breaths rising white into the cold air.
Boyce stood waiting, his cloak dusted with frost, his stance solid as ever.
Rhodes strode to him, demanding, “Is there news?”
Boyce shook his head. “Not yet. The men who left before the storm worsened should return today, since I only sent themto the nearby villages to inquire about wolfhounds. If any keep them, or if some have gone missing, we’ll know soon enough.”
Rhodes’s jaw tightened. “The culprit thought to leave me vulnerable. He wants my people to suddenly question my strength.”
“They’ll not doubt for long,” Boyce said, his tone steady. “When the one responsible is found, all will know your hand is still iron.”
Rhodes’s gaze narrowed on the tree line. “It should not take this much time. A whisper, a slip of a tongue, something should have reached us already.”
“Unless,” Boyce said carefully, “the one who loosed those hounds meant to leave no trace. A hidden enemy is the most dangerous kind.”
Rhodes’s temper sparked hotter at the truth of it, though more disturbing was the thought that continued to linger. What if dark forces had a hand in it? How did he battle that? How did he even dare to speak of such horror?
“There is more on your mind?” Boyce asked, catching the way Rhodes’s eyes narrowed, and his nose flared in anger.
Rhodes tempered his anger but kept a firm tone. “There is always more on my mind, always possibilities to consider, decisions to be made, a clan to protect, to keep safe.”
“And there is not a clan member who believes it will be otherwise than it has always been. They are confident you can continue to be the powerful laird you are.”
Rhodes arched his brow. “Stroking my ego, Boyce.”
