Instead of unease, something else stirred in him. Interest. Curiosity. Hunger sharper than any battle had stirred in years.
He leaned back against the table, his smile deepening. “She’s a challenge.”
“How so?”
Rhodes kept his voice low. “I’ve never ruled a witch.”
Boyce frowned. “That’s not a challenge that can be won.”
Rhodes’s gaze once again went to the doors where Fawn had vanished. “You forget I am never defeated, and this is one challenge I look forward to winning.”
Fawn sweptout of the Great Hall, her boots striking hard against the worn stone steps. The winter air bit her cheeks, but her fury kept her warm. The kitten burrowed into the crook of her arm,its small head pressed beneath her chin, purring as though he agreed with her every thought and word.
“Wife, indeed,” she muttered, her curls bouncing with every determined step. “Arrogant laird. He thinks he can claim me like a penned ewe. He’s mad if he believes it. Completely and utterly insane.”
She crossed the yard into the village, walking past a row of cottages. A few folks looked her way but quickly dropped their gazes, scurrying off before she could speak. She was used to that, used to the way whispers followed her, a reason she rarely came to the village.
Witch,some called her.Trouble,others said. It mattered little. She had her cottage, her woods, her beasts. That was all she needed.
“Fawn?”
The familiar voice pulled her up short. Sara, Boyce’s wife, stood on the path with a basket on her arm, her round cheeks pink from the cold, and her dark braid falling over one shoulder.
Her eyes warmed instantly. “What troubles you, Fawn?”
Fawn let out a huff, hugging the kitten closer. “Your clan’s laird is what troubles me. Bold as brass, declaring I’m to be his wife, as if I’ve no say in my own life.”
Sara’s brows rose. “He said that? In the hall?”
“Aye, and in front of his men.” Fawn’s jaw clenched. “If he thinks I’ll bow, he’s in for a disappointment.”
Sara’s eyes darted toward the keep. “That does sound like Rhodes. He’s as stubborn as they come.” She reached out to stroke the kitten, who promptly stretched into her touch with a pleased little sigh. “But you’re every bit as stubborn. I’ve always said his stubbornness will be his undoing if he’s not careful. Yours too, so pay heed.”
Fawn’s shoulders eased a fraction. Sara had been her only friend for as long as she had been here, about three years, havingcome across each other in the woods one day. She was the one who did not fear her or turned away at whispers.
“Boyce won’t like it,” Fawn murmured, “you speaking with me.”
Sara lowered her voice, though her chin rose a bit in defiance. “Boyce doesn’t like much when it comes to you. He says people call you a witch and that I ought to keep my distance.”
Fawn rolled her eyes. “A witch, because I live alone and care for creatures no one else bothers with. If that’s witchcraft, then perhaps I am one.”
Sara laughed, slipping the basket higher on her arm. “Let them whisper. I know better. You have a good heart, Fawn. And if Rhodes thinks to trap you in marriage against your will…” Her expression softened into something like pity. “Then the poor man doesn’t yet realize what he’s brought upon himself.”
Fawn tightened her hold on the kitten and started toward the edge of the village, her voice a low promise to herself. “He’ll find out soon enough.”
CHAPTER 3
Rhodes sat at the long table in the Great Hall, his fingers drumming once against the wood as another laird bowed before him.
“’Tis all I ask, my lord,” the man said, keeping his head lowered, his voice too quick, too eager. “Permission for my men to cut timber on the far slope. We will take only what is needful, nothing more. The land is yours, of course, as is the right for you to decide.”
Rhodes studied him, the weight of his gaze making the man shift and pale. Once, such moments had stirred him, men wary of his power, measuring their words as though he might strike them down. But now it was only tedious.
“You have my leave,” Rhodes said, his voice flat.
The man bowed lower, nearly stumbling in his haste to retreat, relief pouring from him like sweat. Rhodes’s jaw clenched. Not one word of protest. Not one hint of defiance. Always the same.
Rhodes rose from the high-backed chair, his height casting a long shadow across the table. He fastened his sword belt with a sharp tug and strode from the hall, the weight of emptiness pressing harder than the cold winter air outside.
