“Nay,” he said, his tone final. “I’ll speak with Boyce and return when I have answers. You’ll remain here.”
Her lips parted, her chin tilting in defiance, but the command in his eyes left her no ground to stand on. Frustration churned in her chest as he released her and strode to the door, pulling it shut behind him with a decisive thud.
Fawn dropped down on the bed, her mind churning.
The firein the hearth’s solar burned high, but its heat did little to chase the cold that had settled deep in Rhodes’s chest.
Boyce stood stiffly, his face lined with worry, his broad shoulders rigid, his tone grim. “The men are uneasy. They’ll be reluctant to face a witch. Fear has its claws in them already, fear of what she might do, and of that hellhound she keeps at her side.”
Rhodes paced a short line across the wood floor, his jaw tight with annoyance. “Then they need not face her. I will.”
Boyce’s eyes widened. “Alone? That’s folly. She’s no common foe to meet blade to blade.” Boyce pressed on, his voice rising with rare force. “You don’t know what she is capable of! Spells, curses, things that no shield or sword can turn. If something happens to you, Rhodes, what then? What of the clan?”
Rhodes turned a sharp tongue on him, the air in the chamber taut as a drawn bow. “Enough. I lead this clan. I rule it, not you. Now leave me.”
The words struck like a lash, snapping the argument short. Boyce’s jaw worked, his fists clenched, but at last he gave a stiff bow of his head and stepped back.
Silence pressed heavy after his departure.
Rhodes moved to the narrow window, resting one hand against the cold stone of the wall. Snow rattled against the shutters, each sharp tap echoing his unease.
This was her doing… the witch. The same shadowed figure who had twisted his fate that night by the fire. Could it be true? Could she be behind the slaughter, the fear festering among his people, the whispers of hellhounds?
The thought gnawed at him. He had faced warriors, raiders, men twice his size and strength, and never once faltered. But a witch… that was a foe he did not understand. Her power was unseen, unpredictable. And if she commanded beasts with the same certainty Fawn soothed them?—
His hand tightened on the sill. This was for him to see done one way or another.
He dragged in a breath, forcing the coil of anxiety in his gut into steel. Whatever the cost, he would not let a witch unravel his clan or harm his wife.
Still, as the storm howled outside, the truth pricked at the back of his mind. For the first time in his life, Rhodes would enter a battle not knowing if strength alone would be enough.
He left his solar and made his way back to his bedchamber. He pushed open the door, his face shadowed with fury.
Fawn turned from where she stood near the hearth, the relief that rose in her chest dying when she saw his expression.
“Tell me,” she urged, worry in her tone.
“The witch is behind this,” he said, his voice vile with accusation. “All witches bring rot and ruin, curses, pestilence, death. They corrupt everything they touch. It is their way. They deserve nothing but to be bound to the stake and burned.”
Her breath caught as though he had struck her. Heat flushed her cheeks, anger rising swift and sharp. “You damn them all the same,” she said, her voice trembling with restrained fury. “Every healer who eases a fever, every wise woman who tends a birth, every soul who dares live apart? You would cast them all into the fire for lies people spew?”
His dark eyes flared, his jaw turned rigid. “Do not defend them to me, Fawn. You know nothing of the dangers they bring. If this witch thinks to toy with me, I’ll meet her myself.”
She stared at him, disbelief turning quickly to anger. “Alone? You’re a fool if you believe you can stand against a witch with nothing but steel and pride.”
Her words cut sharp, but fear throbbed beneath them. She bit the inside of her mouth, holding back what she could never tell him—that her own mother’s power ran dark and deep, that even she herself had no defense against certain spells.
And if he faced her mum…
Her mind flew to Simon, the wolfhound that only padded at her mother’s side when she believed she would need his help. He was vicious when protecting Theodora, gentle otherwise. He had nudged Fawn’s hand for a scratch more than once and a hug as well. He loved hugs. He was a sweetheart. But in battle? Rhodes would never see that side of him.
She forced her voice to hold steady, her chin lifting. “You think yourself invincible, Rhodes, but witches do not fight like men. If you seek her out, you may find you’ve walked into a snare you cannot break.”
His gaze bore into hers, unreadable but unrelenting. “Then let her try. She’ll learn soon enough that I bow to no one, not even a witch.”
“I will not listen to such insanity and foolishness,” Fawn snapped, whirling toward the door. She seized the iron latch, intent on leaving before her temper, or her fear, betrayed her further.
But Rhodes was faster. He came up behind her in a rush, the heavy door slamming shut beneath his hand. His body pressed against hers, caging her between the wood and the heat of his hard body.
