She had felt the truth in his words. But the look in his eyes now unsettled her more than her mother’s endless warnings ever could. The thought of losing him frightened her in a way she had never imagined.
Fawn lifted her chin, though her pulse raced. She would not cower. She would not let him believe she was a lie, even as fear twisted inside her.
Theodora’s sharp eyes moved between them, her usual certainty fraying. She had warned Fawn, had pressed her away from him, but what she saw now was not distance. It was love, raw and shaken, but clinging fiercely between them. For the first time, doubt wavered in her, a doubt she could not quite smother.
Fawn’s chest heaved, the fire in Rhodes’s eyes more than she could bear. Words tangled on her tongue, but none seemed worth saying to a man who looked at her with anger instead of love. With a sharp turn, she strode past him, the hem of her cloak brushing the snow.
“Fawn!” Rhodes’s voice thundered after her, his command echoing through the waking forest. “Stop.”
She didn’t.
Theodora’s gaze hurried between them, then she slipped back into the shadows of the trees, her cloak swallowing her whole. Whatever was to be said now belonged only to husband and wife.
Boots pounded behind her, crunching through snow until his hand clamped around her arm. He yanked her to a halt, spinning her toward him. His grip was firm, his jaw set, his eyes black with temper.
“You’ll not turn your back on me.” His voice was low, hard as iron.
Her eyes blazed. “What use is there in speaking when anger deafens you? You’ll hear only what you want to hear.”
His fingers tightened on her arm, not enough to harm but enough to hold her fast. “And you? You think storming off will solve this? That silence will clear the shadows your mother cast between us?”
Fawn jerked against his hold, chin lifting, her voice sharp. “What casts shadows between us is not me—it’s your mistrust. Your doubt.”
His chest rose and fell with the force of his breath, his face drawn taut. “Bloody hell, Fawn, how am I to trust when every word from your mother’s lips drips with secrets? When you stand between me and the truth I demand?”
She glared back, her heart pounding. “I stand between you and my mum because you go at her with nothing but rage. You demand truth but refuse to listen to it.”
For a moment, only their breaths filled the silence, steaming in the cold air, their bodies close, neither willing to yield, when the sharp cry of a raven split the morning. Its hollow call echoed through the trees, an omen carried on the wind.
Rhodes’s head snapped up, his gaze sweeping the branches, his hand tightening on Fawn’s arm. “This is no place to discuss what must be said. We finish this at the keep.”
Before she could protest, he pulled her forward, his grip tight. Fawn stumbled once, and his firm grip quickly righted her stride. Fury and fear rose in her with each step but she held her tongue. There was time enough to talk when they reached the keep.
The village stirred awake as they entered, smoke curling from hearths, doors creaking open. Men and women paused in their work, eyes widening as their laird all but dragged his wife across the snowy path. Whispers followed them, low and sharp.Children were hushed and tugged behind parents. A few heads bowed, others lingered, curiosity too strong to resist.
Cander leaned on his crooked staff near a small cottage, the hood of the warm cloak he’d been given shadowing his face. As Rhodes strode past, his gaze went to Fawn, then to Sara, who had paused nearby.
His voice rasped, just loud enough to carry. “Mark me, witches walk bolder these days.”
Sara’s hand flew protectively to her belly, her brow furrowing as Boyce, standing beside her, cast Cander a sharp glance. But the old man only hunched further over his staff, muttering as if to himself.
Rhodes pressed on, blind to the murmurs, his face carved in stone. Once they reached the keep, he swung the door open as if it had no weight to it, then hurried Fawn to his solar. The heavy door thudded shut behind them, the sound echoing in the chamber. The fire in the hearth cast restless shadows across the stone walls.
Rhodes paced two steps, then turned, his dark eyes fixed on her as though she were both answer and threat. “You should have told me.”
Fawn stood her ground, her chin lifted though her heart hammered. “Told you what? That my mother meddles in others’ lives as though she alone knows what is best? That she?—”
“That you are one of them.” The words snapped sharper than he intended, and he forced his tone lower, his jaw tight. “A witch.”
Her breath caught, but she flung the word back at him. “Aye, witch if that is what you want to call me. A woman who listens to the forest, who heals creatures others would leave to die. Is that so monstrous to you?”
“You think it is that simple?” he bit out, pacing again before slamming his hand flat against the edge of the table. “Damn it,Fawn, it will take but one voice, one shout of witch, and the clan will burn with fear.”
She saw it then, the flash of fear in his eyes. He worried that he couldn’t protect her, keep her safe, more than he cared that she was a witch, and that he still loved her made all the difference.
She stepped closer, her eyes softening and a slight smile touching her lips as she confirmed, “You bloody hell love me.”
His heart clenched at her words, memory striking hard—last night, her skin warm against him, his vow of love breaking free without permission.
