From his nest near the window, Rook shifted, his black eyes gleaming in the firelight. His head cocked, unblinking, as though he weighed what he saw—guardian or harbinger, none could tell.
CHAPTER 23
Two days passed. Two days of ravens perched in the bare trees near the keep, their black wings a shadow against the winter sky. Two days of murmurs rippling through the village, fear growing as steady as the snow that drifted across the ground.
Fawn had heard nothing from her mother. Each morning, she woke with hope, each night she went to bed with unease pressing heavier against her heart. Though her husband quickly changed that with his intimate touches or a heated look that fired her passion and had them tumbling into bed to put out the blaze or linger in it until the fire consumed them.
Making love with Rhodes was magical, each and every time. The intimate act brought them closer together as if each time they came together, they became part of each other, forever bound together.
Fawn walked through the village, Sprig nestled snugly in the pouch of her cloak, his little head poking out to peer at the bustle around them. Yet there was little cheer in the air. Men kept their heads low, their work quick and clipped. Women muttered to one another while keeping wary eyes on the sky. Children,usually quick to laugh and play even in the snow, lingered closer to their mothers.
She came upon Sara and Elune near the weaving shed, both women speaking in low tones. They greeted her warmly, but even Sara’s smile did not reach her eyes.
“The people are uneasy,” Elune said softly, her wrinkled hands clasped around a basket she had yet to fill. “They see those birds and think of witches and the danger they bring.”
Fawn looked at the trees close to the keep. Ravens filled many of the branches and their numbers grew by the day.
Sara nodded. “Aye, they’ve whispered of it since dawn. None will pass beneath the trees where they sit.”
Before Fawn could answer, a harsh squawk split the air. Heads turned upward. A flurry of black wings rose as the ravens swooped, chasing two doves through the sky. The doves darted frantically, then veered toward the keep. Hearts clenched as the birds flew straight through the open turret window, vanishing inside.
Gasps rippled through the onlookers as the ravens stopped short. They circled once, twice, before retreating to their perch on the trees, their cries echoing through the frosted air.
The villagers crossed themselves, some murmuring prayers. Sara pulled her cloak tighter, eyes wide. “Did you see that? They… they wouldn’t follow.”
Fawn steadied her breathing, her hand stroking Sprig’s fur inside her pouch to keep from trembling. Relief flooded her, though she kept her face calm. She knew why the ravens had stopped. The spell she had woven over the turret cautioned any dark force from entering. She would have cast it over the whole keep but her skill was not that strong.
The truth pressed sharp in her chest. These were no ordinary birds. Dark forces were guiding them. Watching. Testing. And ifher protection spell had kept them at bay, then whatever stalked them was nearer than she dared to admit.
Sara’s eyes stayed fixed on the turret window where the doves had disappeared, and asked with an edge of curiosity, “That’s where the warriors carried the baskets the day you moved into the keep, isn’t it? Folk have been whispering since, saying they saw the lids shift, that the baskets weren’t empty.”
Fawn’s pulse quickened, though she kept her voice even. “They weren’t. I brought the forest creatures I am presently mending with me. I couldn’t simply abandon them. That would be cruel.”
Sara frowned slightly. “But to keep them in the laird’s own turret?—”
“It’s where they’re safe,” Fawn said firmly.
Elune, who had been silent until now, spoke softly, her voice steady but carrying weight. “Fawn does what few others would. She tends the wounded and weak. If the turret holds life instead of fear, then perhaps it should be praised, not doubted.”
Sara shifted, chastened but still uneasy. “Folk are not quick to praise what they don’t understand.”
Before Fawn could answer, a cracked voice split the cold air.
“They follow me still!”
The villagers turned as one, fear rounding many eyes.
Cander stood on the edge of the square, his staff raised. His eyes blazed brightly as he pointed toward the turret. “The ravens chase me wherever I go. They would not enter there because the witch already dwells within! I have brought death upon Clan MacBrair!”
Gasps and murmurs swelled. Fear rippled through the people like wind through brittle branches.
Sprig hissed from his pouch, a fierce sound for so small a creature, his fur rising as he pushed against the fabric. The kittenhissed again, his tiny claws catching Fawn’s cloak as though he longed to spring at the old man.
Cander’s voice rose higher, shriller, feeding the tension. “You think you are safe? Fools! The witch is near, and she commands the ravens. Death stalks these woods and now it stalks your clan!”
The crowd wavered, voices tangling in rising panic. Mothers clutched their children and muttered prayers while men took quick steps to their families.
Someone whispered, “The laird cannot shield us from this.”
