The warriors seated nearby ducked their heads as he passed, murmuring low, cautious greetings. Not one man held his gaze. Not one dared jest or question. They shifted like reeds before the wind, bending with no resistance.
It hollowed him.
By the time he strode out of the keep, the winter air cut at his face like a blade, and the scent of woodsmoke stung his nostrils. The packed earth paths were hard with frost, villagers stepping quickly aside to give him way. They bowed, murmured greetings, kept their eyes averted.
Always the same.
He found Boyce near the smithy, speaking with a pair of warriors. They fell silent at Rhodes’s approach, heads lowering instantly.
Rhodes ignored them, his dark eyes fixed on his friend. “Where does the red-haired lass live?”
Boyce stiffened. “What lass?”
“Fawn. The one who stormed into my hall with fire on her tongue,” Rhodes said, his tone edged. “I asked where her cottage lies.”
Boyce hesitated. “I do not know.”
Rhodes’s jaw tightened, his patience fraying. “Someone does.”
Behind him, Sara’s voice rang out, steady as ever. “I do.”
“Tell me,” Rhodes ordered sharply.
Sara hesitated for only a moment. “On the edge of the woods to the west. A small cottage near the stream.”
Rhodes gave a single nod and strode on.
Behind him, Boyce joined his wife’s side, laying a protective hand on her arm. “You should be more careful, Sara. Folk whisper about her, calling her a witch. I will not have their gossip touch you or the bairn.”
Sara leaned into him, her smile soft. “You worry too much. Fawn is my friend, and a good one. Let them whisper what they will, I’ll not turn away from her.”
Boyce sighed, brushing a stray wisp of hair from her cheek. “I’ll not argue with you, my love. Only promise me you’ll be wary. I could not bear the thought of anything happening to you.”
Her hand covered his, warm and sure. “I promise.”
But as she watched Rhodes’s dark figure cut through the snow-dusted path toward the woods, a shiver rippled over her. For all her words, she knew trouble was coming… trouble neither whispers nor friendship could hold back.
Rhodes left the village behind,his boots crunching through the crust of snow as he followed the path toward the woods. The air was sharp with pine and frost, his breath streaming white before him. Though the world was silent, but for the caw of a distant crow, he felt the weight of unseen eyes on him, villagers peering from doorways, murmuring once he had passed. Always the same. Always submission, never defiance.
Until her.
The path narrowed as it bent beneath bare-limbed trees, their branches clawing at the winter sky. He slowed, ears catching the faintest sound, a movement not his own. Carefully, he followed the noise until the trees thinned to a small clearing.
There she was.
Fawn knelt beside a young doe, her red curls a wild halo against the snow. Her slim fingers stroked the trembling creature’s neck as she bent close, speaking in a low, soothing murmur. A fresh gash marred the pale fur, though it had been cleaned, no blood flowing or staining the fur. Fawn applied asalve to the wound, her touch gentle and unhurried, the doe not at all skittish to her touch.
The kitten lay curled on a flat stone, tail twitching as though pleased to keep watch. A pair of squirrels darted about, unafraid, chittering softly as they searched the light, snow-covered ground for nuts. The whole scene was wrong in its rightness, wild things at ease in her presence, bending to her touch as though she commanded them.
Rhodes stilled, the breath caught in his throat. He had seen many things in battle, in life, but never this.
Then her head lifted. Green eyes sharp as glass swept the clearing. The doe’s ears pricked, the squirrels froze, and even the kitten raised its head, all looking toward where he stood among the trees.
“Go,” she whispered, her voice firm but quiet.
At once, the animals obeyed. The squirrels vanished into the trees, the doe bounded off despite her wound, and the kitten leapt down, padding toward the shelter of Fawn’s basket.
Rhodes stepped forward, brushing aside a branch. Snow showered from it, scattering white flakes across his shoulders.
