Reluctance shadowed Boyce’s face, but he obeyed, guiding Sara from the hall.
As soon as the heavy door shut behind them. Fawn’s lips parted as if to argue, but Rhodes silenced her the only way he knew how. His lips found hers, not with the fierce urgency that had marked their quarrels, but with a gentleness that stole her breath.
Fawn melted into him, her hand going to rest against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath her touch. His kiss lingered, deepening by slow degrees, as though he meant to brand into her that she was his, protected, cherished, and loved.
When at last he drew back, their foreheads remained touching, their breath mingling in the quiet.
“No shadows, no ravens, no damned warlock will ever take this from us,” he whispered.
Her answering smile was small but sure, her lips brushing his once more in a fleeting promise.
The daysthat followed were marked by a deceptive calm. Snow fell in soft, drifting veils, blanketing the village in a hush that seemed almost holy. For two mornings in a row, Fawn rose with Rhodes beside her, Sprig curled between them like a tiny guardian, and for those brief moments she could almost believe life was simple. She tended her animals in the turret, her laughter floating down the stairwell as Rhodes came to find her, shaking his head at how the fox tried to steal a bit of bread or how the owl blinked at him with stern disapproval.
In the evenings, they sat together by the hearth in the Great Hall, sharing a trencher of roasted meat, their hands brushing, their glances lingering. The warmth of the fire and the rumble of Rhodes’s low laughter lulled her into a dangerous comfort.
But Rhodes was not lulled. Even as he tucked her close against his side, his thoughts turned restless. The villagers had begun to relax, smiles became more frequent, voices lighter, the tension easing as the days passed without further trouble. Yet it was that very ease that made his instincts prickle. He had learned long ago that storms hid behind quiet skies.
Rhodes rose from bench by the hearth in the Great Hall, setting his empty tankard aside with deliberate motion. Fawn looked up from Sprig, who was batting playfully at the curling ends of her hair while resting on her chest, and saw the resolve etched into her husband’s features.
“What troubles you?” she asked softly, having enjoyed the many days of peace that had passed, while knowing a reckoning was on the horizon.
“Begone,” he ordered the servants, wanting time alone with his wife to talk freely.
Fawn watched them scurry off, wondering what caused her husband’s sudden need for privacy.
Rhodes sat, taking hold of her hand, his touch warm but his voice cool with decision. “The clan grows too content. They believe the threat has passed. I need to know if it has or if it merely waits.”
Her brows drew together. “What will you do?”
“It’s what I’ve already done. I had the guards removed from Elune’s and Cander’s cottages and if either of them is tied to the trouble, mischief will return.”
Fawn’s breath caught, unease racing through her, but she kept her silence. To argue would serve no purpose, not now. Still, the thought clung to her like frost. He was testing the two, testing fate itself.
Rhodes gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “What’s taking so long to reach your mum? It’s imperative we speak with her.”
Fawn opened her mouth, but before she could answer the door creaked open. Boyce entered, guiding a stooped old woman draped in a heavy cloak. Her back was bent with age, her steps slow but deliberate.
“She insists she has news you must hear, my lord,” Boyce said.
Rhodes gave a sharp nod. “Go, then. Be with Sara.”
Boyce’s eyes flared with gratitude. He bowed, then turned to go, a faint thought stirring as he left the hall. His laird understood his concern for his wife, for he too had found love that bound as fiercely as duty.
The old woman raised her head then, and Fawn’s breath stilled in her throat.
Rhodes stared, his lips twisting with grim humor. “Bloody hell, speak of the witch of a mother-in-law, and she appears.”
CHAPTER 25
Theodora’s chin shot up, her lips curving in a sly smile. “And you’re no bargain of a son-in-law, unwise and arrogant, wishing as you did in a drunken stupor.”
Rhodes stood, his shoulders squared, his voice cut sharp as he walked around the table to stand in front of her. “And you, granting it, thinking three drunken warriors would be good candidates for husbands to your daughters.”
Her eyes sparked, her cloak swirling faintly as she stepped closer. “I wanted men who could protect them, warriors with strength and conviction.”
“I have both,” Rhodes snapped back, his voice fierce. “And I will see my wife protected.”
Before Theodora could retort, Fawn hurried off the bench to step quickly between them. “Enough! This is no time for insults, no time for proving who’s the greater fool. What kept you so long, Mum?”
