Total pages in book: 55
Estimated words: 50898 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 254(@200wpm)___ 204(@250wpm)___ 170(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 50898 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 254(@200wpm)___ 204(@250wpm)___ 170(@300wpm)
“Easy,” Fawn murmured, wrapping the wing snugly. She lowered the raven gently into the basket lined with cloth and tucking a bit of wool cloth around the bird. “There now. You’ll be flying again before long.”
The door opened suddenly, a rush of cold air swirling in. Sara hurried in, her cheeks red from the wind, one hand braced on her slightly rounded belly. The look on her face set Fawn instantly on edge.
“Sara?” she asked, rising quickly, brushing her curls back from her face. “Are you all right Is it the bairn??”
Sara’s voice was breathless and urgent. “Nay, the bairn and I are fine. It’s Rhodes. He’s announced it… you are to be his wife.”
Fawn’s breath caught. “What?”
“In three days’ time,” Sara said. “Word’s already spread. He declared it before the clan.”
Fawn’s hands clenched into fists, her fury flashing hot. “The arrogant, overbearing—” Her words snapped off. She pulled her cloak from the peg and swept it around her shoulders.
“Come, Sprig,” she said firmly, and the kitten gave an eager purr and leapt nimbly into the pouch she had stitched to her cloak to carry him, ready to join her.
Sara’s lips curved despite the moment. “Sprig. That’s a sweet name. It suits him well.”
Fawn glanced at her friend, the fire in her eyes undimmed. “Aye. And now he’ll bear witness that I never will wed Lord Rhodes of Clan MacBrair.”
The village grew quiet as Fawn and Sara walked the narrow path, leaving footprints in the light dusting of snow left from last night’s flurries as they headed to the keep. Doors cracked open, eyes followed, whispers flitted like crows’ wings. Fawn ignored them all, her chin lifted, her curls blazing against the pale winter sky.
The keep loomed ahead, stark stone against the frosted hills. The great doors stood open, torchlight spilling across the ground. Sara hesitated at her side, but Fawn did not pause, she strode inside as if the place were hers.
The hall fell silent at her entrance. Men straightened, voices stilled, the weight of their stares heavy upon her. At the far end of the room, Rhodes rose from his chair on the dais, his presence filling the hall.
Fawn’s voice rang clear. “You’ve gone too far, Lord Rhodes.”
A murmur rippled through the men. Rhodes descended the dais, each step measured, his gaze locked on hers. “Too far? Nay, lass. I told you in the woods what would come. You’ll be my wife.”
Her eyes flashed. “You told me. I never agreed.”
He stopped before her, tall and motionless, his shadow spilling over her. “Your agreement isn’t needed. My word is law.”
Her hands fisted at her sides, her breath quick. “Then your law is madness. You cannot force me to wed you.”
A slow smile curved his mouth, dark and certain. “Think again. I rule here.”
Sprig poked his small head from the pouch and gave a sharp, indignant mewl. Laughter rippled through the men until Rhodes’s glare silenced it.
His gaze returned to her, the faintest spark of amusement in his eyes. “You’ve more spirit than I thought, Fawn. You’ll make me a fine wife indeed.”
Fawn’s heart pounded with fury, but she refused to lower her gaze. “Over my grave, Lord Rhodes.”
The hall held its breath as the two stood locked in defiance, fire and steel.
“I can arrange that if that is what you prefer,” he said with a glint of humor in his eyes.
Gasps circled the room.
Hearing that, Rhodes said, “We should talk privately.”
Fawn opened her mouth to object, but his hand closed firmly around her arm. Without so much as a backward glance to his men, he steered her toward a narrow passage. The murmurs rose in his wake, but none dared follow.
The narrow passage smelled faintly of stone and old rushes. Fawn tugged against his grip, her chin high, but his stride was determined. “You’ve no right to drag me—”
“I’ve every right,” he cut in, his tone firm but with a sharp edge to it. “And you’ve made certain the whole clan knows it.”
They reached the door to his solar. He pushed it open and guided her inside, shutting it firmly behind them. The chamber was warmer than the hall, the fire burning bright in the hearth, its glow catching on the rough wood of the large table, jugs and tankards waiting there.
Fawn yanked her arm free and glared at him. “You may command your men, Lord Rhodes, but you do not command me.”
He studied her for a long moment, eyes narrowing. Bloody hell, if there wasn’t beauty in her anger; her curls a fiery tumble about her shoulders, her skin glowing, her cheeks flushed from more than frustration. A faint, sweet scent clung to her, herbs and something warmer, richer, as though the very air about her was touched by spring despite the winter pressing outside.
“You mistake me, Fawn,” he said, his voice lower now, roughened at the edges. “This is not about command. It’s about what is already settled. You will be my wife.”