Total pages in book: 119
Estimated words: 111362 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 557(@200wpm)___ 445(@250wpm)___ 371(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 111362 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 557(@200wpm)___ 445(@250wpm)___ 371(@300wpm)
Peter heaved a heavy breath, snorted, clenched his fists, and stomped toward Sorrell.
“That’s it, Peter, let your friends see how a wee lass beats you senseless,” Sorrell yelled out, never once thinking it would not end well for her.
Even the closer he got, Sorrell showed not an ounce of fear. All she could think of was what he had done to Snow, and she wanted revenge.
“Come on, coward,” she taunted with a wave of her hand. “You’re as slow as a crippled old man or is it fear that makes you dawdle?”
Peter sped forward and Sorrell hurried and reached down to scoop up two sizeable rocks off the ground. She eyed the exact spots where she intended to hit Peter and that would cause him the most pain, and grinned. Sorrell never missed her mark.
She tossed one rock in the air and caught it in her hand with ease, and smirked. This one was going to leave him with a reminder of why he should never bother Snow again.
Peter stopped so abruptly that he almost tripped over his booted-feet. After righting himself, he glared at Sorrell with a mixture of anger and fear, though more fear, his eyes going so wide, she thought they’d pop right out of his head. He knew she’d be the victor in this confrontation and how in the end he’d look the fool.
He took a step back, turned, and, with a wave for his cohorts to follow, disappeared into the woods.
“Run you coward, run,” Sorrell yelled, “and don’t ever come back here again!”
She waited until she didn’t see hide nor hair of him, dropped the rocks, then spun around with a flourish of satisfaction and slammed into something solid, stunning her. It took her a moment to regain her senses and realize it was a male chest she had collided with, an extremely broad and hard muscled chest. She raised her head, her eyes having to travel a distance upward before meeting the bold blue eyes of a man the size and width of a mountain.
Chapter 2
“Do you have a death wish, lass?”
Sorrell glared in the bold, yet icy blue eyes of a man so large that he seemed to consume the space around her. Half his face was hidden by a dark bushy beard and his dark hair hung down a distance past his broad shoulders. His green plaid with slim yellow lines running through it was faded and worn in spots as was the shirt he wore beneath. She was quick to spot the sword handle behind his left shoulder, warning her that a sword was strapped to his back. A quick glance down spotted another weapon… the handle of a dagger protruding from where it rested inside his boot.
What troubled and warned the most, though, was the iron shackle attached to his right wrist. It cautioned louder than words… prisoner.
“Who are you and what do you want here, giant?” Sorrell demanded, ignoring his query.
“Your tongue is sharp and demanding for a wee woman.”
Sorrell took a hasty step back, planted her muddy hands on her hips, and with a slight tilt of her head spoke with a stinging tongue. “You’re on my land, giant, and not by invitation, so watch your tongue with me.”
Sorrell couldn’t be sure of how he’d respond, since the huge man simply stared at her, not a scowl or warning, just a stare that told her nothing.
She had often been told that her mum had named her well since it was the sorrel plant she was named after and while sorrel could be refreshing it could also prove venomous. Many in the clan would attest to that. Rub her the wrong way, harm her family, and Sorrell struck with a vengeance. Usually a look and a stinging barb was enough, but not so with this man.
“What do you want here?” she asked again when he remained silent.
“Shelter and food for a few days, if you would be so kind.”
The deep tone to his voice was not at all threatening or commanding, but rather even-tempered, something that didn’t seem to fit his size. That led Sorrell to wonder what he was hiding, even more so that he wore a shackle on his wrist.
“Your name?” she asked.
“John.”
Sorrell doubted he gave his true name, but there was little she could do about that, except not trust him. The shackle was a different thing.
“The shackle?” she asked with a nod at his wrist.
“That concerns only me.”
“Not if you want us to be hospitable,” Sorrell warned.
His arm shot out so fast, Sorrell had no time to defend herself. It wrapped around her like the iron shackle attached to his wrist and she found herself smashed against his chest as he turned sharply. He released her with haste and swerved around, keeping his body in front of her like a shield.