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)
Her heart thudded hard, though whether in fury or something else entirely, she refused to admit. “You cannot simply decide such a thing.”
“Why not?” His mouth curved faintly, his gaze lingering where her curls brushed her cheek, where her lips trembled in defiance. “Do you deny there’s fire between us? I felt it in the woods, and I see it now, in your eyes when you fight me. You can lie to yourself, but you cannot lie to me.”
“You are wrong,” she said, her voice steady though her racing pulse betrayed her. “Whatever you think you feel, I will never be your wife.”
He stepped closer, his nearness wrapping around her like the heat of the fire itself. For a heartbeat, her breath caught, and her senses suddenly filled with him.
“You’ll learn, Fawn,” he said, his words a dark vow. “I never lose.”
Her chin lifted, eyes blazing. “Then prepare yourself, Rhodes of Clan MacBrair. Because you’ve already lost.”
Something fierce snapped in him then, her fire, her beauty, her boldness. Before she could draw another breath, his hand reached out grabbing firm hold of the nape of her neck, and he pulled her against him, their bodies colliding, and his mouth claiming hers in a hard, searing kiss.
Fawn stiffened, her hands going to his chest that was as hard as steel against her useless efforts to free herself. The world seemed to tilt, her pulse hammering as his lips moved against hers with raw certainty. Fury and something far more dangerous tangled deep inside her.
When he drew back, his breath warm against her cheek, his dark gaze held hers with unshaken resolve. “You’ll be mine, lass, and no denial will change it.”
CHAPTER 5
Her hand itched to strike him, but pride would not let her give him the satisfaction of seeing her lash out. Instead, she drew herself up, her voice sharp, certain. “Hear me well, Rhodes of Clan MacBrair… I will never wed you.”
Before he could say a word, she turned on her heels and hurried out the door. Murmurs of the men in the hall rose as she entered and rushed through it, her curls flaming about her shoulders, and Sprig’s small head peeking from the pouch of her cloak as if sharing her outrage. She did not slow, did not falter, until she burst into the cold daylight.
Her boots carried her swiftly down the path through the village. She ignored the stares, the whispers.
“His audacity,” she muttered under her breath, words tumbling fast and furious. “To command me as though I were a sheep to be herded. And to kiss me as if he had the right.”
Her breath came quickly, her cheeks still burning, but whether from anger or something else entirely, she refused to name it.
“It was not even—” she cut herself short, pressing her lips together as if silence could still the memory. He was infuriating. She should not be thinking of the warmth of his mouth or the strength of his hold, and yet the thought would not leave her.
The forest closed around her, its hush a balm after the press of so many eyes. Snow lay in light patches beneath the trees, and her steps quickened, eager for the solitude of her cottage. Sprig shifted in the pouch of her cloak, his head poking out as if to share in her indignation.
Catching sight of movement ahead, she slowed her pace.
An elderly woman sat on a fallen log, her cloak wrapped tightly about her thin frame, wisps of silver hair spilling from beneath her hood. Her shoulders curved with weariness, and her hands, knotted with age, rested heavily on her knees.
Concern swept through Fawn, and she did not hesitate, she strode forward, calling out, “Are you well, mistress? The forest is no place to linger in the cold.”
The woman lifted her gaze. Lines marked her lovely face deeply, but her eyes were clear and sharp, studying Fawn with quiet intensity before softening.
“I’ve walked far,” she admitted, her voice edged with fatigue. “Longer than these old bones should have allowed. I needed to rest.”
Sprig let out a tiny mewl, as though echoing Fawn’s concern. Fawn stroked his head absently and glanced back at the woman. “You should have shelter. The air grows colder each day. Have you no home nearby?”
The woman gave a faint smile, tinged with sadness. “No home now. No kin, either. I go where the path leads me.”
Something tugged in Fawn’s chest, an ache of recognition. She knew too well the sting of loneliness, of whispers that kept others at bay.
She sat down beside the woman, brushing the snow from the log with her cloak. “Then perhaps the path has brought you to the right place. I can see you settled in the village, if you wish it.”
The woman studied her again, her gaze moving briefly to the kitten nestled close, then back to Fawn’s open, unguarded face. For a heartbeat, sorrow clouded her expression, but it passed so quickly Fawn wondered if she’d imagined it.