“Not many men can tolerate her…” Snow scrunched her brow as she searched for a way to describe her sister.
“Powerfully independent spirit,” John said, having no trouble finding the words.
Snow smiled. “An accurate description of Sorrell. She has always been that way, even as a child. She often drove our mum and da crazy with worry. It was as if she had to learn for herself, no one could tell her anything. She had to experience it all on her own. The more she learned the more independent she grew. Mum would often say that it would take a strong man to love Sorrell, and she hadn’t meant in the physical sense.”
“Seth MacCannish isn’t that man,” John said before he realized it was not his place to say.
“No, he’s not,” Snow agreed. “I pray that destiny finds that man my mum spoke of before a dreadful mistake is made.”
“I should go. I have work to finish,” John said.
“Thank you for retrieving the branches and thank you for looking after my sister. I worry far less about her with you around,” Snow said.
Her words rang in his head as he stepped out of the keep to find a light snow falling. Winter was eager to arrive and he certainly couldn’t be here when it did. But if he wasn’t, who would keep Sorrell safe?
He cursed himself for letting himself feel for Sorrell. He had felt for no one these past two years, trusted no one. How was it he felt for Sorrell more than he wanted to? How had she made him care? When he had come upon her and Daggit in the woods and had heard what he intended to do to her, rage had soared in him until he had all he could do to keep from lunging at the man and killing him.
It was recognizing Daggit that had stopped him, and the courage Sorrell had displayed. She hadn’t shown an ounce of fear. She had thought all along that she would escape the man, though how she would have freed her leg was another matter. He had purposely let Daggit go with every intention of hunting him down and beating him senseless.
He walked to the smithy’s place and gathered the tools he had sharpened and took them to the shed where they were kept. By the time he was done, the snow had turned a bit heavier and the wind had picked up, swirling the abundant flakes around him.
No more work would get done today and with that thought in mind he headed to his cottage. He hoped Sorrell was tucked safe in the keep, resting, but somehow he doubted that.
He was proven right when he opened the door and found her in his cottage.
Chapter 8
“Where have you been?” Sorrell demanded. “I have been searching all over for you and everyone I asked had not seen you since earlier.”
He had never seen fear in Sorrell’s eyes. Not once, in any situation she had faced, had she shown an ounce of it. But he saw it now, her green eyes overflowed with it. Fear had gripped her when she had failed to find him.
Did she care that much for him? And was he going to keep denying to himself that as much as he shouldn’t, there was something that stirred feelings in him for this wee woman?
“It’s snowing?” she asked, realizing his cloak was dusted with it. She hurried over to him and pulled off his cloak, tossing it on the chest near the door. “Sit by the fire and warm yourself, then you will tell me where you’ve been.”
She wouldn’t let go of it. She would beat him with endless questions until she got what she wanted. He found her determination was one of the things he admired about her, since he understood it, possessing the trait himself.
Sorrell gave him a light shove toward the hearth. “Get over there and get warm.”
John went, letting only the slightest smile escape, and sat on the chair near the hearth.
“What happened to your hand?” Sorrell demanded, when she spotted the swelling. She reached out and took his hand gently in hers, looking closely at his injury.
Her fingers ran over his swollen knuckles so faintly it felt like a feather being brushed across them and he had to fight to keep his passion at a low stir. Unfortunately, it was a losing battle, since he foolishly spread his legs when she stepped to move closer to him, and she slipped between them as she continued to examine his hand more closely.
He cautioned himself to send her away now before it was too late, before he did something he had no right to do, but he ignored his warning. He wanted her close where he could easily see the swell of her breasts, their size a perfect fit for his hands and the way her hard nipples pressed against the wool cloth. He could almost taste the hard buds in his mouth and how his tongue would roll over them.