Total pages in book: 27
Estimated words: 25437 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 127(@200wpm)___ 102(@250wpm)___ 85(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 25437 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 127(@200wpm)___ 102(@250wpm)___ 85(@300wpm)
“You go ahead and speak with the choir members, Monsignor Hannibal,” I say, squinting into the afternoon sun. “I think I’ll explore the market for a while.”
There’s a flicker of irritation in his gaze, as he looks past me, but he ultimately nods. “Very well.” The corners of his mouth turn down. “I’ll catch up with you back at the rectory.”
“Great.”
I wait until he has turned his back to leave before I do the same, seeking out the red beacon that moves through a sea of mostly men, capturing more and more attention as she goes. Shoppers turn their heads when she passes, running lecherous eyes down her spine to her backside, licking their lips at the sight of her bare calves. She’s creating quite a stir and yet, she seems to be oblivious to the chaos she’s leaving in her wake.
“Do you think she’s for sale?” I overhear one man say.
“I’d pay a pretty penny for nice, hard lay with that one,” his companion responds, making a sound in his throat. “Never had a redhead before.”
“Shame you already spent all your coin on grain.”
“Aye, ’tis a shame.” He elbows his friend. “You’ve still got some change rattling around, maybe she’ll give us a two-for-one discount.”
My stomach turns sour at their laughter, and I walk faster, noticing the barefoot redhead is pulling on a scarf to cover her noticeable tresses. It’s a dove gray one, the same shade as her eyes, and it’s worse for the wear, but it helps take some attention off her.
A moment later, I realize becoming inconspicuous was her intention.
She steals a giant hunk of chocolate off one of the tables, hiding it among the folds of her dress, her gait never changing. The girl has only taken three steps when the man selling chocolate yells, “Thief!”
And he hoists a gleaming machete into the air.
The redhead’s eyes widen in fear and she takes off at a dead run, her accuser hot on her heels. Skin going clammy, pulse haywire, I think of that blade damaging her beautiful skin, her features contorting in pain…and I break into a sprint.
Not on my watch.
Chapter Two
Farah
Guess I’ve lost my touch.
The word thief rings in my ear as I run through the various groups of well-heeled men and women in the marketplace. There isn’t a sympathetic face among them. Only pity or outrage that I would steal something that doesn’t belong to me. Believe me, I wish I could pay for it with money. I wish that option was available. Don’t they wonder why I’ve stooped so low as to pilfer chocolate for my lunch?
I’m starving.
I also make bad choices, apparently, because chocolate isn’t really a substantial meal, is it? Bread would have been the more nutritious option. But it has been so long since I’ve had anything sweet. I was desperate.
I am desperate. Always. It’s my default state.
“Come back here, you filthy piece of street trash!” shouts the man, who is rapidly gaining on me. One quick glance over my shoulder causes my blood to turn icy. A sword is being wielded over chocolate?
Tears sting my cheeks, the wind freeze-drying the patterns on my face. I take a hard right into the field behind the market, keeping to the shadows of the clustered, stone buildings, mentally begging my pursuer to give up. I don’t have the strength to keep running and I can’t get caught. If I’m in jail, my aunt will have to use the last of our money to bail me out and then we’ll truly be destitute.
We’re on the verge of being destitute, regardless.
Unless I marry Mr. Tandy.
Mid-stride, I shiver, thinking about the older man who visits the shelter every day, asking to bring me on walks or leaving me expensive trinkets. At first, I accepted the gifts, bartering them for food later. When I realized Mr. Tandy expected physical affection in exchange for his gifts, I stopped accepting them. He persists, however, claiming he’ll marry me and bring me and my aunt to live in his big house. The very idea of sharing a home with the smarmy man makes my skin crawl and my aunt refuses to let me sacrifice myself.
But we grow more and more destitute each day, her illness not allowing her to work, and no local businesses are willing to hire a shelter girl who has no proper clothes.
Mr. Tandy is beginning to look like the only viable option.
“When I catch you, I’m going to chop off your hand!” bellows my hunter, his sword clanging off one of the stone walls. “That’ll teach you.”
Oh God, that last vow was made so close to my back, I’m as good as caught. This is it. I’m going to have my hand severed from my arm in a field and no one will care, save my aunt. Just another street urchin casualty. And I didn’t even get to taste the chocolate.