Page 10 of Heart of the Hunter (Band of Bastards #3)

“Follow me.” He slapped Shadow’s rump as he passed by them to jolt the horse into a gallop.

“Keep low to his back.” Just as he said the last word, he heard the zing and thwack as an arrow lodged in the trunk of a tree to the side of them.

It was too dangerous to leave Anora behind him; he’d have to trust Shadow to know where to go.

Reining Willow in, he motioned for Anora to pass him and yelled.

“Take the lead. Give Shadow his head and let him go.”

Shadow was trained to ignore the lashing tree branches and scratches of the shrubs as he blazed his own path through thick forests, but the mare was built for easy riding on roads and travel-worn trails.

He decided to heed his own advice and let Willow’s head go as he clung to a shred of hope that she could keep up with the trained warhorse.

Again, he had underestimated the mare. Relief flooded him as she bound through the heavily wooded forest, instinct driving her to dodge around trees and thickets in the same jagged pattern as Shadow to make them more difficult targets for the armed guards.

Once the shouts of the soldiers and the thud of arrows as they hit trees faded behind them, he turned Willow onto a straighter course and dug his heels in hard to pass Anora, confident Shadow would follow without hesitation.

There was a little used road some distance from the main road to the castle.

It was a more circuitous route and the journey to Oswestry would take several hours longer, but they were less likely to encounter anyone, and Hunter knew the terrain better than most if they were followed.

They shook off the first contingent of guards that chased them, but it was only a matter of time before more joined the pursuit.

When they finally came upon the narrow road, which was little more than a well-worn trail, he turned toward the east. After they’d ridden some distance, he veered off the path once more and stopped the horses behind the cover of a hedgerow.

“What are we doing?” Anora asked in a low voice.

“Giving Willow a chance to catch her breath. And making certain we aren’t being followed.

” He patted the mare’s neck to soothe her, but her chest continued to heave from the exertion.

He looked up at the treetops, still visible against the scattered clouds in the night sky.

Raindrops pattered a steady beat on the leaves, and storm clouds moved across the night sky in their direction.

They didn’t have very long before they would be drenched to the skin and the light of the moon would be completely snuffed out.

“How far are we from home?” Anora asked as she lifted her face toward the sky.

“Too far,” Hunter replied.

“I told Papa I would be back in time for the morning meal. If I’m not back by the time they break their fast, Papa and Sumayl will be sick with worry.”

He didn’t want to think about the assumptions they would make when she returned in the early hours before dawn with Hunter.

As many times as he’d fantasized about stealing her away in the dark of night to seduce her, that wouldn’t be what happened this night.

Yet, he’d probably have to suffer the wrath of Frode and Sumayl as if it had.

He turned to look at the silhouette of her delicate face as the realization of what she said sank into his brain. “If you said you’d be back to break the morning fast, then they know where you are?”

“Not exactly,” she said, looking away from him.

“Where do they think you are?” Hunter knew, when it came to Anora, Frode and Sumayl were softhearted and indulgent, and would never suspect her of anything devious or misleading.

“I told them I was staying with the widow Griswold to assist her with an ill child and would be back late.”

Hunter wanted to clutch his forehead in frustration, but instead he breathed deeply through his nostrils to temper his response. “If something had happened to you, if you did not return, they would have no idea where to look for you.”

“They have more faith in me than you,” she said defensively. “They will trust I can take care of myself.”

“Aye, when it comes to helping a widow care for an ill child. But I can’t believe they would be so flippant in their concern if they knew you were sneaking around Castle Whyte intent on stealing from the baron.

And if they did, they are blind fools,” Hunter said, clenching his fingers into fists over the reins to stop himself from grabbing Anora by the shoulders and shaking a measure of sense into her.

Frode had already lost his wife and son.

Could she not comprehend what it would do to her father if something happened to her?

Even Sumayl would be shattered if anything horrible were to befall Anora.

In the thirteen years the blacksmith had worked for Frode, he’d become like family and doted on Anora like an adoring—and very protective—uncle.

A hollow feeling settled into his own chest at the thought of anything happening to Anora.

He’d felt an unwelcome jolt to his entire being the first time he saw her at the goldsmith shop, and from that time, she’d rarely been from his mind.

She was exuberantly stubborn, opinionated, audacious, and completely beguiling to him.

Even if he could not call her his own, his life was more tolerable because she was a part of it.

Never in his life had he felt the same about anyone else, and he was not convinced it was a good thing.

It made him vulnerable, gave him a weakness to be exploited by his enemies if anyone ever discovered the truth of his feelings for her, but if anything happened to Anora, the rage and regret would turn him inside out.

He would die trying to protect her because losing her would kill him anyway—even if she wasn’t truly his to lose.

Which she never would be, because she deserved so much more than a man so tainted with death and destruction that his heart and soul were nearly shriveled to nothing but dust and ash.

“Did you hear me, Hunter?” Anora hissed at him in a loud whisper.

“No. What did you say?” It wasn’t like him to lose himself in his own head. It was an affliction that plagued him only when she was near.

Anora huffed with an impatient sigh. “I said that despite your lack of respect or caring for me, I’ve never known you to be an ungrateful bastard toward my father, but it appears that is what has become of you.”