Page 11 of Heart of the Hunter (Band of Bastards #3)

“U ngrateful bastard?” Hunter’s displeasure was apparent in the deliberately slow way he enunciated each word, as though speaking to a halfwit.

“Aye, you are.” This was not the Hunter she’d come to know in the two years since he’d followed his friend Red into the goldsmith shop.

He’d shared countless meals at her father’s board with the family, and in that time, she’d come to see him as a valued friend.

In the beginning, he’d hardly spoken, typically only answering in one-word grunts.

Her father and Sumayl had convinced her it was because he was shy.

For some time, they even suspected he was sweet on her, but she didn’t believe it.

But after a few months, he’d blossomed, talking more and laughing often with all of them.

Despite the change in his treatment of her in the recent months, the friendships he’d built with her father and Sumayl felt genuine.

Yet here he was saying they were fools for believing her more capable than a child.

“We embrace you like family when you are in our home. My father has told you stories of his life, of his time working as a decoder for King Henry, even of the pain he endured losing my mother and brother. Sumayl has taken the time to indulge your interest in blacksmithing. And you dare criticize them for thinking me a resourceful woman capable of more than just cooking the stew and sweeping the floors.”

“That is not what I said.”

“I believe you did.”

“I am criticizing you for lying to them, and for thinking me foolish enough to believe they would not balk if they knew the truth of where you are tonight.”

The truth of his words stung, because she had lied to her father and Sumayl about much more than just her whereabout this night.

She’d not wanted them to know that thieves were targeting them again, likely believing them weak because of her father’s and Sumayl’s advancing age and her station as an unmarried woman without a brother for protection.

Thirteen years ago, they had been victims of a thief who’d mercilessly knocked her mother to the floor where her head hit a sharp corner, and she’d died of the injury.

The stolen jewels, including a cherished ring and several pendants her father made for her mother, had never been recovered.

Out of respect to her father, the old Baron Payne had offered a reward for the capture of the thieves and provided the protection of his soldiers whenever her father requested in the years since.

When the baron died two years prior, Edmund inherited his title and assured her father he would continue to provide protection as his father had done.

But to Anora, he made the disgusting insinuation that she should become his lover if she wanted the full benefit of his protection.

She had refused, and the goldsmith shop was robbed not long after.

Their fathers had been lifelong friends, and Edmund had developed an infatuation with her as soon as she started to mature from a girl into a woman.

He’d been a boisterous and mean boy who made her uneasy with his attention then, and her apprehension increased as he grew into an arrogant and condescending man.

He’d even offered for her hand at one time, but she did not have any desire to be his wife, and she was sure he only wanted her because he thought her father to be a wealthy man.

She’d successfully deterred every offer of marriage thus far, and only Baron Whyte had persisted after her father had declined on her behalf.

Since she’d not found a man as worthy as her father of being a husband, she’d chosen to establish herself as goldsmith and provide for herself.

It wasn’t an easy undertaking, and the likelihood of her succeeding was almost nonexistent, but she clung to the shred of hope that she would find a way.

It was true, the women she knew who maintained their independence included the proprietress of unreputable business and vendors of goods that were less desirable to thieves than precious metals and gems, such as fish or bread.

But if those other women could find a way, so could she.

The theft of an important piece of commissioned jewelry from a locked chest in the shop workroom had undermined her confidence.

The culprit had boldly entered her father’s goldsmith shop while the village was celebrating Lammas Day.

Anora and her father had attended mass to witness the blessing of the first wheat harvest of the season, and Sumayl had joined them for the food and festivities held in the yard of the church.

They had secured the shop door with a heavy metal lock, as was customary when they were all away from the goldsmith shop.

The next day, when Anora sat down to finish the final details on the brooch, she discovered that her tools had been rearranged, but it was done neatly and deliberately, as though to ensure she would know someone had touched them.

Then she discovered that the brooch she’d nearly finished was gone—and only the brooch.

The heavy cask attached to the wall where it had been locked away for safety showed no signs of tampering, but someone had taken the brooch and left all the other gems and precious metals right where they were.

She knew her father had not opened the cask because he had not been in the room without her since she last put it away in the locked chest.

It was the first commission completely of her own design, crafted solely by her own hands, with the cooperation of the merchant who requested the piece.

It was an ornate brooch set with rubies intended as a gift for the merchant’s daughter to wear on a new cloak being tailored specifically for her wedding.

She’d been delighted to be commissioned for the piece because it could prove to be a great advance to her reputation as a goldsmith if the bride’s father—a prominent and revered merchant—was pleased with the result.

It was of the utmost importance for her to succeed in the assignment, and she dared not tell the merchant or her father that the piece had been stolen, lest she want to be relegated to sweeping floors again.

Instead, she’d used her own funds to purchase more rubies and crafted another brooch before anyone was the wiser.

The coincidence of Baron Whyte visiting the shop the day after the theft had seemed inconsequential—until he paid for services in Madam Ruby’s establishment with the stolen pendants.

If she’d found the other pendants or the brooch at Castle Whyte, then…

well, she wasn’t sure exactly what she would have done, but it would have proved, at least to her, the baron’s guilt.

The rain splattered on her face with increased consistency, and she wished she had brought extra clothing, but she had expected to be home in Oswestry, safe and snug in her bed by this time.

She looked up at the cloud-filled night sky, then she peered through the darkness for a heavier canopy of leaves to use as cover while they waited out the storm.

“It is true I was not honest with my father, but I have my reasons, none of which are your concern,” she said, some of the guilt tamped down by her belief that she only did what was necessary to secure her.

“Let us call a truce to get out of the rain,” Hunter proposed, nudging Willow toward the trail. “Follow me.”

She preferred to ride on, but the wind and rain were increasing steadily, so she acquiesced and followed him.

By the time they turned off the road again and veered back into the shelter of the trees, the rain was a blinding downpour.

Thankfully, Shadow stayed close to his master because Anora could hardly see Hunter and Willow through the solid sheets of rain.

If they became separated, Anora would be lost and stuck in the thick of the woods until either the storm broke, or morning dawned.

Shadow halted and a heartbeat later she heard a muffled thud as Hunter’s boots hit the rain-soaked earth. Anora slid from the saddle, her feet barely touching the ground before Hunter was there to steady her.

“This way,” he called over the howl of the wind and rain as he took her horse’s reins from her and walked into the darkness.

“Where?” Everything was pitch black because of the lack of moonlight shining through the dense clouds and she could hardly see her hand in front of her face.

She caught up to Hunter and grabbed a fistful of his tunic to cling onto him as he navigated his way through the forest. The leaves were thicker here but they were not enough to hold back the heavy rain.

She looked down to hide her already wet face from the downpour and shuffled along behind Hunter, squeezed between the horses he led at his sides.

“Are you sure you are not one of the Tylwyth Teg ?” she asked, baffled by his ability to know where to go in the pitch dark.

Above his head, a wall of black loomed and it appeared they were about to walk directly into the face of a cliff.

The pungent scent of wet moss and rocks filled her nostrils, and she could almost believe he was about to lead her through a gateway into the fairy world.

He chuckled. “Are you afraid of the fairy folk?”

“Perhaps,” she admitted as she remembered the stories her mother used to tell her of the little creatures and their mischievous ways.

He stopped and she bumped into the back of him before she realized raindrops no longer pelted the top of her head or splatted on the saddles.

She didn’t think it possible to get any darker than in the forest, but now she couldn’t see her hand in front of her face at all.

If Hunter abandoned her, she’d have no idea which way to go.

She didn’t dare move for fear that one wrong step could find her sprawled out flat on the ground. Or worse. “Where are we?”