Page 12 of Heart of the Hunter (Band of Bastards #3)

“It’s the horse shelter of a small hut belonging to the forest wardens.” His voice had grown louder, and she sensed he’d turned in her direction as his hand brushed against hers. “Take Willow’s reins.”

She did as instructed, then ran her hand over the mare’s neck in a soothing gesture, though she did it to comfort herself as much as the horse.

Nothing had gone to plan. She had not found the pendants, the brooch, or any other proof the baron was involved in the thefts.

She’d encountered Hunter and he’d forced her to leave the castle before she’d finished her search.

And now, there was little hope of returning to her home before the sun rose and her father realized she was not at the widow Griswold’s cottage.

It wasn’t as though she’d gone into this venture completely unprepared.

She’d crept out of the house each of the last three nights to sneak along the lanes of Oswestry as she practiced moving with stealth and passing unnoticed.

She’d even prepared a story about seeking out the baron as an old friend of the family for assistance with a private matter if things had gone terribly wrong and she’d been caught in the castle.

She knew Baron Whyte to be away from the castle, but she planned to feign ignorance of his whereabouts and use the long history between her father and the baron’s to her advantage, if necessary.

The steady beat of the rain was reduced to a soft patter when under the roof of the stable.

She heard the muffled scuffing of the saddle being slid over Shadow’s back then the gentle thud as it was set on a surface nearby.

Her eyes had adjusted somewhat to the conditions and she could discern the movement of dark shapes as Hunter and the horses moved about the small space.

She turned to her own mare and started to loosen the saddle but the squish of hooves as they sunk into the mud distracted her.

Did she hear Hunter’s horse leave the shelter?

Her heart started to beat harder in her chest as she turned to look for Hunter.

When she was safe in her bed under her father’s roof, she didn’t believe in fairy folk hiding in the woods, waiting to lure unsuspecting humans to their mysterious world.

But in the eerie depths of the forest on a moonless night that shrouded everything in inky black, she wasn’t so certain.

She strained to see what was happening when a dark apparition appeared directly in front of her.

Her good sense told her it was Hunter, but she still jolted at the feel of his damp skin brushing against her hand and let out a little exclamation.

“It’s me,” he assured her. “Give me Willow’s reins.”

“What did you do with Shadow?” she asked as she handed him the reins.

“Let him go into the forest.”

“Will he not get lost? Should we not bring him in here? There is room.”

Hunter snorted with what sounded like derision as he gently pushed her aside so he could get closer to the horse. “That is asking too much of even him.”

Puzzled by his response, Anora asked, “What do you mean?”

She heard him rustling with her saddlebags, then he pushed them into her hands.

“Hang on to these.” He turned away from her and continued to unsaddle her horse.

“With nothing to distract his attention from your mare, I’d spend the night keeping him away from her. He is better off outside on his own.”

“He won’t run away?”

“He wouldn’t dare.”

Anora believed him. Man or creature, not many would dare defy Hunter.

He had the countenance of a marble statue with his sharp, hard features that seemed perpetually set in a disapproving frown.

He was a rigid man who disliked almost everyone, from what she knew of him, though he seemed to harbor some respect for her father and Sumayl.

She heard the slide of the saddle over Willow’s back and the soft, repeated smack of the horse’s lips as she released the bit, then another muffled thud as the saddle was set over a plank somewhere in the darkness.

“This way,” he said into her ear as he directed her by the elbow.

The man’s ability to see in the sheer darkness of the little stable was uncanny. “How do you know where to go when I can hardly see my hand in front of my face?”

“You exaggerate.” He gently tugged on her elbow to stop her and then the swoosh of a door swinging open whispered in the night. “I’ve been here before. Step over the row of low stones in front of the door, then move to the side.”

“I do not exaggerate. You must have the eyes of an owl.” She didn’t step high enough, and her foot caught on a stone as he guided her through the doorway.

She would have fallen if he hadn’t caught her with an arm around her waist to steady her.

When she righted herself, her back was pressed against the expanse of his chest, which crushed the rain sodden fabric of her tunic against her skin and sent a cold shiver down her spine.

“Are you all right?” Hunter’s voice was low and soothing in her ear.

Despite the wet chill of her clothing, a warm tingle of awareness swirled low in her belly.

She’d never been held this intimately by anyone.

Her instinct should have been to step out of his hold, but instead she felt her body relax and she started to lean heavier into him before she realized what she was doing and stopped herself.

“I’m fine,” she said, peeved by her own clumsiness stepping over a simple row of stones.

If she were honest, also because of her reaction to his nearness.

She stood straighter as she spoke to decrease the number of places where her body contacted his.

“When you said stones, I thought you meant small ones.”

“Is that your stomach?” he asked as he moved her away from the door, his arm still around her waist. She heard him drop his saddlebags to the floor and push the door closed. “Because if it isn’t, there’s something large and intimidating already inhabiting the hut.”

She didn’t appreciate the sarcasm in his tone, or the way his hold on her made her body hum with awareness. “It’s been some time since I’ve eaten,” she grumbled, pushing at his arm. “Do you not have a flint to start a fire?”

“Aye. Stand still until I have the fire lit.” He released her, but his fingers seemed to linger as they trailed across her stomach.

Her senses were heightened and the pressure of his fingers felt as though they warmed her skin through the layers of clothing shielding her.

When he moved away from her, she felt exposed and unprotected.

His absence had pushed her off kilter just as much as his nearness, and she couldn’t seem to right herself.

What had come over her? This was Hunter, the man hardly spoke to her when he sat at her father’s table and averted his eyes whenever she joined in the conversation.

She’d thought he’d enjoyed her company and her opinions at the onset of their acquaintance, but the last months had suggested otherwise.

How could she be attracted to him when he obviously thought so little of her?

She shook her head in the darkness to clear it of the notion and convinced herself it was the cold and her grumbling stomach that muddled her senses and her emotions.

Within moments, a small flame danced in a pit in the middle of the dirt floor and Anora could see the inside of the hut from the light of the growing fire.

The room was sparse, as to be expected, furnished with a small table and chair in one corner, two low stools by the fire, and a wide bench along the entire length of the opposite wall that appeared to serve as both an oversized bench and a bed.

An iron pot hung on a hook suspended from a tripod centered over the small firepit, which was simply a ring of rocks in the dirt.

There was one long shelf attached to a wall that held candles, what looked like a stack of platters or bowls covered with a cloth, and some other odds and ends.

Beneath it was an abundant stack of logs and kindling.

The layer of dust on everything suggested it had been some time since anyone had used the space.

Anora blinked as her eyes watered from the initial rush of smoke, but then it lessened as the gray haze rose upward through a small gap in the ceiling of the hut.

“Are you not afraid of discovery?” Anora asked, though she was grateful for the heat as she set her saddlebag on the floor and crouched on a stool close to the little fire.

Hunter shook his head. “Smoke will be impossible to see on a night like this, and the rain will tamp down the smell of it.”

Her stomach rumbled and she hugged her arms over her midsection to quiet the noise.

“Did you not eat today?” Hunter was seated on the other stool as he broke a small stack of twigs into shorter pieces and fed them into the fire.

Anora glanced at him as she picked up her bag to unbuckle the top flap and said irritably, “Yes, but it was hours ago!” She had packed a bit of cheese and a heel of bread for the journey home, but she was much hungrier than she expected.

Granted, the activities of the night had proven substantially more vigorous than she anticipated, between the rats and the harrowing escape, and now she felt ravenous.

She reached into the saddlebag, then groaned in dismay when she pulled out a small bundle wrapped in a cloth sodden with rainwater.

Inside, the bread was a soggy mess, but the hard wedge of cheese looked salvageable.

It wasn’t much, but she would have to make do with it as it would be hours before she’d be home.

She was about to take a bite out of the hard cheese when she remembered Hunter.