Page 14 of Heart of the Hunter (Band of Bastards #3)

H e’d done everything he could to get Anora out of his head in the last few months, but the more he tried to distance himself, the more she invaded his every thought with images of the way her lips curved into a smirk when she was about to say something witty, how she brushed the pale locks of hair from her forehead when she was concentrating, the glint that flashed in her brilliant-blue eyes when she was excited about something, and the way she focused her complete attention on him when he spoke, as though there were no one else in the room.

He prided himself on his discipline, his ability to focus on the task at hand and shut out everything else, yet he’d not been able to stop himself from trying to catch a glimpse of her whenever possible.

He’d stay away for weeks. Then he’d find himself near to Oswestry and at Sumayl’s blacksmith shop, which was connected to Frode’s goldsmith shop, where he knew he would find Anora.

He told himself he needed to see Sumayl to learn more about blacksmithing—an interest developed recently with a mind of one day turning it into a vocation when he was too old to be stealing into forbidden places in the dark of night to do dangerous deeds.

He’d assumed he would die doing his duty, but he had a growing fear that he may just get too old to continue—a fear fueled by recent close calls, one of which he still bore the evidence of as a thin scar along his jaw.

Like most old warriors, he would welcome death on the battlefield—preferably a quick one—but his skills took him away from the field and put him into dark corners and hidden nooks where he didn’t belong, gathering information not meant for him, and carrying out deeds that would solidify his place in hell when he left this world and went to the next.

But if he should not be so fortunate as to die a warrior’s death and be forced to endure a long life, he would need something to keep his hands and mind occupied.

And after years of wielding blades, who better than he to know what made one superior to another.

He tried to deny the other reason for his frequent visits, which was that some disillusioned beat in his heart wanted Anora to be a part of his future.

But how could she? Why would she? He was a heartless bastard who’d killed men he deemed deserving and not just in battle or a fair fight, but in the dead of night when they were least expecting it.

His soul was beyond redemption.

And unworthy of a woman like Anora.

They ate in silence, and when they were done, she held out her hand for his bowl and went to the sideboard with them, just as she’d done so many times in her own home after the meal was finished.

She set them down, but looked flustered when she realized there were no cloths or water to wipe the bowls clean.

Hunter stood. “I’ll take them to the stream to rinse them.”

She looked up at the ceiling where the steady rhythm of the rain pattered on the rooftop and raised a questioning eyebrow at him just as thunder rumbled in the distance. “You will be soaked through. Wait until the storm subsides.”

He sighed to himself as he bent down to pick up his saddlebags and thought a good soaking was what he needed to douse the fire that had started in his gut when she licked her fingers with her eyes locked with his.

The movement had been slow and sensual and immediately put fantasies into his head about what her tongue and lips would feel like against his skin.

Her little sensual display brought his control to the edge of its limit, and he would snap if she locked eyes with him in the same way again.

Instead of going out in the rain, he pulled his wool blanket from his saddlebag and handed it to her with a tip of his head toward the wide bench along the wall, and said, “Rest. Sleep if you can. I’ll wake you as soon as the rain stops or the darkness lifts.”

She took the blanket and smiled her thanks, then sat on one end of the bench, leaned her back against the wall, and stretched her legs out on the planks.

With a flick of her hands, she shook out the blanket and spread it over her as he put another log on the fire.

He kept his gaze averted from her and found a clear spot on the floor to sit with his back to the wall.

“There is room enough on the bench for you to sit on the other end instead of in the dirt. It must be cold.” She bent her knees and tucked her legs in close to her body to show there was ample space for him.

“This will do,” he said. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the wall. The cold, damp discomfort of the dirt floor was exactly what he needed to keep his mind focused on more important matters than the pointless temptation to seduce Anora.

“I cannot take your blanket if you are going to allow me the comfort of the bench.” He heard her feet touch the floor and the rustle of her clothing as she stood.

“It is nothing,” he said, his tone brusquer than intended.

She settled back on the bench and was silent for a long while, but he could feel her gaze on him as heavily as if she poked him with two prods. “What?”

“I did not speak,” Anora responded.

“But you are looking at me.”

“How do you know that? Your eyes are closed.”

“I don’t need my eyes to know you are looking at me.”

“Do you often sleep sitting up?”

“When required.” He shrugged and opened his eyes to watch her squirm as she sought to find a comfortable position. “You know you can lie flat on the bench if sitting up does not suit you.”

“It hardly seems fair of me to get comfortable on the bench when you are uncomfortable on the floor.”

The logic made no sense since whether or not she was comfortable on the bench would not change how he felt on the floor, but he decided not to point out that fact. “Who says I am uncomfortable?”

A mirthless laugh escaped her lips. “How can you not be?”

“A lifetime of practice.” In truth, he felt vulnerable when he slept lying flat.

He preferred to rest while sitting with his back to a solid object to keep him from sleeping too deeply.

It was easier to defend himself if attacked if he wasn’t completely reclined.

The habit started when he lived in a brothel as a boy and slept in whatever dark corner he could find.

One drunken attack by a patron of the brothel was all it took for him to learn the usefulness of sleeping light.

“Do you think the rain will stop soon? I would like to be underway as soon as it lets up.” Just as she finished speaking a loud clap followed by a peel of thunder sounded overhead.

“No,” he drawled, eyes lifted toward the rooftop. He wanted to be gone from here and have this ordeal over with just as much as Anora, but likely for different reasons.

“How did you know about this hut?”

“Been here before,” he said with a sigh.

Obviously, she could not sleep and wanted to talk, which meant no sleep for him either.

Not that there was any chance he would with Anora close enough to hear the rhythm of her breathing, let alone the fact that there was bound to be contingent of guards searching for them.

“Are you often in these woods?”

He rested his arms over his bent knees and turned his head to look directly at her. “Are you often sneaking around castles where you don’t belong?”

She turned her body to face him directly and curled her legs in at her side, repositioned the blanket to cover them, then returned his direct stare. “Before I answer your question, you must answer some of mine.”

“There is nothing I must do, save getting you back to your father before the guards catch up to us.” He leveled a narrowed gaze at her, but when she stared back at him just as determinedly stone-faced and tight-lipped, he relented and answered her question. “Aye, I am often in these woods.”

“This is progress.” She smiled triumphantly and her entire face lit up with pleasure.

The happiness that radiated from her because of something he’d done, even as simple as answering a question, made his heart pound faster in his chest. God help him, but he would do anything to have her light radiate on him again.

“Do you know tonight is the most you’ve ever spoken to me?”

“That’s not true.” He averted his eyes, his protest feeble. “We’ve supped together many times.”

“Aye, but you spend all your time talking to my father and Sumayl. I can’t remember when you’ve ever had a conversation with me, and you’ve hardly even acknowledged my presence the last few times you were with us.”

The warm glow from earlier dissipated, replaced by a stab of guilt.

He had ignored her of late and he felt like a selfish dolt because he’d done it to protect himself from the longing felt when in her presence, longing that he carried with him even when he was away from her.

He’d not thought his self-serving behavior might affect her.

In truth, he’d assumed she wouldn’t even notice the change.

Her gaze locked with his as she waited for his explanation.

Her eyes were wide, expressive, glittering like sapphires in the firelight, and he was mesmerized.

He didn’t want to look away from her. He wanted to lose himself in the depths of the woman behind those eyes.

And before he could stop himself, he answered honestly with words that were not meant to be said aloud.

“It is true that I do not acknowledge you, but I am constantly aware of you.”