Page 16 of Heart of the Hunter (Band of Bastards #3)

Hunter’s lips remained in a straight line for some time and Anora thought he was going to ignore her question, but then he said in an even voice, “I report to Hawk now. I am no longer…for hire.”

He didn’t seem pleased to admit the last and she didn’t pry. “Do you have a home?”

He gave her a wry smile. “Nowhere that matters.”

“Hm,” she hummed through closed lips as she contemplated her next question.

She studied his profile in the flickering light, noticing for the first time a thin red line running along the edge of his jaw.

He had a dark beard, always neatly trimmed, and the marring from the scar did not detract from his appeal.

Surely other women found him handsome, and she wondered, not for the first time, if he had a lover. Or lovers.

A pang of jealousy bit at her stomach at the thought of him with another woman—holding her, touching her, looking at her with those pale-green eyes that shimmered with bits of gold. If there were a woman somewhere who knew Hunter’s secrets, it would break her heart.

That thought startled her, and she almost laughed out loud at her own foolish hope that he didn’t have lovers.

Of course he did! It would be preposterous to think he didn’t.

It was one of the great advantages of being a man in this world, and another cruel fate of being a woman, having to bear all the risks of taking a lover.

There was no tell-tale sign that a man lost his virginity, no fear for them of getting with child, no ridicule for lack of morals.

In fact, the more feminine conquests a man had, the more he was lauded.

Never were they pressured to get married until they were old and needed an heir.

Yet women were expected to marry as soon as their bodies showed signs of being able to produce an heir. It was a miserable plight for a woman.

Men may not be forced to marry young, but that didn’t mean they were expected to stay celibate and alone, as was the expectation for women. “You must have somewhere—or someone—you call home. Do you have a ladylove? Friends, other than Red?”

She liked Red. His Viking friend was the complete opposite of Hunter: jovial, quick to smile, always laughing, his eyes twinkling with mischief. Hunter, on the other hand, was quiet, reserved, stoic, and avoided eye contact.

“Why do you want to know these things?” His brows drew together, and he looked truly puzzled, as though he could not understand her reasons for the questions.

“I’m curious about you,” she pressed, feeling only a little bit guilty about how uncomfortable she was making him, but she really did want to know more about him.

“You’ve listened to my father’s and Sumayl’s stories, and occasionally you offer a story of your own, but it is always sparse of detail. I want to know more about you.”

The first time she’d met Hunter, after he’d followed Red and Galiena into her shop where they’d come to seek refuge from a possible assassin, she’d been intrigued by him.

There had been a connection, a feeling of comradery, as they teased and cajoled Red and Galiena to explain why he referred to her as wife when they’d only just met.

The attraction between the Viking and her friend Galiena had been visible from the start, despite Galiena’s attempt to deny it, and Anora and Hunter had done nothing to ease the tension between them.

In fact, they’d both reveled in making Red and Galiena as flustered as possible about their mutual fascination with each other.

That was her first introduction to Hunter, and she’d been immediately drawn to his wit and charmed by the easy banter.

In the days that followed, she’d been touched by the way he’d taken Tommy Cutpurse under his wing when the young boy was forced to stay hidden in the smithy with them after he got entangled with the same assassin who threatened Galiena.

Hunter had been kind to the wary little street urchin, and Tommy had brightened from his attention.

When the danger had passed, Hunter took it upon himself to find a place for the boy to live that didn’t require him to find shelter in dark alley corners or work as a thief.

After he gained Tommy’s trust, he brought him to Hawkspur and put him to work in the armory where he could put his fascination with shiny objects to good use.

She suspected he helped Tommy because he saw some of himself in the boy, which piqued her curiosity about him even more. “Where did you come from, Hunter? Why are you always traveling alone?”

He turned toward her as she leaned back against the wall and folded her legs in front of her on the deep bench.

His lips parted slightly, and he turned away quickly as though he’d just been caught ogling something forbidden.

She watched his throat bob uneasily—another small victory that shouldn’t give her as much pleasure as it did—and decided she liked wearing breeches.

“There is naught worth knowing.” He said with a faint hitch in his throat.

“For an arrogant cur, you don’t hold yourself in very high esteem, do you?

” She said the words with a smile, lest he think she seriously meant to be spiteful—which she didn’t; she merely wanted to coax him into responding to her.

He may not like conversation of a personal nature, but she knew he liked to banter.

His eyes widened and his brows bunched together disapprovingly. “Arrogant bastard?”

“Perhaps I worded that too strongly,” she said with a tilt of her head as she feigned pondering her words.

“Perhaps,” he mimicked, his voice thick with sarcasm. “Though, to be fair, arrogant bastard is exactly what I strive for.”

“I should have suspected,” she said with a smile, delighted that he had joined in the conversation with more than just grunts and short, uncomfortable answers. “Tell me one thing about you that only your closest friends know.”

He laughed then, but the sound was sharp, like stepping on jagged rocks. “I would not call the men I know friends. They are fellow warriors, and they don’t ask questions about things that are of no matter to them.”

“Now I know you are lying to me. What about Red? You can’t tell me he hasn’t wheedled a secret or two from you. And I’d wager he’d not be happy to hear you don’t consider him a friend.”

“Red does think we are friends,” Hunter admitted, “and he probably knows more about me than most. But don’t tell him I said that.”

He smirked as he said the last, but Anora sensed there was true affection in his response. “Tell me something he knows about you that I don’t.”

“He knows I hate questions.” He looked directly at her and arched a dark eyebrow, as though he dared her to ask another, but he seemed more amused than annoyed.

She dared. “Do you have a sweetheart?”

“No,” he said without hesitation.

Anora had to bite her lip to stop the unexpected smile that pulled at her lips as relief flooded her.

She didn’t want a husband, and no man had attracted her attention until she met Hunter.

He did not seem to want a wife, but he’d admitted that she was a distraction to him.

Perhaps they were perfect for each other.

She felt her face flush with the audacity of what she was about to ask, and her hands started to shake nervously.

She’d already done so many fantastically outrageous—and highly exhilarating—things this night, why should she stop now?

Other women took lovers. Granted, they were often widowed and beyond childbearing years, but she didn’t want to wait until she was old to know the touch of a man. She wanted to know now.

And she wanted Hunter.

She clasped her hands in her lap to keep them from trembling, straightened her back, and lifted her chin. “I have something I want to ask you.”

Hunter turned in the stool to face her directly. “I’m done answering questions. It’s time you answered mine.”

“I think you—”

“No,” he said sharply. “The only thing I want to hear from you is an explanation for what you were doing at Castle Whyte prowling around in the baron’s private chambers.”

His commanding tone and stern expression definitely dampened her ardor. She studied him for a long moment, the flicker of the firelight dancing across his features as he waited for her to answer.

If she expected honesty from him and wanted to know the secretive man beneath the hard exterior, then she had to give him no less in return.

“Curiosity.”

Just not yet.