Page 30 of Heart of the Hunter (Band of Bastards #3)

H unter didn’t think he could withstand another night alone in the forest with Anora.

The sun hung low in the western sky, and it would be dark long before they reached Hawkspur Castle if they were to leave now.

The taverns and inns near the brothel were full of men looking for ale, women, and fights, and he had no doubt that if they tarried too long, Anora in her breeches would attract attention.

And trouble.

“Where are we going?” Anora asked as he led her through the streets of Shrewsbury to the side of town that was less rowdy.

“To find you a room for the night.”

She looked up at the sky. “Are we not continuing to Hawkspur?” Her voice was flat, devoid of her usual enthusiasm. She’d been distracted and subdued since they left the bawdy house.

“It will be dark long before we can get there.” He studied her, curious about which part of the last hour brought on her somber mood.

“But the sky is clear. It will be easier traveling than the other night.” Her hood fell back as she tilted her head up to scan the horizon.

The late afternoon sun lit up the delicate features of her face and the smooth column of her exposed neck.

Hunter looked around the lane to see if anyone else noticed that she was far too beautiful and graceful to pass as a man.

It was true; there wasn’t a cloud in the sky to be seen.

But Hunter was certain the moment he was alone with Anora in the deepest stretch of the forest, the weather would turn on them and they’d be forced to take shelter in another cramped hut.

Or worse yet, under an outcropping with very little to keep them warm.

He didn’t want a repeat of two nights ago when he’d had to endure the torment of having her within arm’s reach while he fought the demons that wanted him to give in to his desires.

“Is Madam Ruby good to the women?” Anora asked without preamble, catching Hunter off guard with the change of topic.

Hunter thought for a moment before answering the question, curious as to what her purpose was in asking it. “The women in her brothel are afforded more consideration than most harlots.”

She turned to look at Hunter, “Is that where women who don’t have a man to protect them end up?” The look on her face was a mixture of sadness, fear, defeat, and something else he couldn’t discern. But the earnest look in her eye as she posed the question told him his answer was of importance.

“Aye, some do,” he said carefully.

Her shoulders slumped and he stopped walking as she turned to face him. “I’d never put much thought into how women ended up as harlots. I assumed it was because they chose the way of life. That they lacked…”

He prayed she didn’t say “morals.” What these women did had nothing to do with what they thought to be right or wrong.

It was a matter of survival. But as much as it would irritate him to hear her pass judgment on the women, it was to be expected.

The society that did not approve of how these women earned their food and shelter was also the same society that condemned them with no chance of redemption because of a moment of poor judgment, a naivete that was taken advantage of, or circumstances over which they had no control.

“…the desire to marry,” Anora finished as she looked at some invisible spot over Hunter’s shoulder.

“I thought these women to be like me, wanting to determine their own destinies, but with a different notion of how to do so. But what woman would choose to be beaten and demeaned and treated so horribly?” She turned her gaze back to his.

The vibrant blue of her eyes had changed to the deep blue of a stormy sea.

“I cannot imagine those women yearn to be harlots in a bawdy house any more than I do, yet that is the life they now have.”

“It is not your fate, if that is your fear.” He knew Anora would never be so destitute as to turn to prostitution to survive.

Her father and Sumayl would never allow it to happen, and for as long as Hunter had breath, neither would he.

It sickened him to even think of her in that situation.

It had been years since he’d lived in a brothel, but the despair and heartbreak endured by the women who lived there would be with him forever.

“It is not so different from becoming the mistress to a despicable baron. Which will be my fate if I fail to prove Edmund’s guilt.

” There was a bitterness to her voice that Hunter had never heard before, and he noticed for the first time that her face had lost all its color.

“He will terrorize me until I have no choice but to relent.”

“You are not going to be anyone’s mistress,” Hunter said, more loudly than intended. He looked around quickly to be sure they weren’t being watched, then grabbed Anora by the shoulders and locked his gaze with hers. “That is not your fate.”

Her eyes grew wide with panic. “My father will not be with me forever, and if something were to happen to Sumayl, I will be at the baron’s mercy.

” She gasped for air in shallow sips, her gaze darting all around her as though looking for an escape.

“Edmund will be as cruel to me as he is the harlots he frequents.”

He had to get her some place private and away from the eyes of strangers.

He searched the lane, and seeing an inn on the other end, he directed her toward it.

The tavern on the first floor was smaller than the one below Madam Ruby’s brothel, and the clientele were of a quieter sort—mostly weary travelers.

“My companion is ill and needs a room,” Hunter said to the innkeeper as he slapped several coins on the bar. The woman was gray haired and stooped, but her eyes were keen and sharp as she inspected Anora leaning into Hunter’s side with her hood pulled low over her forehead.

“Let’s see yer face,” the woman said.

Anora pushed her hood back, leaving the cap in place, and looked at the woman. She was still pale, and though her breathing was under control, her face was strained with exhaustion.

“He don’ look too bad,” she grumbled. “Last door at the end o’ the corridor. Ye each get a bowl o’ stew an’ a crust o’ bread. I’ll send up an extra blanket. Ye won’t be sharin’ a blanket, judgin’ by the size of ye.”

“It’s appreciated,” Hunter said with a nod to the innkeeper.

“Don’ be causin’ trouble or I’ll ’ave me sons drag ye out by yer scruff.”

“Aye, goodwife, there will be no trouble from us.” Hunter turned toward the stairs built against the side wall and motioned with his chin for Anora to walk in front of him.

The room at the end of the corridor was cramped, perhaps half the size of the chamber he’d slept in at Frode’s home the prior night.

The furniture in the tidy room consisted of one stuffed mattress on a low frame and one spindly wooden chair.

A linen sheet was stretched over the bed with a folded blanket placed at the foot of it.

It was as he’d feared, only worse. They weren’t in a tiny cottage, or a cramped cave, but in an actual room with a mattress.

Of sorts. Still, it couldn’t be helped right now.

Hunter stepped to the side to allow Anora to enter, and the backs of his knees knocked against the chair in the corner. She turned in a half circle in the tight space, then said, “Makes the hut in the forest seem quite spacious.”

He laughed out loud at her comment, relieved that she seemed to be returning to herself, and was rewarded with a small smile.

“Aye, but I’d wager the food is better here.

” She chuckled softly, the sound like a balm to his hardened heart.

He tore his gaze away from the way her lips curved when she laughed and almost groaned when he realized the only other thing in the room to focus on was the bed.

She shifted uncomfortably, looking a bit lost, and he suspected she had come to the same awkward realization that the only other place to look, if not at each other, was the bed or the ceiling.

“Saddlebags,” he blurted. When she looked at him in confusion, he added, “We left them with the stablemaster. I’ll go get them.” She nodded and squeezed herself against the edge of the bed so he could pass. He stopped on the other side of the door and looked back at her. “Are you all right now?”

Her entire face softened, and she beamed at him as though the simple question was a kindness beyond measure. “I am.”

At her reassurance, he turned and strode down the corridor without lingering. The stable was on the other side of the village, and he used the time to remind himself that Frode had put his trust in Hunter to guard his daughter while they uncovered the truth about Payne.

He’d not squander the honor.

Which is why he’d spent the last night—while sleeping under Frode’s roof in the chamber that once belonged to his deceased son—thinking of all the ways Anora was like a sister to him.

He told himself that the bantering and occasional bickering were the nature of siblings.

He reasoned his intense need to protect her stemmed from the shadow of danger that hung over their first introduction to each other and forced him to guard over her and her family.

But then he came down the stairs in the early morning to find Anora preparing the morning meal, and she signaled for him to take a seat at the table as naturally as if he’d always been part of her mornings.

The ease and comfort of the simple gesture struck him with an unexpectedly strong pull of longing.

Longing for family. Longing for calm. Longing for the dependability of a home.

Longing for acceptance. But especially, longing for her.

He wasn’t surprised by the longing for her, but he was taken aback by the flood of longing for things that had never been a part of his life. Things he hadn’t even known that he wanted until that moment.

Things that were not meant for a man like him.