Page 31 of Heart of the Hunter (Band of Bastards #3)
It would only be a matter of time before he got restless and needed to escape the confines of a home and the pressures of pretending to be a man he wasn’t.
He could feign civility in the presence of others for some days, maybe even weeks, but then the demons started to claw at his insides, and he had to withdraw until he had them under control again. His was not a life meant to be shared.
By the time he retrieved the bags and returned to the inn, his head was clearer, and his focus was sharp.
Until Anora opened the door at his knock and all the sense he’d talked himself into his head disappeared like smoke.
After two years, he knew her face, her smile, her voice better than anyone else’s; yet she could still cause his breath to catch in his throat at the most unexpected of times.
She’d removed her cap and the hair that worked loose from her braid framed her face in soft waves of white gold.
Heaven was another place not meant for a man like him, but he couldn’t imagine the angels in heaven could be any more breathtaking than Anora was in this moment.
He stepped into the room and set the saddlebags against the wall. “Next time, bar the door,” he said, his voice gruff with irritation that he directed at her but that was meant purely for himself. “And don’t open it for anyone but me.”
“I didn’t think anyone with nefarious intentions would knock first,” she said cynically with a tip of her head as she raised her eyebrows at him.
“Are you hungry?” he asked, knowing it was best to feed her before she got any crankier. But to be fair, he could be the reason for her brusqueness considering he barged in and immediately started giving her commands—which he knew she hated.
“Yes, I am hungry.” She reached for the cap she’d discarded on the bed, but he stopped her.
“I’ll bring food to the room,” he said with a shake of his head. “You draw too much attention. You might look like a tall, lanky lad at first glance, but it’s only a matter of time before someone gets suspicious and causes trouble.”
She jutted a hip to the side and flopped the hat down on the bed. “Are we to be trapped in this little room until we leave?”
Hunter winked at her and gave her his best smirk. “Not we , angel. You.”
Her mouth gaped open to respond, but then she snapped her lips closed and looked at him with wary confusion.
“And please tell me you packed something else to wear in your saddlebag. You’re not much less of a distraction in a gown, but I’ve taken all I can of you wearing breeches.
” Hell’s demons! He hadn’t meant to wink, or to sound so…
flirtatious. But it was done, and the best thing for him to do was to leave before she had asked him what he meant by his witless comments.
He turned on his heel and left, then waited after pulling the door shut until he heard the sound of the bar being dropped in place.
He took his time in the tavern, drinking a large tankard of ale to clear the wayward thoughts of the woman upstairs from his mind before collecting the plate of cold meat, cheeses, and bread, along with a flask of wine on a tray to carry up to the room.
He felt like a battered fighter heading back into the fray of a battle that he was quickly losing as he went back to face Anora again.
“It’s me,” he called as he pounded lightly on the door of the room with the toe of his boot.
The satisfying sound of the wood bar scraping along the door frame reached his ears as he waited for Anora to let him in. She pulled the door open then squeezed herself into the corner between the door and the bed to allow him to enter with the food.
“It would appear the bed is the only place to set the tray.” She closed the door and put the bar back into the place.
He set the tray in the center of the bed, then pulled the only chair near and motioned to Anora to sit while he perched on the edge of the mattress, stretching his legs out in front of him. “Eat,” he suggested as he poured wine into one of the wooden cups.
She broke off a piece of cheese and popped it into her mouth. “Do you know Rose and Beatrice…well?”
The abruptness of her questions with no warning as to what she might say still caught him off guard after all this time—which was surprising considering he did not care for the meaningless talk most people engaged in for the sake of politeness. “Well enough,” he answered hesitantly.
“Intimately well?”
She certainly was not afraid to pry into matters most would think too personal in nature to discuss.
He chewed on a hunk of cheese as he looked at her trying to discern what her purpose was in asking this question.
Her face was serene and her eyes curious as she patiently waited for his answer. He shifted uncomfortably anyway. “No.”
She brought the cup of wine to her lips and took a sip, seeming to let the liquid sit on her tongue before finally swallowing it.
He tried not to focus on the slow, deliberate act but he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the way her lips pursed as she savored the taste.
He clenched his teeth and turned his attention back to his own food.
“Your sudden discomfort would say otherwise, Hunter,” she said in a soft voice.
He looked at her to see if she was mocking him, but the slight tip of her head and the earnest set to her eyes appeared sincere.
“I am merely curious. I know I should not pry, but there is so much I do not understand about you. And…about things .”
Hunter nearly choked on the bread in his mouth when she said the last. Surely, she was not asking him about the intimacies that happen between a man and a woman.
He liked it better when she was irritated and combative, and he wished they could return to that instead of this quiet, easy way of conversing.
He cleared his throat. “I do not think you are expected to understand.”
“That is the problem, is it not?” She let out a long sigh.
“Why is everything meant to be such a mystery for women? We would be much better prepared for…” She circled her hand in the air as she looked for the right words.
“For men and children and life . If only men didn’t think they should keep secrets. ”
“I believe that is the duty of a husband, to educate his wife on those…matters.” It felt like he was chewing on sawdust as he said the last because he didn’t completely disagree with her statement. Much heartache and pain would be avoided if women were less na?ve and vulnerable.
“But what if a woman doesn’t want a husband? Is she to remain in the dark about these things?”
He couldn’t imagine many things more tortuous than having to explain to her the intimacies shared between men and women because it would mean voicing all the things he wanted to do with her without being able to touch her.
“If you do not desire a husband, then all you need know is that men are brutes and to never let them get you alone.”
Her lips quirked into a coy grin. “And if a person should fail in following that rule?” She looked around the small, barred chamber as she asked the question, and the irony of his words, considering her current situation, became abundantly clear.
“You think me a brute?” He arched an eyebrow but kept his tone light to match hers.
She shook her head then took a drink of the wine. “I think you try to pass yourself as a brute but at your core you are a kind and honorable man.”
He nearly choked on the bread he was swallowing.
No one had ever referred to him as either kind or honorable and her assessment shook him to his core—firstly, because there was a slew of dead men who would not agree with that description of him, and secondly, because he did not agree with it, either.
He was sullen, cynical, and mistrustful, and truthfully did not like most people.
Beyond that, he was a killer—through acts of war or necessity arising from loyalty to others, not because he enjoyed it—but even so.
He was not a good man and his soul, he was sure, was blackened and singed by Hell’s fire.
As much as it swelled his chest with pride to hear her say it, and as much as he wanted to be what she believed him to be, he was neither honorable nor kind.
“You overestimate me,” he said in a low voice, unable to look at her face as he spoke for fear the inevitable disappointment would crush him.
“I think there is much more to you than you want people to know,” Anora said.
“The women at the brothel genuinely like you. They went out of their way to speak to you, and they did not seem to be flirting. They have true affection for you, and I would wager they do not have affection for most of the men they”—she blushed yet straightened her shoulders and forged ahead—“service.”
Hunter stared at her for a long moment, wanting to tell her the truth, that he didn’t go for the services they offered, but rather to offer them respite.
He could not save them, just as he could not save his mother, or any of the other women who’d tried to protect him as a child born to a harlot and raised in a brothel.
But he could provide food, clothing, and coin to buy them a night of rest. And when men were habitually cruel in their sadistic demands, he could stop them from ever bothering the women again.
Dead men could do no harm.
As much as he wanted to save the women from the life they were forced to live, he knew that without the coin they earned, they would be forced to beg in the streets and be subjected to far worse.
At least in a brothel, they had shelter, food, and a family—of sorts.
“I don’t go to the brothel for the reasons you think. ”
She tipped her head and gave him a puzzled look. “Not for…”