Page 4 of Heart of the Hunter (Band of Bastards #3)
“Don’t dawdle while I have a flame in my hand.
” He ignored her questions and nudged her gently with a hand on her back into the chancel, then held the curtain wide as he passed through with the torch in his hand.
The confessional was built of wood and consisted of three compartments with plank walls on three sides and curtains at the front.
The center compartment belonged to the priest, and the other two compartments on each end were for the faithful to confess.
Hunter drew back the curtain to the center area and Anora let out a gasp behind him.
“What are you doing?” she hissed as she stepped close to him.
Her body lightly brushed against his back as she peered over his shoulder into the part of the confessional rarely seen by anyone outside of the church clergy.
He could feel her breath on his cheek when he turned his face in her direction, and he had to swallow hard as he willed his composure to remain intact while she stood so near to him before he could answer.
“This is the way out,” he said, then held out the torch in her direction. “Here. Take this, just don’t start the curtain on fire.”
She took the torch as she cocked her hip to the side and gave him a scornful glare. “I’m not a halfwit.”
“That’s questionable,” he muttered. She was smart, he’d give her that, but she lacked common sense, as evidenced by the fact she was prowling around a castle alone in the night dressed as a man.
She gasped with indignation, but before she could say anything more, he turned his attention back to the task at hand. Now was not the time to chat. Or argue.
He entered the priest’s booth and picked up the ornately carved chair with its cushioned seat and skirted legs, then backed out of the cramped space and set it aside.
The draped material at the base of the chair was more than just a lavish addition for the priest’s comfort; it also served to conceal the removable panel in the floor beneath his seat.
Most would never dare enter the priest’s booth and thus would never know there was a hidden door and escape route directly under his feet.
He pulled his dagger from its sheath on his belt, squatted, then slipped the tip of the blade into a notch of the panel to lift it.
“How did you know this was here?” she asked as though he’d just revealed a hidden treasure.
“Let me tell you the tale. It’s a long one, but a good one.” He didn’t know why he responded the way he did, but something about Anora brought out the unexpected in him.
She narrowed her eyes and smirked. “No need to be a boorish ass. I merely expressed a curiosity. Continue on.” She waved her hands as though she were shooing a child on their way.
At least she got the message. If he stopped to answer all of her questions along the way, they would never get out of the castle alive. Hunter removed the floor panel and leaned it against the confessional booth wall as the scratch and shuffle of countless scurrying little feet reached their ears.
“Are those rats?” Her voice hitched higher on the last word.
Hunter’s gaze snapped to her face, startled by fear in her question. She didn’t have the sense to be afraid of guards, but rodents terrified her? “Hand me the torch.”
She did as he asked, then backed away as he climbed down the ladder a few rungs and swept his arm in a circle to light up the room below with the flame from the torch. “They’ve scattered now.”
She did not look reassured, and her face paled as she shook her head vehemently from side to side. “I’d rather take my chances with the guards.”
“Don’t you have rats in Oswestry?” He’d not expected her to be fainthearted about rodents. They were everywhere.
“Aye,” she said, her eyes wide as she stared at the opening in the floor, as though she expected rats to jump out at her despite his shoulders filling the space. “But not in my house. Or the shop. Or even the smithy.”
“There is no need to be afraid,” he said in a feeble attempt to reassure her.
Her focus sharpened as her gaze snapped to his face. “Have you been bitten by one? They have teeth like tiny knives that are as sharp as razors.”
“When did a rat bite you?” There wasn’t time for questions, and he’d just chastised her for doing the same, but he couldn’t help himself. As common a sight as rats were, they did not often bite people who lived in homes as grand and tidy as Anora’s father’s manor.
“When my brother thought it would be humorous to hide one in my bed when I was a girl and it bit my toe, which swelled up the size and color of a plum and was painful to walk on for days.” Her eyes were wide with remembered terror.
Hunter tried not to laugh at her indignant tone and disgruntled expression. Obviously, she was still aggrieved by the event. “I won’t let the rats bite you,” he promised as he dipped his chin to hide the smirk he felt tugging at his lips.
She shook her head again and started to turn on her heel as though she meant to leave. “There must be another way.”
He needed to act quickly before she did something that would get them both captured.
From experience, he knew that one thing that always spurred a woman into action was anger—and the implication she was not capable of doing something.
He would bet his favorite dagger that Anora was no different than other women.
“This is why I work alone,” he muttered loud enough for her to hear, “and never with a woman. They lack the skills and courage required. Especially a woman afraid of rats.”
As intended, she spun around to face him, her lips set in a hard line.
“I agree. You are better suited to working alone.” She turned on her heel again, though more forcefully this time, and walked with determined strides toward the door at the end of the nave, which opened into the castle yard in full view of any guards on the wall above.
That did not go at all as he had planned.