Page 47 of Heart of the Hunter (Band of Bastards #3)

H unter hated dancing.

He’d never understood the allure of it.

Until now.

He still didn’t like it, but the radiant smile lighting Anora’s face made up for the discomfort as he stiffly bounced on his feet to mimic the other dancers.

He liked it decidedly better when everyone released hands, and clasped elbows with a partner to spin in a circle.

Anora was laughing, her cheeks flushed with merriment, and he thought he’d never seen her looking more beautiful than at this moment.

He didn’t want the dance to end and almost protested aloud when she released him to join the dancers as they weaved in and out of each other in opposite directions.

He forced himself to move along with them until he was back in front of Anora and could touch her again.

The instant she put her hands back in his, he took advantage of the moment to spin her away from the rest of the dancers.

He had no desire to dance with anyone other than Anora, and he loathed having to share her with anyone.

Her smile broadened as he led her away from the crowd, but the fleeting reminder niggled at him that he did not deserve her, that he was a selfish man for letting his desire for her overrule his sense.

And then she leaned into him, and what was left of his self-control went up in flames.

He inhaled the scent of her skin, fresh and sweet like fields of flowers coming to life in the morning sun.

Or maybe it was her hair. Whichever it was, he wanted to bury his face in the crook of her neck and lose himself in it.

He quieted the voice in his head telling him to walk away from Anora before he did something that would only lead to regret and tamped down the nagging guilt that he was a selfish bastard for wanting her too much to save her from him.

Then her voice, unwavering as her gaze, asserted itself to chase that voice away. “Take me away from here, Hunter,” she said. “I want to go somewhere we can be alone.”

Without hesitation, he took her by the hand and led her away from the revelers and merriment.

Mercifully, the singing and dancing kept the attention of most of the people, so it was easier to escape the castle yard unnoticed.

And those who did see them leaving together were sneaking away for their own clandestine rendezvous and kept their eyes diverted.

They passed through the castle gates and walked a short distance down the main lane before Hunter turned off on the narrow path that led to the edge of the village.

“Is this your home?” Anora asked as they entered the small cottage at the end of the lane.

“When I am at Hawkspur, aye.” He’d left a small fire in the hearth when he went up to the festival.

It still smoldered. Now he released her hand to add some sticks to the embers.

They quickly caught fire enough for him to add another log, then use another stick to light the candles on the hearth, and the table.

Anora stood, watching him, but saying nothing as he secured the door then scanned the inside of the cottage—which consisted of a bed, one wooden chest, a table and chair, a small hearth, and very little else.

He wondered how it looked in Anora’s eyes.

She lived in a respectable home above the goldsmith shop, with private bedrooms and a comfortably appointed salon for the family to gather.

In comparison, his cottage hardly ranked higher than the rough hut in the woods where they took shelter from the rain.

She appeared emboldened, and began to roam the room, first touching the cloak and tunics hanging on the hooks next to the door, then proceeding to the mantle above the hearth where he had placed a stack of palm-size blocks of wood, a scattering of tiny swords, and the small contingent of freshly carved wooden soldiers.

An unfamiliar surge of warmth spread across his chest as she studied the way the handles of the toy swords fit snugly into the outstretched chiseled fist of a warrior, and he realized it was pride.

Hell’s fire! He was losing himself to Anora.

“Did you say something?” Anora said as she picked up one of the little soldiers, turning it over in her hand as she took in every detail.

He shook his head and scrubbed his hand over his face.

He’d not meant to mutter the oath aloud, but he was in trouble when it came to this woman.

All the defenses he’d spent a lifetime honing, the walls he’d spent nearly three decades building, were crumbling around him, leaving him far too vulnerable for his liking.

“I didn’t know about this talent of yours,” she said with a smile as she slanted her eyes at him. “What do you do with them?”

“They are…for the….” Why did he feel so awkward admitting he made the toys to give to orphans, street urchins, and any other children who looked like they needed something to bring them a modicum of lightheartedness in their lives?

“They’re for children who might need a diversion.

I make them when I have nothing else to do with my hands. ”

“How do you make the little metal swords?” She squinted her eyes as she held one closer to look at the detail.

“Sumayl makes them from the scraps in the smithy when he has time.”

“ Ah ,” she said with a nod. “I should not be surprised.”

She set down the armed warrior in her hand and let out a pleased exclamation as she picked up the figurine leaning against the back of the mantle. His breath caught in his throat as he waited to see if recognition registered when she looked closer at the carving.

“This looks like a fine lady. Perhaps Lady Alyce?” she asked with a smile. “Are these for her daughters?”

It wasn’t the lady of the castle he modeled the figurine after, but if she didn’t recognize herself in the carving, he wasn’t going to tell her. “I just started carving that, and need more practice, but I thought the girls might like something different than a warrior to play with.”

“Girls will think it lovely,” she agreed. Then she shrugged, her nose crinkling in that way he loved so much as she smirked at him. “They might like it more if you fashion her to hold a sword, like the ones you give the boys. Or, better yet, a bow and a quiver!”

Her excitement was contagious, and he couldn’t stop the laughter that escaped his own lips. “I will take your advice into consideration.”

“Do you always carry them with you to give to children?” She seemed genuinely delighted with the little figures.

“Aye, I always have a few in my saddlebag. But this batch is going to Lady Alyce for her children. Her brood has increased dramatically over the past months.”

“Galiena told me about the orphans they take in to raise as their own,” Anora said as she set the figurine back on the mantle. “She said there seems to be an abundance of orphaned children that find their way to Hawkspur of late.”

“She is not wrong,” Hunter said, stepping in front of the table to perch on the edge of it. He was itching to touch Anora, but sensing she was nervous and needing time, he curled his fingers around the edge of the table as he leaned on it, instead. “Lady Alyce has a soft heart.”

She tipped her head and gave him a quizzical look. “Usually that would not be a compliment coming from you, but your voice does not have the usual ring of disdain. Am I to believe Lady Alyce is tolerably respectable in your eyes?”

He laughed again and nodded once. “I have come to appreciate her.”

Her smile widened and she let out a throaty laugh. “High praise, indeed. Does she know that she has made it onto the very short list of people you like?”

“I didn’t say I like her,” he teased. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so contented. As much as he wanted to be near her, to touch her, he also didn’t want this easy banter to end.

She pointed a finger at the row of carved toys on the hearth. “I think this is proof enough of your esteem for her. You are not a man who uses his words to let people know how you feel. But you make it clear in other ways.”

He felt like the floor had fallen away under his feet, and he was grateful he was perched against the table, or he may have crumpled to the ground.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so laid bare.

He should be hating this moment, putting up his walls to hide what she could apparently see so clearly, but he didn’t want to do any of that.

With anyone else, he would have been horrified by this show of vulnerability.

With anyone else, he would have told them they were wrong.

But this was Anora.

Anora who had felt like an old friend from the first time he saw her that day so many months ago when he followed Red into her father’s goldsmith shop.

She spoke to him like they’d known each other forever and that it was perfectly natural for them to join together to poke fun at Red and Galiena.

She’d been the perfect combination of charming, witty, mischievous, and conspirator as they teased and prodded their friends about the obvious attraction between the two.

He was like a moth to a flame as far as she was concerned, constantly trying to get closer to her warmth no matter the consequences.

Anora, who always saw him for who he was and never looked past him like he was invisible.

Anora, who didn’t shrink from his foul temperament or believe him to be the heartless beast that he was.

She crossed the room to stand between his outstretched legs where he sat perched on the table, a soft smile on her angelic face.

Two thin braids of white-gold hair wrapped from her temples to her crown like a halo, and tiny translucent wisps floated around her face.

The rest of her hair was woven into thick plait that hung down her back and nearly touched her hips.

He’d watched the gentle sway of the braid when she was walking through festival and dreamed of loosening it to run his fingers through the silken mass.