Page 61 of Heart of the Hunter (Band of Bastards #3)

T he sun was beginning to set when the cart rolled into Welshpool, and Anora prayed they would stop somewhere for the night.

The longer it took them to get to wherever they were going, the more time Hunter had to catch up to them.

She kept searching for ways to prolong the trip and the inevitable audience with Edmund Payne—for she had no doubt Payne was behind this despite the silence of her captors.

The men who had walked alongside the cart when they left Hawkspur were now mounted, having retrieved their horses from a clearing in the forest some miles from castle, and now flanked the cart in the front and back as they rode.

There was one man driving the wagon, and one seated in the back to ensure Anora felt properly threatened every time she opened her mouth to speak or shifted positions.

Tommy sat with his back straight as an arrow as he stared straight ahead in an impressive display of bravery and grit.

Beatrice was huddled under her own cape, refusing to make eye contact with Anora.

Anora was stiff from sitting on the low wooden bench in the back of the wagon, cold from the heavy mist that had plagued them for the last hour or more, irritated by the particularly strong stench of the wet wool cape, and angry that her captor was quick to put the blade to Tommy’s throat anytime she moved or opened her mouth to speak.

Anora had asked to share her cape with Tommy, who had been shivering for the past hour, but the cruel man had refused, offering to put the boy out of his misery if the damp chill was too much for him.

From the corner of her eye, she studied the man in the cart.

In her mind, she had named him Clay Face because his features were distorted from what she assumed were too many broken noses and blows to the head.

His nose was flattened, as though someone had started to fashion it from clay then quit before adding any defining features other than a distinct curve where one did not belong.

His brow and cheekbones were prominent but oddly shaped with flat planes in unexpected places.

He looked to be similar in age to herself, and she wondered if he had a wife somewhere, or children.

If he did, he was possibly the coldest person she’d ever had the misfortune to encounter.

She couldn’t imagine anyone who was a father themselves being able to so callously threaten the life of a boy—and even draw blood to demonstrate his willingness to follow through with his threat.

There was a line of dried blood on Tommy’s throat where Clay Face had touched the blade to his skin to ensure Anora’s cooperation.

When they reached the crossroads in the center of the village, they did not turn toward the east in the direction of Castle Whyte as she expected but instead turned northwest on a narrow road that was not much more than a path, leading deeper into Wales.

She questioned for the first time her assumption that Baron Payne was behind her abduction.

She tried not to panic, but the thought of facing an unknown foe was somehow far more terrifying than facing the enemy she knew.

She’d never cared for him, even as a young girl.

He was arrogant, condescending, and spiteful as a young man, and becoming a baron had not changed him.

But, until recently, she had the mistaken impression that the friendship and mutual respect their fathers shared would protect them from any real harm from Edmund.

She realized how wrong she was in that assumption.

Regardless of who was behind the abduction, devising an escape for her and Tommy was paramount. And the farther they got into unfamiliar territory, the more difficult it would be for her to find her way back.

“Please, can we not stop to attend to matters of nature?” Anora asked, as she leveled an unwavering gaze at Clay Face, despite his immediate response of putting the blade to Tommy’s throat.

For his part, Tommy sat still with a look of pure boredom on his face, and a surge of pride in the boy’s bravery emboldened her.

“Unless you prefer I piss right here, which will make the entire wagon reek of it.”

“We will stop soon. You will have to wait until then.” Clay Face had a perpetual sneer on his face and a voice laced with contempt.

“Fine,” she said succinctly, turning to look straight ahead again.

“But not too long or we will all regret it.” She had kept quiet to this point because she feared for Tommy, but she would not cower in front of these men.

And the moment she could get Tommy away from them and to safety, she would be done cooperating.

Clay Face was true to his word; they stopped a short while later at the side of the trail next to a clearing.

Dusk was turning everything pale and shrouded, but she could see a single horse hobbled and grazing while its master rested against the trunk of a tree.

As the man stood and walked toward them, Anora recognized the distinctive swagger of Edmund Payne.

“I was right,” Anora snapped, pushing to her feet in the cart. “It was you.”

Clay Face jumped to his feet at the same time, pulling Tommy up with him, but Edmund held up a hand to stay the man before he did anything stupid, much to her relief.

Perhaps there was hope of getting out of this alive.

“Tell me, Anora, what do you think this is?” Edmund’s voice was steady, and cold as ice.

She glared at him for a long moment, then perched on the side of the wagon, swung her legs over and dropped to the ground in front of him.

The action made sparks shoot up her legs, made numb by hours in the wagon, but she refused to let her discomfort show.

“At the very least, it is an abduction. What right do you have to do this?” Her indignation over the matter far outweighed her fear of the situation in this moment.

“Have you forgotten?” he said with cool indifference. “I am a baron. A noble lord from a noble birth.” He prowled slowly but steadily toward her. “You, Anora, are not noble. The daughter of a rich merchant? Yes. Beautiful? Yes. But not of the same class. Unless I choose to make you a noblewoman.”

“That does not give you the right to abduct me by force,” Anora reminded him. She had no idea what he was trying to prove with his little speech, but even a nobleman was not above the laws of the realm.

“And who is going to naysay me on your behalf?” He stepped menacingly closer to her as he spoke.

Anora noticed the fine lines that had begun to form on his face, and that the hair at his temples streaked with strands of silver, in sharp contrast to the rest of his dark hair, which he kept neatly shorn close to his skull.

In every way, he was Hunter’s opposite: short hair that did not touch even his ears in contrast to Hunter’s hair that hung to his shoulders and curved around his face; sharp features that made Edmund appear imperious compared to Hunter’s rugged handsomeness; eyes that were black and cold and so dissimilar from Hunter’s warm green eyes flecked with gold and rimmed in dark lashes.

Everything about Edmund was sharp, scornful, and repulsive, making Anora’s skin crawl as he stalked closer to her.

“Perhaps you believe your lover will save you. He is your lover, is he not?” His tone was almost pleasant but still made her skin crawl.

When he was within arm’s reach of her, he tipped his head to the side and arched a thick eyebrow at her.

“Hunter, is that his name?” He flicked his hand dismissively.

“It is of no matter. He is nothing more than a hired sword arm. Expendable. Worthless. Someone paid to do his lord’s bidding.

” His upper lip curled as though he was referring to the filthy vermin that scurry around in the sewage. “Someone who will not be missed.”

Anora felt her knees shake beneath her gown, and her stomach twisted in apprehension. That she would feel terrorized by this man vexed her because that was exactly what he wanted from her: fear.

She would not give it to him.

But she could give Hunter time by stalling their progress for as long as possible.

She had faith he’d find her, and she planned to do everything in her power to hinder Edmund and aid Hunter.

Squaring her shoulders and leveling her haughtiest stare at him, she said, practically spitting the words, “I don’t need some man to naysay on my behalf.

I speak for myself. Tell me your reason for this and be done with it. What is it you want?”

He laughed then, a sinister, mirthless laugh. “You, Anora. You know that. You are a fine trophy and would make me the envy of every nobleman who did not deem me noble enough to marry any of their daughters. I’ve decided mistress is no longer enough for my purposes.”

“I do not want you. That was made clear the first time I refused your proposal.” He was insane if he thought she would marry him after all that he had done to her family.

“That matters not to me,” he said with a shrug of his shoulders. “What matters to me is that I will get you as wife and your fortune when your father dies—”

Anora gasped. “How dare you be so callous about a man who treated you like a son?”

“He tolerated me, just as my father did. Do you know how many times I had to listen to my father compare me to your brother? Baldwin could do no wrong in his eyes.”

“Baldwin, unlike you, was an honorable man.” Anora took a step backwards to put more distance between her and Edmund. “As was your father.”

“They were weak men. Baldwin is dead, as is my father, and your father has one foot in the grave already.”

“He is still a better man than you could ever be.”

“Enough,” Edmund spat. “If your Hunter is on his way, then we must go now. I will best him, but I would sooner do it at Castle Whyte. Lord Hawk cannot pursue retribution if I kill the man while defending my fortress.”

“You could never best Hunter,” she hissed between gritted teeth.

The dusk had nearly turned to darkness, which made it harder to see the expression on Edmund’s face in response to her words.

It also made it harder for her to see the hand that he lifted and cracked across her face with the speed of lightning.

The sound and vibration reverberated in her head as she stood in stunned confusion while she willed her knees not to buckle.

Her cheek bone felt like it had shattered into a thousand pieces, the pain blurred her vision, and she could taste blood on her lip.

A chill ran down her spine as she looked at Edmund. She hadn’t wanted to truly believe it before when she’d seen the beaten Beatrice, but now she was certain the man standing in front of her was capable of killing her mother. And he would not hesitate to kill her.

The buzzing in her ears subsided and the scraping sounds of a scuffle behind her penetrated her brain. She turned to see Tommy as he struggled to climb over Clay Face, who put an end to the outburst with a swift cuff to his ear.

“I am all right, Tommy,” she said in a low voice.

“Get back in the wagon,” Edmund ordered as he flexed the fingers of his offending hand.

“Where are you taking us?” she asked as she gingerly touched her jaw and cheek to assess the damage. Thankfully, nothing felt broken despite everything in her head feeling like it had exploded.

“Get in the wagon and you will find out.” When she didn’t move quick enough for Edmund’s liking, he took a step toward her. “Would you like me to throw you in the wagon myself?”

Anora did not want the odious man to touch her.

She turned back to the cart and leveled a glare at Clay Face.

“Move your legs so I may gain access.” She waited until he bent his legs and moved them out of the way so she could clumsily climb onto the cart.

She gave Tommy a small smile of reassurance, then moved to the front of the cart and plopped down on the bench.

Thunder rolled in the sky overhead and raindrops spattered on her face.

The cart jerked as the horse resumed his course on the trail.

A hollow, hopeless feeling settled in her bones as the rain progressed from sprinkles to steady, solid sheets of water.

It soaked her head and ran in cold streams down her neck, but she did nothing to stop it, just as she did nothing to stop the disconsolate tears that streamed down her cheeks.