Page 62 of Heart of the Hunter (Band of Bastards #3)
A nora did not think she could sink any lower into the depths of despair, but she was wrong.
The cart had continued on the trail, despite the building storm, until they reached the yard of a small parish church surrounded by a smattering of small huts, one larger hut, and a barn.
They were unloaded from the cart and brought to the door of one of the small huts by a man garbed in priest’s robes.
Three of the guards took the horses and cart to the barn.
Anora was ushered through the door into the hut by Edmund, followed by Beatrice, Tommy, Clay Face, and finally the priest.
The hut consisted of one sparse room with two narrow beds, a table, two chairs, one chest, a few hooks on the wall, and a single shelf that held wooden cups, bowls, and a small kettle.
A larger kettle was hanging from a hook over the fire in the center of the room, the smoke curling upward to a hole in the center of the roof.
Her stomach growled at the scent of stew gravy as it wafted through the hut.
“Get warm, have some food,” the priest offered, though not kindly.
“I will be waiting in the church when you are ready, Baron Payne.” He was a tall, thin man with sharp features and a bald head, which gave him an ominous look.
There was nothing comforting or pious about him as he eyed both Anora and Beatrice with disdain, then ducked through the doorway and closed the door to the little hut.
“I had expected this to be a brief stop,” Edmund said. He pulled out a chair to sit at the table. “But if the rain does not end soon, we will not be able to continue to our next destination even without the cart.”
“And where is that?” Anora asked, unable to hide the contempt in her voice.
“A quaint little inn, just up the road,” he said with a sneer.
“Why would we go there?” she pressed.
“Donald,” he said as he motioned to Clay Face. “Fetch me a bowl of stew. And one for the lady.” He motioned to Anora to take the chair opposite him. “Sit.”
She did so reluctantly. Her instinct was to defy him, but she needed to be smarter if she and Tommy wanted to get out of this alive.
As much as it galled her, now was the time to acquiesce and save her defiance for later.
Her head still throbbed from the blow to the cheek, and she did not wish to suffer another.
Edmund jutted his chin at Tommy. “Grab a bowl of stew for you and Beatrice to share. Sit on the bed there and neither of you speak or move unless told.”
Donald ladled stew into a bowl, stuck a wooden spoon in it, and set it in front of Edmund.
Then he did the same for Anora but included a disapproving glare as he pushed the bowl toward her.
He filled a bowl for himself and sat on one of the narrow beds while Tommy and Beatrice sat on the other, passing the bowl and spoon back and forth as they ate.
Anora’s stomach had been growling just a few moments before, but the thought of actually putting food in her mouth while she sat across from Edmund nauseated her.
The way he watched her every move made her skin crawl.
Did he enjoy looking upon the damage he had done to her face?
Did it give him some sense of satisfaction? Superiority?
She turned her chair so that she did not face him directly, then picked up the spoon and forced herself to eat.
If she wanted to escape—if the opportunity presented itself—then she would need the energy the food provided.
She focused on the drops of rain that came in through the smoke hole in the roof and dripped down onto the fire to sizzle on the hot coals.
The heat from the fire felt good on her face, and she hoped the warmth would reach Tommy where he sat on the bed.
The poor child had not had the benefit of a cloak and was soaked through.
She shivered under the damp cloak and stood, aware of Edmund’s eyes on her as she walked across the room, untied the cloak from around her neck, and hung it on a peg, then returned to the table to force herself to eat several more bites of the stew.
When she couldn’t stomach any more of the bland concoction, she handed her bowl to Tommy.
He’d been pale and shivering when they first entered the hut, but the heat from the fire and warm food in his belly had put color back in his cheeks.
She didn’t dare say anything to the boy for fear Edmund would find some way to use it against her.
Instead, she gave his fingers a quick squeeze as he took the bowl, which he acknowledged with a small nod of his head while keeping his eyes averted from hers.
He truly was a brave and intuitive boy, and when they got out of this situation—which she had to believe they would—she would let Hawk and Lady Alyce know what an amazing young man they had working in their stables.
Her nerves snapped with tension, and she felt too jumpy to sit.
She stood with her hands to the fire and watched the flames dance as she tried to think of a way out of this situation.
Even if they escaped, she didn’t know where they were or whom to trust. The priest was obviously Payne’s man and would be of no help.
Edmund pushed up from the table to stand in front of her and extended his hand, palm up toward her. Anora looked at his outstretched hand, then lifted her eyes to his face and pinched her brows together in question.
“Come with me,” he said.
“Where?” she asked warily.
“To speak to the priest.”
“I have no need to speak to the priest.” Her stomach felt like it was weighed down with a leaden ball of dread. A ludicrous thought flit through her mind as to what Edmund Payne’s intentions were for wanting her to go before the priest with him.
Edmund narrowed his eyes at her as an undeniable spark of anger flashed in his dark eyes. “Donald, bring the boy and your knife.”
Anora jumped to her feet. “Leave him out of this, Edmund.”
“Does this mean you will comply, sweeting?”
She hated the sound of the endearment on his lips, and it galled her to do his bidding. “I will accompany you to speak with the priest.”
“Good girl.” His condescending tone sent a wave of repulsion to her stomach. He turned to Donald. “Bring the boy in case she thinks to change her mind.”
Anora bit into her lip to keep from panicking.
She had to keep her wits about her. The chances of being rescued were thinning, but she would do everything in her power to save herself and Tommy.
Hunter would find them. She had to believe in him, and she would do what she could to give him the time and clues he needed to get to them before something terrible happened.
Edmund took her by the elbow and tried to turn her toward the door, but she jerked her arm out of his hand, took her cloak from the hook, and yanked the door open.
She didn’t bother to put the cloak over her shoulders but rather held it over her head as a shield from the rain for the short walk to the church.
Once outside, she waited until Donald emerged with Tommy, then stubbornly extended the edge of the cloak to cover the boy’s head as well.
The act earned her a scornful look from Donald, but he did not deter her.
It was a small victory, but a victory, nonetheless.
Inside the stone church, the priest paced behind an altar covered with cloth upon which sat a large, ornate Bible.
He stopped and stood tall behind the altar to look at them as they approached the front of the sanctuary.
In one corner behind him a candelabra held about a dozen burning tapers which emitted light over the stark interior.
The other corner was draped with a curtain with one side tied back to reveal an elaborately carved chair and a wide stool.
Anora assumed this was meant to be a confessional, but she shivered at the thought of being alone with the priest in that little space while sitting on the stool at his feet.
Anora draped the cloak over her folded hands and turned in a circle to assess the rest of her surroundings. Tapestries hung from the walls on either side of her—she assumed to keep the rain from coming in through the window openings—and a long bench sat against the wall below each tapestry.
“Come forward, child,” the priest said, his voice devoid of caring, enthusiasm, or any hint of emotion as he crooked a finger at her.
Squaring her shoulders, Anora did as directed but stopped several paces from the altar.
“Closer.” The word was sharp and loud, a sure indication of his irritation with her.
She lowered her eyes and stepped closer, trying to give the impression of an obedient member of his flock.
Her situation was dire, and though the priest seemed an unlikely ally, it would be foolish of her to make an enemy of him as of yet.
“What is your name?”
“Anora, Father…” She realized she did not know his name and lifted her eyes in question.
“Father Osric,” he provided as he studied her face with a scowl.
She suspected the blow to her cheek had caused a nasty bruise. Already, the right side of her face felt tender and stiff, which made it uncomfortable to speak. She prayed that the priest would take pity on her and show mercy, perhaps even offer her sanctuary.
“Tell me, Anora, are you in good standing with the church?” His eyes shifted so that he was looking upon the unmarred side of her face.
Her heart sank. If Father Osric so easily ignored the proof that Edmund had beat her, then there was no hope that she could convince him to be her savior.
“Do you attend services as you should? Are you in need of confession?” His voice was flat and monotone.