Forever Moore (Forbidden Love #2) Read online

  Forever Moore

  Christina Lee

  Riley Hart

  Copyright © 2019 by Christina Lee and Riley Hart. All rights reserved.

  Thank you for buying an authorized edition of this book and for complying with copyright laws by not reproducing, scanning, or distributing any part of it in any form without prior written permission by the author(s), except where permitted by law.

  Forever Moore is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  All products and/or brand names mentioned are registered trademarks of their respective holders/companies.

  Published by Christina Lee and Riley Hart in the United States of America

  Cover Design/Illustration by Sarah Jo Chreene

  Edited by Keren Reed

  Proofreading services provided by Lyrical Lines and Judy’s Proofreading

  Blurb

  With his raven hair and snow-white skin, Lord Ansil Eirwin draws unwanted attention wherever he goes. After his father’s untimely death, Ansil is set to become Duke of Ravenswood on his next birthday. The gallant and timid lord would never dream of shirking responsibility, so he subverts his desires in order to please his mother and new stepfather, Reginald.

  Orien Moore, known as the Huntsman, lives on the fringes and has forsaken close bonds with anyone, even the misfits he has taken in. When Orien is called upon by his brother, Reginald, to kill the pampered future duke, it is the perfect opportunity to seek revenge against his power-hungry brother. Orien formulates a plan to use Reginald’s vicious request to his advantage by kidnapping Ansil and holding him hostage until he can fulfill his birthright.

  Soon Orien realizes that Ansil is nothing like he’d expected. Kind and joyful, Ansil enchants Orien and his ragtag group. And Ansil, in turn, cannot help but be curious about the gruff huntsman as Orien’s vulnerabilities are exposed. Their mutual interest transforms into affection, followed by overwhelming desire. But they are living on borrowed time.

  With Reginald seeking power in Ravenswood, they have no way of knowing what will transpire once Orien returns Ansil to his proper place in society. The only certainty is that the odds are stacked against them. Will the young lord and his huntsman ever have the chance to experience the happily ever after they have found in each other’s arms?

  ***PLEASE NOTE: FOREVER MOORE is a romantic fairy tale—minus the magic—that features one reluctant lord, one brooding huntsman, and plenty of angsty, forbidden love. It’s loosely based on a treasured fairy tale in a make-believe setting that isn’t part of any specific time period and doesn’t play by any traditional rules.

  Contents

  1. Orien

  2. Ansil

  3. Orien

  4. Ansil

  5. Orien

  6. Ansil

  7. Orien

  8. Ansil

  9. Orien

  10. Ansil

  11. Orien

  12. Ansil

  13. Orien

  14. Ansil

  15. Orien

  16. Ansil

  17. Orien

  18. Ansil

  19. Orien

  20. Ansil

  21. Orien

  22. Ansil

  23. Orien

  24. Ansil

  25. Orien

  26. Ansil

  27. Orien

  28. Ansil

  29. Orien

  30. Ansil

  31. Orien

  32. Ansil

  33. Orien

  34. Ansil

  35. Orien

  36. Ansil

  37. Orien

  38. Ansil

  39. Orien

  40. Ansil

  41. Orien

  42. Ansil

  Thank You for reading Forever Moore

  About Christina Lee

  Other Books by Christina Lee

  About Riley Hart

  Other Books by Riley Hart

  You might also enjoy Ever After: A Gay Fairy Tale

  An Excerpt from Of Sunlight and Stardust

  1

  Orien

  Orien Moore focused on the crunch of snow beneath his feet as he walked through the woods. He was surrounded by trees that looked as though they reached the sky and maybe beyond, with barren limbs typical of the long winter season.

  He despised being so close to Ravenswood, even though the horseback ride into the village was still an hour away. He’d vowed never to step on Ravenswood grounds again, and it was a promise he planned to keep.

  He gritted his teeth as thoughts of his life there attempted to muddy his brain—his brother, father…his mother. Christ, what she had endured… Orien forced those memories into the dark recesses of his mind. He would not give them power over him at the moment. Not with where he was going. No, he must keep a clear head, as he did not know what to expect.

  He had left his horse, Valkyrie, tied to a tree, a few yards back. He had instructed Gaius, his truest friend and the person he trusted most in the world, to meet him there in an hour’s time. Gaius did not know Orien had planned to go earlier without him, or he would have fought Orien on it. But Orien would not allow Gaius or his horse to fall prey if this was a trap. He could sacrifice himself but not them. Gaius would care for Valkyrie and the others if it came to that.

  Though truly, he did not believe it to be a trap. On his own, Reginald was not brave enough to attack him, yet Orien also knew no other would be at the small cabin Reginald summoned him to through Gaius. He was too proud for that. When Orien had returned his intent to meet with Reginald, he had changed the time of the reunion without Gaius’s knowledge.

  Orien heard a neigh and looked back at this Thoroughbred, who was watching him, not happy about being left behind. He did not fear leaving Valkyrie tied to the tree, for it was common knowledge she belonged to the Huntsman, and for that alone, none would take her. She would not allow herself to be taken easily either.

  With each step he took, the bitter taste of bile on his tongue became stronger, now not so much because he was closer to Ravenswood, but because he was nearer to Reginald.

  He was not surprised when the door to the old cabin opened as he approached. There were holes in the wood, the years having had more effect on the structure than Orien had considered. It had belonged to his family, and where he had gone with his mother when… Again, Orien closed his thoughts to those memories.

  Reginald did not step out, so Orien continued to move forward—his sword and bow secure on him. He’d left his long, wavy hair free, rather than tied back like he often kept it, because he knew it made him look more like the heathen Reginald thought him, the heathen he was.

  He stepped inside, no fear, just anger he bit down and fought to contain before he burst open from it.

  “Brother,” Reginald said, pulling Orien into his arms. There was no doubt in Orien’s mind that his brother sought something from him. He could not remember the last time they had embraced, and he much preferred it that way.

  “Brother,” he gritted out in return, but if Reginald noticed the anger on his tongue, he did not speak of it.

  “You look…healthy.”

  He very much doubted he looked healthy. He’d been gone for days, back at his home less than twenty-four hours before Reginald had summoned him. “You look…”

  His hair was neatly tied back, never loose the way Orien’s was. It was a similar brown to Orien’s, only Orien’s was lighter, not as controlled. He wore well-crafted trousers and a waistcoat in royal blue an
d red, unlike Orien’s faded brown breeches and tunic, and leather at his wrists, his weaponry at the ready on his person. Reginald’s face was neatly shaven, again different from Orien, who kept a short beard.

  They did not appear to be of the same blood, the same meager background. Reginald had always carried an air of superiority about him, of pride he did not earn. He was a man who cared of station and society and not of family or right from wrong.

  The thought made Orien sick, and he tightened his hands into fists, tasted blood as he bit down to hold his fury at bay.

  “Cannot finish your sentence?” Reginald queried, causing him to realize he hadn’t.

  “You look well, Brother,” he returned. Brother. They used that term so freely, when it was no secret they were estranged.

  “I do not have much time. I apologize for my need to get to the point.”

  Oh yes, he truly must want something if he was apologizing to Orien. He typically would not waste his time. To Reginald, Orien was a brute. Even had he not been that, he saw Orien as unworthy.

  “Continue,” Orien replied.

  “Someone threatens me.”

  Orien could not blame him, whoever he was. Still, he asked, “Who?”

  Reginald glanced around the room, as though he suddenly feared they were not alone. “I am trusting you, Brother. You are the only person I can trust…my family…my blood.”

  Orien tasted more of it in his mouth. Family, blood. Reginald threw those words around as though they meant something to him when they did not. He had turned his back on his blood before. He had forsaken his own mother, left her and cared not for the pain she was in.

  He did not allow himself to speak those words, though. “You have my word,” Orien replied. This was an interesting development. He had not expected Reginald to ask him for…what? Protection? Did they not supply that in the oversize castle he called home?

  “Ansil…”

  Orien frowned. The future duke? “Your wife’s son? Your stepson?” Orien had no doubt the boy was what Reginald said. People like them—wealthy, powerful—thought they were beyond rules, beyond decency. They did not care who they hurt, and his brother was the same. He knew Reginald held different morals than him.

  “You say that as if you know him,” Reginald spat. “He is not what others believe. He is vile, evil. He holds a threat to myself, to his mother, to Ravenswood as a whole, but he has fooled everyone. Even his own mother has the wool pulled over her eyes.”

  Orien thought of what he knew of Ansil. He had not met the boy himself. There were stories of him, but he did not know if they were true. His mother had been barren. She had longed for nothing more than a son to honor the husband she’d loved dearly. It had taken years, and then she was with child. The duke had spoiled her, kept her abed to be sure she did not lose the babe. Then he had been born—Ansil—with skin white as snow, lips red as blood, and hair as black as ebony, much like his father.

  Ravenswood had celebrated the birth of Ansil. No matter how far Orien traveled, there were stories of the beautiful boy from Ravenswood. All were enamored by his magnificence.

  He could see how those qualities offended his brother. Reginald was a vain man, one who sought the very things Ansil had been born with. To have to share his world with one who was so admired must have hurt Reginald’s ego. But this much? “What has this vile, evil child done to you?”

  “You speak with sarcasm on your tongue, and I do not appreciate it,” Reginald said. “And he is no child. He is twenty years. He gains his inheritance at twenty and one.”

  Ah, so this was how Ansil offended his dear brother. He would soon become the Duke of Ravenswood. Reginald had married into the family after the untimely death of Ansil’s father, one step closer to the kind of station he always considered himself worthy of. It was why he had gotten close to the Earl of Cromhurst, who had tortured their mother for years. Yet Reginald had not cared. He thought only that his mother had disgraced their family. “Your greed is what brought me here?” he spat. Wasn’t that always what it was about?

  Orien turned to leave, but Reginald’s hand flew out and wrapped around his biceps.

  “Take your hand off me, Brother.” If another had handled him that way, Orien would have snapped him in two. But no matter how much hate he felt for the man in front of him, no matter what he had done, Orien had not raised a hand to him. He hated himself for that weakness.

  Reginald released him and stepped back. “I apologize.” Orien could hear his disgust for those words. He hated giving in to Orien.

  “This has nothing to do with greed. I do not want Ansil to gain his birthright, but it is not for myself, but for the love of my wife, for the people of Ravenswood. As I told you, he has fooled them all. He seeks power enough so he would kill both his mother and me, so none would be able to challenge him. I have heard of his plans. An oracle spoke of them. He is the one none will see coming because they are blinded by his beauty that hides his true desires.”

  Orien had heard no such stories. He knew for a fact his brother had invented them for this moment. Orien believed in oracles as much as he believed in Reginald.

  He watched his brother, the man he had not seen in years. The man he longed to kill but did not believe he could, because of their shared blood.

  Reginald thought of himself, not of Ravenswood or the townspeople. The boy, Ansil, posed a threat to Reginald, yes, but only to his greed and need for power.

  “What do you want from me?” Orien finally queried.

  “I want you to kill him, Huntsman.” Huntsman. The name Reginald despised, but one Orien had come to be known by. He was a warrior, a hunter, the man who lived on the fringes and needed no one. The man without a heart, they said.

  Though Reginald knew he had one, or a soft spot for family at the least. It was Orien’s downfall.

  “I want you to kill him and deliver me his heart so that his mother may have something to bury,” Reginald said. “See? I am not the monster you believe I am. I wish to spare her pain, the pain of betrayal she will feel at her son’s hands. And it is the only way to save Ravenswood, dear brother.”

  No, it was a way to gain power.

  Reginald reached for him, but Orien took a step back. “I will do it,” he replied. He would find this Ansil, with skin like snow, hair like ebony, and lips red as blood. He would find him, and he would use him to get his revenge on his brother without laying a hand on him himself.

  2

  Ansil

  Ansil hurried along the cobblestone streets ahead of the royal guard on horseback, who kept watch whenever he traveled into town. His valet, Curtis, was on a private errand for the castle and had already scolded him for lagging behind. Curtis had served Ansil since childhood and had become a sort of grandfatherly figure to him over the years. He knew Ansil loved to wander aimlessly on occasion, and had affectionately accused the boy of being too much of a dreamer for his own good. But Ansil’s desire to enjoy the fresh air at a more leisurely pace wasn’t the incentive in this particular instance.

  He’d overheard that Curtis would be passing through the marketplace from the apothecary this morning, so he asked to accompany him. He liked visiting the shop, if only to peruse the healing gemstones on display, brought all the way from the land of Evergreen. And now that the task was complete, there was an item he wished to cross off his own list.

  Ansil always enjoyed the sunshine, even with the crisp winter air biting his cheeks—with the exception of the crowded town center. Not only because as a young lord he stuck out like a sore thumb, but also because he was generally shy around people. He preferred the company of those who knew him well, and that sentiment extended even to the stray cats living with the horses in the stables.

  As he weaved his way around the booths that primarily sold produce and pottery, he kept his eyes cast down. Warmth dotted his cheeks as females of all ages took notice and curtsied as he passed. Though the province was small and the villagers a modest people, he and his family
represented royalty. His father had been the Duke of Ravenswood and was charged with governing the territory, just as the other Eirwin males before him. Beyond that, Ansil had also inherited his father’s likeness—his fair skin and raven hair—which made him an attractive suitor had he ever resolved to court a lady.

  He was only ever reminded of his appeal and charm away from the castle. He certainly didn’t feel special inside its stone walls, where the staff had known him since birth and his stepfather ignored him. His mother was a different story, and she told him rather frequently that he was his father’s son. She missed him dearly, and if Ansil could’ve been granted one wish, it would’ve been to have his father alive and well again.

  His stepfather, Reginald, was an acquaintance of his father from childhood. When the Duke of Ravenswood had fallen ill and passed away seven years ago, Reginald had been a source of comfort for his mother as she grieved, eventually leading to him asking for her hand in marriage.

  And though his mother only spoke kindly of Reginald, Ansil had never truly gotten to know the man. Sometimes he wondered if his mother had felt obligated to marry again, given her status as a widow with a young adolescent. Or perhaps she took pity on Reginald since his own family had been disgraced in the village due to his mother’s scandalous affair with an earl. They never spoke of it, and since Ansil had been a mere child when Reginald’s family had fallen from favor, the details remained hazy.