Forever Moore (Forbidden Love #2) Read online

  Orien shook off the compliment. He couldn’t handle that.

  They returned to the room, and Doc finished his examination. When they were done, he said, “The manacles come off.”

  “No.” Orien was unyielding on that point. “If others are to come in this room, he will not be free to harm them.”

  “I won’t! I swear, Huntsman! I wouldn’t hurt anyone. Please, unlock me,” Ansil begged.

  “Not hurt them in the same way you attempted to slit my throat? No,” Orien said, his tone brooking no argument. “I will have Cadence prepare a meal and send Arya and Thalia down to bathe him.”

  Without another word, Orien walked out.

  6

  Ansil

  “Drink or you’ll become dehydrated,” Doc urged Ansil as he held the cup of water in front of him. He fumbled with the manacles as he attempted to grasp the container, then proceeded to swallow enough to satisfy the man. Ansil’s muscles still ached from lack of movement as well as range of motion, but he was hydrated and alive, so he had to count his blessings.

  It’d been several days since Ansil had laid eyes on the Huntsman, and though he hoped to see the man again—if only to better understand the reason for his captivity—the idea was also disconcerting, to say the least.

  The brute had essentially deposited him in a dungeon to be cared for by trusted others, who by his estimation had also become his watchful eye.

  “My loyalty will always lie with the Huntsman.”

  But he supposed it could be worse. He could be trapped without a shred of contact with the outside world, left to wallow in his own misery, only to dream of days when he might move about freely again or be allowed to breathe in fresh air.

  The Huntsman was the key to why he was being held without any explanation in his stone jail, and though Ansil had tried, he couldn’t get much out of the man he called Doc, the older gentleman who visited him daily to ensure he had enough to eat and drink.

  “He is not as bad as he seems. Hard on the outside, but soft on the inside.”

  A shiver raced through him. He could not let down his guard for one moment. Nor could he shake the image of the Huntsman gutting the boar and threatening his life on their journey to this wretched place.

  And yet, the man had fed him by hand that first night with the same tenderness one might show…well, certainly not a friend or family member. Maybe more like a lover. He could feel the blush forming on his cheeks. Not that he would know about such things.

  Where were these fantastical thoughts coming from? He’d been alone for far too long…

  “Are you feverish?” Doc asked him, reaching for his chin and angling his face to study him more closely. It only made him redden further as he shook his head. “I told O—the Huntsman—this dungeon was too damp and musty for you.”

  O. Just one initial. The last time Doc had nearly slipped, Ansil had stayed up imagining what the hulking man’s name might be. Owen, Orpheus, Othello. Or perhaps it was a nickname, like the one given to Doc. Ox. Ogre. Ansil found obscene pleasure in that one, so much so that he’d smiled like a loon before passing out cold from tossing and turning most of the night.

  “How long have you lived with the Huntsman?” Ansil asked.

  Ogre. Ansil worked hard to keep his lips in a neat, straight line.

  Eyebrows knitting together, the man studied him as if considering his reply. “Several years.”

  “Is he in the habit of kidnapping nobility and keeping them locked in his dungeon?”

  The man frowned, a deep groove forming between his eyebrows, as if he were troubled by the inquiry. But ultimately, he did not answer, and this only piqued Ansil’s curiosity more.

  The following morning, Thalia and Arya had made a second appearance to wash him. They used a sponge with warm water that soothed his muscles and soap that smelled of roses. They were siblings—fraternal twins, he’d gathered—and appeared to be around the same age as him. Their hair was long, the color of wheat, and Thalia wore hers loose at her neck, while Arya tied the wavy strands down her back. He wondered how they’d come to live under the same roof as the Huntsman. His stomach turned with dark ideas, so he thrust them from his mind at once. He had enough to keep his imagination plenty active.

  Arya helped him change into clean clothing, most likely borrowed from someone, which consisted of an ill-fitting tunic and breeches with moth holes. Thalia blushed a deep shade of crimson as she averted her eyes, and Arya clucked her tongue quietly, scolding the other girl, whose rosy cheeks painted her more innocent than he first guessed. Though what did he know? He was no expert on women, that was for certain.

  Regardless, he couldn’t find it in himself to feel flattered or embarrassed, not when he was chained up like an animal. Instead, a bubble of frustration rose inside him despite being grateful to be rid of the filthy waistcoat and trousers that had become overly cumbersome.

  From their whispered conversations, Ansil had estimated that the Huntsman employed at least four other staff in addition to the three he’d already been in contact with. Dimitri, Herry, and Gaius were mentioned in passing between the two women, who were more than likely instructed not to engage him in any meaningful conversation. Still, he persisted just as he had last time.

  “How long will I be here?” he asked Thalia as she adjusted the pillow behind him.

  “That is the Huntsman’s decision, my lord.”

  Ansil gasped at the use of his title. “You know who I am?”

  “I’m certain everyone knows who you are, my lord,” Thalia said, her long eyelashes fluttering against her cheeks.

  “Your beauty has been described throughout the land,” Arya said with some mirth. He could tell she thought the notion silly but held back from making fun at his expense.

  “We’d think it were an exaggeration, had we not seen with our own eyes,” Thalia added, then averted her gaze.

  Ansil could feel the flush rising from his chest to the tops of his ears as he turned away from their flattery. It would do him no good to indulge them, though it might help him win favor if he were to appeal to their sentimental side.

  “If you know of me, then you must consider how my mother might be sick with worry, especially since my father is no longer in the world.” Now he felt the stinging of tears behind his eyes. He would not cry, for goodness’ sake.

  When Thalia gasped, Arya gave her a stern warning look and quickly ushered them to the door.

  His head dropped as they exited the dungeon, and he quickly fell into a despair that lasted until evening. He wished he had something to read or something to draw with—or something to carve. His heart lurched. He closed his eyes and pretended his knife was light in his grasp, but this time instead of imagining the blade sticking in the Huntsman’s neck, he pretended to carve a lone wolf like the one he’d shown his mother last week…or had it been the week before? The days were endlessly running together.

  The following morning he lay staring at the ceiling, plotting his escape for the hundredth time. Given the right opportunity, he could slip a manacle against Doc’s throat. If he applied enough force, the man might pass out without much of a struggle. But what if he killed him by accident? The man had been nothing but kind to him.

  Pathetic.

  He heard heavy footsteps he did not recognize, and froze to listen as a second set joined the first. The key turned in the lock, and in walked the Huntsman followed by Doc. Just as the last time, the Huntsman’s sheer size and steely gaze made him feel winded, and he cowered in the corner of the pallet.

  “I see you have been well taken care of,” the Huntsman remarked, looking him over as Doc stood proud beside him.

  “Is there any news?” Ansil blurted out. “Has my mother paid the ransom?”

  Doc sighed as the Huntsman’s eyebrows bunched together. “I told you, I care not of money, nor power.”

  Ansil straightened, somehow finding the courage to look him directly in the eye and seek out the truth. “Do you mean to make me
your servant like the others?”

  He narrowed his eyes. “They are here of their own free will.”

  Ansil’s pulse thrashed against his throat. “So…then you mean to use me for other purposes?” he asked, trying to make sense of what the Huntsman could possibly want with a nobleman perhaps fifteen years his junior.

  When Doc’s eyes widened, the Huntsman dipped his head, but not before Ansil noticed the deep blush coloring his cheeks. It was his first glimpse of the Huntsman’s vulnerability, and it made Ansil’s heart lodge in his throat. Right then he didn’t think of him as an ogre—perhaps some sort of gallant soldier would’ve better suited, in another life.

  If he weren’t also an assassin who’d kidnapped a member of nobility.

  The Huntsman’s shoulders dropped as he turned to Doc. “Make sure he is comfortable.”

  7

  Orien

  Orien could not make sense of his reaction to Ansil the day before. It had not left his mind since he’d stormed out of the boy’s room.

  “So…then you mean to use me for other purposes?”

  Was that what he thought? That Orien had taken him for what…a pleasure slave? He’d heard of such a thing, of course, though he was shocked the young man had as well. It was no secret that there were those who kept others in chains for their service…even if those chains were not literal. His own mother had been blackmailed, forced to bed another. Orien would die before he would do that to another.

  He had also never taken a man to his bed. Did the boy? It was much too improper for Orien to consider. The lad would be shunned, if not worse, if that was his desire.

  He shook those thoughts from his brain. His eyes were grainy, due to lack of sleep. It had been another restless night for him, which was nothing new, but he had been struggling more with sleep since having taken the boy.

  There was a knock at his study door. He could tell by the familiar pattern of the sound that it was Gaius. “You may enter.”

  The door opened slowly, and Gaius walked inside. His black hair was thick, cut short by Thalia’s hand. His skin, shades darker than Orien’s, was a smooth brown. His clothes were worn, and there was dirt on his trousers.

  “Do you need me?” Gaius asked, looking at the books and papers in front of Orien.

  “No.” Orien shook his head curtly. Gaius was one of the only people who knew of his inability to read. Though Gaius said it mattered not, that he found little use of it himself, Orien struggled with the knowledge that it was something he could not do. He did not like how it made him feel inferior. He’d accomplished great strength and fighting prowess, but words did not come naturally to him. Some he could make out, and he could write minor words or phrases, as he’d done in the reply letter to Reginald, but as a whole, it was cluttered in his brain. If not for Gaius, who handled the inquiries into which men they hunted, he would be lost.

  “Was there something you needed?” Orien finally questioned.

  “To see my friend,” Gaius replied.

  “Oh, and who might that be? No one is here other than me.”

  Gaius laughed and sat down in the chair across from him.

  Orien still found it strange to sit at Larkin’s large desk as though it was his own, but he felt close to Larkin behind the sturdy wood.

  “How is the boy?” Gaius asked.

  “As good as we can expect, I would say. He seems to have wooed Doc, Thalia, and Arya. They are unexpectedly smitten with him.” Orien saw it in the way Doc looked at the boy. The way he had asked Orien if Ansil could have a proper bedchamber. Doc trusted the lad, and Orien couldn’t make sense of it—how he gave something so important away so freely.

  Thalia herself, though bashful, did not have it in her to not make friends with others. Arya surprised him a bit more. She was a happy but reserved young woman, who prided herself on her independence and tough exterior; she was fierce and craved the action Gaius and Orien often saw.

  “Do you have a plan?”

  Orien shrugged. “Hold him until he is twenty and one. My hope is that he will see reason and understand why I took him as I did. I am giving him his birthright.” Though Orien could only hope he deserved it, that he would be a better duke than his brother would.

  “And if he doesn’t see reason? You just plan to let the boy walk? They will come after you, and you will be put to death.” Gaius’s voice was rough, sharp as a blade.

  “No, I will not risk you or the others. He does not know where we are. He will be blindfolded when I take him back. I’ll do my damnedest to fight my way out of it, but if that doesn’t happen, it will be worth it to see my brother taken down. You will take over Thornwell Manor, of course, and protect the others.”

  Just as Orien knew he would, Gaius shoved to his feet. “Are you out of your fucking mind? You will not walk through the castle gates with that boy. It is not worth it.”

  Orien shook his head and tried to placate Gaius. “It isn’t your choice, my friend. I have made up my mind.” Gaius would try to change it, but Orien wouldn’t bend. Not on this. Chances were, Orien wouldn’t come out of this unscathed. He understood that from the beginning. To him, it was worth it.

  He stood, ignoring the frustrated way Gaius took him in. “You take too many risks with yourself. You spent years putting yourself in every dangerous situation you could find, fighting for what? To give up? Seeing Reginald go down is not worth that, my friend.”

  “Yes,” Orien hissed. “It is.” He stalked to the door, his feet heavy against the stone flooring. “I am going to check on the boy. We need meat. I’d like you to go hunting.”

  Gaius didn’t go outside, though; instead, he followed Orien down the dark hallway, lit only with scattered torches.

  “Orien…”

  “Shh.” They heard a sound in the distance. It was the lad, panicked, crying out for help. “It’s just the boy. He whines incessantly.”

  He didn’t, though. Yes, there were times he cried out, but those had decreased. He was determined, his fear of Orien lessening. Even his question from the night before proved his strength.

  “So…then you mean to use me for other purposes?”

  The sound of his voice now was one of worry, of desperation.

  Orien ran toward the cries. He took the stairs quickly, and as he came around the corner, Ansil stood in the hallway, outside the door, unchained from the wall.

  “Hurry! It’s Doc! He has fallen and hit his head. I can’t wake him.”

  Orien shoved past him into the room, no thought in his head other than Doc’s safety. He fell to the floor beside the older man. “Doc…Doc.” He tried to wake him gently, then shook him. His pulse sped like Valkyrie’s as she ran. He would never forgive himself if something happened to Doc.

  The older man’s eyes fluttered. “What happened?” Doc whispered.

  Orien pulled Doc’s head into his lap. He felt someone beside him, and without looking, knew it was the boy. “You fell.”

  “Lord Eirwin!” Doc said frantically.

  “I’m here,” Ansil replied, the shock of it still not hitting Orien. He had taken the keys from Doc to unlock himself. He could have stayed quiet. He could have sneaked up the stairs and attempted to escape. Instead he’d stayed, called out for help.

  “What happened?” Orien asked as Ansil knelt beside him.

  Doc said, “I…I do not know. I got a bit dizzy. I haven’t eaten yet today.”

  “Is he well?” Gaius asked.

  “I am fine. Stop fretting about me. It was just a silly fall.” Doc attempted to push out of Orien’s arms. He didn’t make it far before he wobbled and tumbled back.

  “You need rest and food, you stubborn old man,” Orien gritted out.

  “I’ll take care of him.” Gaius bent, plucked Doc from his arms, and carried the older man from the room.

  When Orien stood, Ansil walked to the manacles and held his arms out, waiting for Orien to lock him up again.

  A strange sensation twisted in Orien’s chest, a
foreign feeling of pride and respect for another filling him. “You did not try to escape.”

  “I had no way of knowing if he would be well. I would never forgive myself if I ran and something happened to Doc. He…he is kind to me.”

  His chest tightened more. “Unlike me?” Orien frowned, silently cursing his own question. He cared not what the boy thought. Orien had not brought him there to become friends.

  “You, I am unable to make sense of. One moment I think you an ogre…but then…no, just an ogre.”

  Orien barked out a laugh, surprised at himself. When was the last time he’d truly laughed with someone? “You take liberties.”

  “You did not kidnap me for money. You concern yourself with the people in this house. You take care of them. While I do not trust you and I would rather not be here, I am not stupid. I would get lost in a second out there on my own. I also believe there is a reason I am here that you’re not telling me.”

  Smart boy.

  “Now, if we could get this over with and you could lock me up again? I don’t want to become too accustomed to the freedom of moving about.”

  Orien didn’t think. Didn’t consider what he was doing. He grabbed Ansil by the sleeve and began tugging the lad behind him.

  “What are you doing? Where are we going?” Ansil attempted to fight him, worked to pull himself free, but he was not strong enough.

  Orien didn’t reply. He didn’t trust himself with words at the moment. He didn’t trust himself at all. What was he doing?

  He took the stairs to the main floor, then followed the second set, past the landing where the painting of Larkin, that would forever grace that spot, hung, and down the corridor toward his chamber. He passed his room, went to the second door, and pushed it open.

  “Oh Lord. You do plan to use me for…”

  Orien rolled his eyes. “I’m not here to bed you. I do not fuck men.” He rarely fucked anyone. “This will be your new room. The door will be locked from the outside. It’s too high for you to climb through the window. Do you see that door?” Orien pointed to the far wall.