Forever Moore (Forbidden Love #2) Read online

  Thalia glowed. “Thank you! I thought so too! You can finish that piece. There is more inside.” Thalia turned then, running toward the manor, Arya behind her.

  Orien looked up again at the window, even though he still felt the boy’s eyes on him. Sure enough, Ansil was still watching.

  10

  Ansil

  Ansil retreated from the window, his cheeks flushed with mortification that the Huntsman had caught him watching, but he could not seem to look away no matter how hard he tried. The man was quite a mystery—from his stubborn pride about his reading ability, or lack thereof, to how he’d protected Thalia’s feelings about her pie.

  Ansil knew the pie was too bitter and tart—he had been served a slice with his lunch—yet the Huntsman feigned enjoyment, obviously wanting to please Thalia. He was beginning to piece some things together, and now that he was in the main part of the manor, trapped in this room, he was able to observe more of how the household was run.

  There were two stable hands, one of whom was allergic to hay and the other a bit obtuse, per Ansil’s observation. The cook, two housekeepers, one healer, and another rather grouchy man who appeared to be at the Huntsman’s behest. From the outside it appeared a regularly run household. When examined more closely, they did not seem like employees at all. Though they all certainly had allegiance to the Huntsman. Which only begged the question, why did these seven people live together in this manor when they did not seem to have any blood ties?

  It was becoming Ansil’s new obsession, undermining his plans to escape, which seemed more hopeless by the minute anyway. If he could only understand why he was here, along with these other misfits, it might help him sleep less fitfully.

  “You’re here because I feel it is the right thing to do. That is all you need to know.”

  That dogged determination made Ansil second-guess himself. He considered abandoning his darker thoughts and taking a leap of faith. Placing his trust in the Huntsman just like Thalia and Doc seemed to do. But he was afraid to let his guard down for even one minute.

  It was obvious Thalia considered the Huntsman a sort of guardian—protector was perhaps the better word—and the way she’d so easily thrown herself into his arms made Ansil’s stomach flutter weirdly as he watched them.

  The Huntsman seemed soft and hard at the same time, confusing his head with warring emotions. He now wondered if the Huntsman’s skin was warm to the touch or cold as his heart when he made idle threats—no doubt to make sure Ansil remembered his place. “That can be arranged.”

  Ansil sat on the bed and picked up his book again, hoping to finish the adventure story filled with men and beasts, then ask for another. He looked down at the words and thought of the Huntsman again. He seemed to always be a stone’s throw from his thoughts. He was his captor, after all.

  “Do not feel sorry for me, Little Lord.”

  His fists clenched. Little Lord. How dare he? He was certainly not a boy or a weakling. He was a man. He might not have looked as powerful or majestic as the Huntsman did trotting off on his horse into the woods, but he had other worthy qualities, and when he came of age, he would step into the role his father once held in the village. If he ever made it back there.

  Before his mood could sour again, a knock at the door startled him.

  “Would you like another slice?” Thalia asked as she stepped inside, holding a plate with a smaller sliver of pie on it.

  “Oh no, I couldn’t.” Ansil gripped his stomach to feign fullness, hoping she did not notice his initial reaction to her offering. Too late.

  “You didn’t enjoy it?” She clenched the plate to her bosom, disappointment in her eyes. “I know it is only my first attempt.”

  And now he understood the Huntsman’s reasoning for appeasing her—the frown on her lovely face did not sit well with him either.

  “Of course I did. In fact, it reminded me of my favorite pies from the castle—I preferred the apple—so I suppose it made me feel a bit nostalgic.” At this declaration, Thalia’s eyes softened in pity, and he felt guilty about his half-truth. “The only difference is that our cook overindulged in sugar, which appealed to my sweet tooth.”

  “I am sorry you miss home so much,” she said, stepping farther into the room. Then her features brightened. “Perhaps next time I can add more sugar for you.”

  Or any sugar at all. Ansil plastered on a smile. “I would like that,” he replied, and thought perhaps the Huntsman might like it too.

  Why should it matter what the Huntsman prefers?

  “I missed home as well when I first arrived at the manor,” Thalia declared suddenly as she sank into the chair. “But I was also grateful to leave my village.”

  Ansil shifted on the bed to get more comfortable. “What do you mean?”

  She looked toward the adjoining door as if to make sure they weren’t being overheard.

  “Arya and I came from the village of Stockington.” Ansil had heard of the small mining town, though he’d never set foot there. “Our mother died in childbirth, and our father was left to raise us.” She shivered as if recalling something horrible. “He was not a kind man.”

  Ansil could not help but gape at her, totally transfixed by the confession.

  “The Huntsman saved our lives.” She leaned closer and lowered her voice. “That is what he does.”

  “I do not understand,” Ansil replied. “He is a huntsman. Does he not kill for a living? Unless you mean…”

  Ansil’s hand sprang to his mouth as his thoughts turned dark.

  “If the Huntsman had not come upon us that day, Arya and I would’ve suffered greater injuries, if not death.” Her eyes held fear. “We were used to our father’s beatings, but that day was the worst yet. He had spent all morning at the pub, and when he arrived home to see Arya and me enjoying the warm day instead of scrubbing the floors, he…he…”

  Ansil gasped. His own father had never raised a hand or been harsh to him. It surely might’ve broken his spirit. Yet Thalia retained her innocence, and Arya always seemed content, especially when he watched her ride off into the woods on her mare.

  “The Huntsman dismounted Valkyrie and promptly intervened.”

  Ansil narrowed his eyes, attempting to imagine the scene from the Huntsman’s point of view. He must’ve thought it grave enough to run interference between a parent and his children.

  “You think the Huntsman a monster.” She sniffed and raised her chin. “But you could not be further from the truth.”

  “I am only trying to understand.” Ansil’s stomach churned. “That honor appears to belong to your father. What happened to him?”

  He held his breath, expecting to hear some fantastical story of the Huntsman wielding his sword on the man.

  “My father was no match for the Huntsman’s fists. He stood over him and announced he was going to give Arya and me a better life, and my father, he…” Thalia trailed off as her eyes became misty.

  “Did your father not protest? Did he not see the error of his ways?”

  Thalia’s face fell. “He claimed we were too much of a hassle anyway. He did not so much as wave goodbye as he stormed inside the house, no doubt to retrieve a bottle of spirits from the cupboard.”

  “I am sorry.” Ansil padded over to Thalia and squeezed her shoulder in an attempt to comfort her without giving the wrong impression. “Thank you for telling me. It seems the manor has been suitable for you?”

  “I am grateful every day.”

  They stayed silent a moment, each lost in their own thoughts. Ansil wondered why Thalia and Arya remained here even though they were certainly of an age to live on their own. Did the Huntsman pay them room and board in exchange for their housekeeping? Surely that must’ve been the arrangement.

  “You are of marrying age, are you not?” he asked in a hesitant voice, his curiosity getting the best of him.

  When Thalia blushed, he cursed himself for even asking.

  “I won’t marry just any man,” she tut
ted. “He must be worthy of me.”

  He nearly grinned. Thalia’s spirit was definitely not broken. She was a spitfire, and he might’ve grown smitten with her over time, had he any interest in females at all.

  He glanced away, not wanting to meet her eyes and mislead her. “I am sure you will find someone suitable to marry when the time is right.”

  He now hoped to change the subject and desperately thought of something else to say.

  “And you?” Thalia asked as she studied him. “Have you left your betrothed behind?” She suddenly looked distressed, and he almost wanted to pretend he had, if only to plead for the Huntsman to return him to the castle immediately. Perhaps she would help convince him. But guilt tightened his gut. She had shared something terribly private and honest with him, and he did not want to dishonor that.

  “No. I am not…” He hesitated, unsure how to explain he had no such earthly desires. That his dreams were vastly different and full of sin. It was depraved to even entertain such thoughts. “There is no one.”

  11

  Orien

  The boy had been watching him for three days straight. They didn’t see one another often. Orien had been cautious to keep from Ansil’s room as much as possible.

  Thalia was there enough for the both of them. She had taken a liking to the little lord, and Orien wasn’t sure how he felt about it. No, that wasn’t true, was it? He knew precisely how he felt—this foreign prickling beneath his skin. An angry heat that brushed across his body. It was for Thalia, of course. Orien didn’t want the girl to be hurt, and she would be, no doubt, because they weren’t keeping him. Ansil was not like the rest of them. He was nobility, a word that sat like bile in Orien’s throat.

  So no, he was not fond of how close the two of them were becoming, but he also didn’t feel right denying Ansil the contact. He had done nothing wrong, and yet he was being held against his will.

  Orien looked up at the window where again Ansil sat. His eyes held Orien’s as if he were entranced, something he couldn’t make sense of. It was when Orien was in the back of the manor that the boy often watched him. He told himself it was because he longed for freedom, but there was more to it than that. He told himself he should not linger there, yet he did daily.

  Anger rose in his chest. Who or what he was angry at, he didn’t know. The little lord with the kind, curious eyes? Or himself, perhaps?

  “Huntsman.”

  “What?” Orien snapped as Gaius approached him.

  “Someone is grumpy today. I must be rubbing off on you.” Gaius was known for being a bit cantankerous.

  Orien began to walk away so Ansil couldn’t hear them, and Gaius followed. “I’m worried about Thalia. She is…close with him.”

  “Did he touch her?” Gaius asked, fury igniting his words.

  “No. Do you think I would be so calm if he had? And he…he wouldn’t.” Orien didn’t know how he knew that, but he believed it to the marrow of his bones. “She is smitten with him.”

  Gaius sighed, leaning against a tree. “Is it really a surprise? She is a young woman now, with no access to anyone but us; though I must admit, I always assumed it would be Herry. And I am surprised Arya has not become smitten with him as well. We watch it. Make sure she knows he will be leaving and that nothing can come of it. She is a good girl. Resilient. She will be fine.”

  Orien frowned, discomfort sliding down his spine, though he did not know why he was so uncomfortable.

  “Now what is truly bothering you?” Gaius asked.

  “Nothing,” Orien snapped again, though he wasn’t sure that was the truth. It seemed he did not know much anymore. “How was your journey into Ravenswood? Anything I should be aware of?” Gaius was his eyes and ears. He went to Ravenswood often, if only to ensure there was nothing Orien should know.

  He shook his head. “The duchess is frantic for her son, of course. The village is on high alert, but most believe he is dead. The heart was a good addition. I believe the duchess still thinks her son alive, but no one believes her. They know it must be grief driving her, after losing her husband as well. And no one has come close to Thornwell, as always. We are too remote.”

  Orien felt a tightness in his chest, guilt heavy like a blanket upon him. He had not considered how hurt the duchess would be, which was foolish since Ansil was her son. But he was also saving Ansil’s life. Reginald would have hired another if Orien had refused him. And they would not have believed Orien, had he come forward.

  He nodded a silent thank-you to Gaius before making his leave. When he glanced up again, the lad was no longer in the window, and he cursed himself for looking. It was as if he had cast some sort of spell on Orien with his care of Doc and his friendship with Thalia. And even how he could laugh while being held against his will.

  Orien returned to his chamber, where he spent his evening. Doc visited with him after dinner, which Orien had taken in his chamber as he often did. Doc did not stay long, likely to do with Orien’s sour mood. He sat at his desk, attempting to finger through one of the many books Larkin had kept, fighting with himself to make sense of the words. Some he could and others he could not, so he closed it and thought about the man the book had belonged to.

  Christ, Orien missed him, and it was not something he could easily admit. Larkin would know if he had done the right thing. Larkin had made a life of doing the right thing for people, even if he did not do it in conventional ways. It was how Orien had come to know him, and the man had been like a father to him.

  His eyes darted up when he heard a whimpering sound from Ansil’s room. He had not realized how late it was. The moon cast faint light through the window, his chamber dark except for the candle he had lit.

  The whimpering sounded again, then cries and rough, mumbled words Orien could not make out. He rushed to the door between his room and Ansil’s and unlocked it with quick fingers. He grabbed a lamp from the wall and pushed the door open to see Ansil’s room dark. There was movement on the bed and then, “No. Please. I promise I’ll obey. Mother! I want her to know I am safe.”

  His first thought was, Safe? Ansil truly felt safe there? With him?

  Of course Orien had not hurt him, but he had threatened it. He was holding the boy captive, and yet he felt safe?

  Anger at himself wiped those thoughts away quickly. It should not matter what Ansil felt.

  “Please…just once…I need to see her once. It will break her to lose me without so much as a goodbye.”

  He began having a fit, thrashing about the bed, begging, but not for himself, no. Only for his mother’s benefit. Orien could understand that. He felt it on a bone-deep level—that need to protect one’s mother. He didn’t know why, but he hadn’t expected Ansil to feel it too. Yes, he would want to escape, but his thoughts were only for her.

  That truth guided Orien’s movements. Much like when he brought the boy to this room, he moved closer to him, set the oil lamp upon the table, and gently pushed the hair back from his smooth, pale face. “Shh. You’re okay, Little Lord. You’re having a nightmare. Wake up.”

  Though it wasn’t only a dream, was it? Orien had indeed captured him.

  Ansil’s eyes jerked open, filled with panic. He pulled away, close to the headboard, arms around his knees, breathing heavily.

  “I will not hurt you. I will not use your body the way some men do.” But no matter how many times he said that, could he truly blame Ansil for not believing him? Orien had heard hushed secrets, underground rumors, of men taking pleasure within one another’s bodies, and he did not want Ansil to fear that from him. He had even heard stories of two princes in the land of Evergreen, which was much more sophisticated and progressive than Vale, both socially and industry-wise. Whether here or there, affection between two men was forbidden, and Orien had never had such desires.

  He never had any desires, at all.

  “I know you wouldn’t hurt me,” Ansil replied, nearly stealing the air from Orien’s lungs. “Not unless you had to…I think…
”

  Orien didn’t answer, words unable to form in his mind.

  “I was dreaming that I was captured…well, I am captured, but I was not in my room. Maybe the dungeon again. And somehow there was a magic mirror. I could see my mother in it. She was crying for me, devastated that she would never see me again, believing me dead. It was breaking her heart.” Ansil wiped his eyes. “I just want her to know I am well…or at least…”

  “You will see your mother again, Little Lord,” Orien found himself saying.

  Ansil sat up straighter, moved closer to Orien. “Do you speak the truth?”

  It was likely foolish, but he nodded. “Yes. I will do my best to make it so, but I can’t do that until it’s safe.”

  “What? Safe for who? For my mother? Is she in danger?”

  Still, his concern was for her. That twisted up Orien’s insides. “No, not her. She is in no danger.”

  “Me?” he shrieked. “Until it’s safe for me?”

  “Yes, but I will say no more. If all goes according to plan, you will be safely returned to your beautiful castle.”

  “I care not about the castle. I am quite sure you have discerned that. My dream was of my mother and not the walls within which I lived.”

  Yes, somehow, Orien knew that. “You will be reunited with your mother. I will do my best to ensure this happens, but I will also protect those who depend on me. If you try to escape or trouble is brought upon those who live in this house, I will protect them with my life…at the cost of anyone else’s.”

  Orien saw Ansil swallow as though he knew what Orien meant. If he threatened the safety of his family, none would be safe, not even Ansil himself.

  “You’re truly keeping me safe? There is a threat to me? And I will get to go home?” he asked.