Forever Moore (Forbidden Love #2) Read online

Orien gave him a curt nod, and then Ansil bounded off the bed in nothing but his nightclothes. He threw himself at Orien, arms wrapped around him, face buried in Orien’s chest.

  “Thank you, Huntsman. Thank you, Orien.”

  He froze, as did the boy, as though he realized he had just said Orien’s name. “I’m sorry. I did not mean to use it. I will not say who let it slip, but it wasn’t their fault. I don’t believe they even know they did it, but I won’t tell.”

  Ansil looked up at him, Orien looking down. Ansil’s eyes sparkled with unshed tears, lamplight shining off his raven hair and the red of his lips, and again Orien was struck by the smoothness of his skin.

  He should pull away, take the boy’s arms off him, yet he did not. “Is my name not familiar to you?”

  Ansil shook his head. It wasn’t a surprise, but he had not been sure if Reginald would have shared his name. That made things easier.

  “You are keeping me safe, so I shall do the same for you by not running or telling your name,” Ansil told him, and Orien gasped. Those words settled in his chest in a way he was unfamiliar with.

  Then Orien watched as Ansil’s hand rose, as it cupped his cheek…as his fingers rubbed against the hair on Orien’s face…before he jerked away. “I-I’m sorry.”

  “It is late,” Orien replied. “Go to bed.”

  Without another word, he walked from the room, locking the door behind him. Then it was Orien’s own hand against his face, touching where the little lord just had.

  12

  Ansil

  Ansil lay in bed the morning after his nightmare, his entire body thrumming. He could not believe his dreams had been so vivid that the Huntsman had entered his room to make certain he was all right.

  He also continued to pore over their hushed conversation; that in itself felt like a dream, and he continued to blink in shock, hoping his thoughts were not deceiving him. Ansil had even called the Huntsman by his name—Orien. Doc had been the one who had slipped, but he would not betray him. The man did not even notice his own blunder, and Ansil was actually surprised the staff had been able to keep it secret for this long.

  And then the biggest surprise of all: “If all goes according to plan, you will be safely returned to your beautiful castle.”

  Ansil could not wrap his brain around the idea that he was in some sort of danger. But he knew he wouldn’t get any more answers no matter how many times he asked; he was lucky to get anything at all from the stubborn man. Orien was asking Ansil to put his trust in him, but that was the most challenging part besides being held captive in this wretched room for days on end. Could he trust him? Should he?

  Ansil had been so filled with relief that he’d thrown himself into Orien’s arms. A flush crawled across his cheeks at the memory. He could still feel his warm skin, his strong arms, how he smelled of the forest. And like some impulsive child’s, Ansil’s fingertips had grazed the wiry hair on his beard, and he imagined how it might feel against his own cheek.

  What had possessed him so? Now Orien would surely consider him some silly boy—or worse. Not that it mattered. His words also contained a threat Ansil would do well to heed.

  “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.”

  Ansil shivered and curled into a ball, drifting off to sleep once again.

  The rest of the week he watched Orien out the window as if that might help him decide if the man could be trusted, if Ansil should put his fate in his hands. He replayed Orien’s words about being in danger. He had no known enemies in the village, and the idea that he waited on some sort of ransom to be paid was only a stretch of the imagination. He felt ill that his mother most likely thought him dead. Tears stung his eyes, but he swallowed them back. He had cried enough for the both of them, and now he needed to be strong and smart and pick up clues where he could.

  He watched as Orien mounted Valkyrie, and wondered where he went on his rides into the forest. Orien’s eyes immediately rose to his window, and it made his breath hitch, as if it were a game between them…or simply an acknowledgment, though Orien’s expression never wavered, so he could not easily read him.

  Did it bother him that Ansil watched? What did he expect with him being trapped in this room? He had no other outlets besides eating, sleeping, reading, and drawing. The days bled together endlessly, and he was restless. He wished he could be outside, or ride with Orien, even if he needed to be secured to the horse like a prisoner.

  Anything to help him feel less like a trapped animal and part of nature again.

  Still, he definitely preferred this room over being chained to the wall in the dungeon again, so he kept his thoughts to himself. Besides, looking out this window gave him a bird’s-eye view to other goings on as well. Like how Arya seemed to accompany Gaius on horseback to whatever tasks they were assigned, and he wondered if it was because she loved riding or if they enjoyed each other’s company. Or perhaps this far away from society, Gaius treated her as an equal. The thought made him smile because it reminded him of his parents and how his father often sought his mother’s council.

  Long after dinner, Ansil could not fall asleep, so he paced his room from the window to the door, feeling like a bird confined to a cage. Suddenly he heard the lock click in the adjoining door, and he panicked momentarily. Had he disturbed the Huntsman? Orien. He had difficulty thinking of him as anything else, but it was getting easier.

  Ansil held his breath as Orien knocked to alert him, then made his way into the room. When their eyes met, his pulse spiked. But not from fear this time. He was happy to have any sort of company or distraction even if it were only for two minutes.

  “You’re going to wear out the floor,” Orien said with an arched eyebrow.

  Ansil immediately sat on the edge of the bed, fear lacing through his veins. “Forgive me. I won’t disturb you again.”

  “I thought maybe you needed something to help distract you.” Orien lifted the pearl-handled knife from his sleeve. “It can’t be easy being stuck in this room.”

  Ansil gasped at seeing the blade, which was silly. It was such a small thing, but it brought him so much joy. “Thank you. But I do not have anything to—”

  Orien produced from behind his back a short, fat limb that looked to be of pine. “It might not be what you normally use for your carvings. I inquired of Gaius, and he could no better guess than me.”

  The thought of Orien and Gaius discussing his hobby amused him. He could imagine the scowl on Gaius’s face as Orien suggested this or that plank of wood. And though there was still a touch of fear inside Ansil that Orien might turn at a moment’s notice and consider him too much of a bother, he was able to let down his guard a bit more each day.

  “Thalia told me you are partial to apples,” Orien added as he dug in the pocket of his vest and produced one plump, red one. “The sweeter the better?”

  Orien wore a smirk on his face, no doubt because Thalia’s next two pie offerings were sweeter and thus more edible.

  “I…don’t know how to thank you,” Ansil said as he retrieved the apple from his open palm. He wanted to dig into its juicy goodness but didn’t want to seem too eager, so he laid it on the small table beside the bed to be enjoyed later.

  “You can repay me by continuing to heed my warning,” Orien said in a deep timbre, and Ansil nearly shivered, but instead he raised his chin and looked him directly in the eye. There was an extended moment where no words were spoken, but an understanding seemed to pass between them.

  Orien hesitantly passed him the blade and wood before settling down in the chair that seemed almost too small for his hulking frame. Ansil sank down on the floor with his back against the bedding so that his shavings wouldn’t make too much of a mess. He felt self-conscious at first, almost like a child being minded. He lifted the knife and studied the handle, felt the weight in his hand. For one fleeting moment, afraid he’d grown too weak and conciliat
ory, he thought of what it might be like to wield the knife at his captor. Orien must’ve read something in his expression because he leaned forward, his elbows on his knees.

  “In one solid move, I would have you flat on your back and the knife at your throat,” he said in a menacing tone. “Do not test me.”

  Ansil inhaled sharply through his nose as he stared at Orien—and in this case, the huntsman inside him was much more vivid than it had been a moment ago. “You cannot fault me for self-preservation, Orien. You did take me captive and lock me up in this room, and I know not the true reason I am here. But you told me it was for my own safety, and I am slowly beginning to believe it.”

  Orien stared at him another moment, then relaxed his shoulders. “Understood.”

  Soon enough he got lost in the task of skinning the tree branch to gain access to the smooth pulp underneath. He decided his new knife worked rather well, though it seemed ages ago that he had purchased it and was only now using it for the first time.

  So as not to feel uncomfortable under Orien’s scrutiny, he began chattering about his technique.

  “This blade is new and needs to be broken in.” He threw Orien a passing glance. “I had only just purchased it the day you kidnapped me.”

  Orien winced. “That is why you were near the woods that day?”

  Ansil nodded, wondering if he’d only made Orien’s task easier. He pondered what the Huntsman would’ve done if he’d never searched out the aspen tree that day. Steal him straight from his chamber window in the middle of the night? He shivered and forced the thought from his mind.

  Undecided what he might create out of the wood, he gazed toward the window, settling on an idea. His interest in birds had spiked as he was able to watch them daily from his perch. Early that morning he had homed in on a hawk as it stalked its prey. Its wingspan was impressive, and he thought it as menacing as it was magnificent as he swooped down, targeting his victim. Perhaps like the man seated in front of him.

  “Tell me of your life in the castle,” Orien said, startling him out of his thoughts.

  He swallowed and considered what to say first. “It was a simple life but a happy one. A bit sadder, of course, when my father passed.”

  “I remember. He was well respected in the province. I am sorry for your loss.”

  He nodded in thanks, remembering the condolences they had received from all across the land, even a handwritten note from the King of Vale. Ansil had felt so devastated, so helpless when his father had slipped to the other side as he held his wife’s hand.

  His father was his hero. Charismatic, kind, and ever-patient with him even when a younger Ansil had difficulty enduring some of his more public duties. Ansil had been overtly timid and had retreated even further inside his shell since his father’s death. Though his mother shared his grief, she was much more resilient, stepping into his father’s role with grace and elegance.

  “I am not sure I can measure up to my father. Or my mother, for that matter. She is loved in Ravenswood and well suited as duchess.” He felt guilty that she’d had to urge him to accompany her to the village in the early days in order to help him better understand his responsibilities when he came of age. “I’m afraid I am much quieter. It is uncomfortable when everyone stares.” Even now he felt flushed imagining the ladies lining up at the marketplace to gawk at him.

  “That is because you are…” Orien trailed off, and Ansil narrowed his eyes, wondering exactly what Orien thought of him.

  “I am what?” he asked in a petulant tone. He couldn’t help himself.

  “Nothing,” Orien replied. “Continue.”

  “I am not a boy,” Ansil blurted out. “I know you may think of me as one, but I am to be twenty and one soon, and I will become—”

  “That is not what I was going to imply.” Orien’s voice was reticent.

  “What then?” Ansil waited him out, more than curious.

  “I was only going to suggest that you are…very easy on the eyes, and surely you create a stir wherever you go,” Orien said, not meeting his gaze, which was just as well because a furious blush crawled across Ansil’s cheeks. “I am sure you have many suitable admirers to court.”

  “No,” he said with too much vigor. “That is not… There is no one that I…”

  What was he saying? He should at least pretend to be interested in a lady, or possibly just selective. That was true enough. Because even now, locked in a room at a manor tucked away deep in the woods, he was fearful of uttering the truth aloud. That he’d always favored men. He could not imagine the Huntsman’s reaction to that confession. He might banish him to the forest or kill him on the spot. As if the idea of Ansil being a deviant was worse than the Huntsman being some sort of assassin. Acid turned his stomach. It all seemed so backward.

  “Maybe the idea of marriage scares you?” Orien suggested. “Perhaps in a couple of years—”

  “And you?” Ansil countered, desperate to deflect the inquiry. “Why is there no lady of the manor?” He panted softly as they stared each other down, and slowly a smirk lined Orien’s lips.

  “Because I do not want one,” Orien replied in a stern voice. “Tell me of your stepfather.”

  Ansil was glad for the change of subject but also completely intrigued. Had Orien ever been married? In love? It took a moment for his thoughts to catch up to the man’s query.

  Ansil grimaced as soon as he thought of Reginald. “He’s always been quite…distant. Cold, even.”

  He noticed Orien clenching the fist resting on his lap.

  “Has he hurt you?” he asked in a pitched tone, and now Ansil understood his concern, considering what Thalia told him of their rescue from their abusive father.

  “No, never.” He did not want any harm to come to Reginald, even though he did not feel warm toward him.

  Orien’s jaw ticked, and he looked as if he wanted to say something more. Instead, he suddenly rose. “It is getting late. Perhaps you can continue your whittling another evening.”

  Ansil was disappointed but refused to show it as he gathered his shavings into a pile.

  “I…thank you. I am grateful.” He held the handle of the knife toward Orien to show he meant no harm. “Maybe in return I might read to you sometime?”

  Orien scowled at the idea as he slipped the knife in his pocket. “Good night.”

  13

  Orien

  “Do you have a moment?” Doc queried as Orien dismounted Valkyrie near the stables.

  “Of course,” Orien replied, when truly, all he wanted was to go inside and have a bath. He was dirty and tired, having ridden three hours for a job and then three hours back. He had considered sending Gaius, but he was going a bit stir-crazy himself, not accustomed to being home quite as much. He did not want to leave Ansil, though, and he only would for short periods of time when Gaius was there.

  Doc said, “Ansil…I am worried for him. He seems to be doing well on the surface, but I believe he’s struggling being locked away.”

  “Of course he is, Doc. Also, he is a prisoner, is he not?” He worried more every day about how close they were becoming to the boy.

  “Yes, but I just thought… He will not run, Orien. Surely you know that. Can he not be free inside Thornwell Manor?”

  “So he can sneak out when no one is watching? Have you lost your mind?” But truly, he wasn’t sure if he believed the little lord would do such a thing. He also wasn’t sure how he felt about thinking that way.

  “You know he won’t run. He is too honest. If he says he won’t, he won’t. Plus, Ansil isn’t stupid. He knows he would be as good as dead in the forest alone.”

  Which was true. He did not know which direction they had traveled from Ravenswood. He would likely get himself lost.

  “I’m begging you, Orien. He will lose his mind.”

  Orien glanced up at the window, and Ansil was there, on his perch, watching, only they were not close enough for him to hear. Had he been looking for Orien? Curious where he
had gone? He shook those foolish thoughts from his head, unsure why he’d thought them in the first place.

  “I’ll consider it,” Orien replied, pulling his gaze away from Ansil’s blue stare.

  “That is all I ask.” Doc shivered.

  “Go inside, out of the snow, and get warm.”

  Doc nodded and took his leave.

  It was not snowing heavily, only a light dusting dancing from the sky. Orien did not let himself think, did not question his foolish actions, knowing that if he did, he would stop himself. Instead, he put Valkyrie away and went back in. “Arya!” he called when he stepped inside.

  She looked up from the settee, where she sat staring out at the forest. “Yes, Orien?”

  “Is there a warm cloak that will fit the boy?” His had gotten ruined when they’d traveled.

  “Yes.” Her brows pulled together. “Gaius purchased one for him in case he needed to be outdoors. Would you like me to retrieve it?”

  “Please. I would appreciate that. Leave it on the stairs.” And then Orien was moving up them before she could question him further.

  His limbs ached, but he ignored them, unlocking Ansil’s door and pushing inside. He and Thalia glanced up from where they lay on the bed, looking at a book, and his stomach twisted unfamiliarly.

  He frowned when Ansil’s cheeks flushed. Had he interrupted an intimate moment? Heat ran the length of his body.

  “Come with me, Little Lord.”

  Ansil scrambled from the bed, and Thalia sat up. Did they not realize how improper it was for the two of them to lie together in such a way?

  “Orien?” Ansil asked, questions in his voice.

  “Come. We will return soon, Thalia.”

  Ansil scurried behind him as Orien walked away.

  “Where are we going? Is it time to take me home? Did you take care of the danger against me? Is that where you were today?”

  Orien froze. He hadn’t considered Ansil would think such a thing. “No, I’m sorry to disappoint you. I know how miserable it is here for you.”