Dar recalled the loss of his mum to an illness that had swept the village two years ago. His da had been away on a hunt and learned of her passing when he returned home. He had simply nodded when told the news and continued on as if it meant nothing. But that night he came here to this room to speak to his da and he stopped outside the door hearing a noise. He listened and realized his da was crying. He had been taught never to shed tears for any reason. But here in private his da shed tears for the woman who had shared his bed and home for over thirty years.
He had been shocked to hear words stumble from his da’s lips as he wept, “Whatever will I do without you, Gwen?”
Dar felt a catch to his heart, imagining losing Elara, never seeing her again. Was it possible? Did he care for Elara? To care or love a wife was not something Hunters gave thought to. It was the hunt that mattered… only the hunt.
His da reiterated his thoughts. “We are fearless Hunters who live for the hunt. It is all that matters.”
Dar dropped his head back and laughed. “And what about Gorman?”
His da shook his head and grumbled. “Tall, thick, largest, and one of Venngraith’s fiercest Hunters and he goes and falls in love.” He kept shaking his head. “Foolish man. He is worthless to me now.”
“He still hunts and successfully,” Dar argued.
“Putting thoughts of getting home safely to his wife and three daughters above all else.” His head did not stop shaking. “And he weeps openly upon hearing her cries of pain when she labors to deliver their bairn and swears he will never touch her again, but does that stop him?”
Dar chuckled, his da shaking his head more vigorously.
“Nay. A fourth bairn is on the way and he openly lets everyone know how much he loves Jenna and his daughters, leaving himself vulnerable.”
“Or making sure everyone knows that severe harm will come to them if anyone dares to harm his wife or bairns. And for that I cannot blame him. Jenna is a wee bit of a thing though she has a heart far larger than herself.”
His da abruptly stopped shaking his head, his eyes went wide, and he leaned forward. “And do you know what he does now?” He didn’t wait for a response. “He skills his daughter in the use of weapons and the oldest, eight years now, is learning to track.” He gave one shake of his head. “And she is good at it.”
“There is also Lester. He does not hide his love for his wife, Regina. It must be more than twenty years since they have been wed, since before I was born, well over twenty years now.”
“Lester doesn’t hunt. He is a coin-keeper as you well know. He records all purchases and sales made at Falkrith and sees the taxes are paid to the king. He can speak of his love for his wife as much as he wants to.”
Dar paused for a moment before saying, “Perhaps to admit you love is good. Perhaps love changes things for the better.”
“You mean submit, something Hunters don’t do. We track. We hunt. We get our prey. But we never surrender. Can you imagine the turmoil Scotara would be in if the king surrendered to love and put that love before the kingdom?”
“Perhaps it would make him a more tolerant ruler.” Seeing how his remark annoyed his da, Dar quickly added, “And speaking of the king… I have a message from him for you.”
“Tell me,” his da said, anxiously.
“The king spoke openly about a spy being in Scotara, but in private he told me that he also believes that one of his own has betrayed him and sends information to Tharne, ruler of Drogath. He wants you to find out who it is that betrays him and he wants him delivered to him alive, so he may see him suffer.”
“It means secretly infiltrating his inner circle.”
“I informed him of that. He made it clear that he is to be made aware of who you send and they are to report directly to him.”
His da rubbed his chin. “I will need to give this thought. It will not be an easy hunt.”
“I have an idea that I think would work,” Dar offered.
“Tell me,” his da said eagerly as he refilled their goblets with wine.
Dar made his way to his cottage, the village silent at this late hour, and the air chilled. Torches flickered along the pathways, and he took his time enjoying the sting of the cold night air. He would hurry, wanting to speak with his wife, but talking with his da took longer than he had expected, having detailed what the king expected of him and Elara. However, he kept the news about the ethereal figure to himself. That information was not to be shared as he and Elara had agreed.
He figured Elara was already asleep. Though the thought of joining her in bed, wrapping himself around her, hastened his steps a bit.
Feelings were a Hunter’s enemy. If a Hunter allowed himself to feel mistakes could be made, prey lost, the mission a failure. So, he had been bred like his father before him, therefore, love was not something to be considered, let alone felt.
And yet… he felt something for Elara. Something that gripped him so strongly that he could not ignore it. And he did not want to. He would not admit it to his da. He had a difficult time admitting it to himself. But he felt something for his wife, and it was growing stronger by the day.
He reached his cottage and eased the door open, not wishing to disturb Elara if she slept, and stepped inside quietly shutting the door behind him. The fire had burned low and he cast a quick glance at the bed and froze.
A dark shape hovered over Elara, and it turned toward him.