The Wolf’s Pursuit (London Fairy Tales #3)(2)
Author: Rachel Van Dyken

Blushing profusely, the girl put her hands on her hips, dirt clumps making her dress all the more blemished, and sighed. "What do you want?"

"What do I want?" Hunter repeated. "Well, that all depends, I guess. You see, it’s been a while since I’ve answered such an open-ended question, but considering my lack of food or drink, I think I shall start with the biggest desire." He cleared his throat. "You see that inn over there? I want to find myself smothered beneath a buxom lady, preferably while inebriated with whiskey, and perhaps if I am being particularly selfish, I want to eat bread, lots and lots of warm bread. But firstly, what I want, nay what I desire, is that you stop pelting me with rocks."

"The only lady residing at the inn will not only smother you within an inch of your life, but dribble meat on your person while doing so, but by all means, experience it for yourself." She smiled sweetly, managed a curtsy, and continued her digging.

Another rock hit his boot. The chit spoke in perfect German, which should have been frightening, considering it had been a great while since Hunter had spoken the language. He cleared his throat again and tried, "Perhaps if you tell me what you’re digging for? I can be of service and be on my way."

"Or you can just be on your way now," she said through gritted teeth.

"Allow me this small boon. After all, now my curiosity is piqued." As well as my lust, his brain added as he was again given quite a nice view of her feminine curves.

"My pistol." Her hands dug deeper into the earth. "I buried it last night, and now I cannot find it!"

Several thoughts went through Hunter’s head at that moment, the first and most obvious being what the devil she was doing with a pistol? The second, why, if she needed the pistol so desperately, was she set on burying it?

"Did it die? Was it in need of a proper burial then? It seems you buried it at least a foot down. How can the poor thing breathe with that much earth hovering above it?"

She stopped. "If I tell you, will you leave me alone?"

Well, that was rude. "Perhaps."

"I’m going to rescue my sister. She’s trapped in that dratted castle by the Beast, and I need my pistol in order to retrieve her!"

"So why the devil did you bury it?" Hunter ignored the information, thinking it nothing but an exaggeration. The only woman Dominique had been successful in capturing was Isabelle, and she was by no means trapped, nor was she German. Obviously this raven-haired beauty was a touch mad.

"I couldn’t very well conceal it, not when all my belongings were stolen, and it cannot fit in my corset. As you can well see, considering you’ve been staring at my body like a dog in heat for the past five minutes!"

Blast, she was beautiful when provoked. Her soft white skin had a touch of pink on her cheeks that perfectly matched her cherry red lips.

"Am I to understand that you are here, in this place, trying to find your pistol, so you can shoot the Beast and rescue your sister?"

"Yes, I believe that is what I just said."

"Well, this day has just gotten brighter. I say!" Hunter clapped his hands in amusement. "Allow me to accompany you to the castle. I would love nothing more than to see the look on the Beast’s face while he stares down the barrel of a pistol. Been meaning to challenge the fellow to a duel for years now!" Hunter couldn’t believe his good luck. He had needed something to amuse him after such a long journey. Perhaps he could keep her, as a sort of… pet. He smiled at the thought.

"You’ll take me there, and not hinder me?" the girl asked skeptically, as her brow lifted.

"Absolutely. In fact, I may just take a shot myself. After all, I’m sure he deserves it. For taking… what did you say your sister’s name was?"

"Isabelle," she said in perfect English.

Blazes. This was turning out to be the best day of his life! "You don’t say?" Hunter grinned, slowly approached the girl, and offered his arm. "And what may I call you, dear lady?"

"Gwen. Apologies for using German. I thought perhaps it best I hid my identity. I’ve seen far too many French soldiers scattered about."

Smart girl. Now there was an interesting turn of events. Beautiful, smart, and violent. "Right, well, allow me at least a few minutes of respite, a hot meal, and we’ll be on our way. Agreed?"

"Fine." She accepted his arm. "But only because I am without a weapon and cannot possibly take the man on myself."

"No, you’d most likely die." Hunter nodded, trying to make himself sound more useful, though he knew Dominique could very well handle a mad female. It was of no matter. Once she saw her sister was healthy and content, he would ask to keep her. Gwen, after all, couldn’t very well travel alone without being ruined. The poor thing was probably already compromised, for what girl trudged from England to the continent by herself? One that had no reputation to protect, or not one to speak of. Truly, it was the beginning of a wonderful day.

They walked in silence until they reached the inn. Upon entering, Hunter felt on edge. And it had nothing to do with the girl next to him. She was distracting to a dangerous level, and it took everything within him to peel his eyes away from her as he ordered food and drink.

No, the prickling on the back of his neck had everything to do with the men sitting in the far corner. English gentlemen. He could spot one a mile away; after all, he was one of them, though he’d been spying for the Crown for the past ten years and had yet to re-enter into society since his wife’s death.

He shuddered at the thought. He never allowed himself to think of her, not in that way, with her broken body and blood trickling out of her mouth. The faint smile on her lips as her eyes went cold.

Ale, he needed ale.

Out of habit, he put a protective arm around Gwen. They sat in the corner so he could have a better view of the rest of the establishment. It was not common to see any Englishmen in the area so close to the action. If they were here, they were soldiers, and he knew every able-bodied spy.

The tavern wench approached, completely blocking his view, for she was at least twice his size, and not in a flattering way. His eyes skimmed where she loomed over him, which he hoped she wouldn’t take as an invitation, and slowly drew up to her face. Merciful heavens, she had a mustache. He opened his mouth to speak and then closed it again.

"So the fancy gent likes what he sees, does he?" She winked.

Blast. He’d take the French any day. They’d probably win the war if they had women like this working for them. But his eyes, devil take it, he could not avert his eyes from her face. Almost like she was casting some witch’s spell on him. Out of desperation he reached for Gwen’s hand.