by Donna Grant
The man’s head jerked around to her and their gazes locked. He pushed away from the tree, and she saw the blood seeping from various wounds on his arms and chest. Though his eyes were wild and focused, his body wasn’t responding as it had before. He took two steps toward her before he went down on one knee.
He growled, his face twisted with anger – at her or himself for not rising, she didn’t know. Her heart ached as she watched him try to get up. It reminded her of the elk she’d seen be taken down by an arrow the winter before. The massive animal had fought the death that awaited it, it struggled and scraped to get its legs underneath it, only to stagger a few steps and fall back down.
Which was exactly what the stranger was doing.
Morvan couldn’t stand to see any animal suffer – even a man. At the same time, the stranger was still in the grips of battle. He wouldn’t stop until she was dead.
She lifted her skirts and started running. Even with her heart pounding and her breath rushing, she could hear him behind her. The only thing in her favor was the fact that she knew this forest better than anyone. She ran in the opposite direction from her cottage, her gaze directly in front of her to the stream. There was no use looking behind her. All her concentration was needed to maneuver around trees and rocks.
She could hear him closing in, knew he was about to grab her. Morvan caught a glimpse of the stream through the trees. She was so close. All she had to do was get him to the water. She knew where the shallow spots were. If he fell into the deep part, it would give her time to get away.
Morvan shrieked when her head was jerked back as the man grabbed the ends of her hair. She swatted her arm behind her and connected with him. It was all that was needed to get him to release her.
With renewed drive, she pumped her legs faster. A smile formed when she came to the stream and headed for the shallow part. Luck was on her side as her boot hit the shore of the water.
Suddenly, she was slammed into from behind. The water came at her quickly, and then she was on her back looking into hazel eyes. She watched, confused, as his anger faded and clarity filled his eyes.
He kept her from going under the water by shifting, his hold easing considerably. With his chest heaving, he frowned down at her. Blood gushed from his wounds, and he blinked, fighting to stay conscious.
A tremor went through him as he released her and fell back. Morvan warily sat up and discovered the stranger had passed out. If any of the MacKays arrived and found him, they would kill him instantly. She should want his death, and yet, the same feeling that urged her to the cliff the day before screamed at her to heal the man.
She might live on MacKay land, but she didn’t consider them her clan. She didn’t have a clan. The forest was her home, the animals within it her family. So she didn’t feel as if she were betraying a clan who didn’t want her.
Morvan stood in the water and looked around to find a secluded section where she could hide the stranger. Using the water to help, she pulled him to the spot she’d selected. It took awhile between his weight, her ribs, and her heavy skirts to pull him as far out of the water as she could.
Then she rushed around finding the herbs she needed to staunch the bleeding. She packed the leaves and flower petals into the wounds and tore off strips of her shift to bind them in place.
When she finished the last one, she sat back and looked at the man. He was tall and muscular, a Highlander in every sense of the word. Never had she seen someone kill with their bare hands, but that’s exactly what he had done – to ten men.
Morvan looked down at her hands to see the blood upon them. She rinsed her hands in the water as she took in the man’s face. His face was all hard angles, but with his hollowed cheeks and full bottom lip, he was striking.
Unable to resist, she ran the back of her fingers along his cheek and then sank her fingers into his thick hair. His deep brown eyebrows were a shade darker than his hair and slashed over his eyes. Now that his forehead was no longer furrowed, he looked younger and much calmer.
“Who are you?” she whispered.
He slept on, unaware of her question. That was just one of many she had, however. She hoped he would wake in time to answer them, but she doubted he was the kind of man who would give answers if he didn’t want to.
Her world of solitude and silence had been shattered, and there was nothing she could do about it. There was a possibility her clansmen wouldn’t come to her cottage. It was a slim one. At least the stranger had a chance to escape. If he woke in time.
Somehow, she didn’t think he was the kind of man to lie around no matter how severe the wound. No, he would be up and gone as soon as he woke. Which was probably a good thing.
Morvan sighed. Besides stitching them, she had done all she could for his wounds. It was too bad he wasn’t awake. She found herself wanting to hear his voice to see if it matched the virile, muscular visage of the man she had witnessed in the heat of battle.
Then again, she would be better served getting as far from him as she could.
CHAPTER FOUR
Stefan’s eyes snapped open to see thick, puffy clouds lazily drifting across a blue sky. He felt like roasted arse and he didn’t know why his feet were wet inside his boots.
He raised his head and saw the stream, and then he remembered the woman. He recalled his anger directed at her. He’d grabbed her, and it was like a veil had been lifted from him. Everything became calm and clear for a moment.
The same had happened the night before when he’d carried her into her cottage, but he hadn’t realized it until they were in the water.
Stefan couldn’t recall what had happened after touching the woman, or before he was chasing her through the forest. Why had he chased her? It was the same woman from the cliff, and the same woman he’d watched swim in the loch that morning. But that shouldn’t have made him go after her.
He ran a hand down his face and sat up, grimacing at the pain that assaulted him from his chest, arms, and thigh. Someone had tended to his wounds, and if the material binding him were any indication, it was the woman.
If she’d run from him, it was because she was frightened. Why would she then tend to him?
There was only one way to find out.
Stefan started to get to his feet when he heard a snap of a limb. He slowly pulled his boots out of the water and turned so he could look over the foliage covering him when he saw six men, all wearing blue and green tartans.
“Find him,” demanded the tallest of the men. He carried a sword in his meaty fist, a look of rage contorting his face.
Stefan remained hidden as he watched the men follow tracks to the stream. They waded across and began looking for another trail.
“The tracks stop, Donald,” one of the men said to the leader.
Donald’s gaze looked up and down the stream, pausing for a moment near where Stefan hid. “We tracked him this far, we can find his trail again. The bastard will pay for killing our clansmen.”
Stefan might have holes in his memory, but his wounds combined with the fact that he woke at the stream made it a safe bet that he was who the men were looking for. The longer he remained, the sooner they would find him. Stefan waited until the group – minus the leader - were out of sight up stream before he decided to go in the opposite direction. He kept bent over and had only taken one step when voices reached him.
“Look who we found,” came a man’s voice full of laughter.
Stefan paused, though he wasn’t sure why.
“Were you here?” Donald demanded.
A feminine voice said, “I’m always here. The forest is my home.”
Stefan looked over his shoulders and saw the woman, her black hair in a neat braid as she held Donald’s gaze with her chin high.
She was brave and fearless despite one man towering over her, and another behind her holding both of her arms. It was the perfect time for Stefan to get away. Why then did he remain?
“I hear the whispers of you,” Donald sai
d in a hard voice, his lip lifted in a sneer. “You and your magic.”
“I don’t have magic,” the woman protested.
Donald gave a snort. “I could have you burned. Tell me what I want to know, and I’ll leave you alone.”
“I have no magic,” she said again through clenched teeth.
A third man walked around the group and stopped at the water’s edge. He looked back and said, “Donald, Morvan is known as a healer of sorts. Perhaps she was…unaware…that she was helping a man who is an enemy to us.”
Donald regarded Morvan for a moment. “Did you find a stranger and heal him?”
Stefan’s gaze was glued to Morvan. It was an unusual name for a particularly unusual woman. He used the group’s diverted attention to steadily move away from his hiding spot and into the forest, careful that he didn’t encounter any more men.
Stefan didn’t stop until he was on the other side of the group, and then he crouched down behind a pine. It brought him closer to Morvan, and to his dismay, he was drawn to her in a way he couldn’t explain.
No matter how he tried, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was meant to be there to help her.
“Tell me true, Morvan,” Donald said. “He killed your clansman. He needs to be caught and punished.”
For long moments, Morvan held Donald’s gaze. Then she finally said, “Aye, I came upon a man and tended him.”
“Where?” Donald asked tightly.
Morvan pointed to where Stefan had been. While the leader and one of his men went to look, Morvan was held in place by the guard.
Stefan waited until Donald and his man were nearly to where Morvan had left him before he came out from behind the tree. He kicked Morvan’s guard in the back of the knee, dropping him down while snapping the man’s neck.
Morvan twisted away and turned to gape at him. “You should be gone,” she whispered urgently.
There wasn’t time for Stefan to respond as a shout from across the stream brought the leader’s attention to them. Stefan grabbed Morvan’s hand - feeling the same calming sensation he recognized from before – and jerked her behind him.
Her brown eyes were wide with fear, but she didn’t argue. Stefan took a deep breath and faced his attackers.
~ ~ ~
For the second time that day, Morvan watched the stranger battle. As injured as he was, he moved as if he didn’t feel anything, as if he hadn’t lost all that blood.
The man she faced a moment ago wasn’t the same one who had chased her earlier. The clarity was still there, but for how long? As MacKay men came at him, she saw the bloodlust take him again. At least that’s what she thought at first.
The more he fought, the more she saw the anger return. It was like it consumed him, took him. The more the men came at him, the more the fury showed. One by one, the men of her clan died by the stranger’s hand. It wasn’t until he was battling Donald that she knew she had to stop him.
Morvan shouted, hoping to get the stranger’s attention. When that didn’t work, she walked closer. “You must stop,” she said. “There has been enough killing.”
She stepped over the fallen men as Donald and the stranger punched each other. The stranger had divested Donald of his sword early on in the fight, and it was all hand-to-hand now.
Suddenly, the stranger had Donald on his back, choking him. Morvan hurried to the men, knowing that the stranger might very well turn on her again.
“Stop,” she said and touched him.
Just as before, she felt a tremor go through him. He didn’t release Donald, but he loosened his grip and turned his head toward her.
“No more killing,” she said again and looked into the man’s hazel eyes. Morvan glanced down at Donald to find him watching them.
The man looked back at Donald and slammed his fist into Donald’s jaw, knocking him out. The man then got to his feet and faced her.
“You can no’ go back,” he stated.
His voice was as deep and silky as she imagined it would be. It sent a thrill through her that clumped low in her belly, urging her to take note of his fierceness – as well as his protection of her.
The lucidity had returned to the man again. Had her touch done that? In animals yes, but she hadn’t known it to work on humans. Then again, he was more beast than man when in battle.
“Did you no’ hear me, lass? Donald knows you’ve helped me. Twice, I might add. He’ll kill you.”
Morvan glanced back in the direction of her cottage. “No one knows this forest like I do.”
“He’ll find you eventually. Come with me,” he urged.
She looked down at the hand he held out to her. “I don’t even know your name.”
“It’s Stefan. Stefan Kennedy.”
“Where are we going?” she asked as she took his hand and he led her towards the water.
“As far from here as we can get. Is there another clan who will take you in?”
Since their only option was to cross the stream, Morvan lead him to the shallow part when she drew up at his words. “What? I thought you were from the Sinclairs.”
“Nay. My clan is far from here.”
The day was growing grimmer by the moment. Morvan crossed the stream, but as soon as they were on the other side, Stefan took the lead.
“How far is it to Sinclair land?”
“Not far,” she said staring at his back. There was more blood on him, and she would guess that his other wounds were bleeding again. “We should reach the border in about thirty minutes.”
He held a tree limb up for her to duck under. “Do you know anyone there?”
“Nay. It appears the Sinclairs and MacKays are about to go to war.”
They walked in silence for a bit. Then Stefan stopped and turned to her. “What did you do to me?”
Morvan blinked. “Do? I tended to your wounds.”
“Nay. You touched me and…you calmed me.”
She looked at the ground and gave a shake of her head. There was no use denying it. “I tend to the animals of these woods.”
“Meaning?” he pressed in a soft voice.
“I heal them or help them if they’re trapped.”
“Like my hare earlier?”
She jerked her gaze to him, once more finding herself ensnared by his hazel gaze and thick, dark lashes. “I didn’t know it was yours. There is nothing special about me. I merely take the time with the animals, and I’m calm with them. That in turn calms them.”
He took a step toward her, closing the distance so their bodies were nearly touching. His gaze was probing, searching. “Call it what you will, but there is something special about you, Morvan. No one has been able to pull me back like you have. And both times, only with a simple touch.”
“Pull you back from what?” she asked softly.
“You saw me. You saw the monster I become when my fury gets ahold of me.”
“How often does that happen?”
“Any time I get angry.”
She could feel the heat coming off him. He was intense, forceful, and dangerous. He set her on edge, and he made her ache for something she couldn’t name. It was a growing feeling inside her, one that began the day before.
“What makes you angry?” she asked.
One side of his mouth lifted in a smile, but there was only desolation in his eyes when he said, “Everything.”
He turned and continued on their path. Morvan fell in step behind him, wondering what turned a man like Stefan so furious all the time.
“I’ll make sure you’re safe,” he said over his shoulder. “Then I must leave.”
Morvan knew she should leave well enough alone, and yet she found herself asking, “To return to your clan?”
“Nay. I’m hunting the gypsy who ruined my life.”
Morvan decided it was best to keep from asking more questions. She kept up with his fast pace, even as her ribs ached. The tea she’d drank that morning, and again at noon before the MacKays arrived at the cottage, was helpi
ng control the pain. But only just.
Not once did she ask Stefan to slow. She hoped she would be able to shake the gloomy feeling once they crossed onto Sinclair land, but it only grew with every step she took.
When dusk came, Morvan looked up to discover that Stefan had brought them back to the cliff where she’d first seen him. Thankfully, he didn’t make the climb up.
“We’ll stop here for the night,” he said.
When he started to walk off, she stood in his path and gave him a shove back. “Sit so I can look at your wounds.”
It looked like he might argue for a moment, but then he sat on a boulder and lifted a brow.
Morvan first looked at the damage he had done to his previous wounds before she examined the fresh ones. “The new ones don’t look that bad, but I need more herbs for your leg and the wounds on your chest from this morning. Stay here until I get what I need.”
To her surprise, she didn’t have to go far to gather the herbs. As she made her way back to the cliff, she happened to see Stefan stand up. His shirt was gone and water dripped down his bare chest from the small pool of water where he had been washing.
She let her gaze wander over his finely sculpted muscles from his shoulders and arms, to his chest that narrowed to a V at his waist. She was too intent on his wounds before to notice the many scars that crisscrossed his entire torso. Despite the scars – or perhaps because of them – his body was amazing. He was a warrior in the truest sense of the word. She didn’t know of another who could fight a group of men twice in one day and come out the victor both times.
She let her eyes slowly travel back up his chest, her hands wishing they could feel his warm skin, to know the shape of his muscles. When she looked into his face, Stefan was staring at her.
Morvan wasn’t a maid. She’d once given her heart – and her maidenhead – to a man she’d thought loved her. Even if she were a maid, she would’ve recognized the desire in Stefan’s eyes.