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
Learning to Kill: Stories