The Tempted (5 page)

Out of the corner of her eye, Morvan saw movement. She jerked around, but there was nothing but a fern leaf swaying.
 
Before she could react to whatever was out there, she heard a group of men stomping through the forest. The fact that the sound was coming from the direction of her laird’s castle meant that her clan was probably marching off to war.

Morvan quickly hid behind a large oak and plastered her back to the bark. The men were getting closer. They were talking in low tones, but the mood was dark and dangerous. She didn’t want them finding her because her clan or not, she wasn’t exactly welcome.

Men on their way to battle were likely to do all sorts of things to a woman alone. If everything she knew about her clan were true, then it was only the roughest, meanest warriors who remained.

Suddenly, there was a shout from one of the men. Everything went silent for a heartbeat, and then chaos erupted. There was no clang of swords, yet there was no denying the sounds of battle. The shouts of pain, the bellows of outrage, and the grunts of the dying could clearly be heard.

Had the Sinclairs ambushed her clan?

Morvan glanced around the tree and saw her clan. And one man attacking them. She gaped in astonishment that one man could do such damage to a group of fifteen men. He was quick and agile, swift and lethal. He used no sword, just his hands and a dagger.

As the man pivoted away, she caught a glimpse of his face. It was the same man from the cliff. She was mesmerized, captivated.
 

Six of her clansman left alive ran back the way they had come as the man fought a seventh. She covered her mouth with her hand as her clansman fell. The man from the cliff stood among the dead breathing heavily. He started to turn away when one of the six who’d run off returned and threw a dagger that landed in the man’s thigh.

The stranger’s face turned deadly, as feral as a wild animal’s when he locked his gaze on his attacker. In quick order, he had her clansman in his grip, and the man died quickly and violently.

Morvan knew she couldn’t be seen by the man. Even as he staggered and slammed against a tree, she knew she had to leave. She waited until he pulled the dagger from his thigh before she took a step back. She held her breath when her foot landed on a stick and it split, the sound as loud as a crack of thunder in the silence of the forest.

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 said 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.