The Stag Lord Read Online Free

retie her running shoes. She sprinted over, ignoring the scratches from the underbrush, and knelt down. Her heart sank. “Oh, damn.” It’s just a kid .
    The child—the boy —lay in a twisted heap on his back, one arm caught behind him in a way that made her hiss in sympathy. Pressing her fingers against his throat, she caught a heartbeat. Not as bad as some I’ve healed . Praying that, for once, she might get service this deep in the park, she pulled out her cell phone and checked the screen. “Of course not.” Shoving the device back into the leg pocket of her running tights, she pulled off her hoodie and tucked it around the boy as best she could. Only clad in a tank top, she ignored the bite of the cooling air. Trying to decide whether to risk moving him or go for help, she checked her watch and peered along the path. Running full out, I could make it to the park entrance in twenty minutes, but they’ll be closed by then . A soft moan pulled her head down.
    The boy stirred, eyes squinted with pain and confusion. His lips moved.
    Shay leaned closer. “You’re all right,” she said in a slow, clear voice. “But you need to stay still and don’t move. I’m going to help you. Can you tell me your name?”
    â€œâ€¦or.”
    â€œTor?”
    â€œCor!” A shout echoed from overhead—a man’s voice, raw with panic.
    Shay rose and took a few steps back from the cliff. “He’s down here,” she yelled. “He fell. He’s alive, but injured.” She pushed back through the bushes a few more steps until she could spot the figure above her. “If you follow the edge of the shelf toward the south, it drops down enough—” Before she could finish, he sprinted away. Less than a minute later, she could hear the snapping of branches as he charged back up the ravine toward her. How did he climb down so fast?
    The next instant, he appeared, moving quickly for someone more rugby than soccer. “Where is he?” The skin around his blue eyes was tight with fear.
    The same shade of blue as hers. For a split second, she started to say something, then gave herself a mental slap. Others have blue eyes. It’s not just us , she reminded herself.
    â€œIs he your son?” She led him over to the thicket.
    Not answering, the man hunkered down next to the small form. As she watched, he cupped the boy’s cheek with a workman’s hand and leaned closer. “Cor, lad.”
    One eyelid fluttered, then opened. The other eyelid followed. Shay could see the same hue— an uncanny blue— as the man’s. A faint warning bell of no effing way began ringing in her head.
    â€œD-Da?”
    â€œHere, son.”
    â€œMmm…arm hurts.”
    â€œI know.” The man gazed up and down the boy’s body. “What else?”
    â€œI-I don’t…know. All over.”
    Shay knelt next to them. “Sir, I’m a heal… I mean, I have medical training. Let me examine him more thoroughly, then we’ll figure out how to get him to a hospital.”
    â€œNo. No hospital.”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œIt’s…against our religion.” The man handed Shay’s shirt to her. “Thank you for helping him. I’ll take it from here.”
    â€œLook, he may have internal injuries, maybe a broken collarbone. Most likely a concussion as well. He needs to be—”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œAt least let me help you—”
    â€œI dinna ask ye for yer aid.”
    It was the Irish brogue as much as the abrupt dismissal that made Shay’s eyes widen, then narrow. The warning bell began pealing louder. Out of habit, she glanced at the man’s neck. No torc. But that doesn’t mean anything . “So, do you have a plan?”
    â€œI’ll immobilize his arm, then carry him home,” he said. She noticed he was careful to veil his accent again.
    Shay tried once more.