The Stag Lord Read Free Page A

shook the boy gently from side to side, a rocking motion meant to comfort both of them.
    After a few minutes, Cor cleared his throat. “Dad, can we…” He paused as if afraid to finish the sentence.
    â€œCan we what?”
    â€œSee if there’s any of our people around?”
    Bann’s chest tightened. “I told you before: we are done with them. Our people ”—he spat out the words—“can go to Hell.”
    â€œThen why’d we come to Colorado if you didn’t want to—”
    â€œWe’re not having this conversation again, Cormac Boru.” He hoped the use of the boy’s full name would send a message. It did not.
    Cor shrugged off his father’s hand. He looked up. “Maybe the ones around here aren’t like the ones back home.”
    â€œWhether they are or not makes no difference.” Boru stepped down off the table, mouth sour from denying his son the one thing he wanted most in life. Well, besides having his mother alive , he thought as he headed toward the camper.
    â€œBut, Dad—”
    Bann kept walking.
    â€œCan’t we at least find out ?”
    Bann kept walking.
    â€œYou’re not even listening to me!” Cor’s shrill voice pinged around the campsite.
    Bann kept walking.
    â€œAsshole!”
    Bann froze. A thump and a crunch of gravel pulled him around.
    Cor stood in front of the picnic table, fists clenched by his side. Ready for a fight. Spoiling for a fight. Guess I’m not the only one on an adrenaline high , he thought. Even from several yards away, he could see the flush creeping along the boy’s cheeks, a clear sign he was pissed as hell.
    Make that two of us . “What did ye call me?” His accent, always carefully hidden, rose to the surface.
    â€œAsshole.”
    His own anger flared. A voice whispered in his head to let it go this time. You’re both weary from too much terror and too many miles . He ignored it. “Bold words from a boyo who was gibbering in terror, trying to hide behind a toilet only a few minutes ago. I’m surprised ye dinna wet yer trousers.”
    Cor’s face paled at the attack. He looked away, lips twisting as he fought to absorb the blow. Before Bann could apologize for being petty—for being, as he often cautioned his son, a little man—the boy bolted.

    Careening through bushes, Cor ran, tears like acid in his throat. Ignoring his father’s command to “get your arse back here,” he struck a hiking path leading through the maze of sandstone. Picking up speed, he ran westward into the labyrinth. Shadows pooled in the hollows and empty spaces while the tops of the rock spires were red-tipped from the setting sun, like manicured nails.
    Or bloodied claws.
    After a few minutes, he slowed to a walk. Panting, he looked around. Cliffs rose on either side of him, forming a gully of rock. He stretched out both arms as he walked, fingertips almost touching the sandstone on either side.
    Thrilled to be free of his father’s obsessive supervision, but also jackrabbit nervous about being by himself, he let his feet wander. A corner of his mind wondered why his dad hadn’t caught up with him yet. A bigger part was relieved he hadn’t, knowing that the level of disrespect he just shown would earn his bottom an up-close-and-personal session with Dad’s hand. Or worse, Dad’s belt. Not that his father had actually ever used it on him, but the threat was always there. One never knew with grown-ups.
    He emerged from the canyon and found himself on a narrow shelf overlooking a drop of about ten feet into a ravine filled with scrub oak and the occasional piñon and juniper. A well-used trail appeared and disappeared as it wound through the vegetation along the bottom.
    The clouds sank lower, as if trying to smother him. The darkening sky reminded him of home and lingering on the back porch with his mother, watching as his father