Hunter's Woman by Kaitlyn O'Connor Page B

nearer bystanders gagged, turned and threw up, she knew what it was.
    The man kneeling before Ana looked up at Aslyn, tears streaming down his cheeks and Aslyn finally recognized him as Hoan’s father.  “I tried to fight ‘em off.  I did.  But it was no use.  No use a’tall.  Them vicious bastards ‘ad already torn ‘im to shreds.”
    Aslyn felt the strength leave her knees.  She sank onto her knees beside them.  “Hoan?”
    Ana Halard turned to look at her.  “I told ‘im not to take me baby to the woods.  I told ‘im.  He said I was pamperin’ ‘im.  Said he’d never be a man if I kept ‘im tied to me apron strings.”
    Aslyn touched the woman’s shoulder.  “Hush.  Don’t say these things.”
    “It’s true!”
    Aslyn turned to Halard.  It was impossible to tell, however, if the blood spattering his face and covering his chest and arms was his or the child’s.  “Are you hurt?”
    He ignored the question, climbed awkwardly to his feet.  Swaying slightly, he looked down at his wife, blubbering now like a hurt child himself.  “I only did what I thought was right.”
    “You got ‘im killed!” she screamed at him.  “He was too small to be out gathering wood.  You should’ve taken one of the older boys.”
    “Stop it!” Aslyn cried angrily, but she knew that both the boy’s parents were too hurt and shocked to really know what they were saying.  She glanced around at the villagers.  “Someone help Mr. Halard to my cottage so I can see to his wounds.”
    The crowd around her simply stared at her blankly, too shocked and horrified themselves for anything to filter through to them. 
    “I don’t need no tending.  I’m for finding those damned tolks and killing them, ever last one of them!  Who’s with me?  Who’ll help me hunt them down and slaughter them?  Before they pick us off one by one!”
    A low rumble began amongst the villagers.  Like the growl of an animal, it built into an enraged howl.  They surged forward, following Halard as he lurched toward the woods he’d so lately exited.  Stunned, Aslyn watched them race into the woods, most of them completely unarmed, those few who were armed carrying little more than stick.  A very little thought told her, however, that they were mad with fear and fury and nothing short of a hail of cannon fire would halt them.  They could not be reasoned with and might well turn upon her if she tried to stop them.
    In any case, Ana needed her.  She turned her attention to the boy’s mother.  She was still clutching Hoan’s torn and battered remains to her, rocking him back and forth.  She touched the grieving woman on the shoulder.  “Mrs. Halard, please, let me help you.  Give him to me.  I’ll take care of him.”
    It wasn’t until the woman turned to look at her that she realized there were tears streaming down her own cheeks.  
    “There ain’t nothin’ nobody can do fer me baby anymore.”
    Aslyn swallowed against the lump in her throat.  “We have to … prepare him.”
    The woman began to wail aloud.  “No!  No, no, no!  He’s scared of the dark.  My baby’s scared of the dark.  You can’t put ‘im in a dark hole.”
    Aslyn glanced around helplessly.  To her surprise she discovered a half a dozen women standing around the two of them, their faces filled with pity and horror.  As if they read her mind, they surged forward, grasping the woman and pulling her to her feet and then half carried her to her cottage.  Aslyn remained where she was, watching them, slowly becoming aware of her own wrenching sobs. 
    She could not force the image of the battered child from her mind.  Image after horrible image clicked before her mind’s eye, each one banished by one more horrible than the last. 
    He had been a weak, sickly child.  She had known in her heart that he would never grow up, but she had thought he would die in his bed, not in terror and pain.  She couldn’t bear the thought of the