To Ride A Púca (21 page)

“Bloody hell, how did ye do that?” Bren asked in a breathy voice as he bent over and clutched his groin.

“Me brother taught it to me so a man could never take advantage of me. Works pretty well. I’m not leavin’ Dubh out here. Ye can either fight me or help me, but I guarantee, ye will not be able to drag me back into that cave without gettin’ seriously hurt,” she told him.

The glow of his power lit his eyes up as they widened and he did something completely unexpected; he smiled and laughed. “All right, all right. But at least put this on,” he said as he held out his cloak.

Chin lifting, she straightened and squared her shoulders, trying not to let her surprise show. “Fine then.”

He whipped the cloak around her and clasped it at the neck. Though the rain still beat down upon her, at least now there was more between it and her skin. Clutching the front closed, she turned and started into the dark again at a brisk pace. There was no way to know which way to go so she just walked and called out for Dubh. Bren walked alongside her with his hand upon her arm, helping to steady her.

Her heart sped faster and faster until she thought the rush of her blood would make her faint. Everything spun, though that could be due to the mixture of rain and darkness obscuring her sight. If she lost Dubh she didn’t know what she’d do. He was more than just a last tie to her brother, he was her best friend. It was silly, she knew, to call a horse her best friend. But that’s what he was.

Despite the cold, her eyes and cheeks burned. Only when the taste of salt hit her lips did she realize she was crying. Some warrior she was turning out to be. Weeping over a lost horse, what would her brother think? But then, she was pretty sure he’d understand.

A muffled whinny came from off to her right. The weight upon her chest lifted, allowing her to draw a much needed breath. She leaned toward the sound. Heavy footsteps splashed nearby and Dubh’s broad, black face appeared out of the rain before her. His nostrils flared and water dripped down between his dark green eyes that seemed to glow from within. Slipping free of Bren’s grasp, she lunged forward and wrapped her arms around the stallion’s neck. He didn’t so much as flinch, in fact he seemed to lean against her. After a moment the weight of Bren’s hand settled upon her shoulder.

“Come on, let’s get ye two back into the cave,” he said.

One hand wrapped tight in Dubh’s long mane and the other in Bren’s hand, Neala allowed him to lead her back.

“Don’t ye do that again,” she told Dubh as Bren stacked several pieces of wood on the fire.

Dubh snorted and shook his head, sending water droplets flying everywhere. She laughed and smoothed his forelock against his head. The stallion’s eyes slid closed and his head lowered as the tension drained from him. When Neala went to sit beside the fire, Dubh stayed close behind. Soon flames were devouring the wood and putting off enough heat to ease Neala’s shivering. Rubbing his hands together, Bren leaned over the fire as if trying to absorb some of its heat. A moment later he sat down close beside Neala. A big nose came between them and pushed at Bren.

“Easy boy, I’m only tryin’ to help her warm up,” Bren said.

One more gentle push and Dubh pulled his head back out of the way. His antics made Neala smile. With him here it almost felt like part of her brother was watching over her. That was something she wasn’t sure she would ever be ready to lose.

Bren lifted her damp hair and moved it aside so he could put his head on her shoulder. “Would ye like to hear the story about what my pendant means?” he asked.

A smile came easily to her lips. It wasn’t just his way of trying to lighten the mood. He really wanted to tell her, she knew that. The cold pressure of his pendant against her back made her curious. More than that though, she loved the cadence of his voice when he told his stories. It was relaxing in a way little else was to her.

“I’d love to. Just as long as I’m home before dawn,” she said.

He leaned back against the rock, pulling her with him. She relaxed into the cocoon of warmth created by his body and cloak. In this place, with him and Dubh, she could almost pretend her world hadn’t been turned upside down.

“Every Celtic knot has a meanin’,” he began in the old language.

Halfway through the story he slipped a hand beneath the cloak and touched her bare leg. Slowly, as he continued telling the tale, his hand inched up to her thigh. Heat scorched through her as his fingers worked under the edge of her overly long tunic. She grabbed his hand and fixed him with a fierce gaze, halting his words.

“That’s quite enough,” she said.

Running his tongue slowly along his top lip, he leaned in close. As his eyes slid closed and his lips searched hers out, she placed a hand upon his chest and leaned away.

“Seriously Bren, I’m not playin’.”

His eyes opened and he looked drunk with lust. “But Neala, we could be soul mates. Don’t ye want to find out if we are?” he said in a voice deepened by desire.

While she was distracted his hand slid a few inches farther up her bare thigh. Scooting back, she leapt to her feet and pulled the cloak closed around her.

“Not now, not like this I don’t. Take me home, please,” she said.

He stood and moved closer, his arms reaching for her. “But Neala, I—”

“Ye heard me Bren. Take me home, now,” she insisted, her hands out before her to stop him. 

Shaking his head, he took another step closer. Black flashed and suddenly Dubh’s head was thrust in between the two of them. Ears pinned back, the stallion bared his teeth at Bren. A breath eased from Neala and she patted him on the arch of his neck.

“All right, all right, I’ll escort ye home,” Bren said in a defeated tone that almost made her feel bad.

Just to be sure he’d behave, Neala kept Dubh between them as they walked out into the misty darkness. This night hadn’t gone at all like she’d hoped it would.

20

The sunbeams engulfed Neala’s entire bed before she finally awoke. Blinking the blurriness from her eyes, she started to sit up. Something silky squished between the fingers of her hand. She looked down to find her pillow covered in bluebell flowers. A trace of Bren’s energy still clung to them.

It was his idea of an apology, no doubt, one she wasn’t ready to accept. How could he push her to lie with him? He hadn’t seemed like that type of lad. But then, what did she know about lads? He was the first to ever show any interest in her. Her misjudgment of him made her feel totally inept.

And now he had snuck into her room while she slept. She shuddered at the thought. Fond of him though she was, that was just creepy.

Yawning, she stretched, touching the dagger beneath her pillow, and sat up. Then she remembered.

The Dane.

She bolted out of bed and started yanking clothes on. By the amount of sun across her bed it was late morning, which meant her parents were awake. There was a good chance the Dane was up and her parents were defenseless. Along with a pair of breeches and a tunic, she belted on her brother’s sword and tucked the dagger Bren had given her into her boot. She shortened her morning routine as much as she could and barely pulled a brush through her hair before dashing from her room.

The delicious aroma of fried potatoes and the popping of grease greeted her. A lovely, high-pitched female voice—her ma’s—was singing a song in the old tongue. Neala found her at the stove stirring the contents of two different pans at once. Her da was nowhere to be seen and she couldn’t feel his or the Dane’s energy in the house.

“Where’s da and the Dane?” she asked.

“Good mornin’ to ye too dear. Yer da is choppin’ wood and Tyr is stretchin’ his muscles,” Cecily said.

Neala didn’t like how tired her ma’s voice sounded but she liked even less that she was calling the Dane by his first name.

“Ye know his name now?” she asked.

“I try to learn the name of every person whose life I save,” Cecily said as she turned toward her.

Dark hollows made her eyes look like they were sunken in and she was paler than usual. Her energy was so faint it was a wonder she was standing. Neala felt bad that she hadn’t noticed it before. She rushed over to help with breakfast.

“Ye shouldn’t be up yet. Ye must be exhausted,” Neala said.

“I’m fine. Ye don’t have to worry about me,” she said.

Cecily smiled but even that looked tired. Her gaze moved to Neala’s waist and Neala felt its weight settle onto her sword. Wrinkles creased Cecily’s brow and her eyes narrowed.

“Why are ye wearin’ yer brother’s sword?” she demanded in a voice as cold as the Irish rain in December.

“Because it’s mine now and I’m going to need it soon.”

Cecily slammed the pan in her hand onto the counter, splashing bacon grease everywhere. “Don’t ye talk like that! Yer brother wouldn’t have wanted that life for ye any more than yer da and I do. Ye disrespect him by wearin’ it!” she yelled.

The edges of Neala’s vision turned a deep green mixed through with blue as her power rose up. She forced her reluctant legs to carry her into the living area so the counter was between her and her ma. The urge to slap her was too much. Her hands tightened into fists and started to glow as her power leaked out her skin.

“I
honor
him by wearin’ it. He would have wanted me to live the life I want to live,” Neala said, struggling to keep from shouting.

“Ye don’t even know how to use it,” Cecily snapped, her voice thick with tears.

Rage blocked the sympathy that tried to rear up. Neala went for the door, unable to stand being in the same room with her ma any longer. She flung the door open and paused to glare back.

“Oh yes I do and I will use it when the time comes. Ye’d better get used to it,” she said in her native tongue.

A tear slid down her ma’s cheek, feeding the inferno of Neala’s anger. Letting out a wordless cry, she stormed out and slammed the door behind her. She went straight for the barn which was around the side of the house. She had no intention of riding off, she just had to get away from her ma before she said anything more she’d regret.

When she turned the corner around the house she stopped and took a few deep breaths like Bren had taught her. She then dumped her build up of power down through her legs and into the Earth. Though she couldn’t see it, she felt it like a massive pressure slipping away.

In the absence of her pent up power she felt the Dane’s muted energy nearby. Beneath the shade of the oak tree he spun, thrust, and blocked with his sword. His bare chest was slick with sweat and his blond curls clung to his face and neck. From the rapid rise and fall of his chest Neala figured he had either been practicing for some time or he was having difficulty. The angry red shade of the new skin over his healed wound told her it was probably the latter.

“What do ye think ye’re doing?” she demanded as she marched up to him.

He straightened and lowered the tip of his sword to a slightly less threatening position.

“I’m staying in shape. It takes work to maintain a body this great,” he said with a bit of a playful lilt to his voice.

“Why? So ye can get back to killin’ me people?” Neala said.

The Dane flinched and his face fell. “No. So I can survive,” he said, all playfulness gone.

His words made her feel bad and she hated that. He sheathed his sword and reached for a waterskin that lay beside the tree trunk. Neala was at a loss for words, which was kind of new for her. It only took a moment to be able to think past the feeling of guilt though.

“Ye should take it easy. Ye’re not completely healed yet,” she said. She’d meant it to sound harsher than it had.

The Dane gave her a crooked smile as he wiped water from his lips. “Are you worried about me, little thing?” he asked.

Heat burned Neala’s cheeks and the world brightened as her eyes shot wide open. “No. I couldn’t care less if ye dropped dead except that all me ma’s hard work will have been for naught,” she said.

The Dane’s smile grew larger. She didn’t think she’d sounded that unconvincing.

“Neala! Ah, there ye are,” her da’s voice sounded behind her.

Relieved and grateful for the interruption, she turned toward him. An ax was slung over his shoulder and he had a bucket in his hand. The look he gave the Dane was not friendly. Good, at least she wasn’t the only one in this family who hadn’t lost their mind.

“Oh Tyr, good mornin’. Neala, breakfast is ready,” he said with forced cheer.

“Thanks da but I’ve lost me appetite,” Neala said as she glared the Dane—that’s right, his name was Tyr—down.

Tyr smiled as if he was completely confident his charm would win her over. He had about as much chance as a badger and Neala hoped the dirty look she gave him communicated that.

“Well then, ye won’t mind pickin’ yer ma some blueberries from by the lake then,” Ardal said as he tossed her the bucket.

She caught it without taking her eyes off Tyr. Concern gnawed at her and made her hesitate to answer. On one hand she would love to get away from the Dane. Breathing the same air as him was just short of painful. On the other hand though, she didn’t want to leave her parents with him.

“Do you mind if I go with you so I can wash up in the lake? I’m in desperate need of a bath,” Tyr asked. The look on his face was innocent but she didn’t trust him. However, it would keep him away from her parents.

“That would be fine,” she said.

“Are ye sure, Neala?” Ardal asked.

His sharp tone drew her gaze. Worry filled his eyes and etched deep lines in his brow. He really had no idea what she was capable of. One Dane didn’t stand a chance against her. His lack of confidence stung. She tapped the hilt of her sword, drawing his eyes to it.

“I’m sure. We’ll be fine,” she said.

He still didn’t look convinced. Putting on a fierce look, he walked up to Tyr and didn’t stop until there was less than a handspan between them. The big, scary da routine didn’t work so well considering Ardal was a head shorter than Tyr and nowhere near as muscular.

“If she comes to any harm me wife will undo all the healin’ she has done for ye,” Ardal said.