To Ride A Púca (41 page)

It wasn’t houses or shops burning, it was people tied to poles that were driven right into the ground just off the road. To Neala’s slight relief, the poor people were already dead, or at least their charred and smoking bodies weren’t moving. At first she saw only two, but the closer they came to the town the more poles she saw. They were scattered a few dozen yards apart, bordering the winding road like a gruesome welcome.

No, not a welcome
, Neala realized.
A warning
.

Ancient symbols were laid out in stone at the victims’ feet, symbols that marked them as druids. It had to be the town’s way of appeasing the Danes. Someone retched loudly behind Neala, Cian from the sound of it. Bile stung the back of her own tongue but Neala refused to throw up. A burnt, terribly sweet scent assaulted her nose and she had to swallow several times. She held her cloak over her nose and tried to breathe through her mouth. It helped, but only if she didn’t look at the blackened bodies.

Once the initial shock wore off, Neala realized most of the poles had piles of coals glowing next to or beside them. Though she really didn’t want to know what they were, she couldn’t help looking. Within the red-hot ash she could make out the spines of books and melted metal cases that were meant to hold scrolls. As if killing the poor people wasn’t enough, they were burning the very memory of them from the land.

A sob shook Neala but she clamped her mouth shut before it could escape. All she could think about were the shelves and shelves of books and scrolls of Deirdre’s. Their native language was forbidden both to speak and write but that hadn’t stopped the druids from keeping secret documents and books hidden away. Until now. From the looks of it, Neala was guessing that was what had gotten these poor people discovered and slaughtered.

“Are you all right?” Tyr whispered as he steered his horse closer.

The anguish on his face released the tears Neala had been holding back. His kind hadn’t done this and yet it hurt him to see. Her own countrymen had done this to her people. That made it so much worse that Neala wasn’t sure she could bear it. She shook her head in answer to Tyr’s question. He reached out and brushed his hand along her arm before her mare snapped her teeth at his horse, forcing him to step away. The one touch gave Neala the strength to blink back her tears and hold her head high.

“We’ve purchased rooms at an inn by the river. This way,” Liam said in a soft, solemn voice.

Rather than go through the heart of the big village, they took a left turn on a less crowded road. Soon a fresh breeze carried the clean scent of a river to them. It wasn’t enough to cleanse the stench of death from Neala’s nostrils, but it helped. The lack of people was almost as blessed as the fresh air. After the ‘welcome’ they rode through Neala didn’t think she could stand the sight of any of these villagers.

Moonlight made the river look like an undulating silver ribbon stretching off to the left of the dirt road. Though she had been dreading that river and all that it meant, right now it was a comfort. The stone buildings on their right all looked the same to her but Liam came to an assured stop beside one in particular. He pointed to a set of massive wooden doors a little farther down the road.

“Take the horses and wagons in. We’ll meet ye at the back entrance in the stables,” Liam said.

The snorts of horses and scents of manure and hay greeted them when they opened the doors. They found a group of empty stalls and tended to the horses. Sometime during the comforting routine of brushing the mare, Neala realized she was shaking so badly she could hardly hold the brush. The hinges of the stall door squeaked and out of the corner of her eye she saw Tyr’s broad silhouette approaching. A moment before she dropped it, he took the brush from her and wrapped her up in his arms.

Sobs wracked her body as the walls around her heart collapsed. For the first time in days she felt safe enough to let her guard down and allow herself to grieve. She shook with the force of her cries and Tyr’s arms tightened, supporting her and protecting her when it seemed nothing else could.

38

Between nightmares and constantly waking up to check on her parents, Neala scarcely slept at all. Being so far away from Donal after the bonding made her power throb like an open wound. If he died she wasn’t sure she could live long with a wound like that eating at her.

The moment the first rays of sunlight hit the windowsill of their tiny room, she jumped from bed and flew downstairs. The inn was still and quiet, filled with only shadows and the snores of those sleeping. Such peace seemed somehow wrong after all she’d been through and it was a cruel contrast to the ache inside her.

The damp morning air settled upon her as she stepped out into the dark, empty street. Before opening the stable door she had to take a deep breath to steel herself. There was a good chance Tyr would be gone. Farewells weren’t his thing, he had already proven that once.

The smell of hay and horses made her heart ache. A quiet nicker greeted her as she stepped inside the stable. The black and white face of one of her parents’ geldings poked out over the top of one of the stall doors. His dark eyes blinked slowly as if he too hadn’t got much sleep. Neala paused long enough to give him a good scratch. At least they still had them. Neala had raised them from colts and had done all their training. They were the last bit of home she and her parents had. She tried to draw strength from that thought before stepping away to turn down the aisle.

Half-naked atop a blanket spread out over the hay, was Tyr. Bruises darkened his pale skin here and there, making him look vulnerable despite his muscular build. Dots of sunlight that found its way through the hayloft overhead were scattered across him. His face was so serene and peaceful that Neala didn’t want to disturb him. The view didn’t hurt either. Relief that he was still here mingled with surprise over the fact that she had been able to walk up on a seasoned warrior.

Something deep inside her was moved at seeing him like that, so gentle and almost innocent. There was a stray curl of hair lying atop one of his closed eyelids that she felt compelled to brush aside. Hand reaching out, she stepped toward him. A flash of movement was the only warning she got before the tip of Tyr’s sword was pointed at her chest.

“Neala! You shouldn’t sneak up on a man like that,” he said.

A long breath slowly released from him as he lowered his sword. Neala hadn’t even seen where the blade had come from, he’d been that fast.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, unable to raise her voice any louder. He had literally taken her breath away.

Silence settled thick and heavy between them as he sheathed his sword and put his tunic on. A long, searching look with those piercing eyes of his made her feel awkward and unsure. It stretched out and grew worse as he took a drink from a waterskin and pulled his boots on. Unable to stand it anymore, Neala had to fill the silence.

“I was afraid ye wouldn’t still be here.”

The hurt look he gave her made her long for the uncomfortable silence.

“Why would you think that?” he asked.

“Because last time ye left without sayin’ goodbye,” she blurted out.

What she wouldn’t give in that moment to have some other strange quirk besides speaking her mind too much. Like no tongue, yes, that would be great about now.

The scents of soap and oiled leather swept over her as Tyr got so close their toes touched. She had to look up so she wasn’t staring at his broad, defined chest which was far too distracting. Her heart may belong to another but Tyr kept a grip on at least a piece of it. The turmoil in his eyes stole her voice, which thankfully saved her from rambling on anymore.

“I left to try and save you and your family,” he said.

“I know and I think ye’re wonderful for that. But ye left me only a note.” Her voice sounded thick and high but she didn’t care. It had hurt a lot when he left and all that pain was coming back.

Tyr looked up and took a few deep breaths. When he looked back down at her there were tears in his eyes.

“I couldn’t. Besides, I was just making things difficult for you,” he said.

Neala’s chest tightened.

“Things have always been difficult for me.”

“I’m sorry I made them worse,” Tyr said.

Reaching up with a shaking hand, Neala brushed the curl from Tyr’s eyes that had been bugging her and then let her fingers trail down the side of his stubbly cheek.

“I’m not,” she said.

His eyes burned with an intensity that shocked her.

“I’m glad I met you Neala O’Carroll. I wish it had been under different terms,” he said in a soft voice that was very unlike him.

Hearing him like that sent a shiver through Neala. “I’m glad I met ye too,” she said. It wasn’t easy to admit, but it was true. If she hadn’t met him she never would have seen the good side of his people. While continuing to think they were all monsters would have been easier, it wouldn’t have been right.

He brushed a lock of hair back over her shoulder and his fingers lingered upon it as if he didn’t want to let go. Neala became acutely aware of how little space separated them. She looked up into his eyes and found them guarded.

“If it had been different, is there a chance ye would have chosen me?” he asked

Shock widened her eyes and held her tongue for a few heartbeats. It made her think about what to say.

“Over Bren, yes,” she said, surprised to find it was true.

After all he’d done for her there was no way she could lie to him about that. If she had never met Donal then there was no doubt she would have fallen for Tyr. While he was a bit arrogant and demanding, he was also kind, funny, and giving.

He smiled and nodded. “But not over Donal. He isn’t a slave is he? He’s something else entirely, one of the magical beings of this land?”

“Yes,” Neala admitted.

Smug arrogance filled Tyr’s eyes. “Well, I suppose I can accept that. It’s hard to compete against magic, even for me.”

Tenderness softened his features and his eyes slid closed as he bent toward her. His lips were gentle upon hers, tentative almost, as though he feared he might hurt her. It was nice and sweet, but there was no fire like when she kissed Donal. Thinking about Donal ruined it and turned desire to guilt. It was silly she knew, Donal may not even be alive anymore, but it still felt like a betrayal. When Tyr drew away she wasn’t left aching for his touch, but for Donal’s.

A deep sigh worked its way slowly from Tyr. The elated look on his face made it obvious he hadn’t noticed Neala’s lack of enthusiasm.

“I’ve been wanting to do that since I met you,” he said.

Not knowing what to say, Neala just smiled and blushed. Taking a step back, Tyr put on his sword belt. Fire or not, Neala realized she didn’t want him to go. She may not be in love with him, but he was her friend, strange as it was.

“I have to go do what I can to put a stop to this invasion,” he said.

The air felt too thin and Neala had to fight the urge to cry. Tyr’s brow creased and he shook his head.

“I’ll be all right. You’ve helped me see that things can’t stay this way. I have a purpose now. That’s a powerful gift,” he said.

She didn’t answer, she couldn’t. Fighting back tears was choking off her voice.

“Don’t worry, you won’t be alone. You’ve got great friends who will take care of you and Donal will show up. If you were my woman nothing would keep me away, not even death,” he said.

Tears slid down her cheeks as she flew forward and crushed Tyr to her. The impact drove the air from him in a whoosh that he followed with a laugh. She may have lost control of her power just a bit. It touched her deeply that it hadn’t bothered him this time.  

“Ye’re a good man Tyr. I’ll miss ye,” she said.

His arms wrapped around her, making her feel small and fragile. He held her a bit longer than was appropriate for mere friends, but she didn’t care. This would be the last time she saw him, of that she was certain.

39

The morning was a whirlwind of activity that left Neala feeling like the world was spinning out of control. They had booked passage on a ship that was leaving in less than a candlemark. All their meager belongings, livestock, treasure, and family were already on board; most of the Order was too. Neala had gone aboard to help load supplies but she had left the moment they finished. She and Irial stood on the docks with sailors milling about.

The sun was starting to burn Neala’s shoulders, a reminder of how late it was becoming. Her eyes were fixed on the network of streets and shops before her as her fingers rubbed the steel of her knotwork necklace. People went about their daily business at an almost lethargic, maddening state. Their blind indifference to the fact that her world was spinning out of control seemed terribly wrong. Each time she saw a tall, broad man in the shadows her heart sped up, only to slow again when she realized it wasn’t Donal.

A sailor balancing a small crate on one shoulder stopped right in Neala’s way. She moved to look around him but he moved with her.

“I’m sorry lass but it’s time to board. She’s about to set sail,” he said.

Neala couldn’t draw breath through her constricted throat. Heat prickled across her skin and sweat broke out on her brow. Her power rose until she was shaking with the effort of holding it back. Only through extreme concentration was she able to control her panic and get her voice back.

“No. We’re still waitin’ for two more passengers,” she protested.

The sailor’s eyes narrowed. “No, we were waitin’ on the weather. If ye don’t board now ma’am they won’t be the only passengers who don’t set sail,” the sailor said.

The urge to strike him was almost too much to control. Her energy pushed at him and he stumbled back a step. His brow furrowed and he shook his head as if confused, but he said nothing, just stormed off. Neala’s eyes flicked back and forth across the crowds of people walking along the docks. No matter how hard she willed him to be, Donal wasn’t among them. Her breathing sped out of control and she became light-headed.