To Ride A Púca (27 page)

Relieved her ma had no clue where they were really going or why, Neala gave her a smile that she hoped looked reassuring. “Course, ma.”

A heavy silence fell as Neala and Ciara made their way to the barn. The skin between Neala’s shoulders crawled from the weight of Ciara’s stare. Ignoring it, she put Dubh’s bridle on and led him from the stall. Upon seeing him, Ciara’s mare let out a piercing whinny, arched her neck, and threw her tail in the air.

Lovely.
Neala rolled her eyes.

“Really? Must ye ride that stallion?” Ciara demanded.

Struggling with a flare of angry power, Neala narrowed her eyes, “
Tá
I must.”

With a flick of her blond head, Ciara indicated the black and white geldings standing half-asleep in their stalls. “Can’t ye just ride one of them?”

Calling up her power, Neala pushed off the ground with it and jumped onto Dubh’s back. He stood still, head drooped, leg cocked in a relaxed pose, as she leaned up and grabbed his reins. His head didn’t even turn in the prancing mare’s direction.

“Not if ye want to get there today,” she said in as civil a tone as she could muster. “But, if it will bother yer mare too much…”

Dubh snorted as if in protest and Neala had to hide a smile. She had no intention of leaving him behind. Brows pulling together, Ciara spun and jumped onto her horse’s back. The mare danced about, almost unseating Ciara. She grabbed the reins and gave them a hard tug.

“I can handle her well enough, I’m only concerned as to whether ye can handle that beast,” Ciara said as she flicked her nose up at Dubh.

Laughter slipped from Neala. “Ye certainly don’t have to worry about that.”

Tension as thick as the high mountain mists settled between them as they set out into the late morning sun. Ciara’s mare hopped and pranced alongside Dubh. Neala had to hide a smile behind her hair. It was going to be a very bumpy ride for Ciara.

~

Deep into the forest of clan O’Carroll’s land, they found what they were looking for. Instead of an invading force though, they came across survivors from Uí Faelain. Not having the heart to challenge their right to be on her clan’s land, Neala melted back into the forest unnoticed and let them be. To her surprise, Ciara didn’t protest. In fact, the girl hadn’t said much at all during the ride out here. Once they were well away from the survivors, Neala decided it was time the two of them talked about a few things.

“I’m sorry if it seems like I came between ye and Bren. Irial and Kyla told me things were over between the two of ye.” As she said the words she couldn’t help but remember the stolen glances Bren shot Ciara’s way any time he thought Neala wasn’t looking. But by the relentless way Bren pursued Neala, she hoped that meant things were over between he and Ciara. If not, then Neala feared he may be using her.

Ciara snorted. “That’s true enough I guess. But if ye hadn’t come along we might have gotten back together.”

The verbal blow stung Neala’s conscience. “It was never me intention to come between ye. Lads don’t usually like me and I guess I just got swept away.” Her voice was so small and quiet. She hated how weak it sounded. Much as she wanted to detest this girl, she couldn’t bring herself to. And it wasn’t just the bonding. She had grown up without friends and here she was fouling up her first chance at having any.

“Well, ye did.” Ciara’s voice sounded a little gentler, though her face was still frozen in an expressionless mask that worried Neala.

Silence fell heavy between them again as they dismounted and started to walk the horses along a narrow path. With a rocky hillside looming like a wall on their right and a cliff only steps away on their left, Neala had to concentrate too hard to worry about their lack of conversation. An early morning shower had left the rocky path slick and shiny. In places the path narrowed to less than three feet wide. For a horse as big as Dubh, it could be treacherous. But this was the only way to go without intruding on another clan’s land.

The heady scents of wet rock and dirt—normally a comforting smell—stirred a terrible dread to life in Neala’s stomach. Ahead of her Ciara’s little mare walked slowly, her delicate hooves having trouble finding purchase on the wet path. Every time the mare slipped on a rock and regained her footing inches before the edge of the path, Neala cringed.

“He left me because I wasn’t ready to lie with him. Did he tell ye that?” Ciara said.

Neala’s concentration on the path shattered and her gaze shot to Ciara. The girl was standing dangerously close to the edge of the path so she could glare at Neala around her mare. One hand rested on a slender hip and her lips were pulled into a pout.

Lie with him. By the Túatha, she means…
Neala couldn’t finish the thought. Bumps rose along her arms.

“Ye’re lyin’.” If it was true, could it be that lying with her was all Bren wanted from Neala as well? The thought sent a horrible shiver through her. She couldn’t help but remember his roving hands and pleas.

Bearing her clenched teeth at her, Ciara let out a feral growl. “I am not!”

The brown mare Ciara was leading squealed, flipped her head, and reared. Between the mare’s legs, Neala could see Ciara, but there was no way she could reach her. The reins jerked from Ciara’s hand, yanking her arm up and throwing her off balance. Arms flailing, she teetered on the edge of the cliff. She tried to grab the horse. It shied back, then shot around her and took off down the narrow path. Eyes so wide there was more white than blue showing, was the last thing Neala saw before Ciara slid over the cliff.

Neala dove forward, hitting the ground so hard that it knocked the breath from her. Her hands grabbed for Ciara… and closed around one of her forearms. Momentum and weight worked against them. Ciara started to slip from Neala’s grip. Pushing power out form her core, Neala used it to heighten her strength and clamp onto Ciara’s hand. With her power feeding her strength, Ciara was scarcely heavy at all. Sucking in a few deep breaths of air that tasted of the rich, dark mud, Neala forced up the calm she needed.

Over the cliff edge she could see Ciara dangling, her eyes so wide they seemed to take up her entire face. “Please don’t let go,” she begged. Tears slid from her eyes, catching the afternoon sun to make glimmering trails down her cheeks.

Neala reached down with her free hand and grabbed just below where the fingers of her right hand were wrapped tight around Ciara’s wrist. “Never.”

Her power flowed out from her hands, weaving around Ciara in glowing green and blue ropes of mist. There was no way she could drop her now. Planting her elbows, she pulled. They both started to slide. A piercing wail issued from Ciara, making Neala grip her arm tighter. Neala dug her elbows in but the muddy edge of the path plowed away, giving her no purchase. Rocks bit into her stomach as her body slid closer to the edge until she felt nothing but air beneath her chest.

Unable to watch Ciara’s terrified face as they plunged to their deaths, Neala clamped her eyes shut. In a last effort to slow the inevitable, she dug her toes into the muddy Earth as she skidded across it. Ciara screamed. There was no way Neala was going to let her go, no matter what it cost her. The girl’s history with Bren didn’t matter. Ciara was part of her Order and Neala couldn’t let her die.

Resigned, she opened her eyes to stare fate in the face. Something clamped around her ankle and jerked her to a stop, then started pulling her back onto the path. It was a hand, and it buzzed with a power similar to that of a druid. Though there was a familiar feel to the power, it wasn’t any druid she knew. A druid’s power was as distinguishing as their face.

As they started to inch back to safety, Ciara reached up with her other hand and grasped Neala’s arm. The look of disbelief and gratitude that lit up her face made Neala’s chest tighten.

Only heartbeats later they were back on the narrow path. Letting out a small cry of relief, Ciara threw her arms around Neala.

“Thank ye! I thought for sure ye’d drop me.”

Neala returned the hug with the fervor of one who had just cheated death. “Course not. Ye’re part of me Order. I would never let harm come to ye if I could stop it.”

Peering over Ciara’s shoulder through a veil of her blond hair, Neala saw their rescuer. It was a young man with skin the color of midnight. Hair that was impossibly darker with a few tiny braids woven into it here and there, hung down past his shoulders. The sunlight shown off it making it look like silk strands. He wore leather armor and dark breeches; but Neala didn’t see a weapon strapped to his hip. No scars or marks from a collar or wrist shackles, which she found odd.

Black-skinned people were rare in these lands and were almost always slaves brought over by invaders. Yet this young man didn’t appear to be a slave. The bulky muscles of one used to wielding a sword filled out his body, not the lean muscles of one made to do labor. Eyes the color of the deep forest contrasted beautifully against his dark, handsome face. There was something hauntingly familiar about those eyes, something that also tugged at her power in a pleasant way.

“Um.. hello,” Neala said.

Ciara drew back and turned around. A piercing shriek tore from her and she jumped to her feet, reaching for her sword. Hand held out to stop her, Neala moved between Ciara and the stranger. She was acutely aware of the slick rocks beneath her feet. A fight on terrain like this was not a good idea.

“No Ciara, he saved us.”

The young man smiled, white teeth beaming from his dark face. That smile tugged at Neala, making her want to return it. His dark green eyes lured her into their depths like enchanted lochs. She started to blush as she realized she was staring.

“But he’s a slave, probably belongs to the Danes and came to spy on us,” Ciara said, though she slid her sword back into its sheath.

Squaring his shoulders, the man Grunted. “
Níl, sclábhaí mé. Is Éireannach mé
,” he said in a deep voice that resonated along Neala’s power in a way that raised bumps along her skin, and not just because he spoke in their native tongue.

I’m not a slave. I’m Irish.

Chin thrust in the air, Ciara placed her hands on her hips. “Oh really, And where are ye from?” she asked in a tone that sounded unsure.

“Uí Thuirtre.”

It was a territory upon the northern shore, near where Neala’s brother had gone to fight. “What brings ye so far south? And please, it’s not safe to speak our native tongue, even here,” Neala asked.

He smiled again, sending a flush through her. She looked down to hide her reaction.

“There’s a war on.” His deep voice slid over her like a warm summer breeze. It was hard to tell what affected her more, his words or his voice. Finding someone who enjoyed a good fight as much as she did was rare.

When she looked up, his incredible, dark green eyes were fixed on her. “Ye came to help us fight?” she asked, flushing at how breathy her voice sounded.

“
Tá
. Sorry, I mean, yes.”

“Right, sure ye have. So what, did ye fight up North then?” Ciara asked.

Neala turned and raised her eyebrows at her, touching her arm in a way she hoped was placating. “Ciara, he helped us. Look at him, it’s clear he’s a warrior,” she said softly.

Letting out a grunt, Ciara crossed her arms over her chest. The tumultuous swirl of her energy did ease a little, though. The man laughed, a deep, friendly sound that sent tingles across Neala’s power.

What is it about him?
Neala wondered.

“Tis all right. Tis dangerous to trust strangers, I understand. But I’m not exactly a stranger,” he said.

Chills raced along Neala’s arms. Something about him
was
familiar. But she knew she’d never met him. His was a face she wouldn’t have forgotten, and not just because he was handsome. In all her life she’d only ever seen three black-skinned people. They had all been slaves who had escaped from invaders who brought them over.

“Really? And how’s that? Because I surely don’t know ye,” Ciara said.

Sadness passed over the man’s eyes before he closed them tight for a brief moment.

“I fought up North.” He bent at the waist into a deep bow, his long dark hair obscuring his face for a moment. “Donal O’Donovan.” He straightened again and locked gazes with Neala.

She had to fight not to blush like a maiden beneath those intense eyes. His last name caught at her mind but she was too distracted to place why.

“I fought alongside Lorcan O’Carroll. He was my closest friend and he asked me to watch over his sister if the need should ever arise,” he said.

The world blurred and swayed as the strength drained from Neala and her knees gave out. In a dark flash, Donal was at her side, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her back from the cliff’s edge. His touch ignited a lovely fire along her skin and pulled at her power in a way that left her breathless.

“Ye have his eyes,” he whispered in her ear. Tingling heat spread from her ear to her core, nearly making her shiver despite the feel of his warm body pressed along hers.

Neither her mind or body was able to cope with this man and what he was saying. It took an embarrassingly long time to form a coherent thought.

“Ye knew me brother?”

His eyes locked onto hers again, stirring that feeling of familiarity.

“That’s quite enough. Unhand her,” Ciara demanded as she stepped to Neala’s side.

Donal’s eyes widened and he looked down as he let go and stepped back. “O’ course, I only meant to steady her.”

The void his body left caused Neala to sway on her feet, making her place a hand against the rock wall beside her. Ciara grabbed her arm and helped support her. It suddenly struck Neala with a powerful force that something was missing.

“Dubh!” she cried out.

Heart in her throat, she tried to lean out to look over the ledge but Ciara held her back. If anything had happened to him… She couldn’t even finish the thought. Her strength returned, riding on a wave of panic. How could she not have thought about him until now? What was wrong with her?