To Ride A Púca

by Heather McCorkle

  “Ye should get out of those wet clothes, ye’ll warm up faster,” he said.

  “Why Brendan O’Donovan, are ye tryin’ to get me naked?” she asked, the teasing effect ruined by her chattering teeth.

  “Tá. I am,” he said with a grin.

  She laughed and had to force herself to stop because it felt like she was on the verge of hysteria. “All right, but turn around.”

  One corner of his mouth pulled up into a smirk and more than firelight twinkled in his eyes. He turned and kept turning until he was facing her again. She laughed and threw a shoe at him.

  “All right, all right,” he said and turned his back.

  Shaking her head, Neala stripped down to her undergarments. Her hands trembled so much it was hard to ring her clothes out. Back still turned, Bren removed his hooded cloak and started to pull his tunic off.

  “What do ye think ye’re doing?” Neala asked, voice rising in pitch. She hoped Bren would try anything or expect anything, but after the day she’d had she wasn’t so sure.

  The gentle sound of his laughter mingled with the snaps and pops of the fire. “No worries. I wouldn’t dream of spoilin’ ye unless ye wanted me to,” he said in a voice so low she had trouble hearing it.

  A flush spread through her that took the chill off faster than the fire ever could, unfortunately it didn’t last. While Neala wasn’t sure she was ready to be with a boy that way, she actually had dreamt of Bren spoiling her. It was hard not to. With that incredible body, sweet demeanor, and creative spirit, she had no doubt he’d be a fabulous lover. Her eyes traced the muscles of his back while her hands ached to do the same. He handed his tunic to her without turning and her fingers lingered upon his. Then she realized she hadn’t responded.

  “I know ye wouldn’t,” she said softly as she put the tunic on.

  It was still warm from his body and that warmth seeped into her and took the edge off the cold. The sleeves reached her elbows and the hem reached halfway to her knees. Despite the warm, dry tunic though, she couldn’t stop shaking. She slid to the ground in front of the rock to be closer to the growing fire. Wrapping her arms around her knees again, she buried her face in the cloth and breathed deep of Bren’s wonderful scent.

  A pang of disappointment slowed her heart as he put the cloak back on. The view had been nice. After placing a few more logs on the growing fire, he sat down behind her. He put his legs to either side of her and wrapped the cloak around them both. Leaning back against his bare chest was like backing up to a hot stove. A relieved sigh slid from her as he wrapped his arms around her.

  “Somethin’ happened didn’t it?” he asked after a moment of silence.

  A shiver danced through her and she snuggled closer to him. He must have seen it in her eyes. They undoubtedly looked as haunted as she felt. “Tá,” she admitted as she stared at the flames, remembering the Dane boy.

  “Tell me,” he said, making it sound like a question.

  “The Danes came to me home. They brought a wounded lad and made me ma heal him. He was so bad off it’s going to take her a few days to heal him completely so they left him with us. They said they’d be back in a week and if he isn’t healed they’ll kill me da and take me ma and me as slaves,” she said. It surprised her that her voice didn’t break. Her emotions felt as frozen as her body.

  Bren’s arms tightened around her and he made a sound low in his throat like a growl. “Did they hurt ye or yer family?” he asked.

  “Níl. They didn’t even take anythin’. They just dropped the lad off and left,” she said.

  Bren relaxed a little and let out a long breath. “Is he dangerous, this lad?”

  Neala didn’t answer right away. She thought about the boy’s reluctance, his bruises, and the remorse in his bright blue eyes. A pang of sympathy slid beneath her skin like a sliver. “Tá, he is,” she said. She didn’t want to feel bad for the monsters that were responsible for her brother’s death. That was almost worse than fearing them.

  “Then I’ll go back with ye,” he said.

  Her blood pounded through her veins, heating her in a way that wasn’t pleasant. After all he’d taught her, he still didn’t think she could defend herself. She turned to look up at him. “Ye can’t leave yer ma unprotected. I can take care of meself. Ye made sure of that.”

  The tender smile he gave her washed away her anger. The fierce protectiveness and pride in his eyes threatened to raise it back up. His fingers traced the line of her jaw and tilted her head up toward him. He leaned in and she closed her eyes. The press of his lips was gentle and perfect, just like she’d imagined it would be. His lips parted and their tongues touched. He tasted of cinnamon and honey. The sensations, the desire, the day she’d had, it was all too much. She pulled away.

  Neala reached up and touched his face. Her fingers found their way to his shoulder-length hair. The silky feel of it against her flesh raised bumps along her arms. His eyes closed and his head leaned back. The near euphoric look on his face reminded her of how he looked when he was contemplating. The restrained feel of his power made her wonder if that was what he was doing.

  “Neala, why are ye holdin’ back?” he asked.

  “I’m just not ready,” she said with a sigh.

  With him she felt safe and that allowed her to drop her defenses. Dropping her defenses felt good. It felt like freedom. But it also scared her.

  Bren swallowed hard and looked down at her. The desire that filled his eyes stirred something deep inside her. “I don’t want ye to hold back.” he said.

  She pulled her hands into her lap and leaned away from him. “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t ye want to be with me? To share the bond with me?” he asked. The crease of his brow, the wide sad eyes, it made her feel terrible. This wonderful lad wanted her, her. What was she doing? But she couldn’t bring herself to answer.

  Bren’s eyes fluttered, his long lashes practically brushing his cheeks, then he forcibly opened them and met her gaze. “Ye don’t have to be afraid, not of me.”

  Part of her ached for him but she knew if they laid together tonight there was a chance she’d regret it in the morning. What if that was all he wanted and he moved on once he got it? She did not want to foul up such a good thing, especially when so few good things happened to her.

  “We could die in battle any day now ye know,” he whispered.

  He stroked her hair, her neck, and started to lean in close. Bumps rose along her skin, pulling her power up with them which heightened the pleasant sensation. His hot lips branded her neck, moving slowly up it toward her jaw. Her mind and body warred with one another. This wasn’t right, she wasn’t ready. She tried to say as much but the words refused to cross her lips. Bren’s hands encircled her waist, pulling her against him.

  A piercing squeal broke the stillness of the cave. The sound reverberated off the walls, making Neala pull away from Bren and cover her ears with her hands. Firelight danced across Dubh’s shining coat as he reared, pawing at the air. His long black mane flipped about as he shook his head, his green eyes wide and wild. Ears pinned, lips pulled back from his teeth, he lunged forward and hit the ground running. He disappeared into the darkness, the curtain of rain swallowing his energy trail a moment later.

  Neala shot to her feet. “Dubh! Níl!”

  Bren’s hand clamped down onto her arm as she reached the cave entrance, yanking her to a stop. “Ye can’t go out there, Neala. Ye’re barely wearin’ a stitch.”

  She spun on him and glared through her long brown hair. “I can’t just leave him out there. Tis pourin’ and near freezin’.”

  His hands moved to her shoulders, turning her to face him. “He’ll be all right. He’s a horse after all. They’re built for this weather.”

  She shook her head. “He’d never run off like that without a reason. Tis not like him.”

  Not caring that she wore only a tunic, she tore from Bren and ran, pushing power into her legs to make herself faster.

  �
��Neala wait!”

  For a moment she was blinded by the shimmering raindrops that choked the air, but she didn’t stop. The slight trace of Dubh’s dark green energy led her to the east. Wet, muddy earth splashed beneath her feet, quickly giving way to a soft cushion of grass. Her eyes scanned the night as she ran. In only a few steps the energy trail disappeared. It was impossible to see anything in the storm, especially a horse as black as the night itself. The weight of despair settled onto her chest.

  What if he got hurt? He couldn’t see any better than she could and he was a horse. Despite their big, strong appearance, they were fragile things. One misstep in the mud, and he could break a leg, or worse, his neck.

  Footsteps splashed on the wet earth not far behind her. Not about to let Bren stop her, she picked up her pace.

  “Neala, wait!” From the sound of his voice, he was right behind her.

  Unable to see where she was going, she struck out blindly in the direction she thought Dubh’s trail had been leading. Mud oozed up through her toes and suddenly she was sliding. Surely the ground had to be coming up to meet her but she couldn’t see it. There was an impossibly long moment of vertigo that seized her and she couldn’t tell which way was up or down. Then arms wrapped around her and righted her, putting the ground back beneath her feet where it belonged.

  “Are ye daft woman? Running out into a storm like that?”

  She thrust her butt back into Bren and threw her arms out before her, breaking his hold on her. Moving swiftly away, she spun and faced him, taking a defensive stance.

  “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 sh
ow 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.