“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to cause trouble,” Tyr said.
Neala sniffled and blinked until her vision cleared. “Let’s get the sheep.”
Tyr climbed aboard the gelding and followed without another word, which was good because Neala was done talking. She tried not to watch until Bren was out of sight but turning away only made her look at him out of the corner of her eye. She tried telling herself it was the angle and not the moisture in her eyes that made it hard to see. But even in her own head it didn’t sound convincing.
22
During Neala’s morning routine the next day she kept smelling a sweet scent and couldn’t figure out where it was coming from. It was starting to drive her crazy. She had to wash her face twice before her vision would clear. Her eyes were puffy and scratchy from crying all night. It had been easy to fight the tears during the day but for some reason the onset of dark had made them impossible to hold back. That could have had something to do with being alone in her room.
With her eyes clear, she started searching her room for the source of the smell.
A wide beam of sunlight streaming through her open window beckoned. She didn’t remember leaving it open that far. The color of the sill was all wrong too, it was blue. As she grew closer she realized the sill wasn’t that color, the tiny flowers that blanketed it were. The sweet smell was coming from them. Traces of Bren’s energy still clung to most of them. A smile crept across her lips as she scooped up a handful of the flowers and buried her nose in them.
The pain and anger she’d been holding onto slipped away. Now that she thought about it, his jealousy was kind of sweet in a way. After all, he had listened to her when she told him to stop fighting Tyr. And he’d had enough confidence in her to walk away and trust she could defend herself if needed. Maybe they could work things out after all.
Tonight he was supposed to sneak over and help her practice. After the fight they had she hadn’t been sure he would come, but the flowers convinced her that he would. Now she couldn’t wait to get the day over with.
A soft knock sounded on her door. “Neala, yer. . . friend is here to see ye,” her ma’s muffled voice carried through the door.
Her heart thudded faster. Could it be him already?
“I’m comin’!” she said as she tucked the dagger he had given her into her boot.
But it wasn’t Bren she found waiting for her in the living room, it was Irial. She stood next to the smoldering fireplace, glaring over the rim of a cup of tea at Tyr who sat at the kitchen table. It was hard to tell who was more uncomfortable. Tyr picked at his food, looking like he wanted to be anywhere but beneath the red-headed young woman’s gaze. Irial’s green and purple energy was so agitated it was snapping and letting off little sparks. Neala wondered how nervous Tyr would be if he could see that.
Despite the tension in the room, Neala was ecstatic to see Irial. The urge to tell her everything that had gone on since the Danes had visited had been eating at Neala. And it wasn’t like she could talk to the fairies about her boy problems.
“Irial! Welcome to me home. Come on, I’ll show ye around,” she said as she skipped over and looped an arm through Irial’s.
Upon contact Irial’s energy calmed. She let Neala pull her to the door, pausing to set her teacup down on the kitchen counter.
“Thank ye Cecily. It was nice to meet ye,” she said with a smile that Neala’s ma easily returned. It seemed her ma approved of her.
The sight of rain drizzling down beyond the porch made Neala grab her hooded cloak when they walked out the door. Irial put her own hood on and leaned close.
“Why is he in yer house?” she whispered.
“Me ma insisted on it. She said we couldn’t be savage even to a savage,” Neala said, recalling the conversation with considerable bitterness.
“I have to disagree with her on that,” Irial said.
Barely containing her laugher, Neala grinned.
As they entered the barn Neala tossed her hood back and breathed deep of the horse and hay-scented air. The smell of bluebell flowers still clung to the inside of her nose. No, that wasn’t it, the smell was too strong. She followed it and found more flowers tucked into Dubh’s bridle and strewn across the floor before his stall. Dubh whinnied and put his head over the stall door. His black coat had been brushed to a high shine and there were more of the tiny flowers stuck in his mane and forelock.
Neala’s cheeks hurt but she couldn’t stop smiling. Bren had gone way beyond what he needed to for her forgiveness. Hopefully he hadn’t gotten bit in the process.
“Is this Bren’s doin’? Whatever did he do to get in this much trouble?” Irial asked.
Neala told her everything from the kiss with Bren, to the near fight between him and Tyr. Irial listened raptly, scowling and encouraging her to tell more details about the night in the cave. Bren’s actions seemed to bother Irial just as much as they had Neala. It made her start to think that maybe she wasn’t overreacting at all.
When Neala told her about Tyr she pressed her. “He seems like a very strange Dane. Tell me more!”
“I know! He is, isn’t he?” Neala said before diving into a long story about the time she’d been forced to spend with Tyr.
Irial never interrupted or took over the conversation. When Neala was finished Irial leaned back, pulling her legs up onto the hay bundle she was sitting on. There was a thoughtful look scrunching up her sharp features.
“I don’t like ye spendin’ so much time with the Dane,” she said.
“Neither do I,” Neala agreed.
“But ye’re right not to leave him with yer parents.”
That almost made Neala smile. Finally, someone who agreed with her!
“When did the Danes say they were comin’ back for him?” Irial asked.
Neala stiffened. That was something she hadn’t thought about for a few days. Part of her didn’t want Tyr to go back with these horrible men who would force him into a life he didn’t want. A bigger part of her was afraid of what the Danes might do to her family when they returned. Sure, they had said they wouldn’t harm anyone if Tyr was alive and well. But what was the word of a conqueror worth?
“Four more days.”
“Yer family shouldn’t be here when they come back. It won’t be safe,” Irial said.
“I know,” Neala said as she picked at the bundle of hay she was sitting on. “I’ve tried to tell them but they won’t listen.”
Irial’s eyes went distant and she rubbed her thumb and fingers together. “The villagers probably won’t hide them. They’re likely the ones who told the Danes yer parents were druid healers to save their own sorry skins,” she said.
“True, the bastards,” Neala agreed.
Silence fell as they both pondered this problem. “Ye said four days and they’ll be back?” Irial asked after a while.
“Tá.”
“You can count on our Order to be here. Maybe Liam and I can talk the fiann we’ve been training with to come as well. Thirty of them don’t stand a chance against ten druid warriors,” Irial said.
The idea of fighting Tyr’s people turned Neala’s stomach, and not just because they were massive warriors that looked like giants. But she was touched that Irial would offer such a thing.
“Truly? Ye would do that for me?”
Irial fixed her with a passionate look and laid a hand on her arm. “Of course we would. Ye’re one of us.”
Neala smiled and had to look down as tears threatened. The barn door creaked and they both stood and moved out of the hay storage area so they could see down the aisle. Tyr stepped hesitantly inside, one eye on Dubh’s stall.
“Neala?” he called.
“Yes?” she asked as she stepped further out into the aisle.
The way his face brightened when he saw her gave her mixed feelings. He wasn’t supposed to be happy to see her, not like that. More importantly, she wasn’t supposed to like that he was.
“Sorry to bother you. Your
mother asked me to come get you,” he said.
With Irial in tow, Neala followed him outside. The rain had stopped but the threat of it was still heavy in the air. Fog clung to the ground, looking as though it had spilled over from the nearby forest. Her da was in the lean-to beside the barn unhitching the team of geldings from the cart. Her ma was unloading supplies.
“Oh good! Neala, yer da says a few stray lambs wandered over to the neighbors. Would you mind ridin’ over to fetch them?” she asked.
It was difficult to hide her irritation. Neala knew how valuable even one lamb was, but she had company. She had never had company! And it wasn’t like her family was hard up for coin. They had a hidden treasury beneath the kitchen sink that they’d been amassing for generations. But her parents never touched it. They relied solely on their little farm to get by. It was annoying. Neala gave Irial and apologetic look but Irial just shrugged.
“I’ll go with ye,” Irial said as she inclined her head in Tyr’s direction. “Tall and broad here can come along too. It will be easier to herd them with three riders. Since it’s rainin’ he can wear the hooded cloak without drawin’ attention.”
Irial’s logic was hard to argue with, but Neala could tell by the look on her ma’s face that her ma was going to try. Thankfully Tyr spoke before she could.
“I’d love to help. It’s the least I can do to repay you for healing me and being so kind,” he said.
For a moment Cecily looked conflicted, as if the Dane’s kindness confused her. The hint of a smile touched her lips and she nodded. “All right.”
They gathered up their horses—one of the geldings for Tyr, and Irial’s red mare that she had ridden over on—and set out.
Irial did her best to engage Tyr in conversation and subtly ease information out of him, but he kept his answers simple and vague. She had a way with words though, and she got more out of him in half a candlemark than Neala had in two days. They learned that the Danes had no intention of leaving any time soon and that they had brought a fleet of ships and more were on the way. It sounded as though Scotland was pretty much under their power and they were planning to focus on England next.
Hearing all this chilled Neala and stunned her to silence for the rest of the conversation. If Scotland and England fell, Ireland didn’t stand a chance. Maybe if the druids hadn’t been slaughtered nearly into extinction, but not now, not with only a handful of them left. Thinking of all the Danes coming made their three few fianns feel insignificant. Neala’s mouth dried out and her hands started to sweat.
A small cottage came into sight, offering a break from the dark conversation.
“We’re here,” she said.
Five black sheep stood in a pen beside the cottage, their feet immersed in fog. A relieved sigh slid from Neala. The fog, coupled with the mist seeping from the low hanging clouds would help conceal Tyr from curious eyes.
“Hang back Tyr. Try not to attract attention,” Neala said.
He put the hood of his cloak on and reined his horse to a stop. The way his broad frame made the draft horse look like a riding horse wasn’t good. Irish men simply weren’t that big. But that couldn’t be helped. She would just have to hope her neighbor didn’t notice.
By the time she rode up to the front door there was a man standing at it. The look he gave her was not friendly but it was one she was used to seeing on the faces of villagers. They tolerated her family but that was about it. Chances were, the only reason the man had held the sheep for them was because her da had helped heal his sons.
“They’re in the pen,” the man said.
Neala was tempted to comment on his ability to state the obvious but she resisted. “Thank ye. Me family appreciates it,” she said instead.
The man grunted in response and went back into his home, closing the door on her. Grumbling beneath her breath in the old tongue, she turned Dubh in the direction of the pen and saw Irial shaking her head.
“Yer neighbor is an ass,” she said.
Neala laughed. “Tá, I guess he kind of is.”
“No kind of about it,” Irial grumbled as she sidestepped her horse alongside the gate and bent down to open it.
Neala watched with a touch of envy. There was no way she could do that from Dubh’s back, he was far too tall. But size had its advantages too. The sheep moved eagerly out of Dubh’s way the moment she guided him into the pen. Together the three of them herded the sheep into the forest with no more than a few words of urging to the woolen creatures. Their black coats made them easy to distinguish from the white fog that still clung to the ground. It was good weather for sheep herding.
Soon the sun was streaming through the pine boughs, warming everything it touched. Neala and Irial shed their cloaks. When the sun shone in Ireland one took advantage of it, no matter how brief. Though he threw his cloak open wide, Tyr kept it on. Neala felt sort of bad that he couldn’t relax and enjoy the beautiful day. But they couldn’t risk coming across someone and having them recognize him for what he was.
In the middle of a conversation about going for a swim Irial fell silent, sat up straight, and tilted her head. Her energy buzzed with an anxiety that put Neala on edge and made her want to reach for her sword, which she hadn’t brought. A curse escaped her. How could she have left it behind? Bren’s dagger was in her boot but would it be enough? Tyr stared hard at Irial and his hand strayed to the hilt of the sword on his back. At least he was prepared.
“Riders are approachin’. Six of them,” Irial said.
The forest around them was void of any energy signatures besides plants and small animals. Neala did her best to feel instead of see, searching for the pressure that the energy of people put off. Finally she found what Irial had sensed. Six riders were coming from the east.
“I don’t hear anything,” Tyr said.
“Trust her, they’re comin’,” Neala whispered.
Tyr shook his head. “I have excellent hearing. Nothing is coming.”
“Tyr please, just do as she says.”
He gave her a long look then shrugged and put his hood on. When she turned away from him Neala found Irial looking at her with a raised eyebrow and pursed lips. She would have asked what the look was for but the riders were nearly upon them. The pressure of their approach increased. Beneath Neala, Dubh’s muscles started to bunch. He snorted and tossed his head then started pawing.
She patted his neck. “Easy boy.”
The riders stepped out of the trees, two to their left, and two to their right. They were on sleek horses meant for swift travel. Dressed in leather armor and carrying weapons didn’t exactly lend them a friendly air. Their expressions were very friendly though, too much so. Hungry eyes crawled all over her and Irial. Doing her best to ignore them, Neala concentrated on searching for the energy of the two missing riders.
“It would be in yer best interest to leave us alone,” Irial told them.
Her voice was so filled with power that it pulled at Neala’s own. The fiann around them didn’t seem to notice. One of them pushed his horse forward a step. The way the others looked to him made Neala wonder if he was their leader. A flick of his head flung black hair out of his eyes. Energy as slippery and rank as he looked pulsed around him. He ran his tongue across his thin lips and grinned at Irial.
“I disagree. Leavin’ a feisty, young lass like yerself alone would not be in my best interest at all,” the man said.
In the trees ahead of them Neala could feel the energy of one of the missing riders. The other was hiding behind them. They were surrounded. She cursed herself again for leaving her sword behind. How could she have been so daft and reckless? Could they take on all six of them? She wasn’t sure.
“Ye’d do well to listen to her,” Neala said, doing her best to sound more confident than she felt.
One of the other men laughed. It was a wicked, cackling sound that set Neala’s nerves even more on edge than they already were.
“Two feisty lasses. Oh this is going to be fun,�
� the cackling man said.
The others laughed. The sound made Neala’s skin crawl and flared her anger. They started to close in and fear mixed with the anger, causing her power to surge to the surface. She wanted her sword so bad. A dagger would get her up close and personal with these creeps and that was exactly where she didn’t want to be.
“Yer escort is a quiet one. Good, maybe he’ll be a smart lad and stay out of this,” the leader said.
“Unless he wants to join in the fun,” the cackling man said with a laugh.
Tyr tensed and Neala caught a flash of his furious blue eyes from within the hood of his cloak. By the way he shook she could tell he was using a lot of restraint and that it wasn’t easy for him to hold back. In her wildest imaginings she had never thought a Dane would be stressing over protecting her virtue.
Irial held her palm out to the leader of the fiann in a placating gesture. “This is ridiculous. We should not be fightin’ among ourselves with the enemy upon our shores.”
The man grinned again, looking slightly crazed as his eyes traveled Irial’s body. “Fightin’ with ye is not my intention,” he said.
Leather creaked as Tyr reached up and wrapped his hand around his sword hilt. Tense energy snapped and popped around him. It was muted—the energy of a normal human—but tumultuous nonetheless. He wasn’t the only one. Neala wanted to carve that look off the leader’s face.
The sound of steel sliding out of leather drew her gaze to Irial. In each of her hands she held a dagger with a long, curved blade. Neala caught a glimpse of writing in the old language carved at the top of the blades. They had to be Bren’s handiwork. Irial’s energy spiked and the blades started to glow purple. The sight of her power swirling around the weapons surprised Neala a little. The power was great, but it was calm and controlled. How the girl could maintain so much control Neala had no idea. Her own power felt like it would blow her apart at any moment.
“Relax, focus. This will be a breeze,” Irial told her.
Her words slid over Neala like warm rain and soaked into her skin. It calmed her and instilled a powerful confidence in her that made her believe she could do it.
To Ride A Púca Page 19
