Kelpie Curse: A Feyland Urban Fantasy Tale (The Celtic Fey Book 2) Read Free Page A

looking for the next one.
    Corinne's heart quailed when she saw the upcoming obstacle. This time it wasn't just a single bale. It was a stack of four—double the height and double the width. Her shoulders tensed. I've never jumped that high before. But Ghost was galloping towards it, his stride unerring and his eyes locked on his target.
    Swallowing the lump in her throat, Corinne pushed her heels down and took a firm grip on the reins. She was just going to have to trust him. He saved us in Feyland. Surely he'll look after me here?
    And of course, she needn't have worried. Ghost sprang over the bales as if they were just a tiny blip on the landscape. It felt like flying!
    -::-
    In the cab of her tractor on the way out to relieve one of her harvesters, Phemie sat open-mouthed as the girl on the white horse streaked up the field, sailing over the straw bales as if they were a mere trifle. That horse can jump! He could jump for Scotland. She pursed her lips.
    Or fairyland.
    Phemie might be a level-headed farmer. But she was also a Highlander who'd been brought up on tales of 'the wee folk'—and she was sure she could see their handiwork here, just like she was sure she'd seen it in the past…
    The girl had found the horse on Faerie Hill—at the stone circle on Chessaig. Nobody had reported him missing, and he'd followed her to the farm with no bridle to lead him. And he could jump like a stag. The horse was obviously gifted. Or a gift .
    Stepping down from the tractor, Phemie hurried over to the gate between the fields to meet the girl as she trotted back towards the farm. "You looked like you both enjoyed that!"
    Corinne pulled the horse to a stop and patted his shoulder, her chest heaving. "Yes. I'd no idea he could jump so well!"
    Ghost was breathing somewhat faster than normal, but he hardly seemed to have exerted himself. He really did seem to be talented. And fit. "You should enter him for the jumping at the local show this weekend. I've a schedule in the house somewhere."
    -::-
    "Your breakfast will be ready momentarily, milady," Elphin said as Cailleach approached the fire, hoping he could head off any complaint.
    There was a grunt as she sat down and arranged coal-black skirts around skeletal knees.
    Quickly, he spooned berries and nuts into a wooden bowl and poured boiling water into a horn containing dried herbs and flowers.
    "I will need to go foraging again today, milady," he said as he handed her the dish and her drink. "Supplies are running low."
    "Harumph." The guttural sound emanated from somewhere deep in her scraggy throat. "Be back before we need to leave for the Bright Court." Glacial-blue eyes stared unnervingly at him through the steam rising from her beverage. "Do not make me send the wolves after you."
    "Yes, milady." He had been lucky yesterday, when Corinne and her unicorn had helped him to escape the Wild Hunt. But he could not rely on that luck holding. Not here in this magical land, where misdirection and subterfuge were a stock-in-trade and trickery was a way of life. "I will make sure that I return in plenty of time."
    -::-
    Her hand raised to knock on the farmhouse door, Corinne froze in place, wondering once again if she really should be contemplating this. She hardly knew the horse. Could she seriously think about taking him to a competition so soon?
    But… He'd seemed to enjoy jumping so much.
    And being a show-jumper was something she 'd dreamed of; she'd just never had much chance before. Midnight had been perfect for a first horse—kind, easy to ride and safe. But he hadn't seemed to enjoy jumping. And then shortly after they moved to Scotland, he got sick and…
    She wiped her eye with the back of a hand. Thinking about Midnight still made her sad.
    But now she had Ghost to care for, and Ghost seemed to have a talent for jumping. He made her feel like she could fly. Like she could do anything. Perhaps he could help her to realise her ambition.
    "Aye, there you are!" Phemie's Scots