To Ride A Púca Read Free Page A

invaders did. Her family was originally from the north end of the island and they had fled here when the Danes landed on their shores.
    When she saw her da’s clenched jaw and felt the heat of his angry power, Neala started to question her choice of words.
    “How dare ye speak to yer ma that way. Remember yer place girl,” he warned.
    His attention shifted to his wife as he grasped her arm to help support her. “Sit down Cecily, take it easy now,” he soothed as he led her to a chair. He sat beside her and patted her head as she laid it on his shoulder.
    His words fanned the flames of Neala’s anger until it felt like her skin was burning. “Me place is on the battlefield. If Lorcan were here he would teach me how to use a sword,” she snapped.
    Just saying her brother’s name made it feel like someone had punched her in the stomach. She couldn’t help it, it had just come out. It was true, he would have taught her. In fact he had, to a point. Since she was little he had been teaching her hand-to-hand fighting so she could protect herself. But he’d never had the chance to teach her how to use a sword.
    “Neala O’Carroll, how dare ye!” her da said as he shot her a dangerous glare.
    His power prickled along her skin like hot coals but it was easy to banish by calling up her own. She thrust her chin up. Her pride faltered when her ma lifted her head from her da’s shoulder and Neala saw the tears rolling down her cheeks.
    “But he’s not here. Lorcan is dead, and I couldn’t bear for ye to end up the same,” her ma said.
    A frustrated cry wrenched from Neala as she bolted for the door. Her da must have moved to follow her because she heard her ma call after him. “Ardal, just let her go. She needs to be alone to think.”
    She slammed the door shut behind her and plunged into the bright light of morning. Despite the warm sun cowering below the clouds on the horizon, a thick mist clung to the grassy meadow where her home was nestled. The sweet, cloying scent of wet grass and clover filled her nostrils. Tall evergreens reaching like pillars toward the sky loomed close to their little meadow, holding the mist in. The feathery, cool touch of wet grass brushed her ankles as she ran for the barn.
    The sight and sensations of the misty morning only upset her more. She couldn’t stand the thought of losing the place where she had grown up with Lorcan. What did he die for if they gave this up?
    She threw the barn door open wide, making Dubh and his brothers jump in their stalls. While his brothers calmed and went back to eating, Dubh rushed to put his head out the stall opening. Not even he could comfort her right now. She ran past him, rounded the aisle that went between the stalls, and fell upon the hay bundles stored in the corner. Through her weeping she could hear Dubh pacing and nickering. After a moment she wiped her eyes and sat up. Crying would do her no good, she knew. Like she had told her parents, she wasn’t a little girl anymore.
    Shoving hay aside, she exposed a floor board with a notch in it that allowed her to lift it out of place. The dark space was cool and clammy but the object she drew from within it was warm to the touch. It was a long box that pulsed as if what it held within was alive. Neala opened it and removed a bundle that was four feet long and heavy. Handling it carefully, she clutched it to her chest. Though it was secure in a leather sheath and wrapped in a blanket, she could still feel the energy that clung to it; her brother’s energy. It was his sword and aside from Dubh, it was the only thing that brought her any measure of comfort lately.
    Today holding the sword only fueled her anger. It was ridiculous that her parents wouldn’t let her learn how to fight. Plenty of Celtic women fought to protect their homes and families, some even fought alongside the men in battle. She was really good at hand-to-hand fighting, she had to be. The other children of the nearby village