To Ride A Púca by Heather McCorkle Page A

along the bank so Dubh wouldn’t jump into it, Neala eased the stallion into the water. From there she let him have his head so he could choose his own path. They traveled all the way back to Neala’s land down the river. It took a lot longer this way, but Neala wasn’t about to risk leaving the water to save a little time. They had taken enough chances already.
    At the end of Bren’s land they prepared to part ways. Before letting go and jumping off Dubh’s back, he hugged Neala tight. She was so shocked she didn’t have time to blush. He looked up at her with so many mixed feelings that she had no idea what he was thinking.
    “I’ll meet ye tomorrow,” he promised. She smiled, nodded, and he turned and ran.
    The long shadows of dusk began to settle over the land by the time Neala led Dubh into the barn. She took her time filling his water, brushing him, and feeding him. Her parents were nowhere in sight which probably meant they were in the house and had noticed her absence.
    Unable to delay it any longer, she closed up the barn and walked to the house. When she reached the path that led to the front door it was dark enough that the stepping stones were hard to see. The door to their home opened and light spilled out around the silhouette of her ma. A hand upon her hip and the scowl upon her face told Neala she had definitely noticed how late she was.
    “Neala O’Carroll, ye get yer hide in this house right now!”
    The use of her full name made Neala flinch. That was never a good sign. The mixture of fear and anger in her ma’s voice did not bode well either. She would have rather marched into the valley with the Dane warriors than in that house, but she did as she was bid.
     
     

 
    9
     
    Shouted questions and demands soon gave way to a lecture about responsibility. Normally such an onslaught would have brought Neala to tears, but not anymore. After all the lies she didn’t feel like she owed her ma anything. She sat beside the fire, back rigid and arms crossed beneath her chest. Her eyes followed her ma as she paced and ranted, gesturing wildly the whole time.
    “Ye are going to drive me mad child, mad I say! Do ye really think I could stand to lose another child?”
    The words were like a blow to Neala’s chest. Lorcan’s death had made Cecily quick to worry and to anger. She could hardly blame her ma, it had the same effect on Neala. And having to listen to her ma’s ranting was wearing down what little control she had. There was no sign of her da but Neala couldn’t get a word in to ask where he was.
    As if her wondering had conjured him, Neala felt her da’s energy when he approached the door from outside. It surprised her that she could feel it through her ma’s chaotic power that choked the room. The door opened and her da stepped in. He was wide-eyed and pale. Beads of sweat clung to his forehead.
    “How was the meetin’?” Neala’s ma asked in an unsteady voice.
    With shaking hands, her da removed his cloak and hung it on a peg next to the door. “Not good,” he said.
    He walked right past her ma, took a mug from the cupboard, and filled it with mead. Before he spoke again he emptied it with a few long swallows.
    “Dublin has fallen,” he said.
    A prickling sensation worked its way down Neala’s spine and out to her arms and legs. It was a mixture of fear and excitement that called to her power. Seeing the smoke was one thing, but hearing that Dublin had been taken was another altogether. Now people would have to do something.
    “We must be ready to fight,” Neala said as she rose to her feet. The fire had become too hot and she couldn’t sit still anymore.
    Hair flew free of her ma’s neat bun as she spun toward Neala and shoved a finger in her direction. Firelight crackled in her eyes, catching in the power that glowed there. “I don’t want to hear such nonsense out of ye! Ye leave such things to those responsible enough to come home before dark,” she said.
    Neala