Read Online The Faery Bride (The Celtic Legends Series Book 2) by Lisa Ann Verge - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Lisa Ann Verge
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dog.
Dafydd scraped his sword out of its scabbard. His horse pranced, frightening her donkey into skittering aside. Dafydd cried something out in his babbling Welsh, and then pointed his sword forward. She strained to see around his horse through the thicket, but all she saw was faint movement ahead.
Then the woods erupted.
The creatures burst from the forest in a rush of sound, hurling their javelins with a whirr, and then flashing knives out from their belts. They hurtled toward the line of horses and men so suddenly that she simply sat upon the donkey transfixed, not feeling fear, not at first, for surely these were but furies of some sort, ripped from the Otherworld. Such faces as these she had never seen. She recognized them as human, but barely so. The hardness in those eyes . . . like chips of the slate mountains themselves.
The horsemen around her scraped their weapons free and met the challenge headlong. Dafydd shouted orders. Had the men really carried so many weapons? There was a kitchen’s worth of knives flashing in the gray light, and every man had his hands full. She hadn’t noticed that when they’d left the homestead, though she had wondered why she had been granted such a royal procession back to the sea.
Someone bumped her donkey. The beast skittered back to the edge of the woods, and then picked his way down to the rounded stones of a dried riverbed. Left alone with slack reins, out of the center of the fray, the beast lowered its head to munch on a dry tuft of grass. A sound alerted her, like the whistle of a gust through a cavern. She turned and saw one of the attackers racing across the riverbed toward her, hefting a lance upon his shoulder.
She sat, transfixed, staring into wolfish eyes. Blue woad caked his skin. Long fair hair flew out behind him. Reeds strapped around his feet muffled his footsteps. A scream surged in her throat, and then stuck. He splashed to the middle of the rocky riverbed, and curled his lips back from yellowed teeth. Sensing his victory, Aileen supposed, in the strange detached place she’d floated to in this unreal world where men spilled the blood of other men
She struggled to move her donkey. He flexed his fingers around the shaft of the javelin and leaned back to launch it.
A powerful crack rent through the clearing.
Later, she would remember that sound. At the time she was only vaguely aware of it, too concerned about kicking the beast into moving. Air whooshed across the riverbed. A humid gust swiped her cheek but didn’t rattle a single leaf amid the thousands littering the ground. She became aware of an odd buzzing in the air. Tiny whirlwinds sifted up dust beneath her donkey’s feet. An exotic perfume burst around her, like the distant smoke of fragrant wood–fires. The riverbed clattered as if with the sound of a thousand tinny footsteps.
The warrior stumbled to a stop.
His javelin clanged against the stones. The man swiped at his head, then at his thigh, then, more furiously, at his arms. He stumbled back and raised his arms over his face, twisted this way and that, clawing the air, grasping his invisible tormentors. Aileen tightened her grip on a donkey grown skittish.
The air filled with a louder clatter—Dafydd’s gelding as Dafydd urged the horse down the slope. Steel rang as his sword knocked against his scabbard. At the sound of the ringing of metal, the leaves ceased their rattling, the whirlwinds died, the buzzing eased, and a cold autumn wind gusted away the last of that odd fragrance.
Dafydd called out to the warrior digging his fist into his eye. The warrior glanced up, started to his feet, and raced into the woods. He cast a single backward glance at her—a glance that made her blood run cold.
Dafydd chased the man into the woods. Her chest heaved. She twisted around at the sound of a twig cracking, to find nothing but the shimmer of light upon a clearing. She tumbled off the donkey’s back, dragged her skirts off his rump. She held
Dafydd scraped his sword out of its scabbard. His horse pranced, frightening her donkey into skittering aside. Dafydd cried something out in his babbling Welsh, and then pointed his sword forward. She strained to see around his horse through the thicket, but all she saw was faint movement ahead.
Then the woods erupted.
The creatures burst from the forest in a rush of sound, hurling their javelins with a whirr, and then flashing knives out from their belts. They hurtled toward the line of horses and men so suddenly that she simply sat upon the donkey transfixed, not feeling fear, not at first, for surely these were but furies of some sort, ripped from the Otherworld. Such faces as these she had never seen. She recognized them as human, but barely so. The hardness in those eyes . . . like chips of the slate mountains themselves.
The horsemen around her scraped their weapons free and met the challenge headlong. Dafydd shouted orders. Had the men really carried so many weapons? There was a kitchen’s worth of knives flashing in the gray light, and every man had his hands full. She hadn’t noticed that when they’d left the homestead, though she had wondered why she had been granted such a royal procession back to the sea.
Someone bumped her donkey. The beast skittered back to the edge of the woods, and then picked his way down to the rounded stones of a dried riverbed. Left alone with slack reins, out of the center of the fray, the beast lowered its head to munch on a dry tuft of grass. A sound alerted her, like the whistle of a gust through a cavern. She turned and saw one of the attackers racing across the riverbed toward her, hefting a lance upon his shoulder.
She sat, transfixed, staring into wolfish eyes. Blue woad caked his skin. Long fair hair flew out behind him. Reeds strapped around his feet muffled his footsteps. A scream surged in her throat, and then stuck. He splashed to the middle of the rocky riverbed, and curled his lips back from yellowed teeth. Sensing his victory, Aileen supposed, in the strange detached place she’d floated to in this unreal world where men spilled the blood of other men
She struggled to move her donkey. He flexed his fingers around the shaft of the javelin and leaned back to launch it.
A powerful crack rent through the clearing.
Later, she would remember that sound. At the time she was only vaguely aware of it, too concerned about kicking the beast into moving. Air whooshed across the riverbed. A humid gust swiped her cheek but didn’t rattle a single leaf amid the thousands littering the ground. She became aware of an odd buzzing in the air. Tiny whirlwinds sifted up dust beneath her donkey’s feet. An exotic perfume burst around her, like the distant smoke of fragrant wood–fires. The riverbed clattered as if with the sound of a thousand tinny footsteps.
The warrior stumbled to a stop.
His javelin clanged against the stones. The man swiped at his head, then at his thigh, then, more furiously, at his arms. He stumbled back and raised his arms over his face, twisted this way and that, clawing the air, grasping his invisible tormentors. Aileen tightened her grip on a donkey grown skittish.
The air filled with a louder clatter—Dafydd’s gelding as Dafydd urged the horse down the slope. Steel rang as his sword knocked against his scabbard. At the sound of the ringing of metal, the leaves ceased their rattling, the whirlwinds died, the buzzing eased, and a cold autumn wind gusted away the last of that odd fragrance.
Dafydd called out to the warrior digging his fist into his eye. The warrior glanced up, started to his feet, and raced into the woods. He cast a single backward glance at her—a glance that made her blood run cold.
Dafydd chased the man into the woods. Her chest heaved. She twisted around at the sound of a twig cracking, to find nothing but the shimmer of light upon a clearing. She tumbled off the donkey’s back, dragged her skirts off his rump. She held
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