Curse of the Celts by Clara O'Connor (most romantic novels .TXT) 📕

them. My heart thudded in my chest. At least now we had Callum and the other warriors, but I had no idea if it would be enough. Suddenly, I felt a pull come over me, a tug that called me to go right.

“Callum, we need to go that way,” I whispered, pointing east.

“Why?”

“I don’t know.”

He considered me gravely for a moment before he gave the order.

We flew through the night, the barely rested horses surprisingly surefooted in the moonlight. Each howl raised the hairs on my flesh and flashes of the memory of slavering jaws only added to my terror.

I held on to Callum’s solid torso and buried my head in his back, my stomach churning. What could I do? I had been useless last time, but this time surely I could be more help. I silently prayed to the world around us, the air, the earth, the water, as Callum had taught me. This time, I would not be defenceless.

The howls were closer now, and while they were infrequent, they weren’t just behind us anymore. When the eerie hunting calls began to split the night, they were identifiably coming from different directions.

One was directly behind, another, higher-pitched, to the right somewhere in the dark. Two more behind and to the left. One, now two more…

“Callum, they… Was that one in front of us?” Were they now all around us?

The road in front of us went uphill and the horses were visibly tiring, even as they too trembled at the sound of the hounds.

We crested the hill and took in the sight of the Severn in front of us.

A howl tore through the dark. Closer.

No one said a word.

I had led them this way. My mouth went dry. I had led all these men to their deaths.

“Well, city girl, where to now?” Gideon’s voice was dry, rather than the castigating sneer I deserved. He was genuinely asking, as though I might have the answer.

But maybe I did have the answer. The glitter of moonlight across the wide expanse of the river was a path and the path spoke to me. Not literally, not out loud, but it called to me and I had to follow it.

Callum turned his head.

“Girl?” he prompted.

“I…” My mouth was so dry I could barely get the words out. “To the river.”

Another howl. Closer still.

The lead warrior nudged his horse forward.

“The river is suicide; we’ll be trapped,” he objected.

“And yet, that is the way we go,” Callum stated flatly, and he started down the hill, Marcus and Gideon following closely behind.

Was I losing my mind? The Anglian was right; I was leading us into a dead end. Yet I felt sure that this was where safety lay.

As we approached the river, it became clear that we had stumbled upon a crossing point, the road leading right up to the gravel bank. However, there was no sign of a ferry or footbridge.

“It’s a ford all right,” Gideon said after leading his horse several feet into the rushing water. “In the summer, sure, but this late in the year, who knows how—”

The howl was closer and I spotted two sets of twin red lights waiting unmoving on the other bank. Their vile stench came across on the wind. They had surrounded us.

“I’ve counted four, maybe five behind,” Callum assessed.

“Do we cross?” Marcus ventured.

There were two on the far bank, and four or five behind. Surely twenty men could take on two of these things? We had managed to chase them off the last time, but back then, one had been injured and power had flooded my veins. But now, nothing. I commanded nothing.

We stepped out into the river, the cold water swirling ever higher up the horses’ legs as they took each tentative step.

One of the hounds in front was visible now, its white coat flashing as it stalked the water’s edge… waiting for us.

Two more sets of eyes had become visible on the road behind, another appearing from the trees to our left as the rotting smell closed in on us.

We were nearly in the middle of the river now and the water was as high as the horses’ chests so our legs were submerged in the icy waters. Yet here we were safe, I was sure of it. The river fairly sang to me to stay, stay.

“Stop,” I whispered.

My voice was barely audible over the babble and whoosh of the water, yet everyone stopped.

A snarl came at us from the fourth hound on the bank behind us as he entered the water, his fellows following, spreading out as they came.

The York warriors took position around us, their swords glinting in the moonlight as they waited for the hounds. The two beasts on the bank facing us grew tired of waiting and slipped into the dark water, their white heads visible as they made their way to us. They seemed to be swimming more slowly than I would have expected. Their path was clearly more difficult, the fight against the current on that side more challenging perhaps. But still, the flash of white and the glint of their eerily bright eyes came inexorably closer.

The river pulled at my focus as the soldiers in the front drew closer together. One of the horses descending the bank behind us screamed as it disappeared under the water, its Anglian rider surfacing once and then disappearing into darkness. The water glittered where once the mounted warrior had been.

There was a flash of white in the darkness of the bank and a horse reared. Another flash and more screams. The warriors still on the bank urged their mounts into the water, bunching together to close the gaps in the circle around us. The water suddenly seemed louder and there were more cries from behind. More men disappearing into the darkness. I was somehow calmed by the lulling rhythm of the river as it flowed past us, past this momentary disruption in the eternal flow from the hills and mountains towards the sea.