He ran on.
And then his world split, breaking apart on the bull’s outraged roar as it hurtled toward him, head low and horns weaving, a murderous glint in the creature’s eyes.
Eyes red as fire.
Chapter Eleven
Gelis! Tip the table and get behind it!” Ronan yelled with all his lung power, raising his voice above the ever-louder drumming of hooves. “Do it now — with Buckie!”
Somewhere the two garrons screamed, their plunging, whinnying fear blending with Buckie’s frantic barking and the wild fury of Ronan’s own blood in his ears.
Then the ground shook and the great Scots pines edging the clearing careened sideways, their tall, dark trunks colliding with the sky.
Ronan dropped to his knees, aiming the sharp-ended tent pole like a long pike. He braced himself, waiting. Hoping the bull wouldn’t change his course.
Praying he had the strength to withstand the crash.
Then, quick as winking, the beast tossed its thick, shaggy neck and swung about, thundering ever nearer, but not toward the sharp end of the pole.
Now he charged from the side, hurtling straight for the middle of the pole and at a speed that left Ronan no time to reposition himself.
Crrraaaaack!
The impact snapped the tent pole like a twig. Unscathed, the bull thundered past, his horntip missing Ronan’s hip by a hair’s breadth. The beast flung himself around at once, his powerful hindquarters clipping Ronan’s shoulder and knocking him to the ground.
He slammed onto the splintered pole shaft, white-hot pain shooting through him. Cursing, he rolled to the side and leaped to his feet, gaining his balance only moments before the bull charged anew, hurtling straight for him.
Heart in his throat, he vaulted over a patch of heather as the bull barreled near, the beast’s hot, snorting breath blasting him as it shot past and circled around.
This time the animal paused.
It was the break Ronan needed.
With a great screech of steel, he whipped out his sword, already slashing and stabbing. He swung the blade in a lightning-quick windmilling arc, ready and waiting for the bull’s next charge.
Head low and swinging from side to side, the beast kept its distance. Bellowing furiously, it pawed the earth again and again, its powerful right hoof cleaving a deep black scar in the mossy, peaty ground.
Then the great, unholy head lifted and swung in another direction, the beady red eyes fixing on the toppled trestle table and the striped welter of the collapsed tenting.
Fiery eyes focusing, the creature shook itself. Then he shot forward with a tremendous burst of speed, tearing across the clearing even as Ronan raced to cut him off.
“ No-o-o!” he roared, waving his sword above his head, flailing his other arm like a madman, anything to distract the bull.
Draw him away from Gelis and Buckie.
“To me! To me!” he yelled, almost upon the beast. “Wheel about, you —”
“Cuidich N’ Righ!”
The cry merged with his own just as he took a wild, slashing swipe at the bull’s rolling, muscle-bunched back. A bright, silverystreakarced beneath his down-swinging blade, deflecting the blow as the eye-blinding flash whizzed past the bull’s ears, barely grazing him, before plunging hilt-deep into the ground at the animal’s feet.
His bride’ssgian dubh.
And not a third the length of his sword, yet the bull nearly upended itself trying to stop its hurtling momentum before crossing the dirk’s steel.
With a great unearthly cry, the beast tossed up its hind legs and jerked about, its forelegs scoring the earth in the fast, furious turn. Still bellowing, it took off, pounding away toward the heather whence it’d come.
In a blink, even the thunderous drumming of its hooves faded.
