An Immortal Descent (23 page)

Marin turned just enough to look at Henry. “You done fighting?” she asked him, in no wise cowed by his imposing presence.

“Upon my word, I shall not act unless provoked.” By his tone, I could tell he was smiling. But even more than humor, I heard his respect for the brazen woman.

“So you have it,” Marin said, turning back to the other men. “Now get to work. The last thing we need is to have some damned lobsters breathing down our necks.”

This last part got their attention. With more than a few grumbled complaints, the three men moved away to start dispersing the crowd with loud calls to break it up and go about their business.

“Bloody stubborn men,” Marin muttered under her breath. “Always looking for a fight.” I nodded, feeling a strange kinship to this feisty woman, until the moment she knelt down and attempted to shoulder me aside. “Budge along. Your reunion can wait till I’ve tended him.”

Her sharp words jolted me back to reality. This woman wasn’t my friend, and after what happened with Henry, she might well be my enemy. The last assumption seemed most likely, judging by the unveiled hostility in her eyes.

I held my ground, refusing to cede a single inch. “Leave Sean to me, and go fetch his hand.”

The hostile expression turned downright volcanic. “Don’t you be dismissing me so. The same goddess blood runs in me veins, and I can see to his wounds well enough, thank you very much.”

My eyes narrowed on her oval face, which appeared pale as porcelain within a frame of deep auburn hair. “What will you do exactly?” I asked. As Sean had lost consciousness, he would possess no memory of who healed him. Even so, I wasn’t about to turn his care over to Marin until she demonstrated the necessary competence beyond a fiery temper and blistering tongue.

“What do you think? I’ll settle the nerves and mend the skin over the bones.”

I lifted a brow. “And the hand? Can you reattach it?”

A snort cut through her nose. “Are you mad? No one can do that sort of healing anymore. Not for hundreds o’ years now.”

There was a pause as I weighed my next words. Other than Henry, only two men remained nearby, the one with the stunned arms, who was busy mumbling to himself, and the other supporting Sean’s weight. Though distracted, both were close enough to hear every word I exchanged with the woman if they were paying attention. But she hadn’t held back from voicing her bloodline, leaving me to believe the men were goddess born themselves.

So be it. I would forge ahead in a similar manner. “Well, I can, but only if someone fetches the hand before it dies.”

Marin blinked several times, clearly surprised by the claim. “Can you really?”

In truth, I’d only ever reattached a partially severed toe that had been struck by a sickle during the wheat harvest. The boy never knew the full extent of the wound since I’d been the one to remove the damaged boot and had the bone knitted back together before the foot saw the light of day. An entire hand posed a greater challenge, though nothing impossible by my estimation. Bolstered by the thought, I nodded in what I hoped to be a confident manner.

The man behind Sean sucked in a sharp breath, a clear indication that he had indeed been paying close attention. I glanced at him, but he quickly averted his dark gaze to Marin. “Did you see where the hand went off to?” he asked her.

Marin shook her head. “No, Brian, me eyes were on Sean the whole time. It can’t have gone too far though.”

“Near the tavern,” Henry offered, matter-of-factly. “The sword fell on the road next to the ale cart. If I’m not mistaken, the hand was still attached.”

A scowl pinched Brian’s face, no doubt from the unwelcome reminder of Henry’s part in wounding my brother. With considerable effort, he kept his eyes on the level and swallowed back what appeared to be a curse the size of a goat. “Go get it, lass,” he said to Marin, “afore the dogs carry it off.”

Pushing to her feet, she dashed across the road. Brian shifted his weight, earning a soft groan from Sean. Pain contorted his ashen face, and he groaned again in fleeting awareness.

Brigid’s fire rushed unbidden to my fingertips, which I placed on Sean’s forearm near the end of his stump. Heat seeped through his skin to deaden the nerves beneath. The effect was immediate, and Sean relaxed once more.

He had aged some in the past three years, his face thinning from boyhood to the harder lines of a man’s. Still, in so many ways he looked exactly the same, and if not for the empty pocket carved in my heart, I could have convinced myself that only a few months had passed since we’d last met.

Without warning, my eyes burned with the threat of tears. “Oh, Sean,” I whispered. “You shouldn’t have left us for so long.” A single tear slipped free. I sniffed and brushed it away.

Brian cleared his throat. “All the time Sean’s been here, he never talked of any sisters. Never talked of anyone for that matter, other than his dead mam.”

It took a second for the softly spoken words to register. But once they did, their meaning pierced the very center my chest. My head snapped up. “What do you mean?”

“Sean’s been in Ireland nigh on three years,” he continued in the same soft voice, “and I just learned that you existed this morning when we overheard the Englishman asking around for a Selah Kilbrid.”

Henry moved closer until his knees brushed against my back. “Watch yourself,” he warned in a low growl.

I placed a restraining hand on his calf. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Thought you’d want to know,” he said after a moment.

Another question formed on my tongue, but Marin’s return set it back. Kneeling beside me, she let out a fold of her cloak, and Sean’s hand tumbled into his lap, coming to rest palm-down in the crook of one leg. It had been severed right above the wrist, and two bones, the ulna and radius, peeked out from layers of skin and muscle. Blood crusted the skin, with the fingers still curled from gripping the sword handle. Otherwise, it appeared in excellent condition, much like it had simply snapped off.

The similarity was too strong to ignore, and just like that, a sudden swell of anger hit the back of my throat.

A part of him removed and discarded.
Though rather than losing me to another’s sword, he’d willingly tossed me aside.
His only sister!

The anger grew hotter, till it seemed to steam from the top of my head. Forcing a slow, calming breath through my nose, I picked up the hand for a closer inspection. Turning it over, I found a score of ragged teeth marks marring the inside along the pinky finger.

“Had to wrestle it from a mongrel,” Marin admitted before darting a look over her shoulder. “Conri’s to clear any curious folks, so you’ve not to worry about being seen.” She
leaned closer. “Will it still work? Or did the beast ruin it?”

“The bites don’t matter.” At this point, the hand only needed to contain a spark of life, and I could manage the rest. If I didn’t throw it back to the dogs first.

In all that time, you never once mentioned me.

My mouth had turned inexplicably dry. Blinking rapidly, I swallowed hard and grabbed his stump, with no amount of gentleness. For Sean’s sake, he was lucky the nerves had been deadened when I thrust the hand to his arm and clamped my fingers tight to hold the two parts together.
Pity I’d been so thoughtful...
Not that he’d spared any thought for me in the past three years.

I released an initial burst of power to knit the bones together. Once that was done, I moved outward, reconnecting nerves, vessels and muscle under Marin’s watchful eye. When I reached the outer skin, she gasped as the severed edges joined together without so much as a seam. The teeth marks came last, disappearing one by one beneath my touch.

Giving the hand one last look, I dropped it back in my brother’s lap. Marin snatched it up and ran her fingers all around the wrist for any sign of the previous damage.

“Holy mother,” she breathed, thrusting the hand toward Brian. “Take a look at that, will you.”

Brian flinched back to avoid being hit. “Stop waving it in me face, lass. I won’t be seeing any better with me eyes poked out.”

Sean stirred under their boisterous ministrations. For the rest of the day, he would feel tired and weak from losing so much blood, but come morning, his body would be strong again. And then he could return to his normal life—a life that didn’t include me.

At risk of succumbing to a full-fledged crying fit, I focused instead on the rage that simmered beneath my skin.
No letters home... No mention of a sister.

Through his extended silence, my brother had made it abundantly clear that he didn’t want me. Fine. Two could play at that game. I had believed him dead once, there was no reason to change now. It broke my heart, but I could do it. Standing, I surveyed the area for any sight of Ailish and Seamus.

They stood together, not too far from the tavern where Seamus had managed to maneuver his cart once the crowd had dispersed. Ailish waved her arms, and I returned the gesture, ready to be away.

One step, and I came to an abrupt halt when Sean pushed unsteadily to his feet in front of me.

“Sabie—”

“Don’t call me that!” That name belonged to a different time, to a brother who would never have abandoned his sister, leaving her to think him dead. Hearing it now only burned my ears.

My breathing turned ragged as we stared at each other for several tense seconds. Then I did the one thing that made any sense, and slapped him hard across the face. He staggered off balance into Brian, who managed to keep him upright.

“Have you gone daft!” Marin cried.

My eyes remained on Sean’s. “That, brother, was for the last three years.”

He dropped his head. Henry put a heavy hand on my shoulder. “Let’s go, Selah—”

A mix of emotions bombarded my heart, pushing me to the very edge of hysterics. With no thought to my actions, I spun around and glared at him. “You,” I hissed, poking him in the chest. “You cut off my brother’s hand.”

Henry started at the accusation. “He threatened to kill you.”

“That’s none of your concern,” I shot back.

“The hell it isn’t—”

“Selah, please—”

Henry and Sean spoke at once, one atop the other.

“Ahh!” I threw my arms up for silence. “You can both go straight to the devil!” Turning on my heel, I strode toward Ailish and Seamus.

Chapter Fourteen

The Price of Milk and Honey

A man sat directly in my path near the center of the road, his sword lying forgotten on the cobbles beside him. He rubbed his head in a daze as though waking from a confused sleep. Which I supposed wasn’t too far from the truth since I’d knocked him unconscious while Henry and Sean had been fighting. Stepping around the man, I hoped him wise enough not to confront me over the incident, for there was no telling what may have happened in my present mood.

Other than a string of mumbled oaths, he let me pass unmolested.

When I reached Ailish and Seamus, my mouth twitched into what felt like a deranged smile in a poor attempt to cover my true feelings. “Shall we go?” I asked, much sharper than intended.

They presented a bizarre picture. Ailish was flushed a deep red, while Seamus looked pale as a corpse beneath a smattering of beard stubble. Their expressions were nearly identical though, much like I had sprouted another head in the short time we’d been apart.

“What’s wrong?” I asked, peering first at Ailish. “You’re red as a tomato.”

A fleeting revulsion crossed her face. “There be too much o’ Brigid’s blood about for me comfort. Makes it intolerable hot, like I’m standing with me toes in the coals.” She peeked around me. “What about Henry? Do you plan to leave him there so?”

My smile pulled even tighter. “I rather hoped he’d go to the devil.”

“But he’s your true love. You can’t just walk away from him like—”

“Trust me,” I interrupted. “It’s for the best.” Distance was a good thing until my temper cooled to something below molten, and I no longer felt capable of murder.

Ailish gave a curt nod, though I had no idea what she understood other than the frantic tone of my voice.

My finger shook as I pointed at a two-story inn farther down the road. “Is that our destination?”

Seamus cleared his throat. His lips were pressed together and perspiration dotted his ashen skin.

“You look pale, Mr. MacCabe. Are you unwell?”

He shook his head, and a deep groove formed between his brows. “That man...” he stammered. “The dark-haired one Henry be fighting against...” His Adam’s apple bobbed violently over a gulp.

“Ah, yes, that would be my brother, whom I’ve thought dead these past three years.” I leaned a bit closer. “What about him?”

Seamus shifted his gaze to the other side of the road, no more conspicuous than Ailish had been a minute before. “It...it looked to me like he lost a hand during the scuffle.”

“How very odd.” My face twitched over the pain that rippled through my chest. “Unless my eyes deceived me, I’m certain he was in possession of both a moment ago.”

Seamus gulped again. “So it would seem.”

“Well, I’m glad that’s settled. Shall we go to the inn then? I’ve developed an awful thirst for a cup of wine.” Turning, I rose onto my toes to survey the best route through the throng of carts and people that had returned to the road now the fighting was over.

“There you go, sir,” Ailish said from behind me. “Nothing to worry about.”

“I know what I saw,” Seamus persisted. “I swear it on me grandmam’s grave, so help me God.”

“It’s bad luck to swear on graves.”

“That don’t change the truth, and the truth be I saw a hand still attached to the sword when it flew under the ale cart. Somehow that hand found its way back to the man she’s calling her brother.”

“Trick o’ the eye is all, sir...”

Their voices grew softer as I threaded my way forward, too overwhelmed with other thoughts to refute Seamus’s claim.

Sean doesn’t want me... Henry cut off his hand... I don’t have a brother... Henry purposefully maimed him...

Less than an hour ago, I would have thought myself the luckiest person in the world to be reunited with both my brother and my betrothed. Now a veritable war waged inside of me, and it was all I could do to keep from screaming into the overcast sky.

Having arrived at a temporary dead end in my search for Nora, a single purpose drove me forward when I reached the inn.

“Where is the proprietor,” I asked the first serving maid to cross my path.

She stopped midstride, a tray balanced precariously on one arm, and pointed toward a portly gentleman near the back of the room. “That be him.”

I crossed at once to where he stood beside a doorway that led to the kitchens judging by the cooking smells. Head tilted down, he studied a pocket watch cupped in his palm while speaking to a young chambermaid.

“Excuse me, do you offer baths?” I asked without the slightest preamble.

The man looked at me over the rims of his wire-rimmed spectacles, the watch momentarily forgotten. “I’ve got a bathing closet. Three shillings and thirty minutes to fill the tub.”

“What about milk and fragrant oil? Do you have those as well?”

He stiffened noticeably. “This is a respectable inn, miss, not some Persian bawdyhouse.”

“Two crowns then. Will that get me a treated bath? And a cup of spiced wine?”

The man brushed a finger along his chin in thought. “I may be able to do something for a sovereign.”

I gave him a curt nod.

“In that case, me wife has some oil for special occasions if you’re not opposed to the scent o’ honeysuckle.”

My face felt set in stone. “I adore honeysuckle,” I said, without the least bit of inflection.

He clicked the watch shut and tucked it into his waistcoat pocket. “As you will, milady. There’s a fire in the next room where you can take your wine while I see to your bath.” With a sharp bow, he strode into the kitchen, the maid close in tow.

Ailish and Seamus found me ten minutes later curled into one of the armchairs, staring blankly at the fire. I had already drained one cup of wine, and was now nursing a second. My nerves had calmed somewhat, though a dull ache remained lodged right behind my ribs.

“How you think she’s doing?” Ailish asked him.

“Seems all right to me.”

I looked between them, at the obvious worry that lined their faces. “I’m fine. It’s just been a long day is all.”
Dreadful
and
horrific
more accurately described my day, but I saw no reason to burden my friends further.

Seamus set my saddlebags on the floor next to my chair. “I spoke with the proprietor and he’s preparing a room for you two.” He sounded more subdued than usual.

“Thank you, Mr. MacCabe. I arranged a bath when I arrived but forgot about sleeping arrangements. I guess my mind hadn’t gone beyond the next hour.”

Ailish sat in the chair across from me. “Is that dark-haired man really your brother?”

Blowing out a slow breath, I squeezed my eyes tight for a few seconds. “He is. Or at least he was three years ago, when we lived in the Colonies. I’m not sure what he is now.”

Seamus leaned against the hearth. Pulling a small leather pouch from his coat pocket, he set to filling his pipe bowl. “Henry and your brother are outside.”

“Are they still fighting?” Not that I cared. The two of them could beat each other senseless so long as no swords were involved. Tired and mad, I was in no mood to reattach any more body parts today.

“Put the fighting aside, they did, once you stormed off.” Seamus chuckled softly as he compressed the tobacco. “From what I gathered, they’re deciding who should come in to speak with you first.”

“Pity the fool who tries,” I grumbled.

Seamus nodded. “That lass who’s with them suggested they toss lots and get on with it.” Striking a flint, he held it to the wooden bowl, cheeks fluttering with the draw of air. “I got a good look at your brother when we came inside,” he continued through a puff of fragrant smoke. “Right shirt sleeve’s stained red with blood, but no hand be missing.”

Ailish grimaced across from me. “Tried to tell him nothing happened.”

I sighed my resignation. “It’s all right, Ailish. Some things can’t be unseen no matter how much we may wish otherwise.” I straightened my shoulders and turned to look at Seamus. “Do you mind dragging a chair closer so we can talk privately?” Two young men sat at the far end, heads ducked over cups of cider. Other than that, the room was empty, and there appeared no risk of being overheard.

Seamus didn’t hesitate. “Not at all.”

He returned a moment later with a wooden chair borrowed from one of the dining tables and set it at a close angle to mine. Lowering his considerable height, he settled in to the hard seat and drew on the pipe.

Our eyes met through the rising haze of smoke. “I saw it right, didn’t I, Jane? That man’s hand be cut off in the fight.”

I started at the name, just now remembering the aliases I’d given yesterday—Jane and Sally Duggan. “First of all,” I gestured between Ailish and myself, “you were right about our not being sisters. Her real name is Ailish O’Bearra. And I’m Selah Kilbrid.”

Seamus tipped his tricorn hat. “Pleased to meet you, Miss Kilbrid.” He looked at Ailish. “And Miss O’Bearra.”

Ailish giggled at the formality. “Thank you, sir.”

“In regards to the incident,” I continued. “You are correct that my brother lost his hand to Henry’s sword, and that through a special gift, I was able to reattach it. Ailish tried to make you believe otherwise to protect me.”

Seamus nodded and pinched his upper lip between thumb and forefinger. Sitting in his place, I could well imagine the shock from such a revelation—a shock that would have pushed most people into a witch-hunting frenzy. Yet for some reason, Seamus seemed different, and I felt safe sharing what I could from today.

“Can many folks heal then?” he asked after a moment.

Cate came to mind, as did Marin’s words regarding my abilities. “Some have the gift, but I know of only one other lady can heal like I can.”

“I’ve been all over Ireland,” Ailish interjected, “and I ain’t ever seen a person like Selah.”

There was another moment of silence, and I realized that Seamus tended toward contemplation rather than rush for answers. “I’ve heard they’ve a race o’ people in the Colonies like what lived in Ireland afore Saint Patrick came over. Is this where you got the gift?”

I shook my head. “I’m sorry, Mr. MacCabe, but I can’t say any more. Strict rules govern my kind, and you already know more about me than most people ever will.”

“Fair enough.” He offered no argument, just raised his pipe to his lips for a long, steady draw.

While we spoke, the color had remained strong in his face compared to the deathly paleness I’d seen on the road when he first got wind that something was amiss. “If you don’t mind me saying,” I said to him. “You’re taking all of this rather well.”

He leaned forward, his light brown eyes fixed on mine. “A person don’t live in Ireland without expecting to see a strange thing from time to time.” He winked at me. “It wouldn’t be natural.”

I smiled at his words when a sudden idea struck me. “Perhaps there is something more I can do.”

Seamus gave me a curious look. “Nothing that will get you in trouble, or Fianna will have me hide.”

“Not at all,” I said excitedly. “This is well within the rules, and nothing less than you deserve from all you’ve done for Ailish and me.”

Ailish spouted an assent so quickly, she must have known what I was up to.

Seamus blew out more smoke, adding to the haze that hung over our heads. “How long have you been taking a pipe?” I asked him.

“Hmm. Started while me grandmam was still alive.” Seamus pinched his lip again. “Must be twenty years if a day.”

“That’s a long time.” I reached to him. “Here, take my hand.”

He only hesitated a second. “All right.” His fingers curled around mine. “I don’t need anything reattached though.”

“It’s nothing like that,” I said as a small fire burst to life inside of me. “Now you will feel a bit of warmth flowing up your arm. Don’t be alarmed. I’m going to take a peek at your lungs and throat and heal any damage you’ve done from smoking.”

His eyes grew wider with each word. “Is it safe?” He began to pull his hand away, but I held tight.

“Very safe,” I assured him. “Much more than the tar I’m sure to find stuck to your lungs.”

“You can see in there?”

“Shh,” I breathed. “Let me concentrate.”

His head bobbed in quick, jerky motions. “You do what you need then. I’ll just sit here and be—” He froze the moment Brigid’s fire flowed into him. “I feel it,” he whispered, though there was no one near enough to hear. “It be moving up me arm. Hoh—”

The abrupt noise burst from his throat as I plunged into his right lung. Layers of spongy tissue immediately surrounded me, pockmarked and mottled black from years of smoke.
Cursed habit.
I jumped to the other side, and saw right away that the entire area had to be healed. By good fortune, there was no sign of cancerous growth.

A rush of warmth flowed into him, bathing the affected tissue. Seamus shifted in the chair but didn’t attempt to break contact. Peeking beneath one eyelid, I saw he had pressed the other hand to his chest. “Are you inside me lungs?” he whispered.

“Yes, and it’s a mess in here. I’ll be done in a few minutes.”

The warmth continued to flow, where I directed it first into the tiny air sacs that lined each lung. Slowly, the tar began to give way to the creamy white of healthy tissue. Then I moved up the airways, healing the damage that had been done to these tubes.

Seamus sighed. “That...that feels good.”

“Almost done,” I murmured, following the respiratory path to the trachea, across the larynx and into the throat, where I soothed the inflamed red tissue. He swallowed from the sensation.

“Just your mouth and nose left,” I said, moving higher.

Seamus’s hand tightened around mine as the breath turned choppy through his nose.

“A few seconds more is all—”

“A...a-choo!” His grip slipped under the force of the sneeze. My eyes flew open, and I blinked several times, readjusting to so abrupt a change.

Seamus wrestled a rather dingy square of linen from his coat pocket and dabbed at his nose. “Pardon me, Selah. The tickling came on too sudden. There wasn’t any way to stop it.”

Ailish giggled. “Never heard a man sneeze so.”

“Not to worry,” I said. “I’d just finished when you broke contact. Try a deep breath and see if you notice any difference.”