by Kari Edgren
Fire flooded my hands, enough to create a small inferno that would have shaken his world if he were conscious. “Hold on...”
His lips twitched, the movement so slight it could have been a trick of the imagination. Then they twitched again, and the fire receded unused as I lifted the cup to his mouth. This time only about half of the water ran down his chin as the other half went to the back of his throat. I repeated the process over and over until the cup was empty.
Setting it aside, I cradled his head in my lap. “Come back, Julian.” The words sounded a cross between a plea and a demand.
Long seconds passed before the color began to creep into his cheeks, infusing the olive skin with reddish tones.
Oh, thank heavens.
Stirring, Julian pulled in a deep breath. Then his eyes cracked open, and he stared at me in obvious confusion.
“Selah?” he said tentatively.
“Yes, Julian. It’s me.” I tucked a lock of hair behind his ear, heartened to see that it had lightened the few shades to its original dark brown.
His gaze moved beyond me to a cluster of trees laden with a crimson fruit unknown to the mortal world. “Are we in the Otherworld?”
“You don’t remember crossing over?”
He frowned. “My last memory is being helped up some stairs at the tavern. Where did you find an altar?”
“Miss Rose brought some sort of stone that allowed us to link to a passageway from Bristol. I’ve no idea where we came through, just that I almost lost you in between.”
He raised a brow in question.
“Your spirit stopped moving, and I had to fight the Otherworld not to let go.”
Understanding filled his face. “Yet you held on even after everything I did to you.”
I cupped his cheek, overwhelmed by how close I had come to losing him. “Of course I did.”
He turned into my hand, and his chest lifted with another breath.
“Feeling better?” I asked.
“Like I’ve been brought back from the dead.”
I shuddered from the thought. “You were certainly close enough. Near the end, you didn’t even look the same.”
Julian stilled. “How so?”
“The changes were subtle, but for a short time you appeared an aberration of yourself.” My mouth tightened reflexively. “All I could think was that your spirit had grown too weak to hold a proper form.”
He held my gaze with a steadfastness that made the back of my skull prickle. “Did it frighten you?”
“Very much so. I feared you would fade away before I got any water down your throat.”
“And now what do you see?”
A handsome man with a devious air about him. I smiled. “Just you, Julian. The same as you’ve always been.”
This seemed to please him. He nestled deeper into my lap, and his eyelids drooped with sleepy contentment. Inhale. Exhale. His warm breath passed through the thin sheath to my inner thigh.
I stiffened. “Can you sit?”
He didn’t move other than to open his eyes. “If I must.”
“It would be best.” Scooping my hands beneath his shoulders, I lifted him the best I could.
Julian sighed and dug an elbow into the grass to push up. We were sitting close together, almost too close as he peered at me through sooty lashes. “I assume I’ve been forgiven.”
The events from the riverbank seemed ages ago. My bruised torso said otherwise, but Julian’s near death had managed to deflate most of my anger. Even so, I leveled him with a stern look. “I’m willing to consider it, so long as you promise never to use your gift or your strength against me again.”
He ran a hand over his chin in thought. “Are you prepared to make a similar promise?”
I choked on a breath. “Are you serious? When was the last time I tied you to a tree?” Or the first time for that matter.
“You made me angry, and I reacted without thinking.” He turned his palm to me, the one I’d healed after burning him less than a week ago. “You of all people should understand how easily these mistakes happen.”
“I already apologized for hurting you.”
“As did I at the riverbank.” A sardonic curve crept over his mouth. “I begged your forgiveness while on my knees if memory serves.”
I despised the way he twisted the truth to cast himself in a better light. “You’ve forgotten the part about almost killing me if Miss Rose hadn’t intervened.”
One shoulder rose and fell in a show of nonchalance. “Tit for tat.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
He fisted his hand, then opened it again. “The night you marked my palm, your fire reached the crest of my shoulder. What do you think would have happened if it had touched my heart?”
Words failed me...because I knew such a shock could have killed him.
“Did you wish me dead?”
I shook my head. “Never.”
“Then we are the same. We both succumbed to our anger and temporarily lost control of our power.”
He had conveniently omitted his role of aggressor in both instances, but I was done arguing the finer points. “So now we’re even? Is that what you want to hear?”
Julian tilted his head to the side, frank appraisal glittering in his eyes. “You know what I want to hear, Selah.” His gaze dipped to my lips, evoking the taste of strawberries.
My cheeks warmed at the memory of our kiss. “We are not discussing this again.”
“Why do you insist on ignoring the truth? Our temperaments and gifts are so perfectly matched, it’s as though we’ve been made for each other.”
Lifting my chin, I met his challenge. “I found my match in Lord Fitzalan and have agreed to be his wife. If we’re to remain friends, you have to give up any ideas of our marrying. Otherwise we shall be strangers once Nora is safe.”
Julian turned thoughtful, and tension rippled through me as I awaited his response. “Agreed,” he said at last.
My shoulders sagged with relief. “Thank goodness—”
“Just as soon as you tell me how an Irish lass can truly love an English lord after all they’ve done to Ireland. Is it his royal title that’s caught your eye?”
My mouth fell open with an indignant huff. “How dare you accuse me of such a thing while a thieving English lord squats on my family’s lands.” Title indeed! The Kilbrids had a longstanding hatred of the peerage, and no doubt my brother Sean would have killed me for marrying one of them if he hadn’t already died in the West Indies.
Julian appeared amused at my outburst. I glared at him, astounded by the hypocrisy. “I’m not sure what you’re running on about as the Strouds are no less English and titled than the Fitzalans. You might as well be arguing against yourself for all the sense it makes.”
“What if I wasn’t?”
I waved the thought away. “There’s no point arguing hypotheticals.”
He opened his mouth to protest, then snapped it shut. I considered the discussion over, and was about to stand, when Julian started again.
“Only my father was English, and you know how I feel about the late Lord Stroud, may he rot in hell.”
“Lord Fitzalan isn’t particularly fond of his own father either. And his mother came from Germany.”
Annoyance spread over Julian’s face. Propping one hand in the grass, he shifted his weight forward. “Is there anything I can offer to tilt the odds in my favor?”
I scoffed at his use of words. “You make me sound like prize to be won.”
“What if I restored your family lands in Ireland?”
“William of Orange made sure my father’s line could never return.” Not that it mattered, as my heart belonged wholly to Henry. His face appeared in my mind, the impish smile a
nd green eyes flecked with gold. I missed him so much, at times I could hardly breathe for the constant pressure in my chest.
“But what if I found a way to do it,” Julian persisted. “Would you think of me differently then?”
“Nothing will change my mind.”
He looked at me with an earnestness that made my insides shiver. “What about all of Ireland? If I could drive the English away, would that turn your heart in my favor?”
I laughed outright. “You might as well promise me the moon.”
“I’ve no interest in the moon.”
My smile faltered at his seriousness. “Do you ever give up?”
He shook his head. “Appease me in this, Selah.”
Oh, for pity’s sake. “What would you have me say?”
“That you will at least consider my offer.”
“Fine. Chase the English away, and then we’ll talk.” I pushed to my feet. “We need to get back soon.”
At the spring, we drank our fill, alternating use of the silver cup. Once finished, I dried my hands on the front of my sheath and glanced around the garden.
“Are you looking for something?” Julian asked.
I didn’t want to get into the particulars of how I had run away from London and was now being pursued by my very angry and very powerful great-grandparents. “Just not in the mood for company, I guess.” I looked over my shoulder toward a group of trees that hugged the rim of the mist. “We really should return. Justine is waiting.”
Julian didn’t argue but neither did he hurry. Thrusting his arms high in the air, he arched his back for a full body stretch. Then he meandered to where my cape had been left in the grass. Folding it over one arm, he looked back at the spring longingly. “I hate to leave so soon.”
“Yes, yes. So do I.”
He didn’t move at once, and I willed myself to be patient, tapping my foot in the grass to vent my growing anxiety. Just another minute or two, and we’ll be back at the tavern...
A sound drifted out from the mist. I tensed, ready to flee. “Did you hear that?” I whispered.
“Hear what?” Julian asked, matching my tone.
Laughter came next, soft and musical and definitely feminine.
I grabbed Julian’s hand, yanking him hard. “This way,” I hissed, making a beeline toward a group of bushes near the edge. Julian followed without question. We ducked down just as a woman emerged from the mist.
“Who is it?” Julian asked in a low whisper.
A glimpse of deep auburn hair nearly stopped my heart. Cate!
Someone else emerged from the mist behind her, most likely another set of hands to wrestle me into submission. Standing, I made to slip away unnoticed.
A branch snagged on my sheath. I froze, one foot suspended over the ground as I prayed the rustle of leaves had gone unnoticed.
The man turned slightly. “Who’s there?” he asked good-naturedly.
This time, Julian moved first, tugging me backward. I gasped as the man’s profile swept through my line of sight. Then he disappeared behind a veil of mist.
It can’t be!
I forgot how to move, and if not for Julian, I would have remained rooted to the spot. He dragged me like a bewildered child until the darkness took hold, and we were swept back to Bristol. My eyes flew open the very moment I smelled burning herbs. Julian came into view, a deep crease between his brows.
A wooden chair scraped the floor next to us. “Glad you’re back,” Justine said. “You were gone so long, I was beginning to fear you had fallen into Cate’s hands.”
Julian kept his eyes pinned to mine. “Is that who we were running from?”
I nodded.
Justine pulled in a sharp breath. “You saw Cate?”
“I... I’m not sure.” Everything happened so quickly, the scene hadn’t had time to fully form in my mind. “A woman came into the garden when we were leaving. Her hair was the same color as Cate’s, so I just assumed it was her.”
“Didn’t you see her face?” Justine asked.
“Not very well. We heard laughter and hid behind some bushes before she came out of the mist.”
Julian adjusted his knees on the hard floor, and I realized we were still holding hands. “Did you recognize the man?” he asked.
I shook my head, pulling my hand away. No, because that would be impossible. Goose bumps prickled beneath the sheath, and I wrapped my arms tightly around myself. Julian passed my cape to me, which I hurriedly donned.
“Was it Tom?” Justine asked.
“He had dark brown hair,” I told her. “Like Julian’s.”
And mine...
Justine leaned forward, propping her hands on the chest for support. Candlelight played on her face, flickered in the blue centers of her narrowed eyes. “If Cate were there, it’s possible another goddess born from London joined her. Dr. Gillman has dark hair, though he and Cate are not on the best of terms at the moment.” She tapped a finger in thought. “My first guess is that you went through a different altar, not that it matters anymore as you’ve both returned safe and sound. Hopefully, Mr. Roth will have secured something for the morning, and we’ll be long gone before anyone has time to find us.”
Julian’s stare weighed on me while she spoke. In no mood for his questions, I pushed up from the floor and walked to the window. Leaning one shoulder against the wall, I peered past the rough wool drapery to the road below. A sea of black hats and various colored hoods moved this way and that, similar to the flow of my thoughts. I pulled my cape tighter and pressed my forehead against the windowpane. Several fat raindrops hit the glass a moment before the dark clouds burst open, and the scene below turned to a watery blur.
Closing my eyes, I moved my attention inward to the dark-haired man from the garden. I would have given anything for a clear view of his face, even risked a confrontation with my grandmother if need be. The man had been turning toward us, but Julian pulled me away a split second too early.
It couldn’t have been him.
To think otherwise would be a grievous deception, one that led straight to despair. Dr. Gillman was a prime candidate, or any other dark-headed goddess born who remained among the living.
Someone knocked on the door, and James came into the room. Rain dripped from his greatcoat to form a pool of water at his feet.
Justine stood, scraping the chair against the floor in her haste. “What have you found?”
His cheeks were flushed red with cold. “I’ve secured passage for today. We’ve half an hour to be aboard to make the tide, or it will be another day at least for the next ships to leave. From what I’ve heard, a storm is moving in, and many of the captains won’t be sailing till it’s blown through.”
Julian pushed up from the chest. “Well done, Mr. Roth. I shall be ready in a moment.” He began tucking in his shirt.
James grabbed a saddlebag from the pile. “I’ll make arrangements with the innkeeper to stable the horses until we return. Meet me downstairs when you’re ready.” He left without another word.
Moving from the window, I dressed quickly behind the bed drape, and within a quarter hour we were back on the road, ankle-deep in mud. The rain continued in full force, drenching us through by the time we reached the docks. James approached a man who sheltered beneath an overhang of what appeared to be a fishery shed. I recognized him at once from the amber cape, not to mention the eye patch and profusion of white hair.
He thrust a hand at James. “Just in time, me lad,” he said in his think Irish brogue. Spying the rest of our party, he stepped aside and doffed his hat in a low bow. “Master Calhoun at your service, skilled apothecary and peddler o’ cures for any manner of ailments.”
We all nodded in greeting when James added to the introduction. “He’s a personal acquaintance of the captain an
d called in a favor to get us aboard on such short notice.”
A wide smile split the man’s round face. “A friend of the silver, the captain is, though there’s no one better to navigate this cursed river once the storms be upon us.” His amiable gaze swept across our group, and I hunched into my cape as his one good eye stopped on me. “There’s a snug cabin all ready below deck. Let’s be off, and you’ll be warm in no time, you will.”
Justine moved beside me. “Your kindness is much appreciated, Master Calhoun.” She glanced at James. “Mr. Roth, may we have a private word please?”
Impatience filled his face. “What is it, Miss Rose? We’ve no time to waste lollygagging if we intend to make this ship.”
“I must beg an indulgence,” she said, sugar-coating a more serious undertone. “It is of the utmost importance.”
James exhaled. “Very well, but make it quick.” He looked at the man. “Would you mind giving us a moment?”
“You’ve no more than that, me lad. The Sea Witch be sailing at half past, whether you’re on board or not. The captain won’t risk the mud for any man, nor any price.”
“We’ll be aboard,” James assured him. “This will only take a minute.”
Master Calhoun stepped from beneath the cover, his amber cloak and wide-brimmed hat swaying as he walked the short distance to the waiting ship.
James rounded on Justine the very second we were alone. “What’s the problem, Miss Rose?”
She pursed her lovely mouth. “I don’t trust him.”
“Neither do I,” Julian added.
“Of course you don’t,” James said, clearly exasperated. “The man’s a bloody Irishman! It’s not in his nature to be trustworthy.”
My chin jutted forward. “There’s no need to be rude, Mr. Roth. I’m Irish and I still don’t like him.” It hadn’t occurred to me until now, and in truth I wasn’t exactly sure why except that the odd attire lent him the appearance of an eccentric buccaneer.
