An Immortal Descent

by Kari Edgren

  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.”

  Seamus dabbed his nose once more before returning the square to his pocket. As he drew in a long stream of air, his face turned quite serious. Exhaling slowly, he leaned back in the chair and stared at me.

  “I forgot how grand it feels to really fill me chest.” He tapped the pipe against his leg in a thoughtful manner. “Me da died o’ lung sickness, you know. Night and day, hacking his guts out. Always figured someday I’d go the same way.” He cleared a roughness from his throat. “You gave me a tremendous gift today, Selah, and I thank you for it.”

  “You’re welcome, Mr. MacCabe. You’ve been a true friend to Ailish and me these past two days.”

  “And what a two days it’s been, eh?” He chuckled softly, and I smiled in return. “I plan to set off at first light. Don’t like leaving while you’re at odds with those two gentlemen, but Fianna and the girls need me home in case Calhoun comes sniffing around.”

  Ailish squeaked so loudly the young men paused in their conversation to look at us. The elder Calhoun couldn’t hurt her anymore, but the son remained at large. I despised the fear that Paddy still caused her. I also hated sending Seamus off under so dark a shadow.

  “Do me a favor, Mr. MacCabe. When you get home, tell Fianna what I did today.”

  He gave me a queer look. “The hand or the lungs?”

  “Both. And be very specific about my gift.”

  A burst of laughter escaped him. “She’ll think me daft, lass, talking on about such things.”

  My expression remained serious. “You’d be surprised how much Fianna will understand.”

  He began to lift the pipe to his mouth again. Midway up, he seemed to reconsider, giving the pipe a dark look before lowering it again. “If’n you think it best.”

  “I do. And then I think you should ask her what happened to Calhoun.”

  A spark of understanding seemed to snap between us. “I’ll ask her then.”

  I heard footsteps a moment before the maid came into the room. “Yer bath be ready, miss.”

  My body groaned with anticipation. Grabbing the saddlebags, I hoisted myself from the chair. Seamus stood as well.

  I extended my hand to him, which he encased between both of his own. “It’s been a pleasure meeting you, Mr. MacCabe. Please give Fianna my best.”

  “That I’ll do.” He released my hand. “Be careful, lass.”

  I took a few steps, and then on a whim turned back around. “One last thing, Mr. MacCabe. Go dté tú fd bhrat Bhrighde.” May you travel safely under Brigid’s mantle was a fairly ambiguous statement that might be a simple nicety. Or it might provide the answers I wanted him to know, but was forbidden to speak aloud.

  A crease appeared between his brows. “Brigid, you say?”

  “I’ve found her to be a great comfort to me.” It was my turn to wink. “An uncommonly good healer if you know what I mean.”

  The crease vanished as his brows shot up toward his hairline. He opened his mouth to speak, only to close it again with a snap.

  “Godspeed to you, sir.” With a sly smile, I turned and followed the maid from the room.

  Ailish stayed close on my heels, the burlap sack clamped tight to her chest. “You’ve a sneaky tongue, you do, skirting the rules like that.”

  “He would have learned the truth soon enough from Fianna. I just wanted to help out a bit in case he has a hard time believing her.”

  “Oh, he’ll believe her all right, though she may not be thanking you for stirring the pot so.”

  “He deserves to know, after everything he’s done for us.”

  “I guess you’re right.” She rubbed at a dirt smudge on the tip of her nose

  “Shall I order fresh water once I’m finished?”

  Ailish moved toward the front door. “I’ve no time for bathing just yet. Go on and soak all you like. I’ll be back by supper.”

  “Where are you going—”

  She slipped outside before I finished the last word.

  * * *

  The bathing chamber was fairly small with no windows and only the one interior door. From the hearth on the far side of the room, firelight played on the whitewashed walls and gray flagstone floor. An elongated cast-iron tub sat just off-center, nearer to the fire. Warm honeysuckle suffused the air, and I had to stop myself from groaning aloud as I sank into the steamy water.

  Lots of scrubbing and several pitchers of water later, the maid wound my damp locks into a tight knot atop my head. “Lean in a bit, miss, and I’ll wash yehr back next.”

  I hunched forward until my chin brushed against the water, and small ripples formed under my breath.

  A rustle of skirts sounded behind me. “Now where did I put that cloth?” Footsteps moved through the room. “I must have dropped it in the hallway. Don’t worry, miss, I’ll have it tracked down in no time.”

  She returned a moment later, a little louder in her haste. Pulling my knees to my chest, I rested my cheek toward the hearth. The flames danced at eye level as I listened to the girl shake out her skirts and readjust her sleeves. Kneeling behind me, she dipped a hand into the tub.

  Water trickled from the cloth, followed by the lather of soapsuds into the linen folds. With each movement, her breath remained slow and methodic as though there was nothing else in the world that needed to be done. For a moment, I was allowed to forget that no one had to be saved, killed, or forgiven.

  Starting at my shoulder blades, the maid moved the cloth in small circles, up to my neck. She was thorough indeed, washing every inch down both sides before ending in the small of my back well beneath the water.

  I sighed my contentment as she traced a slow line up my spine. “If you’ll soap the clot
h again, I can finish washing.” Once done, I would soak until the water turned cold. Only then would I be ready to face the world.

  My cheek remained pressed to one knee as the maid worked up another lather. A subtle shift of weight, and the cloth came into sight, held just above the waterline in her cupped hand.

  I blinked. And then I blinked again, trying to make some sense of the image. The hand was large—too large to belong to any woman. My eyes darted upward, to a well-muscled forearm with a thick smattering of light brown hair.

  “Would you prefer I finish the washing?” a familiar voice rumbled behind me.

  I jerked violently, splashing waves of water over both sides of the tub. “What are you doing in here!” I clutched at my nakedness, though the milky water did a decent job of concealing me. “Get out!”

  Green eyes met mine. “I’ll leave when I’m done.”

  Henry pushed up from his haunches and walked toward the hearth. Having discarded his coat and waistcoat, his attire consisted of riding boots, black breeches and a linen shirt with the sleeves shoved up to the elbow. Most of his hair remained tied back, except for the strands that had come loose during the fight and now fell free to his shoulders. Wild and civilized, the man wore both sides with the same ease that other men wore gloves. The sight toyed with my pulse, and a rush of hot blood tingled beneath my skin.

  He leaned against the wall at the edge of the firelight, a towel draped on one arm.

  Twisting around, I looked frantically over the side of the tub for another towel. Drat. I eyed the one Henry was holding. “Give that to me.”

  “Sorry, but the towel stays where it is until after we’ve talked.” A mischievous glint danced in his eyes. “Unless you’d like to come get it. But you should know that I’ll not surrender without a fight.”

  “Oh, wouldn’t you enjoy that.”

  He didn’t even bother to deny it. “More than I’ve ever enjoyed anything before.” His voice was lower than usual, and the heat in his stare sparked a correlating fire deep in my stomach. Forbidden images sprang to life in my head, starting with a slow rise from the tub, and ending with...