by Kari Edgren
Their earlier exchange returned with new meaning. “And then I’ll kill her for meddling with an Englishman.” I shook my head, unwilling to believe it. “He spoke from rage. Sean would never hurt me.”
An angry curse fell from Henry’s lips. Then the tightness in his arm gave just a bit, and I felt the indecision a split second before he fully released his grip. “Go to him, but know that I’ll kill any man who tries to harm you. Your brother included.”
I rushed forward. A man moved over to make more room, and I dropped to my knees on the cobbles in front of Sean.
“Brother,” I whispered. My fingers shook when I touched his cheek.
He opened his eyes a fraction. “Yes, Sabie. It’s me.” His eyes closed again and his head drooped forward.
I just stared at him, my emotions a torrent of confusion. Never in a thousand years did I expect to hear my childhood nickname spoken again. If not for the physical evidence of Sean’s skin beneath my gloved hand, I might have thought him an apparition. For three years I’d thought him dead. Three long years!
Henry had followed me like a deadly shadow. Two of the men stood in response, swords drawn and glaring at him in open challenge.
“Stop it!” I snapped. “We’ve no time for more fighting.”
One of the men glared at me. “You don’t give no bloody orders around here.”
A woman rose up from those still huddled at Sean’s side. She stepped in front of the man, who towered a whole head above her, and pushed a finger in his face. “Fie on you, Conri. I’ll have no more trouble today.”
Conri’s nostrils flared and the tips of his ears burned an angry red. “Don’t you be talking so to me, Marin.”
The woman huffed. “I’ll talk how I want, you stubborn brute. A wise man knows when he’s been beat, and the Englishman will have you crying for mercy if’n you don’t back down. Keep pushing, and it’ll be your sorry hide I’m patching next.”
Though he outweighed Marin by at least five stone, the man’s shoulders slumped from the stern rebuke. “There ain’t no call for insults, woman.”
“I’m giving you the truth, Conri, whether you like it or not.” Her voice softened a bit when she added, “I don’t want to see any more o’ me kin hurt today.”
A small war played out over the man’s ruddy face before he finally nodded the barest consent.
Marin kept her gaze steadfast for a moment longer before skimming her eyes over two of the other swordsmen. “Aron and Marcus, help Conri get the crowd away afore they see anything more.”
Conri jerked his head toward Henry. “What about him. He could kill Sean when we’re not looking.”
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 sof
t 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.