The last of my doubts fell away and a flush of happiness warmed my cheeks. “How did you know I’m goddess born?”
“Since Lord Fitzalan returned from the Colonies, London has been rampant with rumors of a Miss Selah Kilbrid. Your surname alone told me that we at least shared a common ancestor. What I didn’t know until this morning was whether or not you were aware of your own lineage. Many of Brigid’s descendants still bear her name in some form, but have long forgotten their true identity. That is why I spoke of her mantle. Your response told me everything else I needed to know.”
“But your name is Stroud. I thought only the Kilbrid and McBres clans still carried her blood.”
“Typical Irish,” he laughed, “to assume the Tuatha Dé never found reason to venture from Ireland while they lived in the mortal world. My full name is Julian Brideaux Stroud. My mother was from France and as full of Brigid’s blood as any of your ancestors. She was a renowned healer during her lifetime.” His smile faltered as he took on a more serious expression. “Except for a brief period when she was a young woman.”
“Why did she stop?”
“Because she married the wrong man. My father was a great Lord in southern England and deemed it below his dignity to have a wife who labored amongst the sick and wounded. He begrudged the time she spent foraging the woods for herbs and even tried to bar her from entering the Otherworld. She eventually grew so weak that he had to let her return or watch her die.”
I pulled in a quick breath, my eyes wide with shock. “Didn’t he know what she was, that she had no choice?”
His face turned dark. “Oh, he knew alright, and promised on his very soul to love her regardless of their differences. He may have even believed it at first, enticed by her beauty and...” He paused for a split second as his dark look turned to embarrassment. “And the particular pleasure our kind are known to give to those we love.”
The blood rushed to my face. From my own limited experience with Henry, I had a general idea what he meant.
“They were married two years,” he continued, “before her gift proved too much and he sent her back to France. She was newly pregnant at the time and decided to keep it secret, thinking he would leave her in peace if no child were involved. Her plan worked—at first, anyway, while my father petitioned the Catholic Church for a divorce. He had hoped to remarry for the sake of an heir, but the Pope refused every request. I was twelve years old when he discovered my existence and sent men to claim me. Apparently, his dislike for our kind was overcome by his fear of dying without a legitimate heir. The day his men took me was the last time I saw my mother alive. She grew ill and died a month after my thirteenth birthday.”
I stared at him, my heart breaking from the sad tale. “Your struggles have been great, my lord. Yet you remained true while in your father’s care.”
Lord Stroud nodded. “He hoped news of my mother’s death would curb any inclination to follow a similar path. But she had taught me well in those twelve years. Under her direction, I learned to revere Brigid and to keep my power well hidden. When the men came for me, she begged one last embrace in which she relayed the location of the altar Brigid had opened on my father’s estate after they were married.”
My pulse leapt at the mention of an altar. “Did he allow you to use it?” Would I be allowed to use it?
A devious smile crept over the man’s mouth. “Cunning and stealth happen to be two of my best skills. Once I arrived in England, my father watched me like a hawk, but when I showed no sign of my mother’s gift he soon relaxed. Of course, I only ever crossed over while he was away from the estate, which happened to be often.”
“I’m surprised he didn’t just have it destroyed.”
A derisive snort cut through his lordship’s nose. “Even my father wasn’t so brazen to knowingly desecrate a site prepared by a goddess of the Tuatha Dé.”
“You are indeed fortunate, my lord. Superstition rarely runs in our favor.”
“As I well know after living under the worst of humans.” His smile returned. “My liberation came this past spring when my father finally died, leaving me full heir to his fortune.” He reached over and took one of my hands in between his own. “And please, call me Julian, at least while we are in private. We are near enough to family, are we not?”
“I suppose we are,” I laughed, “though a rather pathetic family, since we both appear to be orphans.”
Julian’s expression turned a shade shy. “Would you mind if I called you Selah? Or do you prefer a different name?”