I started to stand again when a gentle flood of warmth passed through my shoulder. The hysterics faded at once, and I settled back like a docile lamb.
Nora will be fine. There’s no need to leave. These thoughts swam through my head. They felt comfortable, true even, despite my previous fears.
“You did that thing again, didn’t you?”
Cate’s hand stayed on my shoulder, and another warm trickle spread through me. “I need you to be rational and not go running off in search of trouble. If Deri wanted Nora dead, she would have done it by now, and there would be little you could do to stop her.”
Everything she said sounded so reasonable, as though the words had been plucked from my very thoughts.
“Get out of my head.” I shifted to the side, and managed to pull free of her grasp. Seeing her small hand on the chair back, I was struck by a similarity from another encounter. “You did the same thing to the king when he threatened to indenture me and make me his mistress.”
Cate ran her fingers over the upholstery. “I calmed his emotions and helped him to see reason. Otherwise, there was no telling what he might have done in a fit of passion.” A cynical smile tugged at her mouth. “Over the years, I have learned that it is often easier to prevent a mistake than to undo one.”
“And you did it to me the night I was attacked by the hound.”
“Time was short. I needed you to see the danger lurking in the forest so you would get into the carriage.”
I crossed my arms in a show of annoyance, not sure how I felt about this skill of persuasion, regardless of the irrefutable benefits. Thanks to Justine Rose, my world had been rocked to its foundation, yet here I sat in a state of absolute calm, accepting certain truths in a matter of seconds rather than the weeks or months it would have otherwise taken.
Cate released a slow breath, then walked the short distance to the bed. Sitting down, she folded her hands demurely in her lap. “If I’m not mistaken, you have some questions for me.”
Some questions! I almost laughed aloud from the understatement. After everything Justine had said, I doubted enough answers existed to satisfy what I needed to know.
Even so, one curiosity burned hotter than the rest. “How old are you?” I asked. “And don’t you dare claim five and twenty. I shan’t fall for that again no matter what’s recorded in the family bible.” Five and twenty plus another hundred more like it.
Cate didn’t bat an eye. “The best I can determine, I was born around 150 AD in what is now known as the county Dublin. I’ve lost track of the exact number of years, but you are welcome to do the math. I came to London in 218 AD, as I’m sure you saw from the inscription on the altar in All Hallows.”
“Caitria Ni Brid,” I said softly, recalling the name inscribed above the date.
“That was my first name, though no one but Tom has used it for over a thousand years. We met in London in 487 AD, shortly after he left Ireland. He was born during the time of St. Patrick, so that would put him in the early to mid-fifth century.”
I swallowed hard. Cate was over fifteen hundred years old, and Tom just a few hundred years younger.
Based on the laws binding our kind, such longevity should have been impossible. “You’ve learned to heal yourself, haven’t you?” I looked at her expectantly, knowing it was the only explanation.
“To a point,” she said. “Extending life, though, didn’t come until much later, and not without Brigid’s consent.”
“Did she make you immortal?”
“That all depends on your definition of the word. If you mean the ability to hold death at bay indefinitely, then yes, I am immortal. However, that does not imply that I am indestructible. I can still die like any person, it’s just much harder to kill me. Beheading would do the job. Possibly drowning or being burned at the stake.”
“So anything you can’t heal quickly enough to sustain life.”
“More or less, though you’d be amazed what I’ve been able to survive. Humans can have a tendency toward violence when confronted with something different or unexplained.” She paused for a moment, folding and unfolding her hands in thought. “I assume your mother told you that the goddess born did not always have to live in secret.”
I nodded, having been well versed on this part of our history.
“Well, I was fortunate to be born during such a time, into a tribe where each person could trace a bloodline directly to Brigid. Our gifts were commonly known, and commonly shared, which allowed us to live in near utopian conditions. With the power to heal and grow food, no one had to suffer heedlessly from sickness or hunger. Traders traveled hundreds of miles to obtain goods forged by our craftsmen and blacksmiths.” A hint of the usual spark returned to her eyes. “And above all, we had the gift of poetry and song.”
My mouth tightened from the not so subtle reminder of Justine.