An Immortal Descent

Hell’s teeth. I would have maintained better control of my current thoughts if I knew she would peek at those as well. With effort, I contrived my most innocent look. “What are you implying, grandmamma?”

 

 

“That you are not to follow in your aunt’s footsteps for retribution’s sake. Tom and I will tell them when we’re ready, and not a moment sooner.”

 

My jaw turned stubborn. “So they are to be spoon-fed.”

 

“Don’t pretend to care how they are fed, so long as you get even. Leave it to me, Selah, or I may find reason to reconsider my earlier vow to leave your agency intact.”

 

“Fine,” I muttered. “Have it your way.

 

Cate laughed softly. “There’s more of Justine in you than I first guessed.”

 

A serving girl placed wooden trenchers on the table. Cate turned, her hand moving to my elbow. “Come sit. You’ll have my supper and I’ll send for another.” She guided me to a chair across from Marin and pressed a fork into my hand. “Now tuck in. We’ve a trying night ahead of us.”

 

My belly growled its agreement. As defiance proved poor fare, I speared a piece of meat and popped it in my mouth. Cate returned to her seat next to Tom and casually rested a hand on his arm. It took no time at all before his eyes flew to mine amidst another Gaelic curse.

 

“Fool of a captain,” he muttered with a slow shake of his head. “I can almost pity the man for the trouble he brought down upon his ship.”

 

Gravy dripped from a carrot now suspended on my fork. “What do you mean?” I asked.

 

Cate smiled. “Let’s just say it didn’t go well for the last scoundrels who tried to kidnap Justine.” She looked at Tom. “A band of French brigands, wasn’t it?”

 

Tom laughed. “Aye, that be right, and she had them dancing attendance for months after the attack. Poor sapskulls never had a chance.” He paused and the amusement dulled in his eyes. “Would that she had done the same this time and sailed far from Ireland.”

 

The carrot lost some of the sweetness in my mouth from the obvious concern in Tom’s voice. As he appeared only a few years my senior, I tended to overlook that he was actually Justine’s father, and carried a father’s concern, no matter how many years his daughter had been looking after herself.

 

Heavy footsteps sounded just outside the dining room, and I looked over to see Henry striding into the room. He came straight to me without the least notice of the other men who scrambled to their feet at his arrival.

 

Marin placed a warning hand on Sean’s, which had gone instinctively to where his sword would have been if not removed for the meal. “Please, my love, let’s not have any more fighting.”

 

His gaze met hers, and it was impossible to miss the tenderness that passed between them. Nodding, he waved the other men to their seats before throwing Henry a hard look. “Go find your supper elsewhere, Englishman, and leave us to our private business.”

 

Henry’s expression tightened to barely contained patience. “Our business is the same, Kilbrid.”

 

“We are not here to discuss my sister’s poor judgment,” Sean scoffed.

 

Henry leaned forward just a bit, turning his already imposing stance downright menacing. “You will never discuss my betrothed again if you value your limbs,” he growled.

 

“And you’ll not speak to me of my own sister—”

 

“My betrothed,” Henry corrected. “She is under my protection and no longer your concern.”

 

They spoke as though I had vanished from the room. “I have a name you know, and it’s neither sister nor betrothed.” I popped another piece of meat in my mouth, happy to leave the rest of their idiotic dispute to my grandparents. Cate watched each volley with a wary eye, while Tom seemed more concerned for his meal.

 

Sean narrowed his gaze at Henry. “You don’t belong here. Leave now, before there’s any more trouble.”

 

Henry placed a hand on my shoulder. “I’m going nowhere.”

 

“Nor should you,” Cate interjected.

 

Sean’s eyes bugged with indignation. “How can you take his side when I’ve clearly the right of it? Or do you intend to break our rules and speak openly in front of him?”

 

“Lord Fitzalan is more like us than you know, Sean.” She looked to Henry with marked admiration. “A son of Lugh, if I’m not mistaken.”

 

Tom stood, the trencher forgotten with the change of subject, and reached right across the table. “Welcome to the family.”

 

Henry clasped Tom’s hand. “Can’t say I’m entirely surprised, with how I’ve been feeling of late.”

 

“Aye,” Tom conceded. “I suspected the connection before we left London.” His attention settled on the sword at Henry’s side. “Must have been something, crossing blades with the sun god. What I would have done for such a fight.”

 

A low chuckle vibrated in Henry’s chest. “Best swordplay I’ve ever had.”

 

Sean thumped the table with his open palm. “What are you talking about?”

 

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