An Immortal Descent

Ailish’s gaze remained fixed on the same spot. Worry lines crept across her forehead as she drew a deep breath through her nose. The breath hitched and her eyes widened a fraction of an inch. Without a word of explanation, she resumed walking toward the road, her pace noticeably faster. Just then, another quail broke free of the underbrush to take flight. Her pace quickened even more.

 

Though no less eager to be out of the woods, I wasn’t about to be driven into a worse situation. “I don’t like this. For all we know, the driver’s a scoundrel of the worst sort and will have other designs than offering a simple ride in his cart.”

 

She grunted something unintelligible, but didn’t slow in the slightest.

 

We had almost reached the road. In a fit of panic, I grabbed the back of her cloak to make her stop. She spun around and stared at me, all the previous color drained from her skin.

 

“We don’t even know if he’s alone,” I persisted. “What if he’s accompanied by a band of miscreants?”

 

Ailish darted a glance over my shoulder, and the look in her eyes made my nerves squirm anew. “We’ve no choice now.”

 

“Of course we do—”

 

“Trust me, Selah, we need to be in that cart.”

 

“And if we’re attacked?” At the most, we could take on four men, though that assumed no one had a weapon.

 

“I’ll be ready with Cailleach’s power. And you can do the same as you did to Donal on the ship.” She pulled her cape free of my clutch and stepped away. “That be a neat trick you have.”

 

Neat or not, that trick only came about as a means to save my life, and I was quickly growing weary of having to use it. Even so, fire danced on my fingertips by the time we arrived at the road’s edge.

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter Eleven

 

Jane and Sally Duggan

 

The bulky shape of a horse and cart soon emerged from the fog. The driver appeared to be alone and in no hurry, judging by the slow gait of the horse. With shoulders hunched against the cold, he held the reins in one gloved hand, while the other stayed buried in the folds of his thick brown overcoat.

 

Ailish didn’t move right away. For that matter, she didn’t move at all, remaining still as a statue, I assumed to better gauge the man before we were noticed. Given the poor visibility and our being dressed in matching brown cloaks at the wood’s edge, the man could well be upon us before that happened. He could even pass us by altogether if we remained silent, without the slightest twitch of a muscle. Perhaps a closer look at him would prompt Ailish to reconsider the absolute necessity of our getting into the cart. Not that I was opposed to a ride. I’d just grown wary of strangers and had no desire to jump from the frying pan and into the fire.

 

While I wondered at our next move, or lack thereof, Ailish inhaled a slow breath. I mimicked the action, catching little more than the scent of damp earth and leaf mold.

 

A wide-brimmed hat sat low on the man’s head, obscuring the upper half of his face. Reddish brown hair fell loose to the collar of his coat. Slightly darker whiskers smattered his cheeks in what appeared to be a few days’ growth. A long pipe jutted from the corner of his mouth, a trail of smoke lifting skyward.

 

A hint of burning tobacco drifted in our direction. Ailish’s nose twitched over the sweet scent, reminding me of a rabbit. Though I found nothing special in the smoke, it must have been to her liking, for she stepped forward into the horse’s path.

 

The driver jerked upright, and no wonder with her emerging from the woods like one of the mythical fae. I moved to join her, power still warming my palms around the cumbersome bulk of the saddlebags.

 

He tugged at the reins. “Whoa, there!” The horse responded without complaint, coming to an abrupt stop. No one spoke at first, and I held my breath as light brown eyes roved us from head to toe, taking in our every detail.

 

The man removed the pipe from his mouth. “You’re real enough, I suppose, though in this fog you could be mistaken for specters. Might I ask what two young ladies are doing out here alone?”

 

Ailish curtsied a greeting. “Beg your pardon, sir. We be traveling to meet our da. If’n you have room in the cart, we could use a lift to Passage East.”

 

He looked between the two of us, his expression dubious as he no doubt searched for the slightest family resemblance. “Are you for the ferry?”

 

“We are, sir. With a bit o’ luck, we’ll cross to Ballyhack afore dark.”

 

“Then where you be to?”

 

Ailish answered at once. “To Wexford, sir.”

 

I groaned inwardly. Why not just tell him everything and have it done with? I would have kicked her if the man hadn’t been watching us so closely, regardless of the inevitable bruise to my own shin.

 

He tapped the pipe bowl on one knee. “What’s your names?”

 

“Se—” Ailish started.

 

“Jane and Sally Duggan,” I interrupted, the names spilling readily from my tongue.

 

Ailish nudged her weight to one hip, but offered no protest.

 

“Which be Jane?” he asked.

 

“I am—”

 

“That be me—”

 

We answered in unison.

 

The man raised a questioning brow.

 

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