“What happened at the pond?” he asked, the words so heavy I could feel their weight. “How did you heal Nathan like that?”
I took a shaky breath to help steady my nerves. “It’s a gift from my first mother. You felt the same power when we kissed.”
His brows creased to a deep v as he worked to connect the two events. “I’ve no idea what to make of it. From what I saw tonight, I’m beginning to wonder if you’re even human.”
“Of course I am,” I said indignantly.
His expression turned skeptical.
“Well, at least half,” I added, not exactly sure of the proportions.
“And what of the other half?”
I sighed and put down the teacup. This was about the best opening that I could expect. “Have you ever heard of Brigid from the Irish legends?”
“You mean the Celtic goddess?”
I nodded. “If you’re familiar with her name then I’m sure you’ve heard the story how she married King Bres of Ireland and bore three sons. I am Brigid’s descendant.”
“That’s just a myth,” he said slowly, narrowing his eyes on my face. “It’s impossible.”
A nervous laugh hit the back of my throat. “What I did tonight was impossible. You saw the arrow. Nathan should be dead right now. And he would be if not for my gift, as would Meg Appleton.”
“You healed the baby?” He uncrossed his arms and planted a hand on either hip. “Are you sure?”
My pride bristled from his dubious tone. “Yes, I’m sure. Her heart was defective. I had to fix it right after she was born to keep her from dying like Susanna’s other babies.”
He opened his mouth to speak, only to snap it shut again.
Tension sparked between us, burning hotter than the fire in the hearth. “I told you it would be difficult to believe, that you might think me crazy.”
“And I might have, if not for Nathan.”
I glared at him. “Then I shall count myself lucky that he tried to kill me tonight and I had to save him. Otherwise, where would we be?”
Henry pulled a curt breath through his nose. “Oh, you saved him, all right, while I stood by and watched you lift him off the ground with nothing more than a touch.” His voice grew louder and he pointed a finger in my direction to emphasize the point. “An arrow struck the man in the chest! He should be dead, but there isn’t even a mark!”
My cheeks grew hot with rage. “You promised to believe me! Would you have preferred that I lied?”
“Of course not,” Henry snapped, running a hand through his hair in a fit of frustration. Leaning both arms against the mantel, he stared for a long moment into the fire. “The legend says Brigid belonged to the Fae. Is this what you are?”
I laughed outright this time. “I’m not a faerie, at least not in the sense you mean. Brigid was part of a divine race called the Tuatha dé Dannan. They were the Aes Sidhe, or immortals that lived in Ireland long before any humans arrived. The Aes Sidhe left the mortal world more than a thousand years ago, preferring their own company to that of humans. For the most part, faeries are just fanciful imaginations based on these gods and goddesses. Some of the stories, though, are probably based on my kind.”
He turned from the fire to look at me. “And what exactly is your kind?”
His skepticism weighed upon me. I heard it in his voice, saw it in the way he remained standing at a distance. “We’d best stop for tonight. You’re already having a difficult time believing me.”
“It’s not that I don’t believe you.” Henry blinked several times, seemingly surprised by his own admission. “You’ve given me a lot to consider is all. I would like to know the rest.”
“If that’s your choice,” I said, secretly pleased. Maybe there was hope after all. “Brigid called her descendants leath’dhia. Do you speak Gaelic?”
He shook his head. “Hardly a word.”
“What about Latin?”
“I speak and read fluently.”
“Then you should know semideus.”
“Half god,” he translated. “Is that what you are? A demigod?”
I shrugged, not entirely comfortable with the term. “In a manner of speaking, but we’ve been called many things through the ages. Several ancient texts refer to another race of divine beings who would occasionally visit this world. In Hebrew and Aramaic they were called Mal’ach. The Greeks called them Angelos. When Christianity first came to Ireland, some of the priests thought my kind belonged to this race and mistook us for angels.”
Henry arched a brow. “An easy mistake from what I witnessed tonight.”
“I guess so, but my mother preferred another name. She referred to us as Goddess Born. Are you familiar with the Latin term seraph?”
“Burning one,” Henry said, so quietly I almost missed it. “It’s what the Lenape call you.”