“Yes, but I’m not a fiery six-winged creature like the prophet Isaiah described. The Lenape call me Tenteyuawen because my first mother Brigid was born of fire. As her descendent, I experienced a similar birth. The power you’ve felt and what you saw tonight comes from that same sacred fire.”
Quite unexpectedly, Henry came over and knelt on the floor in front of me. Taking my hands in his, I felt a slight pressure on my wrist and noticed that he had placed a finger over my pulse. “It’s doesn’t make any sense. You’re flesh and blood just like everyone else.”
“My body is mortal and will eventually die like every other human. But Brigid’s blood flows inside of me. It’s what gives me the power to heal and it’s why I couldn’t ignore Nathan’s pleas tonight. Once he asked for help, I couldn’t refuse without corrupting my soul.”
“Do all Brigid’s descendants have a similar power? Can they all heal?”
The defensive edge had left his voice, and I smiled inwardly, grateful that we had made it past the most difficult part. “While Brigid lived in this world, she was goddess of many things—fertility, poetry, smithcraft, healing, and, to a lesser degree, agriculture. The gift can manifest in many ways and to varying degrees, but in our family it has always been healing, at least among the women. My father may have had the gift of agriculture, but his power was insignificant compared to my mother’s.”
“Are there more of your kind in Hopewell?”
I shook my head sadly. “Not even in all of the Colonies. My maternal grandparents were the first of our kind to cross the Atlantic. They both died before I was born and with my parents and brother dead, there is no one else.”
Henry looked at me with new understanding. “That’s why you had to marry another Kilbrid. He would have already known what you are.”
“Or a MacBres from my mother’s side.”
“Is it a law?” he asked hesitantly. “I mean do you have to marry another of Brigid’s descendants?”
I placed the palm of my hand against his cheek. “I can marry whomever I chose. It’s revealing my identity that is prohibited. And from our own experience, you know how impossible it can be to reconcile the two.”
“Oh, yes,” he readily agreed, a spark playing in his eyes. “Is there a special clause for our situation? Is that why you’re telling me now?”
“There are only two circumstances when this rule can be broken without repercussions—to save a life, like tonight, or with Brigid’s permission. I loved you so much that Brigid granted me permission to tell you.” I couldn’t resist from running my fingers through his unbound hair, making him shiver without even the smallest hint of power. “She knew I would be happy with no other man.”
“And I would be happy with no other woman.” He took my hand and pressed it to his mouth. “Human or not, you are the only woman I will ever love.”
It was my turn to shiver.
A dark shadow crossed his face and he suddenly pulled his mouth away. Putting my hand down, he got to his feet and strode over to my dressing table. “Do you have a pair of scissors or a knife in here?”
“There’s a penknife in the top drawer,” I said, bewildered by his actions.
He rifled around the drawer and returned with the knife. Kneeling in front of me again, he winced as he sliced open the palm of his hand. Blood rushed to the surface.
My eyes widened with shock. “What are you doing?”
He cupped his hand to keep the blood from spilling onto the floor. “Will you heal this?”
“As if I have a choice,” I muttered, irritated by his seemingly irrational behavior.
“Please,” he added for good measure.
Taking his hand, I healed the cut in a matter of seconds, knitting the flesh back to perfection. I used his shirttail to mop up the blood. “Satisfied?”
He studied the mended flesh. “Oh, yes.”
“Do you intend to tell me why you just did that?”
He flexed his fingers and smiled. “I wanted to know if it felt the same as when we kiss. The idea that other men might be able to experience something so intimate with you was...intolerable.”
Jealousy had driven him to slice open his own hand! It was probably wrong to be flattered, but I couldn’t help it. “Did it feel the same?” I asked curiously.
“Not in the slightest. When you healed my hand, it felt like warm water flowed into my skin. I’ve already told you how it feels when we kiss. It’s the most wonderful thing I’ve ever felt, like I’m touching your soul.”
Taking his hand, I traced my finger along the path he’d made with the penknife. “You know, this isn’t the first time I’ve healed you. When Fletcher shot you, the ball entered your lung.”
“And I saw your light,” he said excitedly, recalling the memory. “At the time, I thought I had died and you were an angel come to take me home.”
“I was so scared of losing you, I may have used too much power,” I confessed. “Usually people are unable to see my true identity.” The last few words came out in a yawn as the evening’s activities began to catch up with me. Not yet ready to let go of the moment, I ignored the urge to close my eyes and curl into the chair.