Goddess Born (16 page)

“Does the baby kick often?” I asked.

“Mostly at night when I’m trying to sleep,” she said. “It’s a wonder I’ve any energy during the day at all.”

Though she pretended not to be worried during the examination, I could feel her anxiety radiating into me. “Susanna, from what I can tell, your baby is doing just fine and you’re suffering from nothing more than an acute case of indigestion.” While I spoke, my hand rested on her stomach, and a flood of happiness rushed into me from the news.

“How much longer, do you think?” she asked. “I can hardly breathe with his feet pushing into my lungs.”

“Hopefully another six weeks.” I bit my tongue so as not to blurt out that the child was a daughter instead of a son. “And you need to do everything possible not to start early labor. Drink plenty of water and keep off your feet.”

“I could do nothing else with Matthew following me about like a mother hen. I tell you, it’ll be a blessing to get this baby out just so I can have a moment’s privacy again.” She smiled despite her complaints, clearly amused by her husband’s attention. “He’s a good man, that Matthew, and I don’t care to think of what my life would have been like without him.”

My thoughts immediately turned to Henry and what he had said this afternoon. “Susanna, do you think love can overcome any obstacle that may come between two people?”

“Sure it can,” she said, absentmindedly rubbing her stomach. “Along with trust and a whole lot of hard work.”

“So you don’t think there’s anything two people can’t get through?”

“Not if they’re willing to work. Marriage isn’t easy, but if two people are committed, there’s nothing more rewarding.”

I sat down beside her on the bed, my thoughts weighing heavily from her words. It would have been easier if she had simply said that some things were too difficult to overcome, and weren’t worth the trouble. That’s what my own mother had taught me, and how I’d managed to keep my heart safely guarded for all of these years. Any man not belonging to either the MacBres or Kilbrid clans was off limits—end of discussion.

“And how did you know that you loved Matthew?”

The absentminded expression fell away and she looked at me closely. “Do you want the responsible answer or the real answer?”

“Responsible first.”

“Very well.” She screwed up her mouth and took a minute to think. “Once I saw that he was an honorable man and would make a good husband, then I knew I could love him.”

This sounded reasonable enough. “And the real answer?”

“When he kissed me the first time, and my shoes just about caught fire.”

“My goodness!” I exclaimed. “Were you hurt?”

She looked at me curiously for a moment and then started laughing so hard tears came to her eyes. “Not literally,” she said, dabbing the tears with a sleeve. “Matthew’s a good kisser, but I’ve never heard of any man who’s ever really been able to set a girl’s shoes alight. I meant that I felt a fire inside.”

My face grew warm from embarrassment.

Susanna took my hand and patted it reassuringly. “Don’t worry yourself, Selah. You and Henry haven’t even known each other for two full weeks. There’s no rush and no reason to feel silly. You and Henry might be sleeping in separate rooms while you get used to each other, but you’re a far step ahead of me when I was first married.”

“I don’t even know what it feels like to be kissed properly,” I protested sullenly, opting not to count the time William pecked my cheek or when Henry had kissed me out of anger the day we were married.

“How many babies have you delivered by yourself since your mother died?”

“About twelve,” I said.

“I was an only child and didn’t know one whit how a baby got in or out of a woman’s midsection until the night before I was married. Think about the shock of hearing that for the first time so close to your wedding day. It’s a miracle I didn’t make Matthew sleep in another room. And I probably would have if he didn’t kiss so well.”

I started to laugh from her confession, but it faded quickly, subdued by the sense of guilt steadily growing behind my ribs. If Susanna had known the truth of my marriage, she would have offered very different advice, indeed. I sighed, thinking about what it would be like to have a lifetime with Henry, rather than a just year or two before he sailed back to England. Our little façade was the closest I would ever come to experiencing the rewards of marriage.

“How about if we rejoin the men so Matthew can stop his worrying?” Susanna suggested, pushing herself awkwardly to her feet. “And by the way Henry’s been watching you tonight, I imagine the lad’s just as eager for our return.”

My heart gave a sudden thump. “What do you mean? How has he been watching me?”

She smiled, her hands resting protectively on the top of her belly. “Like a man should when he’s falling in love.”

I shook my head. “You must be mistaken. We...we’ve only just met. It would be...” I clamped my mouth shut.
It would be impossible.
No matter what Susanna said, Henry and I were too different. He would never be so foolish to fall in love with me...nor I with him.

“Oh, I know what I saw,” she persisted. “And at this rate, I’ll give it two more weeks before Henry Kilbrid is head over heels in love with you.”

I opened my mouth to protest when Brigid’s fire stirred unexpectedly in my core. Frowning, I pressed a hand to my abdomen.
That’s odd...
Not since I was first learning to master my gift had it ever come to life unbidden.

Susanna’s expression softened. “Don’t fight it, Selah. Love is a powerful feeling, and can be a bit overwhelming at first. Just follow your heart, and you’ll not go wrong.” She patted her belly. “Perhaps by next summer it’ll be your own babe coming into the world.”

I gulped hard as more fire nipped at my ribs.
For heaven’s sake
,
what is wrong with me?
Jumping to my feet, I wrapped my arms tightly around my midsection. “That last wine didn’t agree with me. I...I should probably be going.”

We were standing so close, it was impossible to escape her penetrating look. “You are looking a bit warm in the cheeks.” She chuckled softly to herself as I followed her back into the sitting room.

Chapter Nine

The Witch’s Bottle

Henry brought the carriage to a stop at the head of the stone walkway that led up to Brighmor’s front door. Gracefully alighting from his seat, he walked around to help me down.

“How are you feeling?” he asked with real concern.

I drew in a deep breath. “Much better. The night air did me good.” Along with no more unexpected visits from Brigid’s fire. The initial panic had subsided during the ride home, and I now attributed the entire episode to a fit of nerves brought on by the combination of Susanna’s mistaken observation and too much wine.

As the servants had neglected to leave any lanterns burning outside, Henry offered his arm for me to better negotiate the flagstones in my heels. “In that case, are you up for a game of chess before bed?” he asked.

I smiled at the suggestion. “Yes, I would. But be warned, I’m feeling rather lucky tonight—”

My right foot unexpectedly cracked against something hard, sending me sprawling forward. Fortunately Henry grabbed me by the waist and set me back on my feet before any further damage could be sustained, like my face slamming into the stone steps.

“Damnation!” I cursed, temporarily forgetting any semblance of manners due to the sharp pain radiating through my toe and up into my leg. It didn’t take an expert healer to know there was considerable damage that would be grieving me for some days to come.

“Are you hurt or just angry?” Henry asked with a mix of concern and amusement as another oath escaped my lips.

“Both!” I snapped, irritated by his tone. My foot could not bear weight without redoubling the pain and I carefully lowered myself onto the first step. Once situated, I stared into the darkness, hoping to identify what had tripped me. “Can you see what I kicked?”

“There’s nothing here,” he said, staring at the walkway. “Most likely you tripped on an uneven stone.”

“That’s impossible. My father was meticulous about keeping that path entirely level.”

Mrs. Ryan must have heard our voices—or my rather vociferous exclamations—for she stepped outside holding a lantern. “Have you been hurt?” she asked.

“Only a stubbed toe,” I said, downplaying my injury. “Mrs. Ryan, will you give Henry your light?”

“Yes, ma’am.” She handed over the lantern.

It took but a minute for Henry to find what had caused me to stumble. “It’s what I thought. This stone here is raised slightly higher on one side.”

“No,” Mrs. Ryan said, before I had a chance to repeat myself. “The late Master Kilbrid would not have allowed it. When my mistress was a young girl and first learning to walk, she tripped right here and knocked herself senseless. Her father was so angry that he fell into a rage and ordered every stone to be torn out and put in anew. Ever since it has been kept as smooth as the kitchen table.”

“That may be,” Henry said politely, “but this stone is what caught Selah’s foot.”

Without my having to ask, Henry got down on his hands and knees for a better look. From my seat on the step I watched him try to wiggle the stone back into place. This tactic soon proved futile, and giving up, he lifted the stone altogether to see what was impeding his efforts. Placing it to the side, he moved the lantern closer and then ran his fingers over the wet ground. “The dirt has been recently disturbed.”

My thoughts turned at once to the vague memory of an animal scratching about while I slept, and I peered up at my bedroom windows. As Henry began pushing the loose dirt aside, I tried to find some reason behind this newest development. “No animal could have moved that stone,” I said. “Well, maybe a bear, but that wouldn’t make any sense. Why would a bear want to bury something under the walkway? Have you found anything yet?”

“Yes, I’ve got something,” he said at last, lifting a small bundle from its hiding place. “And it isn’t the work of any bears.”

I strained my eyes as he brushed away the remaining dirt, revealing an exterior of oilcloth bound up with twine.

“Bring it into the house, sir,” Mrs. Ryan said. “And we shall have a better look.”

I stood slowly, wincing painfully with the first step. Seeing my difficulty, Henry came directly to my side. “Please take these, Mrs. Ryan.” He handed over both the lantern and the package. He then placed his arm securely around my waist for support. We made our way to the house where we found Mrs. Ryan lighting more candles in the drawing room.

Henry deposited me safely in a chair before picking up the package from where she had set it on a side table. Truly mystified by what anyone would want to hide beneath the walkway, I watched Henry intently as he tugged off the string and folded back the cloth. A thick layer of straw came into view. Henry pushed this aside, uncovering a clear glass flask.

“Whatever could it be?” I asked, bewildered by our discovery. Henry held it up to one of the candles Mrs. Ryan had carried over, casting an eerie glow through the pale yellow liquid inside and showing a score of long dark strands, which looked disturbingly like hair.

“May I see that, Master Kilbrid?” Mrs. Ryan asked, her voice stiff with anger.

Henry handed over the bottle. We watched her turn it from side to side and then pull the cork to sniff the contents. “It’s as I thought,” she said, pursing her lips in displeasure.

“What is it?” Henry demanded.

“It’s a witch’s bottle,” she said. “And by the look of that dark hair, it’s been made to ward against Mistress Kilbrid.”

The room grew deathly still as Mrs. Ryan’s words slowly sank in, becoming a part of our understanding. The rest of the servants had gone to bed by now, and the only noise came from a large gilded clock above the fireplace. Henry spoke first, breaking the heavy silence, while I struggled to find my tongue.

“I’ve never heard of such a thing,” he said, keeping his eyes steadfast on Mrs. Ryan. “Certainly you are mistaken.”

“No, sir,” Mrs. Ryan countered. “I’ve seen plenty of the kind back in the old country, and there’s no mistaking it. Upon my life, it’s a witch’s bottle if ever I saw one.”

Henry stood at my side, a hand resting protectively on my shoulder. “Very well,” he said. “Then tell us what it is and why it was buried under the front walkway?”

“To make a proper witch’s bottle the flask should be made of bellarmine. If that can’t be found, clear glass or even pottery can be used instead, but I don’t think this matters so much as the stuff inside.”

“And what is that?” Henry eyed the bottle suspiciously.

“To have the proper effect, the flask must be filled with the witch’s urine and then either her hair or nail clippings, whichever can be gotten most easily.”

It hardly took any time for the equation to come together. If the bottle was made to protect against me, then someone thought I was a witch and that was my hair and urine.
Ick!

My primary concern probably should have been that someone thought me a witch, but having the contents of my chamber pot so clearly displayed seemed of higher importance at the moment. “That is utterly disgusting,” I said with a fair amount of dignity. “Please discard it at once.”

“Wait, Selah,” Henry said. “We need more information first. Mrs. Ryan, what is that bottle supposed to accomplish?”

“It’s a powerful ward to protect against witches. The flask is most often buried near doorways, like the one you found, to break a witch’s spells and stop her from entering the house. My grandmother hung one inside of a chimney once to block a witch from coming in that way.”

Oh
,
for heaven’s sake!
The witch’s bottle and its alleged powers offended the human intelligence on so many levels, I didn’t know where to begin with my indignation. Even worse, that someone like Mrs. Ryan could believe such rubbish.

“And how do you know this was made against Selah?” Henry asked next.

“There’s no one else living at Brighmor, or even near about, who has dark hair that curls like my mistress’s. Miss Goodwin’s is straight as a stick and Agnes the washerwoman has more frizzle than curl. The hair in that bottle belongs to Mistress Kilbrid to be sure. Now what we need to be asking, no offense to you, sir,” she hastily added, “is why someone is making a bottle to begin with. There’s no rhyme or reason in doing something so vile against my mistress.”

Henry and I exchanged a quick glance, both guessing at the culprit. But Nathan couldn’t have been working alone and must have had an accomplice with access to my bedchamber.

“Mrs. Ryan, who have you assigned to empty the chamber pots?” Henry asked, as though reading my very thoughts.

“Oh, goodness, it could be either of the chambermaids depending on what needs to be done. Most days though, Mary Finney is in charge of cleaning Mistress Kilbrid’s room.”

“And does Mary fix your hair each morning?” Henry asked me. “Would she also have access to your hairbrush and combs?”

“Mary would never act against me,” I protested. Though certainly not the brightest creature, Mary was a very sweet girl. I couldn’t imagine her harboring ill intent of any kind. “I’ve known her for a year and we’ve always gotten along perfectly well.”

“It’s true,” Mrs. Ryan confirmed. “Mary doesn’t seem the type of girl who would do something like this. All the same, I’ll talk to her in the morning.”

“You will speak with every servant who has access to Selah’s room,” Henry added. “If Mary is innocent, then someone else living under this roof is up to no good.”

“I’ll see to it first thing tomorrow, sir,” Mrs. Ryan promised. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll be turning in unless there’s anything else you’ll be needing tonight.”

I wanted to be alone with Henry, to further discuss the situation. “We’re fine, thank you, Mrs. Ryan,” I said. She gave a small curtsy and then left the room, taking the nasty bottle with her.

We listened in silence as her footsteps retreated through the house toward the servants’ quarters. “Well, this is a fine kettle of fish,” I said once we were alone. “To think, one of my own servants has been conspiring against me with that fiend, Nathan Crowley. Whoever it is ought to be pitched head first into the pond this very moment.”

Henry knelt down in front of me. “We’ve nothing to do till morning when Mrs. Ryan has had a chance to question the servants. Needless worry will get us nowhere, and we’ve more important issues to deal with tonight.”

“More important than witch’s bottles and two-faced servants?”

“Yes, of greater importance even than those,” he said, with a slight smile that told me he was up to something.

“Don’t leave me in suspense. Pray tell what could possibly need our attention above a malicious thief sneaking about, stealing my...personal effects.” This sounded more dignified than
hair
and
urine
.

“Your toe,” he replied.

“You can’t be serious? My toe is of no consequence in light of these other offenses.”

“Who takes care of Selah Kilbrid, the most skilled healer in all the Colonies, when she’s been hurt?” His brows rose in question, but he forged on before I could answer. “Your foot can hardly bear weight and needs to be properly tended tonight. Now, if you’ll be so kind and accompany me to the apothecary there will be no need for further persuasion.”

He might be right, but the prospect of limping all that distance was daunting, especially with my bedroom so much closer. “It’s not so bad. I’ll just take care of it in my room.” I stood slowly, making sure not to put any undue pressure on my sore foot.

Thinking the matter settled, I turned to hobble away. The next instant my feet left the ground and I found myself in his arms. “What are you doing?” I gasped.

His eyes glinted with a mix of determination and mischief. “Being more persuasive. Now take one of those candles so we’ll have a better time of it.”

His arms were like iron, and squirm as I might there would be no easy escape. Deciding to make the best of the situation while sparing myself from an undignified struggle, I grabbed a candle to light our way. “On second thought, I’ve reconsidered. A trip to the apothecary is an excellent idea after all.”

“I knew you would see reason, with the right amount of persuasion.”

“Yes, you have been most convincing in a brute force sort of way,” I laughed. “Do you actually have any experience with doctoring, or should I expect more of the same when we get there?”

“I’ve knowledge enough to find your toe and tie a bandage around it.”

“How reassuring,” I teased.

Once in the apothecary, he set me down on the wooden table rather than the floor, leaving my feet to dangle freely in the air. “What will I be needing?” he asked.

“Water, to start, from that smaller pot there.” I pointed toward the fireplace. “And a salve would be nice, from one of those jars on the far end of the second shelf. You’ll also need a linen towel and some bandages.”

While I sat watching, Henry collected all the items and set them together next to me on the table. He then carried over the chair and placed it directly in front of where I was sitting. Instead of taking a seat, he turned around and put his back to me. “Please remove your stocking.”

At any other time I would have been mortified, but under the circumstances, it seemed a perfectly normal request. Keeping an eye on his back lest he be tempted to turn too soon, I kicked off my shoe and reached up beneath my skirts to untie the garter that held my white cotton stocking in place. With the tension released, I neatly rolled it down, spying a nice spot of blood on the toe. Fortunately, there were no snags or rips to be seen. “Ready,” I said, once I had smoothed my dress back into place.

Henry turned back around and sat down in the chair. “Let’s see what you’ve done.” He lifted my foot just below eye level to better evaluate the damage. “The nail of your big toe is split partway down the middle. There’s a fair chance you’ll lose it.”

“Brilliant,” I said, my voice laced with sarcasm.

He began to carefully feel for broken bones, starting at my toes and slowly moving his hands along my foot to my ankle. He was so focused on his work, I thought he might continue right up my calf, but he stopped and looked up at me. “Can you move your toe?” he asked.