An Immortal Descent Read online

  An Immortal Descent

  By Kari Edgren

  Selah Kilbrid, descendant of the Celtic goddess Brigid, has been ordered to remain in London and leave any dangers in Ireland to her goddess-born family. They fear she’s no match for Death’s most powerful daughter and—if the legend holds true—the witch who once nearly destroyed the Irish people. But Selah has never been good at following orders, and nothing will stop her from setting out to find the two people she loves most—her dearest friend, Nora Goodwin, and her betrothed, Lord Henry Fitzalan.

  Hiding from kin, traveling uneasily beside companions with secrets of their own, Selah is forced on an unexpected path by those who would steal her gift of healing. With precious time ticking away, she turns to a mortal enemy for help, heedless of the cost.

  Selah would pass through hell to rescue Nora and Henry, but what if it means unleashing a greater evil on the human world? Her only chance is to claim the fullest extent of her birthright—at the risk of being forever separated from the man she longs to marry.

  Book three of Goddess Born

  121,340 words

  To Ethan, Connor, Caelen, Vigo and Gedde

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Acknowledgments

  Also by Kari Edgren

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  Frost Nip

  England, November 1730

  A gust of cold wind snapped at the folds of my woolen cape. Shifting the reins to one hand, I grabbed at the hood to keep it in place despite Mother Nature’s repeated attempts to snatch it from my head. Rain wetted my cheeks, seeped through the multiple layers of cloth to the skin below. A thin forest of nearly bare trees lined the muddy road that ran from London to the seaport of Bristol. Or so James Roth assured me with a confidence that belied further question. He rode two horse lengths ahead, his tricorn hat pulled low as he fought a similar battle against the elements. At least he had the advantage of riding astride in breeches and knee boots rather than sidesaddle and in skirts that seemed to invite the wind beneath.

  Though the sun had risen hours before, a dark gloom persisted from the thick layer of gray clouds. I pulled my cape closer when the short hairs prickled over my nape.

  For about the hundredth time since leaving, I glanced over my shoulder, unable to shake the feeling that we were being followed. Squinting against the rain, I focused hard on the last bend in the road, knowing it was only a matter of time before more riders appeared.

  Catria and Tiarnach.

  My great-grandparents would be hard on my heels by now, but I refused to stay in London as instructed while my dearest friend, Nora Goodwin, remained in the clutches of a murderous lunatic. Deri. Death’s daughter. The name coiled like a snake in my stomach.

  Nothing stirred behind me, other than skeletal branches and a handful of determined leaves. Slowly, I turned back around to resume the mind-numbing stare at James’s back.

  Long minutes passed and the sway of his black greatcoat took on a hypnotic quality. After traveling for nigh on eight hours with only a single break in between, I was bone-tired, but unwilling to stop unless absolutely necessary. By James’s estimation, we could cover the miles from London to Bristol in three days’ time, or perhaps two and a half if we didn’t spare the horses. With extra good luck, we would be on our way to Wexford by evening next, depending on the tides and available ships. Nora, Deri and Henry might be hours and miles ahead, but with dogged determination, James and I would erase the distance between us. If everything went well, this whole mess could be resolved in a week’s time. Then the wretch would be dead, Nora returned to safety, and Henry and I finally wed.

  Framed in such a way, it all sounded so easy, three mere checks to perfection—three mere checks that were larger than Ireland and England put together, and could very well lead to the death of everyone involved.

  I gave my head a violent shake. Stop that, Selah Kilbrid. There was no sense in jinxing the whole journey with such thoughts, regardless of the possibilities. Mumbling a quick prayer, I started to cross myself. “In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy—”

  The remaining word came out in a gasp as my horse stumbled through a mud-filled rut. James turned in time to see the mare regain her footing. I readjusted my seat, surprised that he’d heard anything over the gusting wind. Another dozen steps and his eyes narrowed on the horse’s front hooves.

  He reined and waited for me to come alongside him. “I fear your mount has thrown a shoe, Miss Kilbrid.” With a grim look, he swung down from the saddle into several inches of mud. I stayed put, hoping to spare my boots while he studied the horse’s right foreleg.

  Straightening, James shook his head in a gesture of exasperated disbelief. In a matter of seconds, his expression had turned from grim to darker than the storm filled sky.

  Surely he can’t think this is my fault. Like people, horses sometimes stumbled and tread on their own hooves. It was an inconvenient fact of life, as was the awful condition of the roads from so much rain. Did he intend to blame me for that, too? If so, I had more power than I ever imagined.

  A rebuttal stood at the ready when he put his back to me and stared in stony silence at the woods and empty road. A full minute passed. Then another before the fragment of a curse drifted to my ears. Turning, he raised his hands to help me down. I accepted, nose wrinkled at the inevitable muddy squelch when my feet settled instead on a sodden patch of grass.

  “Thank you,” I mumbled, puzzled by the unexpected show of gallantry from a man who despised me.

  Since our first acquaintance in the Colonies, James had considered me the lowest sort of person in his opinion—an Irish upstart who’d forgotten her place and had somehow ensnared the affections of his employer and closest friend, Lord Henry Fitzalan. To make matters worse, while attempting to end our betrothal, James had fallen madly in love with Nora, and it was only a matter of time before we were all one happy family. Until one of us killed the other.

  “There’s an inn up ahead,” he said, his voice tight with anger. “The owner’s son is a decent farrier, and can see to it if he’s around today. I’ll switch the saddles so you can ride while I walk alongside.”

  “Can’t you fix the shoe?”

  James blew out an irritated breath. “No, Miss Kilbrid. I’ve neither the skills nor the tools for the task. We will have to walk the horses to the inn.”

  My mouth pursed with disappointment. “How far is it?” I asked.

  “Eight miles by my best estimation.”

  I sagged beneath the small defeat. Already at the disadvantage, this misfortune guaranteed that we would not catch up to anyone before Bristol. To be sure, I shouldn’t have counted on doing so even under the best of conditions. But I couldn’t help it. Upon discovering Henry’s departure last night, this scrap of hope had
soothed the pain in my chest to a dull ache as my emotions swung a pendulum between anger and angst.

  The horse pawed at the ground, irritated by the loose metal. Lifting the hoof, James tugged at the offending shoe, while I clenched my teeth hard to keep from screaming a string of curses at the sky.

  Hell and furies!

  Why had Henry left without me? This question had echoed relentlessly through my head since leaving London. Didn’t he know that we were stronger together? Past incidents offered ample proof of that fact—proof that Henry willfully ignored in an attempt to keep me from harm’s way. But this was my fight as much as his, and he had no right to go it alone.

  Rain rolled down my forehead to the tip of my nose. I brushed it away and shoved several windblown curls back into the hood. As the storm appeared to be blowing out of the southwest, I received some consolation from the notion that the others were in similar straits. Perhaps not a thrown shoe, but under the circumstances, no one would be moving too quickly.

  James leaned into the horse to release the girth straps, and his next words came out somewhat muffled. “A couple of hours should see us there.”

  I nearly suggested we ride together, but the idea of being so close to the man proved too much. “Sorry for the inconvenience,” I offered instead. “Fortunately you seem well familiar with the area.”

  His mouth compressed to a hard line. “More familiar than I wish to be.” He handed the saddle to me to keep it from the mud. “I had hoped to pass through undetected, but it appears fate has another plan.”

  I watched him work, expecting to hear more about fate’s fickle nature, only to be disappointed. “Here you go,” he said at last. With a small boost, I soon found myself reseated.

  The hours passed in near silence. James sloshed through the mud without complaint, though his expression revealed the presence of dismal thoughts, which seemed to grow increasingly dismal the farther west we went. After a few miles, the rain tapered to a drizzle, and was no more than a sprinkle as we neared the inn. I tilted my head skyward and glimpsed the smallest gleam of sunshine breaking through the clouds.

  A two-story stone-and-wood structure appeared on the far side of a gentle bend. The smell of damp earth was soon overtaken by wood smoke and roasting meat, and my mouth watered in anticipation. A dog’s eager bark near the gate offered a pleasant break to the hours of silence.

  The front door swung open. “That’s enough from ye,” a man bellowed. He stepped onto the porch and wiped two large hands on a linen apron tied around his impressive girth. The dog ran to him, tail wagging at the sight of his master.

  We guided the horses toward the innkeeper. Flour dusted his brown woolen breeches, and a baking cap topped tightly curled hair that appeared an equal mix of gold and silver. When we got within a half dozen paces, the dog ran to James and started licking his gloved hand.

  “Sit, ye worthless mutt,” the man ordered. “This gentleman don’t need yer wet tongue all over his fine clothes.”

  James patted the dog, then with a resigned sigh, looked up at the man. “Don’t worry yourself, Abe. It’s good to be remembered.”

  The innkeeper started in surprise. “Beg yer pardon, Mr. Roth. I didn’t recognize ye at first.” He bowed awkwardly. “It’s been a long time since ye was last home, sir.”

  My brows crept up at the revelation. Well, isn’t this interesting.

  Abe darted a look at me. “Do ye need a bed for the night? I’ve a secluded room near the back if it please ye.”

  Embarrassment burned in my cheeks. I waited for James to clear up the misunderstanding, hoping he would do it soon before steam started to rise from my damp clothing.

  “Abe Turner, this is Lord Fitzalan’s betrothed, Miss Kilbrid.” He reached up to help me from the saddle.

  The man’s eyes popped and he rushed another bow. “How do ye do, Miss Kilbrid? His lordship has always been a favorite of mine.” The initial expression faltered as deep creases appeared around his mouth. “No offense, miss, but last I heard he was engaged to marry one of King George’s daughters. Or so the country gossips tell it.”

  The dog watched me with keen interest, its head cocked to one side.

  “No offense taken, Mr. Turner. Lord Fitzalan and the princess have recently ended their betrothal.” An idea jumped into my head. “Have you seen him today, perchance? He would have passed through several hours ago.” The dog whined while I spoke and slowly started to inch its way to me.

  Abe shook his head. “No, miss. I ain’t seen hide nor hair of his lordship for well over a year, since he last stopped to rest his legs on the way to Bath.”

  I had guessed as much, that Henry would not waste a moment in his quest to stop the wretch. But neither Deri nor Nora had his strong constitution. “What about a dark-haired lady,” I asked, “and a pale blonde girl? They would have come through before the sunrise.”

  “Ye’d have to ask my daughters about them as they tend to guests that time of morning.” He looked to James. “I’ve two comfortable rooms if ye’d like, though I assume with his lordship’s betrothed, yer for the manor house to see yer brother and his lady wife.”

  James ground his teeth at the suggestion. “Miss Kilbrid and I are expected to meet up with Lord Fitzalan and will only be here long enough to have a horse re-shod.” He glanced to the stable. “Is Sam around?”

  The dog inched closer to me. Its tail had dropped lower, though it continued to wag ever so slightly. Without thinking, I reached down to pat its head. Coarse hair bristled beneath my touch, and lips pulled back to a growl. Startled, I yanked my hand back just as the dog snapped.

  It made to leap when the man grabbed it by the scruff at the last second. “Watch yer manners, ye cur!” He turned apologetic eyes to me. “Fin don’t mean no harm, Miss Kilbrid. He’s usually gentle as a lamb. I’ve never seen him go after anyone afore, ‘specially no ladies. Soon as lick a thief as to catch one, I always say.”

  James looked at me, his brows bent together in disapproval. I jutted my chin forward, perturbed by his reaction and unspoken insinuation.

  Good gracious. Just because the dog was in a foul mood did not make me a bad person.

  He shifted his attention to Abe. “About Sam, is he in the stables?”

  A low growl persisted from the dog, and the innkeeper remained stooped over to keep him in place. “He went to town to fetch another barrel of cider. The coach is due soon from London, and the folks are always plenty thirsty when they arrive.” He scratched the dog’s head with his other hand. “Reckon he’ll be back in half an hour. Come in by the fire, sir, and warm yerself. The cider’s near gone, but I’ve beer or spiced wine if ye like.”

  “Wine would be nice, Abe. Thank you.”

  “More’s a pleasure, Mr. Roth. Just talk to one of my daughters and I’ll see yer horses to the stable myself.” He stepped aside, dragging the dog with him. Even so, the beast nipped at my gown when we passed by to the inn.

  Abe tightened his grip on the mutt’s muzzle. “Damnable cur! Ye’ve worse manners than a sea monkey. Keep it up, and I’ve a mind—”

  The door shut behind us. Pushing the dog from my thoughts, I peered through the gloom at the handful of men hunched over trenchers and wooden tankards. They watched as we crossed the room to the table nearest the fire. Heat from the flames brushed my cheeks, and I removed my cape to drape it over an empty chair to dry. An orange tabby cat lounged on the flagstones in front of the hearth. I leaned over to stroke the long sleek back.

  The cat stiffened and hissed at me. “Don’t be afraid,” I said.

  The hiss turned to a deep-throated growl. The cat rose onto its paws, arched aggressively, and raked a claw over the back of my hand.

  “Hell’s bells!” I cursed. Four long scratches marred my glove. “What’s wrong with the animals around here?”

  The cat sli
nked toward me, still growling and looking ready to pounce. I stepped back against the table, knocking against one of the chairs.

  A young maid rushed over to us. “Stop that, Hepsy! Leave the poor lady alone!” She scooped the cat into a bear hug. “Beg yer pardon, miss, but she ain’t normally so mean. My father keeps her indoors for the mice. Don’t know what’s got into her today.”

  The cat peeked an orange head between the girl’s arms and hissed.

  James nudged my elbow. “Come, Miss Kilbrid. Have a seat before the animal goes into hysterics.”

  “Animals tend to like me,” I said defensively, which was the absolute truth. Except for evil hounds, and apparently a foul-tempered dog and cat.

  “So I see,” he muttered. Removing his hat and greatcoat, he took the seat opposite and turned to the maid. “Elsie, I presume.”

  The maid curtsied the best she could while holding the agitated cat. “Aye, sir, Elsie Turner if it pleases ye.”

  “You’ve changed so much, I might not have recognized you if not for the golden curls.”

  Uncertainty filled her face, and she studied James as though trying to place him. “Have we met before, sir?”

  James smiled. “It’s been several years, and you were a mite younger, probably not much over ten years at the time. I am Mr. Roth of Branbury Manor.”

  The girl’s uncertainty turned to excitement. “Oh, yer Old Sir John’s brother,” she near squealed.

  Every head in the room turned toward us.

  James kept the smile in place, though it appeared tighter around the edges. “Right you are, Elsie.” He tugged off his gloves and set them on the seat next to his hat. “We will have bread and cheese and whatever meat is currently roasting. And two cups of spiced wine.” He glanced at me. “Will that suffice, Miss Kilbrid?”

  “Yes, thank you, Mr. Roth.”

  The maid turned to leave. Wanting the last word, the orange devil peered over her shoulder and hissed at me again.

  “Wait a moment, Elsie,” James said, stopping the girl in her tracks. “Did a dark-haired lady come into the inn anytime during the past six hours? She would have been wearing a gray dress, and been accompanied by a small, fair-haired child of about twelve years.”