The Sixth Labyrinth (The Child of the Erinyes Book 4) (30 page)

“Like the women and the lion?”

“That. Well, I’m not sure what that was.” He paused. “One day, after we’re wed, I’ll share some of them, if you will.”

She withdrew her hand.

“You’re reluctant? You think it will change how I feel about you?”

Her spine stiffened. “How did you—”

He cupped her cheek and gave her a wry smile. “Why d’you think I won’t tell mine until after we’re married?” He shook his head and added, “Trust me, Morrigan. I know it’s hard….”

“I do, Curran.”
I love you
trembled at the tip of her tongue. But when she tried to say it, her throat went dry and the pregnancy sickness, which hadn’t bothered her for several days, roiled to life again.

She watched him ride away, his vow,
We’ll always be together, you and I
… surrounding her, as soft and comforting as goose down.

“I love you.” She forced it out, not understanding the dread that trickled down her spine, and the disturbing sense that she was committing an unforgivable betrayal.

* * * *

Everything, from the fishing boats in the harbor to the rainbow sheen in the dew on the cobbles, took on special beauty. Morrigan was marrying a most intelligent, merry, handsome gentleman, and he had promised to take a sword to everything that tormented her, including her bad dreams. What’s more, her nausea continued to improve, and she enjoyed eating again. One of Ibby’s trusted volunteers, a mother of five, told her that was the way, the lightheadedness and queasiness vanished as the body grew accustomed to its new state.

Not even Ibby’s near-constant concern over what would happen when everyone knew the truth could dampen this relish for life. Beatrice, on the other hand, didn’t seem to worry. She’d said all she had to say about it, and now went on exactly as she had in Stranraer, quiet, dour, and busy.

Perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad. This was Scotland, not England, and the Scots were far more practical than their prissy neighbors. Since she would soon be properly wed to the father of her child, all would be forgiven.

Her aunt did her best to prepare Morrigan. She even continued with Curran’s initial dance lesson, teaching Morrigan the steps to the
shamit reel
and to waltz, after a fashion.

Ibby insisted on voyaging to Skye a day early so that Morrigan could rise on the morning of her wedding rested, and there would be no need to risk the crossing, the weather, or unreliable transportation. Curran arranged for lodging at a decent inn in the area. So it was that early on the twelfth of September, the wedding gown was packed into a trunk amid layers of tissue and the three women set sail for the misty isle.

Ibby’s cronies came to see them off, along with their children. The crowd thickened as others joined in and the departure burgeoned into a noisy throng. Two handy young lads loaded the trunk into a wagon while others wasted many a bullet shooting in the air to mark the occasion. Ibby’s female friends tossed old shoes and handfuls of grain. All assumed the banns had been called in Glenelg and that everything was proper and seemly.

As they neared the harbor where they would meet their ferry, one
Tamarisk
, owned by Captain J. Fraser, Morrigan turned a fond farewell gaze to Ibby’s squat residence. After today, she would never have to sleep in that narrow bed above her aunt’s dress shop, flattened between the wall and a snoring Beatrice. Why, Curran’s bed was so large—

“My God!” Ibby screeched. She grabbed Morrigan’s upper arm and jerked her hard. “What d’you think you’re doing?”

Morrigan stared at her aunt, puzzled and frightened.

“Don’t tell me you didn’t know you’re never to look back when you set off to marry?”

Realization flooded with a sinking sense of dread. “I forgot.”

“Oh, you careless chit of a girl!” Ibby cried, but soon let it go. “There’s no help for it. Perhaps fate’ll be kind and forgive you. It was my fault. I should’ve reminded you.”

Beatrice merely snorted.

The ferry’s departure was delayed for some reason. Beatrice, who claimed to hate sea travel— though how a born and bred Scot could say such a thing was hard to understand— went off to the stern. Morrigan and Ibby stood on the starboard side, watching incoming fishing boats and the seals swimming in their wake, hoping for scraps.

In due course the ferry worked its way from the harbor. The noise and furor of Mallaig fell away. More and more seals became visible, basking along the rocky shore, bobbing in the water. There were even two pups, still covered in white baby fur.

“Look Auntie,” Morrigan said, pointing. “The weans!”

“Now here’s a bit of good luck.”

“How?”

“Seals are always good luck, but here in the Highlands, you’ll see it’s far more than that. And they’re almost revered on Skye. None but the daftest, coldest devil would kill a seal, and if he did, he’d regret it.”

“They’re so bonny. Who could ever want to harm them?”

“Aye, it’s those eyes, making you want to cuddle them like puppies. Look at that great ugly brute, throwing sand on himself like he has no’ a care in the world. And here we are, making all this racket. Hard to believe such a wee bonny creature grows up into that, isn’t it? Maybe they’re blessing your marriage. See? There’s one clapping for you.”

They laughed, but the next moment Morrigan cried out when one of the careless males, lumbering across the rocks, went right over one of the pups and crushed it.

“Oh, what a shame,” Ibby said.

The pup’s mouth opened in a howl as it disappeared beneath hundreds of pounds of blubber.

Morrigan slapped her hands over her ears and squeezed her eyes closed. She heard the pitiful, helpless cry, calling to its mam, and was flooded with the memory of the dream she’d had in Curran’s bed, a fortnight past. A stinking crowd of drunken men holding her immobile, their knives dripping with blood.

“Sickening,” Ibby exclaimed. “I don’t think he even noticed what he did. Morrigan, child?”

Morrigan opened her eyes, dimly realizing she was standing portside, though she had no memory of running there.

Ibby’s forehead was creased with worry. Worse, Morrigan had managed to draw the attention of Captain Fraser, who came up next to Ibby, looking almost as fashed as her aunt. He worked his cap in his gnarled hands.

“’Tis the way of beasts.” The captain patted Morrigan’s shoulder. “They have no sensibility. Life is ‘kill or be killed.’” He smiled kindly. “Can I get you a cup of tea, lass?”

Morrigan gritted her teeth as the swift inner assault faded. She was on a ferry. Tomorrow she would be married. Though the dream sent spikes of panic through her, it was meaningless. There were no babies. It was strange, though, how her imagination could conceive such clear images out of nothing. “Thank you, no,” she said, trying to steady her voice. “I apologize for causing a fuss.”

The captain gave her another pat on the shoulder and went off to his duties.

Life was chancy, was that what the dream meant? What would happen when the seal mother searched for her offspring? She’d find nothing but a poor, crushed corpse.

“Folk think you unfeeling, but your heart is tender.” Ibby hugged Morrigan and brushed windblown strands of hair off her niece’s face. “I mind the first time you saw a cat kill a mouse, how inconsolable you were, for days and days. Pinch your cheeks. Think of that handsome lad who’ll soon be yours, and the happy way things’ve turned out for you. And don’t give a thought to that silly mistake at shore. Such things are but ancient superstition. Marriage to the Laird of Eilginn will bring you years of joy. D’you hear me? Years and years of joy.”

Ibby gazed at the boat’s churning wake for a moment. “Thank the Lord, you’ll never have the kind of memories I do. Everyone in Glenelg was so poor. And the clearings. Folk starving, freezing. Their homes burned as they watched. I’ll never forget holding Beth Dunbar, that’s Fionna Dunbar’s daughter, the day before she died.”

“Curran’s housekeeper?” Distracted by Ibby’s chatter, Morrigan’s heartbeat slowly returned to normal. “She had another daughter?”

“She had three weans. Tess and Logan survived. Beth did not. All of six when cold and starvation stole her away.” Ibby wiped tears from her lashes. “Begging for a bite of bread. But there wasn’t one to give.”

Morrigan ached as she imagined her warmhearted aunt weeping over her inability to provide a crust to a dying child. It was daft to grieve over a dead seal pup when such things happened to children. She must try to be more grateful. True, her life up till now hadn’t offered many pleasures, but she’d never gone hungry. She’d never been left out in the cold. Douglas had seen to that.

In a brisk, no-nonsense tone, Ibby said, “I wish I could give you advice, but don’t you already know too much about what a young lady should be getting advice on?” She gave Morrigan a peppery frown before turning pensive. “Curran’s a dear, though, I have to admit. It’s clear he adores you. D’you realize how lucky you are? It all could’ve turned out quite differently.”

“Aye, of course,” Morrigan agreed, with an attempt at a smile.

“The babe… it is his…?”

Morrigan’s heart plummeted at her aunt’s obvious embarrassment and hesitant tone. “You think I… I have done… been with… with other men?”

“W-well…” Ibby stammered. “You can trust me, you know. I’d never tell a soul, love.”

Morrigan could only gape, speechless with shock.

“It’s your father,” Ibby finally admitted. “I didn’t know how mad he’d become.” A tear slipped down her cheek. “Why did you never tell me? I would’ve taken you away. I wouldn’t have let him stop me. I
should
have known. I’ll never forgive myself for leaving you there.”

Oh. Now Morrigan understood, and it made her sick. “How?” she asked. “How would you have done that, when you couldn’t even get me away for a visit?” She gripped the rail, white-knuckled. “You think the child is….” She couldn’t finish.

Ibby paused. It did seem a monstrous thing to say while impaled in bright sunlight and clean sea air. “It’s… the way he attacked you. I could tell he had some mad notion that you
were
Hannah. He was enraged, yet… there was something else as well.” Tears spilled over her cheeks.

Morrigan knew she had to protect Ibby. “No, Auntie, Papa never did anything like that,” she said as firmly as she could. Heat rose then dissipated in her cheeks. This must be why Ibby had counseled Morrigan to hide the marks on her throat from Curran, to lie about what had happened. “I swear it. Curran’s the father.” Knowing she would shatter into bits if the subject wasn’t changed, Morrigan stammered, “Auntie, Nicky told me when I was small Papa treated me well. Is that true?”

“Oh aye.” Relief swept over Ibby’s face and she nodded vigorously. She, too, looked relieved. “That’s why I never knew… was scunnered when I saw…. D’you know why you didn’t die when we were cleared? We found a goat, and Douglas fed you its milk from his finger. Goat’s milk off your da’s finger— that’s why you’re here today. And when you were older, why, he always carried you about on his shoulders. You’d laugh and laugh. You should know these things. Now Douglas is dead, I won’t keep your past from you anymore. One reason I agreed to his demands was because it’s a sad, sorry tale, and I didn’t want you burdened.”

“It’s like a great dark hole full of mystery and fear. Like I did something so awful everyone has to shield me from it.”

Ibby shook her head. “You were a bright blessing in the midst of horror. After you’re wed and settled in at Kilgarry, I’ll tell you everything. Of course,” she added, “Beatrice knows more than I. There were those months they were in Ireland. She was with them. None on earth knew Douglas, or your poor mother, as well as she.”

“Getting her to speak of those days is like tearing out fingernails with pincers.”

“Maybe now he’s gone she’ll relent. Speaking of fingernails… what are we going to do about yours?”

* * * *

Behind them and before them were mountains, mountains everywhere.

“The Cuillin.” Ibby nodded at the range straight ahead that reached for the clouds like sharp teeth seeking sweetmeats. “Bonny to look at, terrible to be lost in.”

“And those?” Morrigan gestured towards the massive peaks behind them.

“The Knoydarts. That hulking brute there is Beinn Sgritheall. Your new home is on the other side, beneath The Five Sisters. Now there’s a sight you’ll not soon forget. You saw hardly anything when we went there before. After the child is born, you must go out riding. If Curran doesn’t have the time to take you, I shall do it. I grew up there, after all. There’s many a spot I can show you.”

Morrigan stared at the peaks, not sure what she was hoping for. A message of reassurance? Some glimmer of welcome? They were so beautiful she couldn’t turn away, yet their summits were shrouded in grim rainclouds, and as she looked, lightning flickered, sending branches in a hundred directions. One thick, white, wicked bolt came out of the darkest cloud, striking the ground three times, and distant thunder resonated across the water.

* * * *

The ferry slid against the pier at Armadal like a babe to its mother’s breast. Morrigan and Ibby found Beatrice dozing on a wooden bench, her mouth hanging slack. They woke her and paid two eager lads to haul their trunk and lead them to The Hart and Wench, where Curran had arranged for rooms.

After a meal and an hour spent listening to the proprietor’s garrulous tales, Morrigan and Ibby went sightseeing while Beatrice retired for a nap. They walked to the pier then north, into lush, overgrown wilderness.

Many of the locals wore little more than rags and much of the area appeared abandoned, strewn with rubble and burnt-out shells of cottages.

“Skye never recovered from the potato famine and the clearings,” Ibby said. “Folk once believed Scotland invincible. She’s seen strife and slaughter, at Culloden, Phillipaugh, Glencoe, and more. Yet always there remained a steadfast belief that these mountains and burns, fed with our precious blood, would survive, no matter the assault. Aye.” She mopped her tears. “D’you know what destroyed us at last? The clearings. Over a thousand years we withstood everything: the Romans, the Vikings, greedy English kings with their massacres. Oh, how they tried to bring us to heel. But in the end, it was our own who achieved the English desire. Our own kin, shipping us away and replacing us with sheep.” She shook her head. “Betrayal from those we trust is the worst treachery,” she said, and left Morrigan, saying she needed to be alone for a bit.