The Sixth Labyrinth (The Child of the Erinyes Book 4) (68 page)

“Come away, lass,” Seaghan ordered. “We’ll get you and Livvy warm and dry before sending you to Kilgarry.”

He escorted Morrigan to his blackhouse and into a chair near the fireplace. Aodhàn handed her a dry plaid and lit the fire while Seaghan brewed tea. Olivia clasped at the air, gripped Morrigan’s finger, and let her mother know she was again hungry. With the plaid piled high around her and no light but what the blue peat fire offered, Morrigan felt secure enough to accommodate her, yet when she looked up from the baby she caught Aodhàn watching from the shadows by the door. Those colors she’d seen at her wedding feast swirled around him, making her blink as she questioned her sight. Red, aye, dark red, almost brown at the edges, and the red did seem angry, as Diorbhail had described it, throwing showers of sparks.

She was surprised to feel no shame or embarrassment
.
“Our fine day abandoned us,” she said, needing to break the spell for fear of falling so deeply into it that she could never climb out. “Was it dangerous?”

The colors faded as Aodhàn dropped to the floor and crossed his long legs. “It can be, but Seaghan and I know what we’re doing.”

“Admit it, Aodhàn,” Seaghan said. “You would’ve enjoyed spending the night on that wee rock.” He handed their guest tea, served in what must be the man’s finest cup.

“I might have,” Aodhàn said, and he met Morrigan’s gaze.

She sipped, thinking for some reason of the poor dead creature abandoned against Skye’s coast. Other animals would eat it. Nothing would remain but bones, and finally, not even that.

“I’ll take you home,” Aodhàn said.

“Best let me,” Seaghan said quickly, but Aodhàn shook his head. There was an instant of strained silence as the two men communicated without speaking. Morrigan tensed. Seaghan turned away with a shrug and a barely suppressed hiss.

Mist still clung to the coastline and caught like cotton in the trees. Aodhàn led her with unhesitating sureness, his hand gripping her forearm. He must know every stone and blade of grass around Glenelg.

“How did you meet Curran?” he asked.

“Aunt Ibby brought him to the inn.”

“And why did you marry him? Because he’s wealthy?”

She started to make a retort about his manners, but instead swallowed hard and said, “Because I love him, of course. We fell in love.”

“It wasn’t the child?”

Embarrassment rippled. “Everyone told me I must,” she said and inwardly cursed. Now he would think her not only a female without morals, but a daftie, who had to be ordered, molded, and guided.

His face remained expressionless. Even in the happiest of times, she knew his face would be difficult to read. His distrust was clear, though. What had scarred him?

“Tonight you’re more nymph than girl. One of the
Meliae
.” He picked a primrose, brushed back her hair, and tucked it above her ear.

She felt the contact of his fingers through her whole body. “Meliae. What is that?”

“They live in ash trees. The Greeks called the honey from those trees
méli
. That’s how they got their name.”

“Really?”

“They’re the sweeter sisters to the Erinyes, the crones of vengeance.”

“Mackinnon, how do you know these things?”

“You were so certain you had me all puzzled out, neat and tidy, simply from the way I live.”

It was true. She couldn’t deny it. “I’ve been obsessed with the stories of Greece since I learned to read.”

“Of course.” He shrugged as though she’d said something patently obvious. He lifted his brow, slightly mocking, slightly suggestive.

Inside, fear bloomed. Her female senses told her he was deliberately charming her. Though in some shamed part of her imagination she’d secretly wished for it, now that it had come she fought a desire to run away to Curran, her bastion.

“Seaghan told me you vanish for days,” she said. “Traipse the hills, stare out to sea. You forget to eat and fall ill.”

“Seaghan tells more than he should.”

She sensed a withdrawal but continued. “You know the glen? With the cave?”

They stopped. “I saw you there,” he said.

She heard his voice reciting the tale as she met his gaze.
This path is marked by my unknowable destiny. I cannot escape it
.

Olivia stirred and yawned. Mist created unworldly chambers of privacy, muffling requirements and rules as it did sound. Perhaps the faeries had whisked them through a magical threshold and they were no longer in the ordinary world at all.

“Have you heard the Mackinnon clan motto?” His voice was low. “It’s older than the clan. Almost as old as Earth itself.”

She shook her head.

“‘Fortune favors the bold.’”

He bent then and kissed her, gripping her shoulders to keep her from fleeing, as part of her wanted to do.

Why did the image of that poor murdered seal flash again through her thoughts?

He might respect Curran Ramsay. He might like him. But in this matter, he could no more restrain himself than he could the sunrise. Mackinnon kissed her because death lay around the next corner; if one gave in to timidity, or respect, or social requirements, one’s only chance might be forever lost.

She closed her eyes and rose up on her toes. But Diorbhail’s face invaded relentlessly.
Against the mountain, the seal is powerless
.

If Mackinnon is the seal, does that make Curran the mountain?

This is wrong.

Only Olivia separated them, a delicate thread stringing her to Curran, to solemn oaths, and days, weeks, months of shared intimacy.

Once, long ago, Kit had kissed her. At first she’d enjoyed it, but all too soon revulsion had sent her scrabbling away. She still remembered that hurt expression on his face. No such thing happened now, though by rights it should— especially as she was a married woman. Instead she felt herself capitulating, wanting more, no matter the cost. Her legs grew weak and shaky and her breathing shortened. His arms lowered, holding her securely as she started to soften and diffuse.

His mouth moved to her cheek. “You and I,” he said. “For as long as the pyramids stand in Egypt. They’ve always been there. And so will we.”

He cradled the back of her head in one hand and kissed her again. For some reason, this man loved her. He loved her with ferocity and reverence. Aye, she sensed lust in his grip, sensed the effort to hold it in check, but there was more, something deeper, desperate, consuming. It made no sense. Yet it did. His age no longer mattered. His gruffness, his coldness, his reserve. None of it mattered.

Aodhàn Mackinnon loves me
.

He had repeated that phrase, the one she thought was hers alone. She remembered the day she’d first met braw, beautiful Curran. She’d been lying in the grass by Loch Ryan, half-asleep, daydreaming of Theseus, imagining herself as Queen Aridela.

Shortly after, riding her fat mare along the cliffs, she’d lost her hat and envisioned a man standing near the water.

The color of his hair might have changed. He might now be a lowly fisherman rather than a great warrior, but it was he. She’d found him.

Surfaces could no longer fool her. Faces couldn’t fool her.

Aodhàn Mackinnon had the same eyes, exactly, as that blond champion.

The dull thud of hoof-beats penetrated the mist. They separated. Aodhàn plucked the primrose from behind her ear and dropped it to the ground.

Curran loomed on his stallion, Augustus, Stoirmeil in tow.

Morrigan lowered her face, knowing if her husband looked into her eyes just then, he would see.

A terrible mistake has been made
.

“There you are,” he said. “Finally. Thank God.” He swung off his mount.

“
Feasgar math
,
” Mackinnon said.

“
Oidhche mhath
, ciamar a tha sibh?
” Curran replied, not bothering to mask his irritation.

Mackinnon paused. His left brow lifted, and there was an edge to his reply. “
Tha mi toilichte
.”

Curran frowned. His eyes narrowed.

Morrigan understood this common salutation, but their reactions warned her that the deceptively simple words were hiding something, and she sensed it had to do with her.

She froze, wondering what might happen next, but they seemed to relax slightly, like two adversaries circling. Mackinnon explained how he and Seaghan had taken her out on the
Endeavor,
and how the sea haar had trapped them.

Morrigan stroked Stoirmeil’s nose and said nothing.

Aodhàn held Olivia while Curran helped Morrigan into the saddle. She mounted, reached down, and took her child.

“Thank you,” she said, and spurred the mare quickly away.

“
Oidhche mhath
, Aodhàn.” Curran tipped his cap. “Thank you for bringing her safely through this.” He sent his horse after Morrigan, and when he caught up, said almost apologetically, “I was worried. Here, let me take her.”

She handed the baby to him and caressed his shoulder. “I should’ve come home with Diorbhail,” she said. “I had no plan to be gone so long. I know you were fashed. Forgive me, Curran.”

Later, in the big master bed, her husband drew her close, his hands trailing over her nightgown.

Morrigan closed her eyes and tried to respond, but at the last instant, she jerked away, gasping, fighting a sense that she was suffocating.

“Be patient.” She heard the tremble in her voice. “I overdid things today. I’m stiff and sore.”

He murmured his sympathies. She watched the dying fire long after he’d fallen asleep, his cheek against her chest.

Curran loved three things: Kilgarry, Morrigan, and Olivia. He’d eagerly sought to unite them, the mother of his child with his beloved home. She would never have come to Glenelg but for him.

Yet, in bringing her here, he might have destroyed whatever chance of love they’d had.

* * * *

Morrigan felt more tired than refreshed when she woke, and yawned repeatedly as Violet helped her dress. Curran had eaten his breakfast but was having coffee in the dining room.

“How are you,
a ghràidh?
” he asked, pouring tea.

“Sleepy,” she said, and clasped his hand.
Could I betray you, Curran Ramsay? Could I do such a thing?

Daughters of whores usually turn out whores themselves
, Enid Joyce had taunted. Had she seen some awful truth Morrigan had blinded herself to?

No.
She nearly said it out loud, but caught herself.
Curran loves me. I think Seaghan loves me. Eleanor loves me. Diorbhail loves me. Most of all, Olivia loves me. Enid lied. Papa lied. I am not a whore!

“Rest today,” he said. “Why don’t you read in the garden?” He bent his head, a mischievous smile playing about his mouth. “I want you. Do you know how long it’s been?”

A flush heated her cheeks. Some part of her, perhaps the part bespelled by Mackinnon’s selkie gaze, wanted to shout,
Leave me alone!

Had Curran made her pregnant to keep her from the man who had been searching for her? No. Morrigan had seduced Curran, not the other way around. And Mackinnon had never met her. It made no sense to think he’d been searching for her, no matter what he said.

“Is something else bothering you?” Curran asked.

Morrigan closed her eyes, trying to block the events that in one short day had ripped gaping holes in the fabric of her shiny new life. “I saw my father’s burned home. It sickens me to think of those days, of how much was destroyed. And… and I… I have to tell you about Patrick Hawley.”

“What of him?”

“I wanted to be alone, so I sent Aunt Ibby away. He found me there. He attacked me.”

Curran went as stiff, straight, and still as iron. A long moment passed. “You’re joking,” he said.

She shook her head.

“Why didn’t you tell me this last night?”

“I forgot.”

“You forgot. You
forgot?
” He stared at her. “Did he, did he….”

“No. He meant to, though.” She fanned her face with one hand. “I… I don’t want to speak of this. Fionna or Tess might hear.”

“I’ll have his heart.”

“Just send him away.”

He stood, reaching for his coat.

“Where are you going?”

Cold fury hardened his face, much like the expression he’d had the day he’d seen the whip marks on her back. The crescent scar by his brow undulated over the
clench-
release,
clench-
release of his jaw. It was terrifying.

“Curran, what are you going to do? Promise you won’t—”

He turned and seized her arm. An odd light glittered in his eyes. “Why were you so free with me? I find it difficult to believe you were a virgin when I met you. Were you? Well?” He shook her.

She gasped. “You blame me for what he did!”

“This has nothing to do with him. Answer me. You’d never been with a man?”

The memory of the night in the barn with Kit, his hands under her nightgown, left her mute. Should she confess?

He released her. “It’s no wonder they think they can have you. Aodhàn, now Hawley. I was right when I said I’d need to keep you pregnant.” He laughed without humor. “But even that didn’t work. Why do you do what you do? Look at men that way?”

“What way?”

He shoved his hair off his forehead. “Like you’re in their beds. Like any moment you’ll beg them to take you.”

“I don’t… I have
never
done that! I can hardly stand to be in the same room as Patrick Hawley!”

He paced, his loose-limbed strides, swinging arms, and tawny hair reminiscent of a restless lion. “I’ve never understood why I forgot myself on the moor that day. I knew I’d taken unforgivable advantage. But the way you acted, like you wanted it more than anything, wanted me to do it.” He glared at her. “Like you knew what you were doing.”

“Are you saying you’re sorry you married me?”

“Answer me. Did you plan what happened that day?”

“No one ever told me about men and women. It felt good, and it took me away from my life for a moment. Away from my father. You were handsome. You said kind, flattering things. That’s why I didn’t want you to stop. I didn’t think about what could happen, that a child could come of it. Not till after.”