The Sixth Labyrinth (The Child of the Erinyes Book 4) (48 page)

“I don’t understand.”

“Him kissing you. It was wrong.”

“What? You’re leaping about like a snagged fish. You mean before I came here tonight?”

Diorbhail blinked. Her brows rose. “I mean in the garden that day.”

“Mackinnon wasn’t there.”

“Aye, he was. He kissed you.”

“You’d best tell me exactly what you saw.”

“Aodhàn Mackinnon came in through the forest gate when you were alone. He knelt beside you; he stared at you a long time, then he bent over you, full of nerve, and kissed you on the mouth.”

Morrigan concentrated, trying to recall that day. She’d fallen asleep after Curran and Seaghan left her. She’d dreamed of swimming in the sea, of the seal thwarting her efforts to reach the castle. The seal had drawn her under the surface. She knew she would drown, yet she didn’t care. She accepted it. The dream man had kissed her.

She’d awakened in the garden, feeling corrupt and full of fire.

“Are you saying Mackinnon was in the garden with me?”

“Aye. He kissed you, and you didn’t seem bothered by it.”

“I didn’t know. I was asleep. I’ve had trouble sleeping; I suppose I was exhausted.”

Diorbhail frowned. “Doing that was an evil thing. Did you say he kissed you again? Right before you came here?”

Morrigan was reeling. “No… no. I didn’t understand.” She wasn’t sure why she denied it. Why protect him, if what Diorbhail said was true?

Diorbhail’s gaze was wary and suspicious. “He’s a trickster, that one,” she said, low. “I wanted to do something, but I was afraid, and like I said, you didn’t seem bothered. I was going to throw a rock at him, but I feared I’d hit you. He stood up and looked down at you, and then he left. Your husband returned a moment after. Aodhàn Mackinnon must’ve seen him coming.”

Morrigan turned towards the fire and imagined Mackinnon bending over her while she was asleep, stealing kisses, in the very shadow of Kilgarry. She touched her lips, realizing she wasn’t horrified, or angry, or shocked, though she should be. No, this reaction was something else altogether. She wondered if Diorbhail’s mushroomy brew caused this, because what Mackinnon had done was terribly wrong. If what Diorbhail said was true, Mackinnon had come into the garden, set upon her while she was unaware, and left before Curran returned. How… how
bold.

Her thoughts were fuzzy. Tomorrow she would examine what Diorbhail had told her and make sense of it. “I’m so tired,” she said, and lay down again, closing her eyes and turning to face the wall. “My head aches.”

Diorbhail murmured something soothing and the bothy fell silent again but for the gentle, intermittent crackle of the dying fire.

A cloud of white mist was coming through the window, seeping to the floor and expanding, filled with delicate tinkling laughter reminiscent of tiny silver Christmas bells. The mist thickened, obscuring everything beyond it.

Agnes’s warning about West Highland fogs returned. She’d said they could be perilous, but nothing about how they might lie upon one like a ghostly lover.

Hands caressed her arms and shoulders. A face formed, one she had seen before. His eyes were Curran’s, seductive and darkest blue, like the heavens succumbing to night.

I will have victory, Aridela.
She heard the voice in the mist, like a whisper running across the surface of still, cold water.

Longing swept through her, so terrible she woke and sat upright with a groan.

“You’re safe.” Diorbhail laid a hand upon her forearm. “I am watching over you.”

“I have such dreams,” Morrigan said. “They tear at me.”

“Your power comes from your birth in this forest,” Diorbhail said. “The mountain is part of you and you part of this mountain, the flesh of
Sgurr Mhic Bharraich
. Your mam’s death blood bound your roots deep into caves and all the buried, fertile places.”

Her voice diffused into a quiet thrum. “Against the mountain, the seal is powerless. Who is the mountain? Who is the seal? Faces and hair will change; clothing and station can change. You will have to see beyond the surface or you’ll be forever tricked. See beyond, and no face can ever fool you.”

Consoled and intrigued, Morrigan lay down and closed her eyes. As she let herself float away, she thought she heard Diorbhail again.

We’re all of us gathering, and no’ for the first time. We can make something happen, if we open our eyes and truly see. We can bring the Lady home. That’s what we’re meant to do
.

* * * *

Sunlight poured through the window that last night had brought visions in mist.

I must go home. Curran will be… fashed.

But Diorbhail’s bothy possessed a spell, a spell of holding, while contrarily granting a sense of freedom.

Perhaps, like the faery realm, a mystical barrier hid it from the real world, and while she was here, time outside would not pass. Curran wouldn’t worry, or even know she was gone.

In this old, rotting place, she felt as though she could live that life she had once described to him. She would ride her stallion, swim naked in lochs, and make her own choices.

Something else held her. For the first time, she felt as if another human being understood her completely. Odd, that this should come from poor, fallen Diorbhail Sinclair.

Diorbhail brought her a sturdy stick with a forked end. Morrigan limped about with it, collecting wood, hauling water, and carrying eggs provided by the stolen hen. The habit of working came back as if no time had passed and she was still running to the demands of her father’s inn.

When the sun passed the midday mark, they sat beside the burn and dipped their feet in the cold water.

The things Diorbhail said lit a wild, livening pleasure deep inside, where the babe grew, almost as though it, too, listened. The woman had never been inside a school, yet she possessed surprising intelligence, and the courage to say what Morrigan had only thought.

“The mushroom has shown me many things,” Diorbhail said. “That you were born to bring great change.”

Morrigan believed everything Diorbhail said… everything except that
she
had the power to change anything.

As they talked, Morrigan became aware of an eagle perched in a nearby tree. It was still and quiet, canting its head one way then the other as it watched them.

“Would you look at that,” she said, low.

“I saw it.” Raising her voice, Diorbhail spoke to the bird. “Am I pleasing you?”

Morrigan sucked in a breath when the bird fluffed its wings, opened its beak, and replied with an eagle’s typical weak screeing. “Does it understand us?”

“The Lady’s eyes and ears are watching you.”

“What? An eagle!”

“A deity can take any form, or she can send one of her maids. You are not alone, Morrigan Ramsay.”

Warmth crept through Morrigan as she watched the bird. She remembered the eagle on her wedding day. Could it be true?

When twilight fell, she reclined in the splintery rocking chair Diorbhail had salvaged from the midden heap, and listened to more revelations.

“The mushroom showed me another time and place,” Diorbhail said. “In that land, woman could make herself pregnant. She chose it and caused it to happen. She used the north wind, or fertile water. Water is the beginning and the end of all things, and woman is water’s guardian.”

Morrigan closed her eyes and rested her head against the back of the rocker. Now it made sense, the love she’d always felt for the ocean. The pull it exerted on her.

“Who is this ‘lady’? I heard you say something last night, too. Something about bringing a lady home.”

Diorbhail smiled. “I thought you were asleep. She is the Lady of Many Names. The Great Goddess, who even now has her eye on us all.”

“Oh, Diorbhail. That’s wishful thinking. A dream.”

“It’s you who’ve been dreaming, m’lady.”

“You must mean God. You’re speaking of God.”

Diorbhail’s mouth tilted up. “So you believe in that one, then?”

“I… I don’t know. I suppose you’re saying if one exists, why not another.” Morrigan shrugged. “You’re right.”

“I believe in She who plants every seedling, who stretches out her hand….” Here Diorbhail stretched out hers, palm down…. “And brings the rain. I believe in She who men face when they die. She was the one we all worshipped first. She made everything we see around us. She has been here from the beginning. This God of yours is a mewling wean compared to her. He was created from men’s fear of her, from their desire for power and their need to rule over women.”

Morrigan started to scoff, but stopped and considered. She didn’t have to pretend, not with Diorbhail. “I knew it,” she said. “I knew there was another.”

“She lives,” Diorbhail said, “though She is quiet now. Watching. Waiting.”

“How do you know all this? Why do you see so many more things than I ever have, if I am supposedly the special one?”

Diorbhail didn’t answer for a moment, and seemed to ponder. “I think it’s because I’ve been alone. Except for my child, no one ever spoke to me. All I ever had were my own thoughts, and the mushroom. You were busy every day, and you seldom had a chance to be on your own. Maybe she tried to get your attention but you couldn’t hear.”

“When I ran away from my chores to the forest, or the moor, or the edge of Loch Ryan, I did have… thoughts. I saw things. When I was alone, and quiet.” Morrigan tapped the arm of the rocking chair. “You listened. You paid attention, and I didn’t, or when I did, I denied it, or told myself it was a dream, or I was hearing things, seeing things that weren’t there.”

“I wish I had more of the mushroom. Maybe it’s for the best though, since it does make you ill.”

“Why do you say that? It didn’t make me ill last night. I feel better than I have in a long while. Tell me… what else has the mushroom shown you?’

“I saw that it would help you mind what you’ve forgotten.” Diorbhail’s head leaned to one side and she frowned. “Have you had more dreams since you came to Glenelg? Does it feel as though this place is making you dream?”

“Aye. Strange, strong,
loud
dreams. Frightening, sometimes. Sometimes magical and inviting.”

“My dreams are loud here, too. My skin feels like it’s had too much whisky. I’m itchy and tingly all over.”

“Aye.” Morrigan nodded. “Aye.”

“One day, we women will rise again. Our Mother, Lady of us all, will step from her cave. She will open our hearts and we will have thousands upon thousands of years of joy, not just men, and not just women, but all of us, together.”

“When will it happen?” Morrigan asked, enthralled, wanting it to come now.

Diorbhail smiled. “When you bring it.”

* * * *

Early in the morning, before the sun had fully risen, the door to the bothy crashed open, waking both women. A whirling fiend rushed in, spouting curses and leveling a stout cudgel.

Morrigan rose, using Diorbhail’s shoulder as a crutch, rubbing her eyes as she recognized who had found them. Eleanor Graeme.

Fright subsided into relief. Eleanor would unwind these ropes of lassitude. She would crush whatever it was that had put Curran and her life as Lady Eilginn far away in a distant, foggy place that no longer mattered.

“What is going on here?” Eleanor’s glare would have cowed anyone. Not surprisingly, shy Diorbhail cringed. “What d’you think you’re doing to Master Curran’s wife, you cursed
bogle
?”

She lifted her stick, and Morrigan quickly stepped between them. “She saved my life. Stop shouting and brandishing that thing.”

“D’you realize Master Curran is half out of his wits?” Eleanor’s voice was quietly dangerous, in a way that reminded Morrigan of Douglas.

“I could hardly walk yesterday. My ankle’s swollen. Diorbhail was going to take me home today or tomorrow. As soon as I was better.”

“Could you not send word? Could this…
woman
… not walk down for you to let us all know?”

Morrigan and Diorbhail glanced at each other. Morrigan saw the same truth in Diorbhail’s eyes. Neither had wanted this time to end. Neither dared admit it.

“Let me see.” Eleanor gestured impatiently as she propped her cudgel by the door.

Morrigan sat in the rocking chair and Eleanor knelt to inspect it. “It is swollen,” she admitted reluctantly. “I can see it would have hurt to walk down this hill. But you—” she sent a venomous stare towards Diorbhail, “should have. Now I will take you.” She stood. “You can lean on me and we’ll go slowly. No doubt we’ll soon come across other searchers. They’re everywhere.”

“Can she no’ wait one more day?” Diorbhail asked, her voice halting.

“No, she cannot! You’ll be lucky if the master doesn’t put you up on charges of kidnapping.”

“I… I… kidnapping?”

“She did nothing of the sort!” Morrigan jumped up, forgetting her injury until the stab of pain reminded her. She quickly took her weight off that foot, hissing. “Would you have wanted her to leave me in the forest? I lost my horse and the gig. I was alone. She brought me here. She fed me. She’s taken care of me!”

After a pause, Eleanor said, “Well,” in a calmer voice. “That’s as may be, but now we need to get you to Kilgarry.” She slung Morrigan’s left arm over her shoulder. “Don’t be afraid to lean on me. I’m strong.”

Morrigan tried to look back at Diorbhail as Eleanor propelled her towards the door.

“Wait!” Diorbhail cried, as Eleanor turned sideways to get them through the narrow doorway, careful to avoid protruding nails. “Wait. I’ve seen you.”

“Aye?” Eleanor said, shrugging. “I have lived here many years. So what?”

“No, no, I saw you… in a vision.”

Eleanor’s frown was ominous. “What do you mean?”

“Your colors…. Light and dark green, a healer’s colors. You’re part of us. You… and me… and her. We’re supposed to be together. You and I. We’re to help her. D’you no’ sense it?”

Morrigan half expected Eleanor to explode or send ridicule slicing like knife blades, but she did neither. Glancing at Morrigan, she said, “I saw color around you in the kirk, the day you fell off your horse. I felt I knew you. It was… an unco thing.” As Diorbhail took a timid step closer, she added, “I have to admit you seem familiar as well.”