The Sixth Labyrinth (The Child of the Erinyes Book 4) (55 page)

This was something Eleanor could always use to control her. “You know I do.”

“Diorbhail and I thought we could see things that might help you without putting you or the bairn at risk.”

“There’s something else,” Diorbhail said. “That man… the one who carried you from the bothy….”

“Aodhàn Mackinnon.”

“I don’t trust him.” Diorbhail’s face turned alternately pale then crimson.

“You still feel that way? What’s he done, besides help search for me when I was missing, and carry me so I wouldn’t strain my ankle?”

“It’s a feeling.” Diorbhail placed her fist on her chest. “Though he seems to want the best for you, I don’t think he does. No’ really. There’s something driving him… it came off him in waves that night. If you’re no’ careful, he may well do something to you that cannot be remedied.”

“He’s lonely,” Morrigan said. “You don’t know him….” She stopped herself from adding,
like I do
.

Eleanor folded her arms across her chest and frowned as she regarded Diorbhail. “Could it be you’ve been influenced by Agnes Campbell? She has long distrusted Aodhàn.”

“Agnes Campbell?” Diorbhail shook her head. “I don’t know who that is. The color I see round him is not bright and clear, but dark. I felt anger in him. Colors do no’ lie.”

Sighing deeply, Eleanor said, “In all honesty, I’ve never quite trusted him either. There’s something about him, Mistress Ramsay, and I probably know him better than you do.”

No you don’t!
Morrigan wanted to scream. But that would only cause more questions, and more speculative stares when she refused to answer.

“Watch yourself,” Eleanor said. “That’s all we ask. Diorbhail and I care about you.”

“Do you?” Morrigan turned a baleful stare on Diorbhail. “You think I’ve forgotten what we saw in the water that night? Tell me the truth. Is there something between you and my husband, something you haven’t told me?”

Diorbhail flushed. When she spoke, her voice trembled. “I would never harm you. That wasn’t Master Ramsay you saw. I think it was another life, a life long gone. He loves
you
. You alone.”

“What in the name of God….” Eleanor looked from one to the other. “Water?”

“Diorbhail showed me how to see things in water,” Morrigan said tightly. “I expect she didn’t realize just how much I would see.”

Eleanor’s brows rose, creating deep creases in her forehead. She waited, but her expression was impatient.

“I saw a man in the water. I saw Diorbhail. They looked different, but I recognized them. They were lovers. Diorbhail was pregnant. The man was Curran.”

“That seems a fanciful conclusion. You saw images, in
water,
and now Diorbhail is making a play for Master Ramsay? Truly?”

Morrigan felt the absurdity even before Eleanor snorted in her usual eloquent way. She knew she was right, though. The figures she’d seen were Diorbhail and Curran.

“You’re being unfair.” Eleanor grabbed Morrigan’s upper arm and shook her.

Anguish emanated from Diorbhail’s face.

“Maybe.” Morrigan rubbed her temples. “You’re the ones who believe all this. You’re the ones who see things and have visions. Now that I’ve seen something, you want to ridicule me.”

“You did see something.” Diorbhail met Eleanor’s gaze. “She did. But it was another time, and they weren’t us. It’s different now.”

“You’re both wrong about Mackinnon,” Morrigan said.

Eleanor said nothing for a moment then she sighed. “About the mushroom. I would be willing to try something else.”

“What?”

“My brother calls it
monoideism
. He learned it from the surgeon who developed the method.”

“Surgeon…. You want to cut me open?”

“No, no. Another name for it is hypnotism. It’s not surgery, mistress. You relax and concentrate on an object I will choose for you. You allow yourself to open, or as Diorbhail would say, ‘to remember.’ You don’t drink or eat anything, so there’s no danger to the babe.”

“That sounds like what Diorbhail and I did. She had me look into the water and think about what I wanted to see. I saw her, and you. I saw her and…” she sent another narrowed glance towards Diorbhail, noting her flush. “Let’s do it now.”

“Half the day is gone, and you should rest. Tomorrow is soon enough. Oh, and did you do this water experiment without
me?
”

Morrigan’s teeth clenched, but Eleanor, after lifting her brows, smiled, and all was forgiven.

Later, when she was tucked into bed for her afternoon nap, Eleanor said, “I want you to practice the hypnotism after I leave. While you’re resting, concentrate on… this swirl here, at the top of your looking-glass.” She reached up and put her hand on the flourish at the upper corner of the mirror. “Try to let go of thoughts and concerns. Practice will make it come easier, and it will be more effective.”

Morrigan nodded.

“It’s not as easy as it sounds. But if you master it, it will help you in many ways, for instance, when you go into labor. I’ve improved my joint pain using this, and I’ve also used it to bring sleep.”

“I’ve had trouble sleeping,” Morrigan said. “I’ll do my best.”

“Another thing. I don’t like you being cruel to Diorbhail. D’you comprehend how fragile that woman is?”

“I know. I didn’t mean it. I’ll apologize. But Mackinnon’s been good to me.”

Eleanor’s gaze narrowed and one brow lifted, but she said nothing else.

After she left, Morrigan tried to do as she’d been bid, but it was hard. The more she worked at not thinking, the more her thoughts clamored for attention. Finally, since she kept picturing it no matter how hard she tried not to, she got up and retrieved the ring Mackinnon had given her, and slipped it onto her middle finger.

Only then, as she stared at the circular flourish, keeping her eyes half-closed, did she succeed in losing cohesion and sliding away.

They don’t understand,
was the last thing she remembered thinking.

* * * *

Mackinnon led the woman up the hill blindfolded, stopping her before the newly finished cottage.

“Here.” He removed the blindfold and handed her a champagne bottle.

“What’s this for?”

“Christen it,” he said into her ear.

She laughed and approached the corner.

“Swing it hard,” he advised.

The wind blew champagne all over her dress, her gloves, and her face. Some splashed where it was meant to go, onto the fieldstone wall.

Mackinnon remained where he was, arms crossed, looking quite satisfied.

“I’m all wet and sticky!” she cried.

“Now name it,” he said. “Name our Mingulay home.”

She crossed to him and smeared champagne on his face. “
Taigh na Gaoithe
,” she said, before kissing him.

Morrigan woke with a gasp, her gaze immediately meeting Diorbhail’s. The woman was sitting in the armchair by the fire, watching her.

Aodhàn Mackinnon! With no creases in his forehead, not one grey strand in that black windblown hair, and an expression of relaxed happiness on his face.

“How long have you been there?” she asked, thinking Diorbhail’s stare seemed too discerning.

“A half hour,” Diorbhail said. “I came to tell you again that what you saw in the barrel was nothing to do with here and now. You were restless, so I stayed in case you needed anything.”

“Oh.” Morrigan hoped she hadn’t talked in her sleep. “I was dreaming.” She searched Diorbhail’s features, looking for anger or shock, but Diorbhail rose and went to the washbasin. She poured a cup of water and brought it to Morrigan, then said, “I’ll go and help Janet in the kitchen, if you need nothing.”

“No, I’m fine,” Morrigan said. “Thank you. Thank you for sitting with me. And I’m sorry about the way I acted. I’ve been out of sorts.”

Diorbhail inclined her head and turned to go, but before she reached the door, Morrigan stopped her. “Have you heard of… do you know… what is… Mingulay?”

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

DIORBHAIL TIPTOED PAST
the drawing room where Morrigan was playing some exquisite piece on the piano. She glimpsed Curran reading a newspaper, and Fionna setting down the tea tray.

Diorbhail knew she wasn’t wrong about Aodhàn Mackinnon. He was dangerous, though from the way Morrigan reacted when confronted by this, it was clear he’d already done much to worm himself into her trust. That night he’d carried Morrigan from the bothy, his malevolence had struck at Diorbhail’s senses as though it was written in fire on the ground. She’d caught him staring at her with an expression she could only describe as hatred. A warning response had awakened, and had not abated with time.

Twice since the man reappeared from wherever he’d been for two months, Diorbhail had clandestinely followed him. The second time, she’d caught him hiding something along the river in Gleann Beag, and putting some effort into being secretive about it.

She went outside, closing the great oak door quietly behind her, and bundled up in her heavy wool shawl, the one Morrigan had given her as an early Christmas present. A few stars glimmered as she set out, determined to follow the path shown to her, and see what she would see.

* * * *

By the time Diorbhail reached her destination, her hands and cheeks were numb and it was snowing again. She made her way along the north side of the river to a dense thicket of stunted trees on a steep slope leading down to the water.

Aodhàn had stood a long time, looking around to make sure he was alone before he ducked and vanished into the copse. When he emerged, he no longer had the container he’d been carrying. He must have left it in there.

As Diorbhail approached, she saw a vaporous, nearly transparent red mist issuing from the ground within the stand. She forced her way in, pulling away twigs and branches, thankful for her long wool sleeves. In the center was a cleared space. The light made a faint halo around a large rock, which she dragged to the side. An opening was revealed, like a badger hole, though larger, leading into the earth. After reaching in as far as she could and finding nothing, she realized with dismay that she would have to crawl into the hole if she wanted to find what Aodhàn had hidden.

She draped her shawl over the nearest branches and forced herself to enter quickly, before she could think too much and dissuade herself.

It was a claustrophobic, muddy tunnel, only slightly wider than she, and pitch black. She inched along, cold, wet, and afraid. The heavy weight of the earth pressed on her. At least there was no sign or smell of habitation.

When she’d gone some distance and the tunnel squeezed around her, she saw again the red glow and her knuckles struck something hard. She backed out, bringing it with her, until she resurfaced at last and could stand, gratefully sucking in deep breaths of fresh air.

She was a mess, covered in mud, but she hardly noticed as she opened the metal casket Aodhàn Mackinnon had been carrying. Amid a wash of reddish colored light, luxuriant velvet protected the knife she’d seen in visions, the knife she knew was profoundly important. The visions had made that clear, though they left too many things out, as usual. She had seen an unknown man lifting the knife, and she sensed this blade might one day be not only important but holy… if it fulfilled its destined purpose. If thwarted, something else would happen. It would be handed down from generation to generation, and there would be many legends attached to it, legends twined with dread.

Diorbhail had suffered through glimpses of carnage and cruelty so horrific she couldn’t help veering away from the memories, though she knew she must face them someday, if she was to help guide the future.

She started to run to Kilgarry, to show Morrigan what she’d found. But she soon reconsidered. Her steps slowed.

Telling Morrigan she had followed Aodhàn Mackinnon, that it was he who buried this knife, would cause another rift. She couldn’t risk Morrigan severing their friendship, not when she knew that a day was coming when everything, perhaps even Morrigan’s life, might depend on her.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

SNOW BLANKETED THE
land and weighted down the spruce boughs. Arctic gales blew. The Aurora appeared again, blazing blue, green, and purple fire.

Morrigan posed before the beveled looking-glass and admired her rounding stomach. “
A nighean
,” she said experimentally. “With Curran’s blue eyes.” But alongside every happy thought came the secret fear she shared with no one, that the babe would be deformed, sick, or dead.

Stop it
, she told herself. Since her sojourn at the bothy with Diorbhail and Eleanor, Morrigan had paid more attention to what she was thinking. Believing herself unworthy was the way things had always been. Changing would take much practice.

In this, perhaps the wild, inner Morrigan could help. She had always seen things more clearly. She was the voice of freedom and acceptance.

When Morrigan came across Agnes Campbell having a cup of tea with Janet in Kilgarry’s kitchen, she used the opportunity to forage for more details about her birth.

“I’m not the best person to ask,” Agnes said, “but I’ll tell you what I can. Malcolm and I arrived in 1856. We’d come from Orkney, seeking a better life. Malcolm thought he could find work in Fort William, but our Violet chose to be born here. While I recovered, Malcolm met Master Thomas. Three years had passed since the clearings. There was still rubble everywhere. The new kirk was going up right over where the old one used to be. It’s a miracle those ancient yews weren’t destroyed in the burning. I thought Glenelg a cursed spot and couldn’t wait to leave, till my husband introduced me to the laird.”

Morrigan splashed a dab of milk into her cup, added tea, and stirred it absently. “I’ve heard many fine things about Curran’s father.”

“He put a mighty effort towards righting the wrongs that were done here. He gave us land to croft, land of our own to pass to our children.”

“Mr. Ramsay
gave
you land?”

“Aye, mistress. A more generous man was never formed by God.” Agnes tucked a spoonful of fruit compote into her mouth and closed her eyes, sighing. “Your Janet’s a miracle, that she is.”