The Sixth Labyrinth (The Child of the Erinyes Book 4) (92 page)

Mere hours later, it would seem, Aridela returned as Morrigan, daughter to Hannah Stewart Lawton, outside the burned village of Glenelg. And eventually, after years of wandering, Chrysaleon found his way to that place too, and settled there with Seaghan.

Beatrice’s memories revealed the chain of events. Menoetius appeared in Glenelg in the body of the seven-year-old boy, Curran Ramsay. Soon after, Douglas took Nicky, Morrigan, and Beatrice away to Stranraer. Years later, Curran Ramsay was reintroduced to Morrigan and promptly fell in love, which the
dowf
could be counted on to do in every life. He wed her and carted her back to Glenelg and Chrysaleon, and it all started again, all over again, with the three of them finally rejoined.

Now Harpalycus understood why he’d been drawn to Glenelg in the first place. Some part of him had sensed that the triad would gather there. He’d just been too early.

Only now could he see the full extent of that whole Barra episode. It was, without a doubt, one of his brightest achievements. Chrysaleon had come so close to death, was so traumatized by what happened, that he’d lost his ability to recall anything for two decades. His memories returned when it was too late— after his beloved Aridela was married.

Making those three suffer offered incomparable satisfaction. It was better, so much more
amusing,
than simply killing them.

A new game took root inside him. He couldn’t consume Curran— the only times he’d ever attempted to consume one of the triad, first Aridela then Chrysaleon, a handmaid of Athene had nearly speared him through. He’d never risked it since, but there was nothing to prevent him from consuming Seaghan. He studied the brawny fisherman. Anything was an improvement over Beatrice, and Seaghan, though he was surely in his fifties, was still a strong, vital male.

Beatrice rose, tossed the yarn into the chair, and went right up to Seaghan, forcing him to meet her gaze. “What about when Douglas brought her back to Glenelg before the clearings? Again she begged you to take her away. If you had, she wouldn’t have given birth in the forest. But no. You refused. You would hardly speak to her. Poor, poor Seaghan’s wounded pride. And what about these last twenty years? It wouldn’t have been hard to find us. Your daughter could not have been all that important to you, since you never bothered. You really expect me to believe you care about her?”

Seaghan’s hands clenched and he grimaced. “It’s true, I was angry, and I sent Hannah away, to my shame. I know I should have searched for Morrigan when I came home. I made mistakes. I was wrong. I’m going to tell her the truth. I’m her father. Not Douglas.”

He retreated. She fancied he didn’t trust his self-control. Either that or he didn’t like her smell.

“Will you?” Her lifted brows expressed doubt. “She’ll hate you if you do. I’ll make sure of it. Douglas Lawton is the only father she ever knew, and she’s riddled with guilt because she robbed him of his beloved wife. She’ll become Aodhàn Mackinnon’s whore, too, if she hasn’t already. Oh aye, I know all about it. And why d’you think she’ll do that? Because Aodhàn is like Douglas, with his black, tortured ways. Well, I’ll help her, and I’ll help her keep the secret. That is, until I want the truth known.”

“You’ve filled her head full of lies all these years!”

“Douglas and I together did that. Hannah gave you a second chance— and a third— but you threw her away. Now you’re sorry. It’s too late— d’you understand? There’ll never be another man to match the father Morrigan knew. Because he was there, through the years. Always there, while you were off in the New World, proud you’d saved yourself from being cuckolded. Well, you hold onto that pride of yours, Seaghan. See how it cares for you in your dotage.”

Seaghan stared at her. Helpless rage and grief wrenched his face into an ugly mask.

“Get out,” Beatrice said, fully enjoying her triumph.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

MORRIGAN THREW HERSELF
into Mackinnon’s arms, laughing, pressing her cheek against his neck. But he only allowed that for a moment before lifting her face and kissing her, his mouth demanding all he’d waited for these many months. She returned his kisses, pulling him closer, until at last, after a lost interlude of time, he finally held her at arm’s length.

“Mackinnon,” she said, feeling as though her heart had risen up through her throat and was shining from her eyes.

He looked older, as if it had been years instead of months. “
Mo rùn
,
” he said, low.

“Am I dreaming? How… why… how can you be here?” He’d kissed her so hard her cheeks were burning from the scrape of his beard.

“I knew you would come. I watched you land yesterday.”

“But how… oh, I don’t care.” She grabbed his neck and drew him close. When he maneuvered her to the ground she acquiesced willingly, ripping away the buttons on his sark and sliding her hands over his bare chest.

It wasn’t until he’d opened her bodice and was pushing the chemise from her shoulders that she remembered Olivia. Olivia would be up by now, and she always wanted to see her mother when she woke. They would all be awake. Seaghan might even now be searching for her.

“Stop,” she said. “I have to go. Seaghan will find us.”

His jaw clenched. His eyes narrowed. His hand lay possessively over her pounding heart, and she feared he might refuse to release her. “Why Seaghan?” he asked. “Where is Curran?”

“He had business on the mainland that couldn’t be put off. He means to join us here tomorrow or the next day.”

“Ah,” he said, and sighed as she stroked the hair off his cheek. He put his hand over hers and kissed her palm. Then, so suddenly it made her gasp, he caught her around the waist and rolled over so she lay on his chest. “You are maddening,” he said. “Like absinthe in my soul.”

She traced his lips so he would kiss her fingers, then decided she might die if she didn’t taste him again.

“
An tig thu thugam a-nochd?
”

“What does that mean?”

“Come to me. Tonight.”

“Where?”

“You passed a bothy on the hill.”

“Aye, I went inside. Does it belong to someone?”

“Not any longer.
An tig thu thugam a-nochd?
Say you will, or I won’t let you go.”

“Aye, aye.” She rolled off him to lie at his side. “I will come to you tonight.”

Above them, high in the sky, the eagle watched and circled.

* * * *

She was halfway to the Donaghue house before it sank in. Morrigan rubbed her palms over her cheeks, hoping to cool this feverish heat.

Curran. Curran!
The unexpected sight of Mackinnon had wiped him away like he didn’t exist. It was unforgivable. How could she be so cruel and thoughtless to the man who had given her Olivia, and this new babe, just begun… to he who had married her though he could easily have turned away?

She deliberately recalled the image of Lily, pressed against him, stroking his face, and of Curran’s response, but her anger refused to burn as hotly as it had, and no wonder. Hadn’t she just now done the exact same thing?

“Morrigan!” She looked up to see Seaghan and Diorbhail climbing towards her. Seaghan was panting. “Where the devil have you been this time?” He sounded truly vexed.

“Walking. Exploring.” She took a deep breath, knowing she needed to quickly become an accomplished actress, for Seaghan MacAnaugh was perceptive, and Diorbhail Sinclair even more so. Gritting her teeth, she willed away the fierce ardor Mackinnon had ignited inside her.

“Walking!” He came closer. Whipping out a handkerchief, he mopped his forehead. “Damn it, and damn you! You are the most vexatious female I’ve ever known!”

“Forgive me,” she said. “I lost track of time, and I did leave a note. Maybe you could punish me later? I think I hear Olivia.”

“I’m certain of that!” he said, but she thought with alarm that his gaze grew more acute, even puzzled. She wondered if her cheeks were as red as they felt.

Diorbhail stood at his side, reminding Morrigan of an albumen print the dominie had showed her of the Great Sphinx of Giza.

* * * *

Late in the afternoon, Morrigan asked for a bath to be drawn, saying she felt grimy after the sea crossing and strenuous walk. She begged out of the evening meal with the excuse of being tired.

After Olivia had been put down for the night, she sat at the dressing table in her bedroom, combing her hair, trying to recall more details from the dreams she’d had that seemed to take place on this island. She saw herself running barefoot along the cliffs, a man laughing as he chased her, a man her imagination fashioned into Mackinnon. She let the dream unfold, and embellished it.

What of her resolve to do whatever she must for the sake of her husband and child? She thought of Emma Bovary, of Iseult. Were all adulteresses condemned to tragic ends? What of men who were unfaithful to their vows?

The golden heart locket winked at her in the lamplight.
Whither thou goest, I will go. Where thou diest, I will die, and there will I be buried
.

It had been placed in the wedding cake for Curran, not Mackinnon, yet it was Mackinnon’s voice she heard. Tonight she would ask him to explain, if he could, what he’d said when trapped in fever. She had to know, especially after reading
Tristram and Iseult.
Was it death he wanted, or had his words been meaningless delirium?

It’s the only way
.

Sin never escaped punishment. Father Drummond, the Bible, and Jamini had confirmed it. Jamini had described how humans were reborn, hopefully to ascend higher and higher, becoming purer and purer, until no more lives were required, and eternity was spent in the sweet liberation of moksha.

If her belief was truth, then death was not the end. It was a doorway to new possibilities.

She heard the others climbing the stairs, retiring to their rooms for the night. If she was careful, she could sneak away and be home before daybreak. Before the guard dog Seaghan woke. Before Olivia clamored for her breakfast. Curran was gone. No one would ever know.

Was she really contemplating this?

Beside the wee loch at Torridon that night in June, she’d dreamed of a boat. She remembered the carved lady in the prow turning, regarding her. Curran, glowing with moonlight, had offered to lead her up the plank. She’d wanted to go. She’d reached out to him… but then she’d awakened.

Every time she tried to shut out Mackinnon’s face it returned more vividly. There had been desperation in his eyes when he’d asked her to meet him.

He’d told her the motto of his clan.
Fortune favors the bold
. Could she venture into the realm of boldness?
You have to,
whispered the inner Morrigan
, or you will always regret, and wonder.

She removed her wedding ring and placed it gently beside her hairbrush.
Fortune favors the bold.

What if she climbed the hill to that abandoned hut and he was nothing more than an echoing laugh upon the wind? It did seem fantastic that he would be here, on this obscure island. How had he known she would come? Maybe she’d had some kind of dream or vision on the cliffs and he wasn’t here, not really. It might be a good thing if she went to the bothy and found nothing but mice and mold. Then she could put these longings out of her head and get down to her duty— being a decent wife, a good mother, and vanishing into oblivion when she died.

At last she crept down the stairs to the side door off the kitchen. The night sparkled and for once, the wind had subsided. She climbed the slope behind the house, stumbling in hidden divots and over treacherous stones.

As she ran up to the bothy, holding her skirts, a shadow separated from it. Aodhàn pinned her against the wall and kissed her, on her mouth, her face, and neck, kisses that made his long-restrained passion clear.

My Mackinnon
. Her hands told her he was real and solid, no dream to scatter at the sound of Beatrice calling her to her chores.

He pulled her inside. She waited, blind in the dark, listening to him move about. The hearth fire caught, leaping, giving off curls of blue aromatic smoke that funneled upward through a hole in the thatch. Its light revealed a pile of blankets and peat stacked against the wall.

“You planned this,” she said. None of it had been here earlier, except for the old trunk in the corner, which had been padlocked.

He crossed to the trunk and opened it, bringing out his treasures— sheepskins, pewter goblets, a bottle of whisky, fat white candles, which he lit, salted mutton, a crusty loaf of oat bread, a hunk of cheese, a knife, and a large cloth.

She pictured him collecting these things, placing them in the trunk, preparing for this moment. A terrible fear rose up within her and she heard Diorbhail’s voice.
He is not what he seems.

“Why am I here?” She backed away towards the door. “Why are you such a part of me? What of Curran?”

In two long strides he reached her and gripped her arms. “Don’t. Tonight, you’re mine.”

The intensity in his voice and eyes sparked an image, so fleeting she received only the barest impression of falling through starlit air, of a pounding sea, of strong hands, and rocks yawning like black teeth.

She knew instantly it was Eamhair, jumping to her death.

“No,” she said. “I cannot do this.” She twisted, trying to free herself.

“Why did you come here?” He spoke furiously, and his grip only tightened.

Did he mean to force himself upon her? If so, she had only herself to blame.

“I… I don’t know. I don’t know, Mackinnon! I shouldn’t have!”

His lips tensed. His regard narrowed then sharpened. “You’re afraid of me?” he said, low, and released her.

She rubbed her arms. She could go no farther. The rough, splintery door pressed against her spine.

He raked through his hair, hissing “
Mhic an Diabhail
.
”

“I’ll go,” she said, reaching for the latch.

He sighed and fisted his hands. “Don’t do this to me, Morrigan.” He closed the space between them. “If you don’t want to be with me that way, it will not happen. I don’t care. All I ask is that you stay. I need… I need to be with you. I’ve waited a long time.” He held out his hand.