The Sixth Labyrinth (The Child of the Erinyes Book 4) (12 page)

I would leave with him right now if he’d take me.
Reckless, dangerous thoughts, but the beguiling vision of freedom made almost any risk worthwhile. Would she be free, though, or merely trading one master for another? Vivid imagining faded beneath depressing common sense. He was such an obvious gentleman. He’d never do anything to harm or compromise her. She sensed it, as clearly as she saw the rain subsiding and the return of sunlight.

Widening sunrays flared across the landscape. Antiope barked at birds until a raven swooped and clawed at her. With a yelp she scrambled beneath Morrigan’s skirts.

“Dinna
moolet
and cringe, lassie-wean,” she said soothingly. “Never show how feared you are.”

“Are you promised?” The color in Curran’s cheeks heightened as he blurted out the question. “Ha-have you any suitors? You’re old enough, aren’t you?”

“None of that for me, thank you,” she replied lightly. “Why should I exchange one gaoler for another?”

“It’s freedom you want, then?”

How quickly he saw beneath her words to the core of truth. “Surely that is every creature’s desire, after food and water.”

“What would you do with freedom, if you had it?”

No one had ever posed such a question to her, not even Nicky. Heady as a dram of whisky, it leant all possible answers vast importance. She wanted to say something profound, but in the end, she gave her imagination free rein. “I’d live in a blackhouse, as far from civilization as I could get. I’d read poetry by a fire….” With clarity came craving and swifter speech. “I’d ride my stallion in the morning mist. I’d swim in lochs….” The vision curled, stretched, expanded, and she almost forgot she wasn’t alone as ideas crowded one upon the next. “I might fall in love,” she said, “and maybe have babies, but no’ unless I was sure I’d always love them. No man would own me, like horses or kye. And I suppose I’d be pagan, since I know nothing of God anyway. At the full moon I’d frighten folk who thought they saw me in the shadows, but couldn’t tell if I was real or a ghost.”

He said nothing for a while then seemed to collect himself. “That’s why you chose Antiope,” he said quietly. “You’ve a wild Amazon heart, Miss Lawton, and the soul of a poet.”

Feeling much like a lass caught in nothing but a petticoat, she blushed furiously. She’d called herself a pagan. Said she knew nothing of God. Desperately she tried to think of a witty response that would undo the damage, but while she floundered, he leaned forward and kissed her.

Initial surprise and alarm liquefied into that odd familiarity.
I know this. I’ve missed this.
It was like falling into warm, luxurious water and relinquishing all care. Shame and guilt slipped away and the inner Morrigan burst free with a stunned cry.

His mouth against hers caused a tingling sensation, like infinitesimal sparks were being ignited between them. She heard a faint silken murmur, and only realized it came from her throat when he turned his head and his kiss intensified. His mouth opened, coaxing hers to open as well. Their tongues met, and the sound escaped again, involuntarily. As though on command, his grip tightened upon her shoulders and she felt the tingling there as well, streaming from his hands, bringing her skin to life.

At the very moment she thought she might melt clear away or be absorbed into him, he stopped. Clasping her hands, he drew them away from his face, rubbing his thumbs over her palms before releasing them. She stared at her hands mutely. She could remember the feel of his hair, his earlobes, and a hint of stubble along his jaw, but not lifting her hands to his face. How could she do something like that and not remember it?

He stepped back, blinking as though coming out of a dark cave into glaring sunlight.

The only sound, for one long, tense moment, was a lonely curlew’s seeking cry.

“Forgive me,” he said, pushing hair off his forehead. “I had no right. I cannot believe I… I apologize, Miss Lawton.”

He wasn’t unaffected. His pupils were large, consuming the blue of his irises. His breathing was uneven. She saw him swallow as though something was caught in his throat, and his hands fisted at his sides.

Oh… aye.
Her senses sluggishly returned from that place of heat and craving. With him, with this
stranger,
she’d forgotten what he’d done was a bad thing. Lowering her face, she fought to slow her breathing and banish the flush from her cheeks, but they only seemed to grow hotter, betraying her further. She should have screamed the instant he touched her. That’s what a proper miss would have done— not that a proper miss would have accompanied him to this forgotten shieling in the first place.

“You hate me,” he said, low.

Beatrice’s warnings reverberated.
You must be spotless, or no man’ll ever have you, and no decent woman will speak to you
. She’d said more, about how Morrigan must be ignorant if she wanted respect. Surely, the way she had returned this man’s kisses, she had forfeited all hope of that.

Taking a deep breath, she gave him a clear, steady regard. “I don’t hate you,” she said, surprised at how cold and calm she sounded. He mustn’t sense how she had to clench her hands to stop from reaching out to draw his mouth back to hers, or how she had to choke down the words rising through her throat.
Kiss me. Kiss me again.

“You are vexed, Miss Lawton, and I cannot blame you. I’m deeply ashamed.” The crescent scar next to his eye stood out, white and defined.

“I am angry, aye.” She stepped out of the doorway into the fitful sunlight, picturing Douglas spitting on the ground at a mere glimpse of Stranraer’s fallen woman, Diorbhail Sinclair.

“Allow me to escort you home, I beg you.” He spoke quickly. “I’ll not touch you in any way… I swear. Can you forgive me?”

Long shadows stretched across the ground. The air had turned chilly.

Morrigan bent, hiding her face while she slipped on her boots and buttoned them. Ramsay picked up the sugar and her wilting flowers.

“Antiope,” she called, draping her shawl over her arms. The pup bounded over. Morrigan swept her up and cuddled her, holding her so close the poor beast squirmed and whined.

She felt raw, inflamed, as if she’d swallowed a nest of raging bees.

* * * *

Acrid smoke spewed from the train’s engine. It growled, a hungry black tiger impatient to be off.

Mr. Ramsay held out his hand then haltingly lowered it. Morrigan gave him the pup and at the same time took pity.

“Please,” she said, and smiled. “I forgive you. I’m not vexed. What must I say to convince you?”

“Do you mean it, Miss Lawton?”

“I do, Mr. Ramsay.”

“You don’t know what this means to me.”

The whistle screeched. He glanced over his shoulder.

“You’d best get on the train.”

Hesitantly, he said, “I’m traveling to Edinburgh in a fortnight. May I stop at the Wren’s Egg? Or would you prefer never to see me again?”

“Please come.” She touched his lapel, making it appear she was innocently brushing away a spot of lint. “But isn’t it fair out of the way?”

Smoke belched. The train lurched and squealed. He ran, grasping the attendant’s outstretched hand. “Of course not,” he shouted when safely aboard. He waved and grinned. “Thank you!”

Men desired intimacy; that much was clear. Yet at the same time they feared it, thought it evil, something to be ashamed of. It was pure confounding. Why was this thing between men and women so queer and complicated?

Morrigan knew no one she could ask.

* * * *

A letter arrived from Nicky. Not only had he found lodgings in Edinburgh, he’d begun his fee. They were pleased he’d come four months before schedule and he was buried with work. His brain had never felt so weary, but his body was enjoying the rest.

Beatrice gave Douglas the news. She had a way with him, a talent for subduing his rages. He listened when she spoke, almost as though she were a man. For years Morrigan had suffered jealous torment over their closeness, wondering why he liked Hannah’s sister so more than his daughter, but long ago she’d closed away that pain, for it ached like a rotted tooth.

Two days after her encounter on the moor, Ibby broached the subject of taking Morrigan home with her. She picked her time carefully. Nicky was now known to be safe. Sunlight balanced with rain showers had urged their barley and wheat into vibrant sprouts. The new colt was healthy, a fine, strong beast, delightful to watch, and a group of men on their way to Ireland had spent a small fortune in the taproom.

While Morrigan placed his dinner before him, Ibby sipped tea and said, “I’ll soon be going home.”

“Aye,” Douglas replied.

“What would you think of me borrowing Morrigan for a few months?”

He examined first his sister, then his daughter, who dawdled nervously by the door. One eyebrow lifted. “What are the two of you plotting?”

“There’s no plot, Douglas. I’ve more orders coming in than I can take care of without help. You’re doing well here. A lass from town could lend Beatrice a hand on washday. It wouldn’t cost you more than a penny or two.”

Oh, that was a mistake. Her aunt should never have mentioned the financial repercussions of his daughter being absent.

“No.” Douglas returned to his bread and butter.

Ibby glanced at Morrigan then ventured on. “Morrigan is of weddable age. ’Tis past time she learned a few of the accomplishments that impress marriage-minded men. You do want her to marry well, don’t you?”

“She’s naught but a
dawless
wean. Beatrice will teach her whatever she needs to know.”

“She’s eighteen… hardly a wean, and anything but lazy. Many girls her age are married, mothers as well. Have you no pride?” Ibby’s voice rose. “And the way you leave her with your guests— with
men
— after you and Beatrice have gone to bed. You know what that will do— may have already done— to her reputation.”

Morrigan sighed. She almost turned and left, not wanting to see poor Ibby get her comeuppance.

“Who d’you think we are, lords and ladies? I’ve labored my whole life and so will she. I’ve been a fisherman, a crofter, and a soldier. Now I’m an innkeeper, and she’s an innkeeper’s daughter.” His voice lowered to a dangerous rumble. “It was you insisted she learn to play the bloody piano. It’s me what uses it to bring in coin. You do want her to eat, I suppose?”

Morrigan’s spine quivered uneasily.

Yet her aunt barreled on. “Are you telling me you don’t think it’s wrong to leave her unchaperoned with men?”

“She’s perfectly safe. I’d hunt and kill any bastard who dared touch her. Don’t think they don’t know it.”

“No man, rich or poor, will ever ask her to marry him if he hears such gossip! She’ll never have the chance to be happy, to be a mother.”

He rose from his chair, his face mottling. “Mind your own affairs or take yourself from this house. The hissy will bide for as long as I say. Bring you a hundred louts from Glenelg— it’ll change nothing. If I wanted to be reminded of that cursed spot, I’d go there.” He tossed his napkin on the table and stalked out.

“He’s a hard man.” Ibby fumbled for her handkerchief. “Lord knows how you’ve lived with him these many years.”

“It’s not as if I had a choice,” Morrigan replied, but Ibby acted like she didn’t hear. “Don’t fash over me, Auntie. Maybe one day, things will change.”

Ibby departed on the late afternoon train, so vexed she refused to say goodbye to her brother, but before she left, she gave Morrigan the ostrich-plumed hat she’d made, the very height of London fashion. “I love you,” she said with a kiss. “And I will get my way. I promise. I need to think on it.”

Morrigan watched the train lumber off. People passed, talking, laughing, causing her to wonder if they ever considered the freedom they possessed, or took it for granted.

When one looked at the coil from every angle, Douglas made more sense than Ibby. Morrigan
was
an innkeeper’s daughter, not a lady. No amount of ostrich feathered hats or piano lessons could change that.

The train’s roar faded. A ball of crumpled newsprint blew across the deserted cobbles. Sighing, Morrigan turned to make her way home. She set her gaze upon the exit and froze, gasping. Douglas stood there, seemingly at ease the way he leaned against the wall, arms crossed. Yet she knew why he was there. He’d suspected she might run off with Ibby despite his forbidding it. If she had stepped foot on the train, he’d have been there, dragging her home by her collar. It made no sense. Not a day passed where he didn’t clearly demonstrate how much he hated her. Why not let her go, then? Be rid of her?

Spots of color burst before her eyes. She saw herself fruitlessly shaking the steel bars surrounding her, longing for a freedom that remained out of reach.

Without speaking a word, he turned on his heel and walked away.

CHAPTER SEVEN

DEVIL CURSE ALL
men
.

With days to ponder, Morrigan realized Curran Ramsay had taken advantage of her innocence. Every time she thought of the way he’d coaxed her into responding to his advances, she burned with embarrassment. Then, once he knew she had no decency, he’d left! And what about Kit Lindsay? She hadn’t seen him once since the night in the barn.
There will be no wife, no scraiching infant, to tie me down
, he’d shouted.
I won’t marry you.

Both had humiliated her. Nicky had abandoned her. Then there was Douglas Lawton, the man who could never for an instant stop hating her. Everything Curran and Kit had done only reinforced what Douglas had made clear long ago. She was not worth caring about.

She yanked weeds from her kailyard while the angry inner Morrigan created pictures of them all kneeling in abject remorse, their knees stuffed in piles of fresh manure. Douglas, Nicky, and Curran Ramsay were beyond reach, but each day, as she went about her chores, she scanned the road, hoping to catch sight of Kit, his arm raised in a loose-limbed wave. May passed into June, but the only people who approached the inn were strangers in need of lodging and meals.

During a violent nighttime storm, Morrigan quaked in her narrow bed and wondered if God was venting his rage upon Stranraer, or more probably her. The next day they heard a ship had almost foundered near land’s end at Corsewall, but managed to escape the fate that had so often occurred there before the lighthouse was built.