The Sixth Labyrinth (The Child of the Erinyes Book 4) (50 page)

“We should take it together,” Diorbhail said eagerly. “It will strengthen us threefold. Oh, aye! Taking it together will show us things we could never see on our own.”

“I don’t know what you mean by that,” Eleanor said. “And I’m not so certain it’d be good for Mistress Ramsay.”

“Don’t you see?” Diorbhail rose, rubbing her arms as she paced. “Mistress sees bits of things. She hears half-spoken sentences, morsels only. What you call ‘witch’s cap’ can help return what’s been lost. We’ll see clearly if we do this together. I’m sure of it. You know as well as I that her dreams are memories. She’ll never have complete understanding unless she sees truly.”

“Wait,” Morrigan said. “My dreams are memories?”

Diorbhail poked at the fire with a sooty stick. “I think when you sleep, the lives you’ve lived before come back. The dreams try to help you remember, so that you don’t repeat the same mistakes.”

“Are you saying I was murdered? Actually murdered?”

Diorbhail shrugged. “Maybe. Probably.”

Morrigan thought about that for a moment while her insides lurched. “Father Drummond visited me after I hurt my ankle. He said some believe that expectant women’s dreams are the baby’s memories of its past lives.”

“No!” Diorbhail spoke fiercely. “Never listen to priests.”

Eleanor agreed, somewhat reluctantly, to go down and retrieve her stockpile of witch’s cap as soon as there was light enough to see her way.

“Did you know I would be in the forest?” Morrigan asked Diorbhail. “Everything you’ve said… did it all come from this mushroom? Did you ever go to school? I did, but I never learned these things.”

“Many questions.” Diorbhail grinned, displaying the hole where a tooth had gone missing or been knocked out. “They’ll give you no rest now. They’ll pull you to your fate.” Her grin faded. “Schools are run by men. D’you think men are going to teach you about your power? No,
a ghràidh
, they’ll teach you the opposite, how you cannot survive without them, how you must obey them for your own good, how they have to guide your life for you, how you are silly and weak, and must follow their version of right and wrong. How their god gave them control over you, and you must submit if you want to go to their heaven, where, no doubt, you’ll be serving and submitting for eternity.” Going off to one corner of the bothy, she retrieved a small container and shook out a handful of brittle green leaves. “There are other methods of Sight. Some use this leaf, or venom from snakes. Both are too dangerous for you. Some only have to listen. I listen to the voices in the wind and I can see what the water shows. Fire will sometimes speak to me. I’ve forged my power for many years. I will try to teach you how to do these things as well, mistress.”

“What else have you seen?”

“Mostly things meant for me. Now you need to learn your fate. If we’re lucky, you’ll see who means you harm and who will help you on this long journey. Do you feel the Lady? She whets us against her mighty grindstone!”

* * * *

Eleanor left in the translucent light of predawn, promising to return as soon as she could. She added acerbically that they could use the witch’s cap once; then Morrigan must go home.

But the gloaming was deep before she returned. It was little wonder no one had found them yet, if Morrigan had managed to stray so far.

“Glenelg is in uproar,” Eleanor said as she came in. “Mistress Ramsay must come with me now, before anything worse happens.” She sighed. “I cannot believe I allowed you to talk me into such a foolish and cruel delay.” She gestured in her indomitable fashion. “Come now, let us not put your husband through any more agony. There are those telling him you’ve fallen into the sea and drowned! What he said was wrong, but you’ve punished him enough, don’t you think?”

Morrigan could hardly argue. “I miss him.” Only after saying it did she realize she’d spoken out loud, and that it was true, despite the memory of that awful thing he’d said. “I want to go home.” Diorbhail’s stricken expression filled her with guilt and confusion. “You knew I couldn’t stay much longer.”

Diorbhail blinked and looked away, then she clenched her hands. “Why d’you think about that place? That
Kilgarry?
”

“What of Curran?” Morrigan asked gently. “What of his child?”

“She’s
your
wean. It’s
your
belly she grows in.”

Morrigan took a step closer. “I’ve always believed that my thoughts were evil; that
I
was evil. But you, and Eleanor, and this place, have changed me. I can hardly understand it all yet, but I know I won’t ever go back to what I used to be.” She drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Even though we see the truth, we cannot change the way things are. What you want is impossible. The world belongs to men, and they will never give it up, no matter what we think or feel.”

Diorbhail frowned. She opened her mouth but Morrigan stopped her. “It’s a fantasy,” she said quietly. “They’ll never give up their power.”

“
You’re
changing,” Diorbhail said, so low her voice was nearly drowned by a thrush’s singing outside.

“I’m but one small person. I cannot cause the entire world to be different than it is.”

Eleanor waited, her arms crossed, looking from one to the other.

“He’ll never stop searching for me,” Morrigan said. “I don’t want to give birth here, in the dirt.”

Diorbhail looked sad and defeated. The idea of walking off and leaving her was intolerable. “Come with me.” Morrigan held out her hand.

“I’d no’ be welcome. I’m naught but a hoor in the eyes of the world.”

“You will come with me,” Morrigan said. “We won’t tell anyone of your past. You’ll simply be the woman who saved me when I was lost.”

Morrigan kept her hand outstretched. Hesitantly, Diorbhail came forward and took it. Morrigan smiled and they began their trek down the mountain.

* * * *

Morrigan’s ankle felt almost normal after three days’ rest and many cold compresses. Eleanor and Diorbhail took turns serving as support. Eleanor had cannily thought to bring two candles. Diorbhail put one inside her cracked lantern, so they wouldn’t have to make their way in complete darkness.

Morrigan looked back, this time deliberately. Water from an earlier shower still dripped from the thatch. She fancied the lonely bothy was weeping. Part of her wanted to greet too. Her adventure was over. Her moment of imaginary freedom. She knew she must go home, but this broken wee place would always be a cherished memory.

With Eleanor and Diorbhail beside her, Morrigan wasn’t afraid of the dark or any supernatural beasties hidden beyond the glimmer of their lamp. In fact, she told her companions of Agnes Campbell’s warnings— all but the one about selkies— and they laughed as they walked.

But the downhill foray soon began to pall. “It could be worse,” Eleanor said. “At least we’ve this road, foul though it is. Did I tell you, mistress, that the horse and gig were found the day after you went missing? Not anywhere near here, though. They were on the other side of this mountain.”

“Curran… poor Curran.”

“Aye, mistress. I had naught to do but think as I walked all that way, and it ate at me, what he’s going through. We’re not to the days when men have no care for us, not yet, and I think I have an idea of his suffering. That’s why I insisted we go, and not wait for daylight.”

They came to a fast flowing burn. The cold water felt delicious upon Morrigan’s ankle, but the rocks were moss covered and slick. Eleanor lost her footing and fell, but she rose laughing, proclaiming that her dowp was padded enough to soften the blow. All three giggled as they helped each other clamber up the bank on the far side.

“What’s this?”

Morrigan nearly jumped out of her skin and almost slid back into the water at the sound of a man’s voice.

Eleanor and Diorbhail moved in close on either side of Kilgarry’s mistress; Diorbhail raised her lantern.

He stood beneath the branches of a holly oak, a shotgun slung over his shoulder. For the briefest instant, Morrigan thought she was looking at a younger version of her father. She gasped, caught in a rush of dizziness.

But it was Aodhàn Mackinnon, not the ghost of Douglas Lawton. He propped his shotgun against the tree trunk and came forward swiftly. “Morrigan,” he said, his voice unguardedly relieved.

“Aye, she’s been found,” Eleanor said. “But how d’you come to be here, in the middle of the night, so far from home?”

“You think that matters to me?” He sent Eleanor a cold glance before returning his attention to Morrigan. “Everything closer has already been searched twice over.”

He frowned at her. “Are you hurt?”

“My ankle’s a bit worse for wear.” She tried to make light of it but was moved to her core that he would be out combing the land for her so late. His face was drawn and tired.

“Here.” Without any warning, he plucked her off the ground. “Put your arms round my neck,” he said, and cradled her, one arm supporting her back and the other holding her behind the knees.

“I’m too heavy,” she protested, in an attempt to cover her embarrassment and something else, an inner thrill she knew was wrong.

He merely nodded at his gun. “Fetch that, would you?” he said, glancing for the first time at shy, silent Diorbhail. Only Morrigan, who was so close, saw the sudden intensity of his gaze then the bitter loathing that passed across his face. His arms tightened. Puzzled and nervous, she looked at Diorbhail, but saw nothing amiss. Diorbhail had her head lowered and was scurrying to get the gun.

“You’re light as a midge,” he said. While she’d been staring after Diorbhail, he’d turned to her again. Diorbhail’s lantern was some distance away; she was surely wrong about what she thought she’d seen. There was nothing of anger or hatred on his face now. What she saw was something else entirely. He was so close she felt the heat off his skin, and his gaze dropped to her mouth. She waited, her heart pounding so dreadfully she was sure he could feel it.

But he drew in a deep breath and began to walk, instructing Diorbhail to hold the lamp higher so he could see his way.

Her faithless brain recreated the boulder by the sea, the kiss, and how, for an instant before Curran appeared, she had wanted to open herself to him.

Under the disguise of darkness, it seemed only natural to rest her cheek on his shoulder, close her eyes, and give herself over to his competent strides.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

MORRIGAN SAT UP
in bed and stared about the room. It was familiar, yet for some reason it seemed she hadn’t been here, or seen it, in ages. She drew the soft, sweet-smelling covers up to her throat. They seemed wrong as well, far finer than what she knew.

Curran entered. When he saw her, he broke into a wide smile and came over to sit on the bed beside her.

“Curran,” she said. Her voice sounded hoarse. “I feel like I’ve been asleep for a month.”

He gathered her to his chest and pressed her face to his throat. “Morrigan, thank God.”

Feared to her core by the strange catch in his voice, she pulled away. His lashes were wet. “What’s happened?”

“I swear I’m never letting you out of my sight again.”

The wean
. Nothing else would bring tears to Curran’s eyes. But when she touched her stomach, it felt the same, harder, slightly rounded.

Eleanor came in with a teacup. She approached the other side of the bed and sat on the edge. “I was hoping you’d be awake by now,” she said. “Would you drink this, please?” She held out the cup to Morrigan.

It was filled with steaming yellow liquid. “Tell me what it is, first,” Morrigan said, smiling at the older woman.

“Cinnamon oil, lemon, and honey, mixed with chamomile,” Eleanor said.

Morrigan’s memories returned as she took the cup from the healer’s chapped hands. The bothy. Diorbhail and Eleanor. Sleeping on straw and crushed wildflowers… and Mackinnon carrying her, league after tireless league, until they stumbled across Curran and Seaghan. Mackinnon had handed her off to her husband and swiftly vanished without saying goodbye.

“Drink it, please, darling.” Curran said.

She sipped. Honey sweetened the cinnamon’s bite.

“I’m so glad and grateful to Eleanor for thinking of that old ruin and going there to look for you. Who knows how long it would have been otherwise?”

“Aye.” Eleanor threw a narrowed glance at Morrigan. “I told him how I thought of the bothy two days ago and walked up.”

Morrigan nodded. It was only a small lie, after all. “Am I sick? My ears are stuffy.”

“I don’t think so,
a nighean
,” Curran said, “but you slept through a night, a day, another night, and half of today.” He glanced at Eleanor. “I’ll make sure she drinks it.”

Eleanor nodded and left, but as she opened the outer door, Antiope squeezed past her and rushed in. She leaped, splaying her long graceful legs on the bed and cocking her ears, which created a worried pucker between her eyes.

“Lassie-wean.” The presence of her dog brought a sense of calm, a return to comfort and safety. She realized she was happy to be home. It was daft to feel pangs of sorrow for that rotted, leaking hovel.

The dog tried to lick her mistress’s cheeks.

“Get down, ye cursed beast,” Curran said impatiently.

Her abject expression begged for forgiveness, but Curran pushed her away. She curled onto the floor, gazing from one to the other.

“Tell me what happened,” Curran said. “I cannot wait any longer.”

“D’you know how handsome you were on Saint Michael’s Day?” She ran her index finger along his jaw. “Like a centaur, joined with your horse. That’s exactly what you looked like.”

He laughed and wrapped his arms around her, so tightly she finally had to protest that she couldn’t breathe. He kissed her lips, eyelids, ears, and cheeks.

“But you and Violet.” She frowned. “I didn’t like that. I wanted to make you jealous.”

Amusement flashed in his dark blue eyes.

She remembered whipping the horse, knocking Curran clear out of the gig. There was a scabbed-over cut on his cheekbone, and a bruise fanning out around it. “Oh, my temper,” she said, horrified and aching with regret. “It’s like a great fire. Sometimes it consumes me.” She hesitated, searching for the words. “I lose control. I see what I do but I can’t stop. Like when I bit you.” she touched his lip. “I’m so sorry. I’m sorry for many things. Somehow I think the anger is really towards… myself.”