The Sixth Labyrinth (The Child of the Erinyes Book 4) (88 page)

“Oh, mistress.” Violet ran forward. At the last second her wits returned and she drew up short. She’d never hugged the laird’s wife, or touched her in any way other than to help her bathe and dress.

Morrigan laughed and pulled her into a quick embrace, filling Violet’s senses with her honey-musk scent. Though she’d tried, Violet never could put a name to that wonderful aroma. It didn’t match any of the fragrances sitting upstairs in wee crystal bottles on the mistress’s lace-edged dressing table. And she’d know, wouldn’t she? Often enough she’d smelled them when tidying, and once placed a drop between her breasts, knowing Logan would find it later.

She should’ve let Logan do all he’d wanted. Then she’d be the one carrying a child and making demands. It hadn’t done the mistress any harm, had it?

Over the barking dogs, clatter of boxes, and Curran’s gruff, “Get off me, ye daft beast,” the mistress cried, “I’ve missed you.” She let go, gesturing. “See who we brought.”

In walked her Aunt Ibby, holding Olivia and directing Logan’s every move.

“Aye, they abducted me.” Ibby tickled the babe’s ear, adding, “And how could I resist such temptation? Logan, d’you know what you’re doing? Don’t pile that trunk on top of the other. You’ll break the lid.”

“Auntie,” Morrigan said, “leave him be. Has anyone seen Beatrice?”

Violet couldn’t help flushing. “She might’ve gone for a walk. She often does.”

“Oh.” Morrigan frowned.

Violet wondered at the closeness between those two. It made no sense. What was there to love in that dour, sour woman? Well, she must try to be generous. After all, Beatrice was the only mother Mistress Ramsay had ever known.

“You’ve brought home my wee ane?” Janet, slow from weight and gout, limped through the rear hall door.

Ibby handed Olivia to her. Janet tickled the babe under the chin until she received the required giggles.

“She’s a right wee replica of you, Master Curran,” Janet cried. “Look at all these curls, and the same color!”

“Aye, she’s his, no doubt about that,” Morrigan said.

Kyle opened the door. He hailed Curran, shyly tipped his cap to Morrigan, and gathered boxes to carry upstairs.

“Wait.” Curran lifted the lid on a trunk and brought out parcels tied with ribbons, handing one to each lady. Fionna cried out over a beautiful fringed shawl in the iridescent shades of a peacock. She draped it across her bodice, extolling the master’s generosity. Violet received an original Whistler etching, his butterfly signature in the right-hand corner. Accompanying it were paints and fine sable brushes. Janet flushed crimson over a crate of preserves, smoked oysters, apples, roasted chestnuts, sugared rose-petals, chocolate, and other delicacies seldom found in these mountainous regions. Tess’s gift was perhaps the finest of all: a rosewood clàrsach, accented with mother-of-pearl and gold leaf. She touched the strings, sending a thrum of music through the vestibule.

They’d brought gifts for the townsfolk as well, baskets of medicinal herbs and tonics for Eleanor, shawls, caps, and necklaces for the women, pipe tobaccos and whisky for the men.

Logan and Kyle hauled the rest of the luggage upstairs to the master bedroom.

“Tea is what you need,” Fionna said. “Violet, help the mistress change while Janet and I set it to brew.”

Morrigan dropped her parasol in the umbrella stand and started up the stairs. Violet watched Curran bound to her side over a pile of boxes. Their heads, close together, caught shafts of sunlight from the high mullioned window at the landing.

“What a bonny sweet pair,” Fionna said. “I feel I couldn’t wipe the smile from my face if I tried.” She mopped her eyes. “Ah, it’s fine, then. They’ve reconciled and are happy. Pray God now they’re home, nothing’ll happen to be mucking it up.”

Leaving the unspoken name of
Aodhàn Mackinnon
hanging like a spectre, she went off to see to the tea.

Violet banished a dark thought or two about the odd fisherman and followed the couple upstairs. She’d always observed more of life than folk gave her credit for. In the bedroom, she saw the mistress release the master’s hand without a glance his direction, then crawl onto the window seat where she scrutinized the gardens and the Sound.

Curran, with an almost indecipherable shake of the head, tugged at his cravat and walked the other direction. Logan and Kyle finished with the luggage. To keep herself occupied, Violet opened a trunk and began unpacking.

Morrigan came off the seat. “I want a wrapper,” she said. “This corset’s cut me to the bones.”

Tongue-tied at the unfamiliar frosty note she heard, Violet nodded and fetched a robe, a slender green sheath she knew the lady favored.

The master often said if he couldn’t dress or wash himself he oughtn’t to be breathing. Unconcerned with Violet’s presence, he shrugged out of his coat and trousers and went into his dressing room. When he returned he’d pulled on a pair of rough breeks, top boots, and a homespun sark. He tucked it in as he left, banging the door; she couldn’t tell if from exuberance or vexation.

“Did you enjoy your holiday, mistress?” Violet asked as she took Morrigan’s corset.

“Oh, aye,” came the muffled reply from behind the Chinese screen. “’Twas fair the round, never a moment to catch your breath. If Curran wasn’t dragging me to some fine, fancy thing, it was Lily.” Glancing around the edge, she impaled her maid with a somber examination. “Have the Donaghues ever come to Kilgarry?”

“Aye, m’lady, many times, Christmases mostly.”

“Do you know her well?”

Violet wrinkled her brows. “Mrs. Donaghue? I’ve helped her dress.”

Morrigan stepped out from behind the screen, donned in chemise and a petticoat that, freed from the form-fitting skirts, floated like a cloud of fluff. “I don’t want that one,” she said. “I’ve been bound up like a prisoner all day. Get me the lavender one. I want something loose, so I can breathe, and it’s cold in here.”

Violet tossed the green robe on the bed and began digging through the wardrobe. How could she be cold? Impossible! ’Twas August! She pulled out the lavender creation. It was full from the waist down, with long sleeves, buttons up the front, and a high collar. She fancied she glimpsed goosebumps on that alabaster flesh as Morrigan shrugged into the garment and drew her hair free. “Leave it loose,” she said, but allowed Violet to brush it as she fastened the buttons. “I’ll have tea in the sitting room. Would you tell Fionna?”

Violet bobbed a quick curtsy and started to leave.

“Please send Beatrice when she comes in,” Morrigan called after her.

“Aye, m’lady.” Violet went downstairs. Perhaps Master Curran’s wife was pregnant. That would explain this change of mood and shivering. Tales of expectant women’s foibles abounded in the Highlands.

Fionna hummed and smiled as she arranged cups on a silver tray. How long would it be before the housekeeper discovered all wasn’t well between the laird and his wife, and her prayers hadn’t been answered?

Violet pressed her lips together and said nothing.

* * * *

Curran collected the dogs and went off to walk his land. Ah, he’d missed this. He hadn’t realized how much. The air had a scent, of heath and leaves, mixed with the sea, that he’d never smelled anywhere else.

For him, it was the aroma of home, and had always offered comfort and peace, but today the peace was fleeting, as his thoughts immediately returned to Morrigan. She had inexplicably turned against him, after he’d come to believe all was healed. It had happened so abruptly, the night she had swooned. At first she clung to him like a boat in a storm, but later, he could have been an offensive stranger. She rebuffed any gesture and spent hardly any time in his company, always finding a way to leave. Once or twice he’d caught her staring at him, her eyes brooding, but she would not explain. She almost seemed to be waiting for
him
to say something, but he didn’t know what.

As of yet, she’d said little about expecting. Maybe she hated it. That prospect made him recoil, but he couldn’t blame her. It had only been six months since she nearly died giving birth to Olivia. Not many women would be overjoyed at the thought of going through that again.

And why, of all the places in the world he would gladly take her, had she chosen Barra as their next destination? His teeth ground together as he stabbed the wet ground with his stick.

Two nights before they left London to come home, he’d asked her. She’d gazed at him narrowly, almost accusingly.
It doesn’t matter why. I want to go there
.

He’d convinced himself that Aodhàn Mackinnon was a fading smudge in their lives, but since that moment, he’d returned like a sneering devil, even invading Curran’s dreams.

Well, they would go. With any luck they would find themselves confronted with Aodhàn’s wife, a living, breathing wife. Children, too. Grown children. Maybe Aodhàn the grandfather would put an end to her fantasies.

But the fact that he hadn’t heard from Quinn worried him. There had been nothing in all these weeks, no letter, no messenger. Curran had finally written, but that letter, too, had gone unanswered. Where could he be? What could be taking so long?

He didn’t realize he wasn’t alone until Seaghan grabbed his forearm. Blinking, he looked up to see not only Seaghan but Eleanor as well. Both were staring at him.

“Curran Ramsay,” Seaghan said. “Wake up, man.”

“Oh, I… I didn’t see you,” Curran said.

“That is clear!” Seaghan released a thunderous laugh. He enveloped Curran in a great, suffocating embrace. “It’s been too long, damn you! Too damned long!” He belatedly turned to Eleanor, apologizing for his crudeness, which she waved away.

“Welcome home, Master Ramsay,” she said, smiling. “Is your wife up at the house?”

“Aye,” Curran said. “Unpacking, and packing again, I’m sorry to say.”

Seaghan’s expression dropped into palpable disappointment. “It’s true? You’re leaving again?”

Curran sighed and nodded. “Morrigan wants to see the isle of Barra.”

“You weren’t merely playing with me, then,” the fisherman said, glancing at Eleanor, who shook her head.

“Your letter arrived a few days ago,” Eleanor explained.

“Well, that settles it.” Seaghan clapped his hand on Curran’s shoulder. “Can I go along?”

“Well….” Curran couldn’t hide his surprise. “I’ve no objection. But why would you want to?”

“Really? Why? Well, I’ll tell you why. Because I have no’ seen either of you since the beginning of June, that’s why. And while I do just fine without a glimpse of your pretty face, I would like to see your wife’s now and then. It appears as though I’ll have to chase you all over the country to do it!”

Curran laughed. “You’re more than welcome,” he said, realizing it was true. He would be glad of Seaghan’s common sense. Turning to Eleanor, he added, “I know Morrigan would like it if you came along as well.”

“I don’t think I can. I’ve a lass giving birth down by Àrnasdal in a week or two. I should stay here.”

“Speaking of that,” Curran said, “Olivia might be gaining a brother or sister. Don’t say anything, for Morrigan hasn’t announced it yet, and it’s very early.”

“Another babe!” Eleanor’s face lit up.

“That is bonny news!” Seaghan added, his grin widening.

“What do you mean, ‘might be’?” Eleanor’s gaze was perceptive. “Is she, or not?”

Curran’s mood darkened as he remembered that awful night, and Morrigan collapsing. “She fainted one evening in July, and I brought in a physician. He said he couldn’t be certain, but there were a few early signs. She refused to see him after that, but as far as I know, nothing has changed to rule it out.”

“Hmm.” Eleanor’s brows lifted. “Refused to see him, you say? Any number of things could cause the fainting, as you and I have discussed. I should examine her. She trusts me, Master Curran. Are you sure you don’t want me to ask her about it?”

“Better wait, I think— especially if I’m wrong.” He knew he was flushed, and he knew Eleanor noticed. The woman missed nothing. Why did he feel so guilty? He hadn’t done anything to be ashamed of, so why did he feel as though he had?

Seaghan broke into his thoughts. “There’s other news you probably haven’t heard. Aodhàn is gone.”

“What?”

“Aye.” It was Seaghan’s turn to blush. “We had a… disagreement. Eleanor sheltered him for a few nights, but now he seems to have left Glenelg altogether.”

Curran was so astounded he could only stare.

“He said nothing to me of leaving.” Eleanor shook her head, her annoyance clear. “I came home one day and he was gone. Apparently he told no one of his plans. He’s simply… gone.”

Seaghan and Eleanor continued on their way, excited to see Morrigan. Curran walked with his entourage of dogs until he came to Dùn Teilbh, where he sat awhile in contemplation, allowing the voices of the glen, the clouds, earth, and wind to refill his soul.

Aodhàn is gone
.

Hope ran through him as he imagined it— the rest of their lives, freed of Aodhàn Mackinnon.

The dogs soon roused him. They’d found something by the edge of the forest and were digging at it. The deerhound whined. Curran got up to investigate, stopping some distance away because of the stink and swarm of flies. Something had died and was rotting in the long grass. No wonder the dogs were intrigued. Rummaging for his handkerchief, he held it over his nose and stepped closer.

His blood chilled as he realized he was looking at the remains of a person. A man, judging by the clothing. At once he thought of Father Drummond before remembering the priest had been found and taken away. This was someone else. A pinkish jelly-like substance slimed the cadaverous face. Antiope licked at it and Curran prodded her away with his stick. The corpse was little more than bones at this point, covered by matted clothing.

Could it be Aodhàn? It was a gruesome thing to look upon, but he forced himself to search for anything that could identify the dead man. The remains seemed to be about the same height as Aodhàn, but he couldn’t be certain.

What was left of the corpse’s hair finally gave him the answer he sought. Though the pinkish ooze had infiltrated it, Curran saw that it was light; when a ray from the sun struck it, the strawberry-blond highlights he remembered were still there. This was Patrick Hawley.