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

by Rebecca Lochlann

  He smiled. “You gave me a start, my dear. For a moment I thought your mother was standing before me! You are so like her.”

  “I’m sorry.” She held her hands clasped together in a tightly clenched manner that alarmed him.

  “Don’t apologize, you have no control over it. I’ve been hoping you would visit. Come away to my rectory. How is our wee Olivia?”

  Before he could arm himself against it, the part of his brain he’d muzzled these last forty years thought, Her mouth is formed for kissing.

  “She’s well. Could I speak to you, Father?”

  He thrust away his disgusting fancies and led her to his sitting room without another word, gesturing her over to the comfortable old armchair by the fire.

  “Tea, m’lady?”

  “No, thank you.”

  She stared into the corner for such a long while he wondered if she ever would speak.

  “I’m not of your faith,” she said at last. “I hope I’m not breaking some rule in coming here like this.”

  “Is something troubling you?”

  “I’ve been reading your… the Bible.” She glanced at her hands, encased in black leather gloves that looked as soft as butter. “Trying to learn what’s expected of us.”

  “You could choose worse literature.”

  “I’ve broken your… the commandments. I feel I’ve sinned. I don’t want my child to suffer because of anything I have done.”

  He curbed the urge to smile. “And what have you done?” Some small transgression must have migrated wildly out of proportion.

  “I got myself with child when I should not have, didn’t I, and trapped Curran, giving him no choice but to marry me, and me an innkeeper’s daughter.”

  He shoved away another unwelcome thought about how tempted Curran must have been. “Fornication is a sin, but all too common. If you feel true penance, I can absolve you—”

  “I hated my father,” she said as though he hadn’t spoken. “And never thought about what my hate did to him, not until after he was dead and I had a child of my own.” Lower, she added, “I would die to protect Olivia. I would kill.” Her hands fisted in her lap. “Such fear comes over me; I fear she’ll get sick. I fear her dying. If she did I swear I’d kill myself so I can hold her hand when she goes wherever it is folk go when they die. Even if I have to stop at the entrance into Heaven, at least I’ll have gone with her that far. And if the dead don’t go anywhere, we can be buried together.”

  A surprising rush of tears raked the back of his eyelids. “Through the years I’ve learned there is no love on earth comparable to a mother’s. Do you believe this love is a sin? It isn’t. Killing yourself, aye, that is. But loving? God created that love in you, and it moves my heart mightily.” Gently, he said, “I want to help.”

  Light from the fire glinted in her eyes. “I should be alone, but Curran, Curran should be happy.” She rubbed at a fine set of worry-lines in her forehead. “I suspect he’ll come to hate me in the end, and I don’t blame him. I don’t want to be responsible for ruining his life, and Olivia’s.”

  Why did she believe she should be alone? Hugh shook his head, confused. He had always prided himself on his instinctive wisdom of folk, yet he’d not guessed at the pain this lass was hiding. At her wedding cèilidh she’d looked a little frightened, aye, but happy, no different from any other bride.

  Everyone thought Douglas had won. He’d found a way to steal Hannah from Seaghan and make off with her. Hugh had never considered the idea that Douglas’s triumph might end in a curse.

  “D’you believe in ghosts, Father?”

  Hugh scratched his jaw, considering. “I’ve seen things, gods and goddesses floating among these clouds. The rules, the laws of the outside, don’t work, not here, where Time has never quite advanced. I’ve often thought our corner of Scotland is enchanted.”

  Memories of those long-gone days sharpened. Everyone eagerly gossiping about that unhappy love triangle, wondering how surly Douglas Lawton managed to win the heart of Hannah Stewart, when they all thought her so loyal and in love with joyous Seaghan. In this mediaeval spot, almost anything could happen— even impossible things. “There are ghosts,” he said. “Faeries too, no doubt, though my superiors wouldn’t approve me saying so.”

  She frowned, then threw out a question he found himself completely unprepared for. “Someone told me your church believes women are products of the Devil. That we lead men away from God— that we caused Christ to be crucified.”

  He heard himself stutter. Clamping his mouth shut, he worked to regain his composure as harsh statements written by long-dead Church leaders ran through his brain. Every woman is defective. Wives are lower than slaves. He shook his head to clear it.

  “The Church has changed through the centuries, like everything does,” he said carefully. “Wisdom is gained. Enlightenment occurs. In the beginning, we were fighting to kill off older religions— cruel, savage faiths, headed by women who used blood sacrifice. The Church now acknowledges the help and joy women give to men. Who told you such things, child?”

  Her face hardened. Her eyes narrowed. He knew she wouldn’t say. She was protecting someone. Surely not Curran?

  The best course was to move them past an airy, philosophical debate. This woman had come to him for help. “Let us keep to the matter at hand,” he said. “Please tell me why you hated Douglas.”

  Her anger seemed to dissipate, thank goodness. She blinked several times, as if unprepared for the question, or overwhelmed by the emotions it caused. “He… he hit us.” She lowered her head. “I was always sneaking off to the moor instead of doing my chores, most every day, if I’m honest about it. It vexed him. It vexed him very much.”

  “Hit you. He hit you?” Hugh had a great deal of experience reading faces and unsaid words. Everything about her demeanor cried out that he hit us meant Douglas beat them, and badly.

  She shrugged. “Nicky and my Aunt Beatrice often had to do my chores, because I was off somewhere hiding. Daydreaming.”

  He covered his face with his hand. “Mea culpa. I cannot believe it.”

  “I’m not lying.”

  “Oh, child, I know you’re not. If only I had known. I’d never have allowed him to take you away.”

  “How could you have stopped him?”

  “I would have found a way.”

  She continued in a rush. “I used to wish he would die, and he did. It’s a sin to want someone to die, isn’t it? I know it is. Everything is different now that Olivia has come. I want to make peace with my father, but I can’t, because he’s dead.”

  “In the name of God.” Hugh shut his mouth and tried to gather his thoughts. After a moment, he said, more calmly, “Douglas was devoted to his first wife, Neala, and to Nick. At least, I always believed he was.”

  “He loved my mother too. I think he never forgave me for causing her to die. Was it that, Father? Or was it something else, something I haven’t yet learned?”

  Hugh didn’t know what to say. She spoke from instinct; she couldn’t know that Douglas had lost his wits over Hannah long before she was born. He had to have, to willingly betray Seaghan.

  “Do you blame yourself for his death?” he asked. “Curran told me it was his heart.”

  She started to answer but instead pressed the back of her hand against her mouth. Her throat worked, her lashes fluttered, and her face reddened.

  “Stop,” he said and rose. “Not another word. You’re going to have some tea.”

  He went away to the kitchen, surprised to see the teapot steaming under a quilted cozy. “Bless you, Agnes,” he murmured. She took care of him with such quiet efficiency he hardly knew she was there.

  He arranged the pot and two cups on a tray, adding a dish of sugar, tongs, and a pitcher of milk.

  Morrigan appeared more composed when he returned. She relieved him of the tray and poured.

  “My father tried to kill me.” She met his gaze without any sign of flinching. “He called me
‘Hannah.’ I think sometimes, when the anger took over, he mistook me for my mother.”

  “Then he was mad!” Hugh leaped to his feet. “Oh, God! What stopped him?”

  “My aunts fought him off. Then he… grabbed his chest and fell. There was a sliver of glass. I wanted it to fall into him. I wished it to fall, and it did. Then he died.”

  Hugh rubbed at a piercing throb in his right temple. Dropping into the chair, he labored to regain control over his heavily lurching heart. “Douglas is one thing,” he said at last. “He is dead and gone, and we can do nothing about him now.” He drew in a deep breath. “Why did you ask me if I believe in ghosts?”

  “I have unco dreams. You won’t… you won’t have me locked away if I tell you?”

  “Locked away? What do you mean? In a madhouse?”

  She nodded. “You said my father was mad. Does madness run in families, Father? Could I be… d’you think I could be—”

  “No!” He felt his own skin blanch. “Of course not.” In truth, he had heard that such was the case, but he would not add to her fears. Not today. Besides, as he and everyone else who’d lived in Glenelg twenty years ago knew, there was a strong possibility Morrigan wasn’t even related to Douglas.

  “Dreams are not a sign of madness. Tell me.”

  She wrung her handkerchief and closed her eyes. “I dream of a seal. He becomes a man, and tears me away from everything, from Curran, from Olivia. I feel as though I love him, but I’m frightened of him too.”

  He gritted his teeth to keep from interrupting.

  “I dream I’m a wife,” she continued, her eyes still shut tight. “To someone else, not Curran. I don’t know what crime I’ve committed, but men force their way into my house and murder my babies in front of me.” Her voice broke. “And they cut my throat.” One hand lifted, brushing against that fragile flesh. “Before they kill me, they call me a witch. I dream this, over and over.”

  Hugh jumped to his feet again. He couldn’t hear any more. He seized her hands, pulling her from the chair, and embraced her. “My God, my God!”

  She resisted his touch. He felt her stiffness, the tenseness in her neck. “Is God sending these dreams as a punishment to me for not giving my father obedience and respect?”

  Pain flashed like a bullet through his temple. Morrigan’s eyes opened and she stared at him as he sprawled on the floor. He was shuddering, and feared he would vomit.

  “Father Drummond!”

  An eternity seemed to pass before he gained control over the desperate gasping. He became aware that she was crouched beside him, clutching his hand. “I’ll fetch help,” she said, rising, her expressive face betraying her anxiety.

  “No, no, wait.” How hoarse he sounded. Not himself at all. “Give me a moment.” He’d never felt like this. His head throbbed in time with his heartbeat, though the piercing bolt of agony was ebbing.

  She brought his teacup, helped him sit, and held the cup to his lips. She patted his forehead with her handkerchief. “Can you make it to the chair?”

  He nodded and allowed her to help him to his feet. He dropped thankfully into the comforting familiarity of stuffed material scented with years of pipe smoke.

  She poured milk into a cup then added tea and extra sugar, as he liked it. Hugh kept his eyes focused on her hands. Minute by minute, he felt the pain subsiding, and several deep breaths settled his stomach.

  The serviceable china rattled when he grasped it. Morrigan started to take it from him, but he shook his head. “I can manage,” he insisted, and to prove it, lifted the cup and sipped. “Forgive me, child.” He placed the cup in its saucer and set it on the table. “I’ve been no help to you at all.” As he drew in a deep, calming breath, he shoved away remnants of horror at what she’d described. “Sit down, my dear, and tell me what’s happened between you and Curran. I feel perfectly fine now.” Gently, he asked, “You said before that someone has told you the Church teaches men to hate women. Is this what you fear? That Curran hates you, or will, in time?”

  Concern disintegrated into despair on her face.

  “He, I….” Those flawless, translucent cheeks flamed red. It made him think of an invisible pitcher of wine overturning, spilling its contents through them.

  “You mustn’t think of me as an ordinary man. I’m a priest of God, and I hear confessions every day.”

  She dropped into the other chair. “I won’t let him touch me. Three months have passed since Olivia was born, yet I… I can’t… I cannot be a wife to him, a proper wife. I used to… I used to love… but now, I don’t know. He may not hate me yet, but he’s bound to.”

  Drawing off her gloves, she placed them on her lap and smoothed them with her fingertips. “He could have so easily denied being Olivia’s father. He didn’t have to marry me. I owe everything to him. We were happy. Now I want to run away. I’m ashamed to say it. I… I’m so ashamed. I feel like I’m being strangled.”

  “This is sorry news,” Hugh said, as he tried to understand her disjointed sentences. All young wives and husbands needed time to adjust, but this one had more than her share of hurts to overcome. “What changed? Surely not Olivia.”

  She shook her head, keeping her gaze on the gloves. “It’s because of… I think I… I’m afraid I….”

  He knew then, with a terrible sinking sensation, what she couldn’t say. The pendulum clock began its hourly chime as he found his voice. “Oh, Morrigan. Oh, no.”

  Her gaze met his. “You hate me.”

  “No.” He reached across the table and clasped her hand. “I love you, dear lass,” he said, as it blazed and invigorated him. “I’ll always be your friend.” He frowned, thinking over everything she’d said. “Is this because of your dreams? D’you think you’re in love with this seal who turns into a man?”

  She kept her face downcast as she nodded, every aspect filled with shame. “He makes me feel sad, guilty, wrong. There’s not one thing about him that makes me happy. He threatens me, my family, my child, everything. And yet I think of him all the time. I imagine us together. Why, Father? Why?”

  Aodhàn Mackinnon. He knew it as though she’d said the name aloud, and not only because everyone in Glenelg had heard the selkie stories. If Hugh realized it, then so must Curran.

  The man must not take her from her husband. There would be a catastrophic outcome if that happened. He didn’t want to contemplate the repercussions.

  Coming to him proved Morrigan wanted to do the right thing. She but needed a guiding hand.

  And Aodhàn. Alone so long, chewed up by his mysterious past. From their first meeting, Hugh had been fascinated by the somber fellow. Many times, he had attempted to draw the fisherman into the Church, thinking if Aodhàn could only give his burdens to God, he’d find peace. Aodhàn continued to resist. But if the man were human, if blood flowed in his veins, he could never resist this lovely, equally tormented girl.

  It was easy to understand why that poor devil would be drawn to her. But what did Aodhàn have that would attract Morrigan? Could it be his sadness and seclusion, his similarity to her morose father? Did she unconsciously believe she could make up for her past offenses, real or imagined, by destroying her life with Curran and following in Aodhàn’s dark wake? The reasons folk did and felt were much more complex than what lay on the surface, sometimes more complex than what they themselves could understand. God alone could delve so deep.

  “I am your friend,” he repeated, determined to do a better job with this woman who might well be Seaghan’s child.

  “Thank you, Father.” Morrigan gave him a grateful smile.

  He patted her hand. “Lass, you’ve blamed yourself for things you had no say over. Aye, Hannah died giving birth to you. But I won’t have you thinking that was your fault. She was fine and healthy until the day Randall Benedict cleared Glenelg. Shock sent her into labor before her time.”

  Ah, but was it? Was it before her time?

  “Glenelg’s midwife boarded the Bristol that day. No o
ne remained with knowledge to help. Douglas would have been right to hate Randall Benedict, right to hate the men carrying out the laird’s orders, but not you, a helpless babe. You’re not to blame for being born, or for the resemblance you bear to your mother. Is Douglas the ghost you fear? D’you think he is bringing you these nightmares?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Before you read any more of the Bible, promise you’ll talk it over with me. We must make certain you get its proper meaning.” He tapped the surface of the table. “Did your father have you baptized?”

  She shook her head.

  He sighed. “We must see to it.” Poor wee thing. If she were to die, her soul couldn’t enter Heaven.

  He mulled over his next words before speaking. In his majestic pulpit voice, the one he reserved for brimstone and punishment, he said, “Adultery is a fearful sin. A mortal sin. It will devastate you. It will destroy your family.” He glared at her. “Curran can take Olivia away from you. The law will enforce it. You say you love your daughter? If you continue down this road, if you do anything that puts your marriage in jeopardy, you’ll never see her again. You’ll be cast out. Homeless. No decent man or woman will give you a crust of bread.”

  Morrigan covered her face with her handkerchief, her fingers shaking violently. The other hand, on her lap, wadded her gloves. “I know it,” she said. “The world hates women who step off the path men have carved for them.”

  He was startled by such insight, but refused to waver. “You are Morrigan Ramsay,” he said, unrelenting. “You’ve made a holy vow. Don’t you forget it. Don’t you dare risk all you’ve been given, especially the child, to satisfy warped and base desires. It’s unworthy of you.”

  “Oh,” she whispered, “I can’t bear this.”

  Hiding how well he understood, he rose, took her hands, and pulled her up. He enclosed her in a soothing embrace. “Shhh, shhh, poor wee thing. I promise you, everything will turn out as it should.”

  He said it to give her comfort, but inside, he wasn’t so sure. He stroked Mistress Ramsay’s hair, and wondered.

  Would Aodhàn Mackinnon do the right thing and step away?