The interior of the cottage didn’t seem familiar. Morrigan told herself she was giving an old dream too much importance and was no doubt wrong about the name she remembered hearing.
In the morning, with only starlight to guide her, she stole out of Taigh na Gaoithe. Seaghan would be angry, but she knew she could get around him. To ward off the worst of a lecture, she scribbled a note. He had only demanded she tell him where she was, and she’d done so.
Knowing already where she wanted to go, she paused no more than a moment on the slope outside the house. She meant to be on those western cliffs when the sun came up. Summiting the hill wasn’t difficult; before long she was descending again. She detoured briefly to explore an abandoned shepherd’s hut, but as dawn pushed back the blackness of night, she made her way to the precipice she’d seen the day before, and looked down. It was dizzying, like staring into a bottomless abyss, and she heard Seaghan’s voice as he translated Mr. Cameron’s warning. I hate to think how many have fallen off.
She perused the coastline, noting the nearby promontory called Dùn Mhiughalaigh, hazy with morning mist. She walked to it and crossed to the far end, where she could look out as if she were at the prow of a ship, over unbroken ocean. The rising sun lit the endless expanse, catching on the wings of the kittiwakes. The sea was loud as it threw itself against these rock walls, and the cry of birds seemed in the thousands. She walked from one side to the other and turned her head up, staring into the depthless blue sky at an eagle circling over her head.
Though she’d halfway convinced herself she was wrong about the cottage, there remained a conviction that she’d been here before. She saw herself breathing this air, scented of salt sea and bird droppings, and walking these high crags, holding hands with Aodhàn Mackinnon, but not as she knew him now. The man in her imagination was young.
Something moved at the edge of her sight. She turned with a gasp, expecting Seaghan, but it was not the grizzled giant. This form, almost in silhouette with the sun behind him, was taller, leaner. She blinked, and blinked again.
“Morrigan,” he said, stopping a few steps away.
It was Aodhàn Mackinnon.
* * * *
Beatrice Stewart settled into a rocking chair by the window and clumsily tried to separate red yarn from blue.
“I was a prince,” she muttered. “I sacked cities. I killed legions. I bathed in blood. Now look at me.”
She peered at the tangled yarn, wondering if anyone would notice if Beatrice, who had always enjoyed needlework, suddenly gave it up.
Females and their daft, useless occupations. All the menial tasks, the world’s free labor. They were like slaves, but stupider. Slaves knew they were slaves. Women didn’t seem to grasp that fact.
Why couldn’t a man have happened by the ruin outside Glenelg? Anyone other than this ugly, stumpy witch with legs like telegraph poles.
There was some amusement in imagining Ibby’s horror if she were to find out she was changing her clothes and sleeping with a man in truth, rather than her sister-in-law’s sister.
Harpalycus snickered.
He had determined many things through the centuries. Early on, he’d observed that neither Aridela nor Menoetius retained any memories of their previous lives. But, for some reason, Chrysaleon did, and that made him formidable.
A knock interrupted his plotting. “Who is it?” he barked.
The door was thrust open with such force it thudded against the wall. Seaghan MacAnaugh stood there, looking hard, almost dangerous.
Finally. A diversion. Though he had made the body of this stinking female his, Harpalycus could still call out Beatrice’s memories, and he had none of that woman’s reticence.
He slipped into character. “What d’you want with your banging and scowling?”
“Morrigan, you old crone. Have you seen her?”
“So far, Seaghan, you’ve done a bloody poor job of watching her. What will the master say?”
“Have you seen her or not?” Seaghan’s hands clenched.
“Ask that whore from Stranraer where she’s gone. They have no secrets from each other.”
“Morrigan left before she woke.”
Beatrice shrugged. “Maybe she caught the eye of one of the village men and went off for a bit of enjoyment. But you’d know more about such things than me, wouldn’t you?”
He hardly blinked. “Now that you bring it up, there’s something that’s been troubling me. Why is it you’ve let her believe these many years that Douglas was her father?”
“Who would her father be in your eyes, then?”
“I am. You know it. And I also want to know why Hannah ran away with him.”
She laughed, and laughed again at the anguish he didn’t quite manage to disguise. “What pretty wee notions you’ve got rolling around in your head. Hannah was near her time to deliver when you sailed to Nova Scotia to begin a new life.”
“Which proves what I say. They hadn’t been together six months, but Hannah looked to be full term.”
“Women are different, some carry high, some low. Some women grow large and some don’t. If you were so certain the wean was yours, why did you board the ship without her?”
“You know Douglas tricked me. You were there. I thought all of you were getting on the ferry right behind me. I tried to stay, when I saw what Douglas was doing.” Flicking a hand impatiently towards his cheek, he added, “And received a truncheon in the face.”
“I know nothing but how she wept when you sailed away. Thank God Douglas was there to care for her.”
“Aye. He took such good care of her she died that night.”
“At least he was there. There’s more to being a father, you know, than planting seed in soil. Douglas cared for the child when you wanted nothing to do with her or her mam. Hannah wrote to you, asking your forgiveness, begging you to come for her. If you had, she’d be alive today and you’d have your precious Morrigan. You’d have had her all along. But you chose to let Hannah suffer, and Morrigan as well. Hannah’s death is on your shoulders, and I will never help you with Morrigan, or with anything else in this life.”
“Wrote to me? When? What are you talking about?”
“What daft game d’you think to play now? I helped her write that letter. I posted it. Lies won’t serve you, not with me.”
“What letter? Damn you! She wrote to me? When?”
Beatrice shook her head. “You don’t fool me.”
Seaghan slammed his fist into the wall. “I never got any letter from Hannah!”
Beatrice saw the truth in his face. This was amusing. Hannah had believed Seaghan purposely didn’t answer, that he hated her and was leaving her to her fate. But he’d never received the letter that told him he was Morrigan’s father, the letter beseeching him to save her, the letter begging his forgiveness.
She rubbed her hand over her mouth to hide a smirk. “Well, she sent you one, from Ireland. She quickened, and went to see the midwife, who told her she was five months gone. That’s when Hannah realized it was your child she was bringing into the world, and not a rapist’s.”
“Rapist’s?” Seaghan’s face paled.
“Aye, she claimed she was attacked and forced.” Harpalycus remembered the night he had assaulted Seaghan’s lovely betrothed. He’d been Charles Kelly then, a homeless vagabond.
Following that mad sense of his, the one that always led him to the triad, he’d journeyed to Glenelg, but not one of them had been there and none ever appeared, though he waited a good three months. It had simply been a crime of opportunity when he’d come across Hannah and Seaghan having one of their trysts in the forest on a warm night in June. He’d watched and waited, and when Hannah went off, telling Seaghan she didn’t need an escort to get home safely, he’d proven her wrong. He might not have done it, but Seaghan MacAnaugh had been rude to him on more than one occasion, and Harpalycus never let a slight go unpunished. Afterward, he deserted Glenelg and consumed another man, the fiery religious zeal
ot, Owen Anderson. Following a new inner call, he caught a boat to Barra, and there found success at last: Chrysaleon, Aridela, and a long-overdue night of revenge.
He pushed Beatrice to the forefront again. “Of course, Hannah was not exactly virtuous, was she? So it’s anyone’s guess on that detail.”
Now, so many years later, and with Beatrice Stewart’s memories, Harpalycus was able to see the rest of that story.
A devastated and bloody Hannah had staggered home, where Beatrice met her and gave her comfort. Believing she was ruined for Seaghan, Hannah had turned to Douglas Lawton. She’d made up a story of being overwhelmed by love for him, and convinced him to run away with her.
“She… she was raped?” Seaghan wilted. “Who in Glenelg would do such a thing?”
When Harpalycus found Chrysaleon and Aridela, living as Aodhàn Mackinnon and his wife, Lilith, he’d employed one of his favorite, most effective pastimes— a carefully plotted destruction, which culminated in November of the same year. Harpalycus convinced twelve devout men that the Mackinnon house was a haven to Satan and the black arts. When they were good and drunk he sent them in, inflamed and ready to slaughter. The children were easily dispatched; Aridela, hidden away in the body of Lilith Mackinnon, took surprisingly more effort. His men bound Aodhàn, threw him in a fishing boat, stabbed him, and dumped him overboard off the cliffs of Berneray. But fate, or Athene, intervened, sending Seaghan MacAnaugh to pluck the man out of the water and save his life.
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 cheek
s, 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.
* * * *
The Sixth Labyrinth (The Child of the Erinyes Book 4) Page 72