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

by Rebecca Lochlann

  She rose and turned… and there he was, standing a few steps away.

  “Mackinnon,” she breathed. The selkie. Dionysos. Theseus. Fisherman. Tristram.

  Husband.

  He had many names and faces, all merging into one word. Beloved. Though she’d been determined to keep her distance, she was happy to see him. It gave her the chance to explain why this had to be the end.

  “Morrigan.” He squatted and smiled.

  They clasped hands. His felt cool and strong and reassuring. “I wasn’t sure you’d come.”

  “I didn’t mean to,” she felt compelled to say.

  He paused. “Yet you did.”

  “Curran’s back from the mainland,” she said. “We argued and I ran away.”

  He said nothing to that.

  “I promised him I’d return by sundown,” she said. “I should go. I must go. But I am glad to see you….” She hesitated. It was hard to say for the last time. The words stung her throat.

  He stood, reaching down to help her up. “There’s a place I want to show you before you go. We’ll have to do some juggling though, with the child.”

  “I don’t know…. Olivia should not be here, with us.”

  “Stay a wee while,” he said. “I’ve something to ask you. We’ll make do.” He nodded towards the west. “There’s still time.” He led her along the crags a bit, north of Dùn Mhiughalaigh. “We can climb down,” he said. “It’ll be an adventure.”

  She resisted. “It’s straight down. We can’t.”

  “There’s a ladder.” He knelt and pulled up a portion of it to show her. “See?”

  She knelt too. It was woven of something rope-like, maybe horsehair. “Is it strong enough?” she asked doubtfully.

  “I’ve been up and down it many times. I’ll go first. Hand Olivia down to me.” Grasping the rope, he maneuvered over the edge.

  “Do we have to do this?”

  “It’s not far,” he said, and climbed down a few more rungs. “Here, see? Solid ground. Hand her down.” He lifted his arms.

  Morrigan lay on her stomach and held Olivia out, wrapped in her blanket. Mackinnon took her. She made a curious inquiring sound, and turned her head in search of her mother.

  “Be careful,” Morrigan said.

  “You too.” He stepped away from the ladder, turned, and went off through the scrub, out towards the overhang.

  He’s a trickster, that one, Diorbhail’s voice whispered as Morrigan watched him walk away with her child. She heard a disturbance all around, as though the breezes were adding to the warning by bringing the wildflowers and bracken to life.

  “Mackinnon?” She tamped down irrational fright as she heard Diorbhail again. I fear him. He is not what he seems.

  She took a deep breath, trying to keep calm. “Wait for me, Mackinnon.” Not giving herself time to panic, she found the ladder’s rungs and propelled herself over the edge, cursing the hem of her skirt when it caught beneath her toes and pulled her off balance.

  He wouldn’t harm Olivia, not Olivia, not her baby. Diorbhail didn’t like any men other than Curran. It had simply been a meaningless sigh of wind she’d heard.

  We should die. It’s the only way. Mackinnon’s words formed a litany as she stumbled down the ladder.

  She had a terrible fear he meant to ask her to die with him. What if he decided Olivia could die as well?

  She jumped off the ladder onto solid ground and turned, searching for the man and child, but they’d vanished. She took a few steps, stumbling over exposed roots. Unfounded terror was making her clumsy. She mustn’t think about how far they could all fall, or how many rocks lay below, or how cold and deep the Atlantic was.

  I’m coming. I’m coming, my braw girl. An interior avalanche of clarity exploded through her. The alchemy of two lovers dying in each other’s arms was a lie. They would simply be dead, rotting, eaten by fish. She didn’t want to die, not tonight or any night, with Mackinnon. She would never abandon her children, born, newly conceived, and yet to be imagined, not them and not Curran. As she scrambled for footing, a tiger’s ferocity flooded her. She would not be thwarted.

  Her hem caught on something and ripped as she refused to pause.

  Olivia wailed in the distance, a thin, desperate sound. Morrigan had no idea how she maneuvered the last expanse between them. She dimly realized the ground slanted upward steeply. She climbed, using her hands and feet, gasping, tasting mud. Her body felt numb, separated, smashed beneath intent. There they were. Mackinnon was holding Olivia on the flat surface of a rock scoured by wind of all flora, bleached like bone from the sun. He stood at the edge, nothing beyond his boots but cool swirling air, a mouthful of Earth’s sharp teeth, and endless depths of water.

  * * * *

  “A change in her circumstances? What does that mean?” Curran asked impatiently. “If you know something, then tell me!”

  “I’m getting ahead of myself.” Beatrice smiled. “I meant to begin with Hannah.”

  “What the hell does she have to do with anything?” Had the witch gone mad? She appeared to be on the verge of dissolving into laughter, and her eyes didn’t seem properly focused.

  “She’s Morrigan’s mother. I’d think you might be interested to know who raped her that night in June when she ran off, abandoning poor Seaghan.”

  A dark flush bloomed across Seaghan’s face.

  “Hannah was raped?” Curran gripped the arms of the chair, hoping she would say whatever she had to say, and that his patience would last that long.

  “That’s why she left Glenelg the way she did. But I’m the only one who knows who did it. It was Douglas. Douglas Lawton.”

  “Oh no, no,” Ibby moaned. Diorbhail put a reassuring hand on her shoulder.

  The color ran out of Seaghan’s face but he seemed more devastated than surprised. Curran frowned. He wanted to comfort Seaghan and Ibby, but he forced himself to remain quiet. Morrigan was all that mattered now.

  “Our da brought us to Glenelg that year, just for the summer. He wanted to become familiar with the place Hannah would be living once she married Seaghan. He wanted her to see it too, so she could decide if she was really willing to give up the city. We stayed at Kilgarry with Randall Benedict and his wife. That’s how we met Douglas. He was Benedict’s gamekeeper. Like all men, Douglas wanted her, but she refused him. So he followed her. He knew Randall Benedict’s land far better than she. One night, finding her alone in the forest,” she quirked a brow at Seaghan, causing him to flush again, “he attacked her. He covered her head so she could never identify him. When he was done he left her there and hid himself until she managed to get to her feet. Then he approached her, full of sympathy and care and tenderness, and made her believe he’d come across her by accident. He carried her to Kilgarry. She was out of her senses, saying all kinds of daft things. She asked Douglas to take her away and he agreed, of course. She never knew her attacker was the same man she ran off with.”

  Curran’s grip tightened in his struggle to keep himself from leaping to his feet and throttling the bitch. “If you knew this, why have you never told anyone?”

  She shrugged. “Why should I? Would it have helped Morrigan to know? Hannah was grateful to Douglas at first. He was willing to marry her, a ruined woman. When he discovered, much later, she was already pregnant before he attacked her, and that her child was Seaghan’s, not his, he was, shall we say, not happy.”

  Seaghan’s eyes slitted. Curran heard his teeth grind.

  She had to be making this up. Maybe— who cared! What did it matter?

  “Come now.” Beatrice nodded. “You’ve no secrets from your good friend the Laird of Eilginn, do you?”

  “Why have you kept this from me all these years, you bitch!” Seaghan rushed forward, fists raised. “You stole my daughter from me with your lies.”

  She showed no sign of fear, Curran had to give her that. “You’re the one who sailed away to Nova Scotia. I stole nothing from you. You threw it away. Withou
t Morrigan, Douglas wouldn’t have needed me. He couldn’t take care of an infant and a three-year-old boy. She’s what kept us together, and by that time, as you know, my da had killed himself, and his wealth was lost in the search for his missing daughter.”

  “You pathetic slut,” Seaghan said. “Douglas used you. And you let him.”

  Though she gave a flippant shrug, Beatrice’s face bloomed with angry color. “In every way but name I lived as his wife. I do wish he’d kissed me though. I used to pray to God to make him kiss me, but God’s never answered my prayers.”

  “Beatrice….” Ibby sighed, shaking her head.

  Seaghan was scarlet, his mouth a white sneer.

  “What of Morrigan?” Curran asked.

  “Aye, Morrigan. I didn’t expect you to keep her after she cuckolded you in your own township, and you the laird. You’ve served your pride to her on a plate for the whole world to see.”

  “You hate her,” Curran said. “Why?”

  “She doesn’t deserve all that’s been given to her. If I hadn’t been there, no doubt Douglas would’ve loved her too. Her aunt clothed her in fine dresses though she was no more than a maidservant.” Beatrice grimaced at Ibby. “Nick watched out for her, took her dishings. Kit Lindsay adored her. Then here you came with your wealth and fine house, giving her flowers, treating her like a queen. You had to have her though your rich comrades would judge you for it. I lay that at your door as well.” She sent Ibby another scowl. “You brought him and ruined my plans.”

  “What were your plans?” Ibby cried. “She didn’t suffer enough to suit you?”

  “Morrigan had everything and worked for none of it. Hannah’s beauty lived on in her, and her brain was quick. She was like a cherry tart to every male who saw her. The biggest difference between Hannah and her daughter was that Morrigan never turned cold. By the end, Hannah had no feeling left for anyone or anything, but Morrigan grew up innocent and feeling-hearted. The beatings never hardened her. She never learned what folk truly are.”

  “Thank God.” Ibby struck the arm of her chair with a closed fist. “Thank God she’s stayed the way she is. It shows her strength, not her weakness, as you’d have us believe.”

  “D’you not want to know what I’ve got to tell?” Beatrice rose. “I’ll not waste your time, if you are so much wiser than me.”

  Curran saw her sway. Aye, Beatrice was drunk. He smelled the brandy. But no matter. He couldn’t let her leave now. He had to know what she was withholding. “Don’t go,” he said.

  “Aye,” she replied. “The master wants to know about his dearie. Well, I’ll tell you, though I doubt you’ll be thanking me once I’m done.” Heavily, she resumed her seat.

  “Get on with it, I beg you,” Curran said. The sun was lowering; Morrigan hadn’t yet returned. His anxiety was building, but he held himself still, his instincts warning him he needed to know what Beatrice had finally decided to tell. Who knew when or if she would ever be so loose-tongued again?

  “It was easy to make Douglas hate Morrigan,” Beatrice said. “She reminded him of Hannah, of Hannah’s duplicity, of her many lies. Hannah tried to foist off Seaghan’s bastard on him. Well, Douglas was a proud man. He never forgave that. There’s always another side of the coin, though. He saw Hannah in Morrigan and lusted after her.”

  “Bloody fucking hell.” Curran clenched his hands. It felt as though the icy, heavy swells in the bay were washing over him again, paralyzing him. He knew this was the truth, and he wasn’t sure he could bear to hear it.

  Seaghan leaped forward once more. “Curran, you’ve got to stop this!”

  Curran rose wearily. He grasped Seaghan by the arms, hauling on him with all his strength. “Seaghan, let her speak,” he said. “Please. For Morrigan’s sake.”

  At first it didn’t seem Seaghan heard. He strained and fought to break free. But Curran refused to release him, and gradually Seaghan acquiesced. He retreated again to the wall, where he crossed his arms and stared coldly.

  “I don’t believe this,” Ibby said. But she sounded as though she did.

  “Be strong,” Diorbhail returned quietly.

  “Nobody knew the truth but me.” Beatrice wiped her nose with her knuckles. They came away wet, but she didn’t seem to notice.

  “My God.” Ibby’s face was white and her plump fingers trembled. Her shoulders slumped and she wept. “Oh my God. I would’ve… I would’ve—”

  “Being cleared, losing his home and Hannah nearly drove Douglas into madness, which worked in my favor. I thought, what if he decides to marry again? I couldn’t have that, and I knew he would never marry me. So I used the bad part of him, that buried sickness what can be dredged out of most men. I made it grow. It’s easy if you know how. You don’t need herbs or potions. You use what’s in their black hearts already, shape it how you want. I started when Morrigan was a baby, marveling how much she resembled her sweet mam. Maybe Hannah had come back to life in her. ‘Leave me alone,’ he’d say. But I caught him staring at her, and I knew. I knew what he was thinking. One night… she was about fourteen, as I mind… I woke and he wasn’t in bed. I found him in her room, fair panting in his madness. I made him leave and I watched Morrigan close for I knew if once he had her, I’d lose my power over him. But I nurtured the sickness. While this guilt lived in him along with wanting her, a girl barely out of childhood and his daughter in the eyes of the world, he’d need me, wouldn’t he? He’d think himself too low for other lasses. Men are thrawn creatures.”

  “Not all men,” Seaghan growled.

  “Aye? Really? If what you say is true, the good ones would put a stop to those who are bad, but they never do. The punishment’s worse for a man what lies with other men than it is for those who harm women and children.” She paused. “Are you a good man, Master Ramsay?”

  What he’d said to Lily returned with taunting clarity. I’ll use my own child like a cage.

  Beatrice lifted her brows. “I know more about men than you might imagine. What bad men do, good men want to do, and sometimes will.”

  “This is making me sick,” Seaghan said. “You cannot listen to her, Curran.”

  Curran fought off the sense that he was falling. Seaghan’s voice echoed as though it came from a great distance.

  Beatrice’s regard betrayed nothing but calm calculation. She smiled as though she relished his misery. “I knew Douglas wanted Morrigan. Every year that passed Morrigan became more like Hannah, in body if not spirit. Douglas knew he wouldn’t be breaking any Biblical laws if he had her. Still, some part of him understood how wrong it was. She ripened, and it was no’ so obvious that she wasn’t yet a grown woman. Knowing she wasn’t his blood kin kept him on the knife-edge, lust constantly battling his scruples. I believe he thought it a way to have Hannah again, but young, untouched, an innocent he could mold to his pleasure. He wanted the Hannah in her. Sometimes he called her name in his sleep. He hated though, the part of her that reminded him of Seaghan. I fancied when he beat her, he saw Seaghan under the strap. Who knows? Maybe he punished Hannah too, for what she’d done. As for himself?” She laughed, shaking her head. “He took no responsibility for the things he did, no blame for the way he treated her.”

  Curran shuddered. He covered his face with both hands and drew in a shaking breath. His hair spilled over his fingers, brushing like insect wings. “You did it, didn’t you?” he said, dropping his hands to his lap. “Somehow, you started this thing with Aodhàn Mackinnon.”

  “Oh, no,” she said. “No, you cannot blame that on me. First of all, it’s Morrigan’s nature to be a whore. It’s in her blood. But it’s more. Those two have an uncanny way of knowing about each other. It’s like a force of nature, impossible to resist. Only death will separate them. Only death Master Ramsay, and I suspect he’s convinced her he has a way to thwart that as well.”

  “I would’ve helped her if I’d known.” Ibby’s voice broke. She seized Diorbhail’s hand.

  “Pretend all you want,” Beatri
ce said, “but you knew.”

  Seaghan’s boot tapped against the floor. It took up the beat of Curran’s heart and reverberated through his skull.

  Beatrice was lying about some or all of this. Morrigan had no strange urge to be unfaithful. She was a virgin before that day on the moor by Stranraer. Somehow, Aodhàn had overwhelmed her loyalty. If it weren’t for Aodhàn, she’d be happy, content to be Curran’s wife, mother to his children.

  If Beatrice was lying about Morrigan, she could be lying about Hannah as well. But what good could come of spreading such falsehoods? It wasn’t as though they would harm Hannah. Everyone involved except Seaghan and Morrigan were dead.

  His spinning thoughts halted at the sound of Beatrice’s voice. She was staring at him, her eyes watchful. “And now here we are again,” she said, almost gently. “Morrigan is pregnant, just like Hannah, and no way of telling who the father is. Not until the babe is born, and we see the color of its hair.”

  “Do you know where Morrigan has gone? If so, tell me. What is this ‘change in circumstances’?” Curran pinched the arms of his chair in an effort to maintain control.

  “Don’t you understand?” Beatrice waved at him. “She’s away to Aodhàn Mackinnon. He’s waiting for her. She’d rather die his penniless whore than live in your fine manor house as your wife.”

  “Aodhàn is here, on Mingulay?” Curran’s heart began to pound sickeningly, and his blood grew fiery hot in his veins. No, this couldn’t be. She had to be lying.

  “He’s been having his fill of your wife while you’ve been gone, and before you took her away as well. Since your wedding, in fact.” She laughed. “He won’t give her back. It’s a pledge they made. Do you recognize this?” Holding up the diary, she thumbed the pages and read aloud.

  I can see why Mackinnon longs for death. Perhaps that is the lesson in all great, tragic love stories. Tristram and Iseult knew this secret, and agreed to its demands. If there is reincarnation, as Jamini claims, then death is not a terrible thing. It offers peace from suffering, new beginnings and possibilities.