The Sixth Labyrinth (The Child of the Erinyes Book 4) by Rebecca Lochlann Read Free Book Online Page A

escape.
    But no. She was not so daft. Gentlemen married to benefit their stations, and lasses who thought they could change that paid a heavy price.
    Theseus didn’t exist. He’d never really lived. He was a myth, a legend, as was her dream-lover, a fantasy of her overzealous imagination.
    In an hour Curran Ramsay’s elbows would be propped on the ferry rail, his face turned to the wind, and it wasn’t likely he would ever come back. In fact, he might thank his God for the narrow escape from marriage-obsessed women and their penniless spinster nieces.
    When would Aunt Isabel relinquish these hopeless matchmaking efforts?
    Morrigan paused on the front stairs as she glimpsed Isabel’s young golden male through the open doorway into the dining room. Light poured through the window, making a halo of his hair, and a signet ring glinted on the little finger of his right hand. The man outright dazzled, like the sun had come alive and slipped into their home.
    For a moment, she was confused by a sense of familiarity. She derided herself for the fancy, yet it persisted, this feeling that someone very dear, missing for an ungodly length of time, had at last returned.
    Her aunt was regaling him with tales of an Edinburgh holiday she’d taken with Uncle Gregor. Mr. Ramsay’s expression was so politely engaged Morrigan couldn’t hazard a guess to his thoughts.
    If she could travel, maybe she would acquire the ability to engage in sophisticated discourse with handsome gentlemen. Oh, to have confidence. It would be grand. Whenever Beatrice or Douglas ordered Morrigan to entertain their guests in the parlor, she spent the whole time damning her blushes, straining to think of the next stilted topic, and trying to remember not to bite her fingernails, which she always ended up doing anyway.
    Seldom had the task of determining a man’s designation been so easy. She watched him laugh at something Isabel said and felt her lips curve in response, though she hadn’t caught more than a word or two.
    Years ago, while reading about Robert Burns, she’d learned Scotland’s beloved poet put men into two categories: grave and merry. She’d adopted the game, and ever since grouped whatever male she met into one box or the other. Nicky was merry. Though he had dark interludes, they never suffocated his innate cheerfulness for long. Douglas landed with ease into an ominous container labeled “graver than grave.”
    Curran Ramsay was definitely merry.
    “There you are,” Isabel said when she entered. “Mr. Ramsay and I are sharing tales of Edinburgh.”
    “I’ve never been farther than Ballantrae,” she admitted.
    “Believe it or not,” Ramsay said, “I spent the first seven years of my life here, in a house on Rose Street. Three cousins live there still. I can’t believe I’ve never noticed the Wren’s Egg before.” He smiled and his eyes subtly darkened as he added, “I must remedy that error in the future.” He paused, then drew in a decisive breath and stood. “Mrs. Maclean, Miss Lawton, if you will excuse me, I believe I should make my way to the ferry.”
    “I’ll fetch you something for the trip over.” Morrigan wanted to show, in an unobtrusive way, how much she appreciated his kindness to her aunt. She added, “You’re welcome to take our trap and leave it there. My brother can fetch it later.”
    Isabel said, “No need to bother Nicky. I’ll go with Mr. Ramsay and bring it home myself.”
    When Ramsay looked at her, Morrigan didn’t lower her face but smiled for the first time. It felt braw to allow it, like water bursting free from a broken dam. He returned the smile, and for one instant, Ibby, the inn, and her life vanished into a golden wave of warmth and comfort.
    She turned and fled to the kitchen, fearing utter loss of self-control.
    Cheese, a cold kidney pie, and a half-bottle of decent Strathisla went into a wicker hamper cushioned with a towel. As she approached the barn, she saw Nicky had escaped the