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

fields after all and was harnessing Widdie to the trap. The difference between the two lads struck her: one black-headed, ragged, sweat-stained, and grimy, the other elegant and clean, bright as the brass bell atop the Presbyterian kirk on Bridge Street.
    “Thank you, Miss Lawton.” Ramsay relieved her of the hamper. “I look forward to our next meeting.”
    Was that a blush on his cheeks? Aye, it was slight, but there. She’d always thought she was the only fool on Earth cursed with that betraying affliction. She’d never seen Nicky, her father, or Beatrice show any sign of embarrassment.
    A longer visit would’ve been pleasant. She imagined him sharing tales of swift dogs and diamond-crusted Highland castles. But there was no help for it. She didn’t believe his promise to return for an instant, and knew she’d never see him again.
    “Goodbye,” she said, adding, “Good luck with the puppy.”
    He frowned almost imperceptibly before swinging up onto the seat beside her aunt and taking the reins.
    Isabel clapped one hand to her hat and waved with the other. “Don’t run off, dears. I’ll soon be back, and I’ll want to hear your news.”
    As they rolled away, turning towards the wharf, an eagle swooped overhead; it soared past the barn, flying so low Morrigan heard the wind through its wing feathers. She stared at it, charmed by its grace and beauty.
    “Seems a fair sort,” Nicky commented. He scratched his earlobe and waved off a bumblebee.
    “She said she met him in Glasgow. His name’s Ramsay.”
    “Didn’t she tell you who he is?”
    “She said something about knowing him when he was young.”
    “Curran Ramsay babbed you on his lap when you were an infant.” Reaching for a shovel, he scooped up Widdie’s leavings and tossed them on the midden heap. “Da half-feared he’d drop you on your head.”
    She didn’t much care for the picture of that sophisticated gentleman carrying her about in her hippins. “Where? Glenelg?”
    “Aye. Curran Ramsay’s father is the one who found Da this innkeeper’s fee.”
    She cuffed him on the shoulder. “I knew you were lying. Sir MacAndrew’s our landlord.”
    His eyes narrowed and she saw revenge coming. “We wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for Thomas Ramsay, who wrote the letter of recommendation. No doubt we’d have starved long ago in whatever’s left of that sorry pile of rubble.”
    “Nobody told me.”
    He leaned close with a fiendish grin. “Because you’re a daft, useless karriewhitchet,” he mocked. Lifting his thumb and forefinger, he flicked her cheek.
    “Don’t call me that!” She rubbed at the sting. “I’m almost twenty and I’ve run the Wren’s Egg for at least ten years. You should respect me.”
    Laughter brightened his eyes, but he blocked her threatened punch. “You turned eighteen not six months ago, you run nothing and never have, and you must earn respect by cultivating a modest air, producing fourteen weans, and learning how to cook.”
    Beatrice scolded from the kitchen door. “Morrigan, can you be bothered to finish the washing?”
    “The washing,” she said. “And if it’s no’ the wash, it’s dusting, or the bloody milking, or boiling the jams….”
    “Well, you’d best show Da you’ve done something .” Nicky ladled water over his head then rested one big hand on her shoulder. “Have ye seen our unicorn?” he said, close to her ear. “She comes out when the moon is full… stands right under your window, polishing her horn on an arse as white as milk and glittery as a star. You should look for her.”
    “If she’s not careful, everyone will see,” Morrigan said, “and they’ll make us change the name of the inn to the Silver Unicorn.”
    “Like it always should’ve been.” Tightening his grip briefly, her brother gave her a cockeyed grin and sauntered off to his labors.
    A fanciful poet— that was the Nicky nobody ever saw but Morrigan. Not Papa, not Beatrice, not even his closest