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

Da,” Nicky said. “Do you want a dishing?”
    “Bollocks! I’m sick of your da. You treat him like he’s God in Heaven, and he’d never lay a finger on me. He can’t afford to lose the good will of the only veterinary in Stranraer.” Kit wandered back to the stall. “Morrigan, come away.”
    “I don’t want to sing.” She stepped out of the stall, now self-conscious. “I’ll go.”
    “Aye, well. I’ll sing to you then.” Kit placed the whisky bottle on the bale of hay with great care, picked up the mandolin and gazed into the rafters, weaving like a ship’s captain caught in rough seas.
    “ Bonny wee thing, canny wee thing,
    Lovely wee thing, wert thou mine ….”
    A thrill fluttered through Morrigan’s breast. The way he lowered his gaze from the roof to her eyes, the way his brows lifted, made it clear he was singing to her , sending yearning and wishes from his soul to hers. His mouth moved softly over each word as though caressing a lover’s face.
    “ Wishfully I look and languish
    In that bonny face o’ thine …”
    She opened her mouth, wanting to say something… but she didn’t know what.
    “ … And my heart it stounds wi’ anguish ,” he finished, “ Lest my wee thing be na mine .”
    He strummed a few more chords. Their eyes locked. Then he leered, and the spell was shattered.
    “What you’ll never do, Christian Lindsay,” she said, “is sing on key.” Yet her taunt sounded weak and shaky.
    Man’s love for woman. It stirred anticipation… for caresses. For ardent promises.
    She pictured the warrior. He could throw a spear straight and strong— decapitate an enemy without care or emotion. Yet he could also kiss a woman’s lips with unparalleled tenderness in the dark green of a summer night.
    How she wished the fantasy could be real.
    “I asked you to do it, didn’t I?” Kit said. “Would you care to dance instead?”
    In truth she was a simplehead. Where was the sense in languishing over an imaginary lover when right before her stood this fair fellow with warm hands and canted smile? She could see and touch Kit. He’d be here tomorrow, the next day, and the next, waking and sleeping. He was real .
    “Let me do the singing,” Nicky said, “else the dogs’ll howl and poor Burns’ll rise from his grave and curse us.” He cleared his throat and strummed the mandolin. When had he learned to do that?
    “ Wit and grace and love and beauty …”
    Kit caught Morrigan’s hands and pulled her into the yellow wash of lantern light. He watched her, eyes half-closed, the hint of an indecipherable smile on his lips.
    “ In ae constellation shine …”
    Holding up the hem of her nightgown, Morrigan followed his lead though he stumbled twice and trod on her foot.
    “ To adore thee is my duty ,
    Goddess o’ this soul o’ mine ….”
    He bent to kiss her cheeks, and Morrigan returned the gesture with a formal curtsy, as though they stood in Queen Victoria’s court.
    Nicky yawned loudly. “I’m to thin the onions and turnips tomorrow, and God only knows what Morrigan must do. Away to bed, ye doxie, you’ve scorned decency enough for one night.”
    Morrigan scrutinized her brother’s comrade as he held out his hand for the mandolin.
    Christian Brynmor Lindsay, the veterinary’s son. He’d make a fine husband, and he loathed Papa, which displayed unerring good sense.
    Grand day we’re having, Mistress Lindsay. Could your fine husband tear himself away from you to see my sick cow?
    Aye, dark-eyed Kit. He was the man for her.
    * * * *
    They went out into the brilliant, starry night. “I’m not a bit tired,” Morrigan said. “Are you, Kit?”
    He shrugged.
    “Will you stay awhile?”
    Darkness disguised his expression, but after a slight pause, his shoulders again lifted. “A moment, maybe,” he said in an offhand way.
    “Fools, the both of you.” Nicky made a rude gesture and disappeared. The kitchen door squeaked behind him.
    Time to put away childish dreams of