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

women leaping over wild bulls, of arrogant Greek princes and aye, of blond Highland lairds. She was a Woman, as Aunt Isabel so often pointed out, and must act like one. If she did not compose her future, Papa surely would. Let others conjure handsome faces, silk gowns, and castles. Long ago she’d relegated Kit to the category of “merry,” and when contemplating a spouse, merriment was her foremost stipulation. If she somehow got stuck to a grave man, she might as well stay with her father: that or slit her own throat.
    It was time to use what the stares of men told her she had— beauty, and willingness to work hard. The latter was more valuable than the former, but it was the former that would get her where she wanted to be.
    Leaning against the side of the barn, Morrigan turned her face to the sky and tried to think of something witty to say.
    She could swear a god had abandoned his celestial game of jacks on a great black velvet cloth. The moon had risen higher, and was brighter. The night seemed perfectly constructed for bringing Kit around to her way of thinking. Not even the pungency of manure could spoil such magic. Robert Burns must have chosen a night like this to write his Bonny Wee Thing . The air was alive with delicate patterings, distant hooting, and the susurration of breezes dancing through grass.
    “A bonny night,” Kit said.
    She started and returned her attention to him, wishing she could see his face better. His voice gave nothing away.
    “Look at the moon,” she said. “A jewel upon a woman’s forehead.” The dissolute inner Morrigan must be awake. Only she would dare speak such improper poetry. “Can you see her, the black-haired queen against the starlight?”
    “Aye, almost,” he said, with more than a hint of mocking laughter. “Daftie.”
    A gliding shadow became the queen’s sweeping arm, followed by a hollow cry. An owl on the hunt. At once there was fluttering as all wee creatures took cover.
    The storybook vista caught Morrigan’s imagination. She stared, her skin livening as though stroked by a hundred fingertips. She saw herself lying beside a bright fire, beneath stars much like these, kissing the dream-lover, whose tawny hair was so long it draped her face. But then the earth exploded. The ground heaved. Ancient trees were uprooted. All was chaos, and fire burned the sky….
    An arm slipped around her waist and a hand, smelling of hay and sweat, clamped over her mouth. “You’ve been asking for this, I think,” Kit said, and she felt the hammering of his heart as he nuzzled her temple.
    She could hardly breathe with his hand covering her mouth and half obstructing her nose. Panic reared, and her own heartbeat thudded, fast and shallow. Succumbing to instinct, she seized the fleshy side of his hand in her teeth and bit, hard.
    “Damn it, Morrigan!”
    Oh my God.
    They stumbled apart. He shook his hand, wrung it, and squinted at the damage.
    “Did I hurt you?” she asked, trembling.
    “What the hell d’you think?”
    “I don’t know why I did that. I wasn’t expecting… I didn’t… I thought—”
    “Pity the man who ever does try to kiss you.” He stalked into the barn.
    Morrigan followed. She found the tinderbox and lit the lantern. In ominous, frowning silence, he inspected his hand.
    “There’s no blood.” Morrigan shifted from one foot to the other. “I didn’t break the skin.”
    Kit abruptly snorted and caught her to him, pressing her cheek to his chest. His laughter reverberated through her head. “God save us poor louts from virgins and the Kirk,” he said. “I had an idea you wanted… well, more fool me. I suppose I got what I deserved. What else would you do?”
    “I don’t know,” she answered, closing her eyes, savoring a renewed sense of happiness and safety. Heat radiated through his sark, and beneath was a structure of iron, kept pliant and alive by the strong, steady beat of his heart. His scent, that which always reminded her of the