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

chest, fall, and expire, right before the physical embodiment of her long-cherished illusion.
    A breeze lifted his unruly blond hair, fair begging for a woman’s smoothing hand. Supple skin, mouth curving on one side, bringing out a playful dimple. Alert twilight blue eyes beneath dark brows, hinting at confidences and merriment he’d like to share. Clean-shaven. Five and twenty? Older perhaps, the direct gaze and confident stance hinted; maybe younger, said the unlined skin, riotous hair and generous mouth.
    Her frozen muscles grew hot and began to tremble. Daftie. He’s a man, not a Greek hero come to life .
    “Miss Lawton, are you well?” He stepped closer, lifting a hand as though in contemplation of grasping her shoulder.
    Her gaze locked on a scar marring his otherwise perfect face, curving around his left eye. It was shaped like a miniature crescent moon, or one of those Moslem curved swords: a scimitar. “Aye, I’m well, Mr.— Mr.?”
    “Ramsay.” He inclined his head. “Curran Ramsay.”
    “You’re the… my aunt’s traveling companion?”
    “I had that pleasure, aye.”
    “There you are, Mr. Ramsay.” Isabel’s voice intruded with the hearty insistence of a magpie. “I’ve located our bags. Have you met my niece?”
    “If this young lady is your niece, Mrs. Maclean.”
    Throughout her aunt’s dialogue, Mr. Ramsay kept his gaze on Morrigan. The undisguised admiration in those vivid blue eyes helped her dismiss the notion that in her many ardent reveries, she had always created her hero with eyes of green. She supposed she was like most females, and couldn’t resist a man canny enough to reveal his appreciation.
    The strange colors that had sparkled around him were gone, banished perhaps by the light of the sun. He smiled as though he and Morrigan shared some private, affectionate joke about Aunt Ibby, and Morrigan’s knees turned to butter. The smile was angelic, yet to charm her so, it must be diabolical. She clamped down on her wayward thoughts, fearful of spouting more half-witted nonsense. Theseus . For the sake of blessed pity, had she really said that out loud?
    “And is she not all I claimed?”
    “Indeed, Mrs. Maclean, you failed to do her justice.”
    Morrigan glanced from the gentleman to her smirking aunt and thought her cheeks might erupt in flames.
    “Mr. Ramsay’s an acquaintance of yours, my dear, though you couldn’t possibly remember. He hails from Glenelg.”
    She returned her scrutiny to him. Light glanced off his gold tiepin, a fancy scrolled “CR,” one wee diamond separating the two letters.
    No, she could not have actually met and forgotten this sun god, the male who’d haunted her daydreams for as long as she’d been alive. Everything about him seemed to shout, I am here to rescue you .
    She cleared her throat. “Aye?” Her voice sounded faint and tinny through the drumbeat of blood in her ears. Theseus . In the flesh. The golden dream-lover.
    Yet he wasn’t exactly the same. His hair wasn’t nearly as long, and he was dressed like any other proper gentleman, in striped trousers, tie, and waistcoat, not in leather armor and greaves. She nearly laughed out loud as she imagined what would happen in conservative Stranraer if a man stepped off the train adorned in such a costume. Now that she put cold logic to it, she realized he didn’t resemble the hero in her fantasy, really, except for the color of his hair. She must have been half asleep, still floating in her dream spell, to think it. The stench of acrid smoke, windblown rubbish, and sullen porters were returning her to common sense and drab reality.
    There was no denying though, that part of her longed for him to exclaim his own happy knowledge, to clasp her in his arms and refuse to let her go.
    But he merely bowed like every other gentleman she’d ever been introduced to. “Pleased to meet you, Miss Lawton.”
    “And I you, Mr. Ramsay.” She’d never worked so hard to keep her voice