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

his sister could kiss his cheek, but the scowl remained, lingering so pointedly on his daughter’s hand resting upon the gentleman’s forearm that she released it and stepped away.
    Isabel’s love of drama was clearly on display. “See who I’ve brought? It’s—”
    “I’ve no’ gone blind,” said Douglas. The two men shook hands. “You’ve changed. Grown into your height.”
    “It’s good to see you again, Mr. Lawton, and doing so well for yourself,” Ramsay said.
    Morrigan stared. They knew each other. Aunt Isabel had claimed this Mr. Ramsay knew her, too.
    Could she have formed her imaginary hero from forgotten memories of Curran Ramsay? Perhaps it would all come clear in time if she kept her mouth shut and her ears open.
    Beatrice appeared at the front door, stout, firmly corseted, her grey hair pinched into a bun, a white apron covering her ample breasts and stomach. “Your breakfast is going stone cold.” She paused, observing the newcomers with no change in her dour countenance. “I see you’ve come again, Isabel.”
    The lift of one brow and subtle emphasis on the word again revealed Beatrice’s annoyance. Her aunt had said it out loud more than once. Why does she come here so often? Extra cooking, extra cleaning. Don’t we have enough to do?
    Isabel ascended the steps, holding out her arms. The women embraced briefly, without much warmth. “How I’ve missed all of you,” Isabel said. “Mallaig is too lonely and quiet without my Gregor.” She turned to Mr. Ramsay. “Mind you Beatrice Stewart? She makes a grand kidney pie, Mr. Ramsay.”
    “Good day, Mrs. Stewart,” Ramsay said, smiling. “It’s a pleasure to see you again.”
    Beatrice frowned as she regarded the stranger, then she blinked as she recognized him.
    “Aye,” Isabel said, “it really is the same pale skinny lad. He’s turned out well, eh? No longer all elbows and shinbones.”
    Morrigan’s maternal aunt quickly regained her composure. “You thought he might turn out poorly?” she said. “I didn’t.”
    “Come, sir,” Isabel said.
    Ramsay handed the mare’s reins to Morrigan. “I hope you’ll join us,” he said.
    She kept silent, her father’s fury bombarding her like a tangible thing.
    Isabel waved the gentleman up the steps and led the way inside, rambling on without pause.
    Hoping to escape, Morrigan brought Widdie around, but as she did, the satchel slipped off her shoulder; A Translated Greek Mythology slid out and fell to the ground. A gust of wind ruffled the pages, causing Widdie to snort and prance. Morrigan tried to quiet her, which gave Douglas time to retrieve the book. Smearing the cover with his grimy fingers, he looked at it then his gaze lifted to Morrigan. She pressed into the pony’s solid, comforting side.
    “So this is what you were doing. Leaving Beatrice to prepare breakfast alone.”
    She said nothing, knowing better. Inwardly, she gave thanks that she and Nicky had left their wooden swords by Loch Ryan, under a stone. Outwardly, she appeared contrite.
    “Get your bloody arse inside.” He jerked Widdie’s reins out of her hand and looped them around the post. “Lazy glaikit .”
    His calling her names wasn’t anything new, but what would he do to her precious book? No doubt he was jealous, since he’d never been taught how to read, and couldn’t decipher more than the simplest script.
    Her sneaked morning rides had always vexed him, but today he was like a boiling thunderstorm. She couldn’t decide what had set him off. Isabel’s arrival? The gentleman friend?
    It’s you. The mere sight of you is all it takes .
    Misbegotten leeches , he called women. What use have they ever been?
    The wild, secret Morrigan spoke up. Well, if it weren’t for women, how would males get their precious rose-scented arses onto the earth?
    They probably had an answer for that, as well.
    Bacon, eggs, and deviled kidneys filled the dining room with a delicious, crackly-hot scent. Morrigan poured tea