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

rare time alone.
    “Aye.” He clasped her fingers as he shrugged a bulky leather knapsack off his shoulder. “I was on my way to the inn to show you something.”
    Sunlight brought out the diverse shades in his hair, from gold and honey to wheat and flaxen. It reminded her of a watercolor rendition of the Greek god Apollo in his sun-chariot, which had hung on the dominie’s schoolroom wall. Curran Ramsay could have been that painting brought to life.
    Belatedly she remembered she was barefoot, bareheaded, and gloveless. Would she ever be prepared when something like this happened? Enid Joyce would never tramp about on the moor at all, much less without shoes.
    A white pup with dark grey patches on its face and ribs popped its head out of the open flap, its mouth open in a grin, and she forgot her shortcomings.
    “Oh!” She fell to her knees, carelessly dropping everything: the wildflowers, her boots, her shawl, and the sugar cone. The pup jumped on her lap and licked her face, whining as though she was a long lost friend. Morrigan fondled velvety ears and soft new paws. At last she set it on the heath and wiped her hands on her apron, blushing as she glanced at its owner.
    But Mr. Ramsay didn’t appear to notice what a fool she’d made of herself. He gallantly picked up her sugar and shawl so they could follow the youngster’s curious meandering. Morrigan gathered the flowers and tucked them into one of her boots.
    “Choose a name for her, Miss Lawton.”
    Morrigan considered. The pup’s owner had at first reminded her of the Greek hero, Theseus, who, according to the tale, had wed an Amazon queen, a lass no doubt slim, graceful, and strong, much like this greyhound would become in a year or so. One title almost forced its way out of her. “Antiope.”
    He tilted his head and murmured, “Odd.”
    She remembered that a proper lady was expected to appear refined without seeming bookish. He’d think her uncouth, if he didn’t already. His gaze was keen, searching her face as though he would like to pierce her flesh and invade her brain. “Antiope was a great queen,” she said, trying not to sound defensive. “Strong and free. I’ve always admired her.”
    “Have you, then?” he asked softly.
    Damn these blushes she couldn’t control. She’d like to sink into the ground. Now he’d lost any respect he may have entertained for her. If she would only learn how to keep her mouth shut.
    But he interrupted her mental scolding with, “Antiope it is. Thank you, Miss Lawton. Tell me, has your aunt returned to Mallaig?”
    “No, she’s still here. She’s going to ask Papa if I can live with her.”
    His face lit, or maybe it was his smile, so devastatingly arresting. “Would that be possible? You appear invaluable to the workings of the Wren’s Egg.”
    She barely stopped herself from snorting. “Oh, aye, I’m fair important, but she’s going to try anyway.”
    They walked on. Loving the feel of coarse grass and warm earth beneath her feet, Morrigan continued to carry her boots. It was too late to make a better impression, and no doubt they’d cross another burn sooner or later. Besides, she much preferred to be barefoot.
    They climbed a knoll. The day was so clear she felt she could see forever. “Look,” she said, pointing. “There’s Ireland.”
    “And Ailsa Craig,” Ramsay said.
    Nodding, she turned the other direction. “And the Galloway Hills. What a bonny day it is.”
    “Aye.”
    “It’d be grand to go wherever one wished,” she said. “Have you traveled, Mr. Ramsay?”
    “Oh, aye. My father was in shipping. I set sail at a young age.”
    “Where have you gone?”
    “India, Europe, China, Australia. One day I hope to visit America.”
    She stared, trying to comprehend being to so many foreign countries. “Paris?” she asked. Kit’s image loomed. She hadn’t seen or heard a word from that stripling since the night of kisses in the barn. With Nicky gone, and having offended him so