The Ghost

by Greyson, Maeve

  Checking the reeds and bark soaking in the pot, Brenna decided to let them go a little longer. The more they soaked, the more pliable they became and less likely to split or break when she started weaving. She and Keigan had gathered enough to make several baskets and maybe even a yair for the narrow spot in the river. The lad preferred guddling for trout in the streams farther inland, but when it came time for smoking and drying food for the winter, yairs or woven traps provided more fish with a great deal less effort.

  Noise from the path in front of the wattle and daub hut it had taken her and Keigan weeks to construct made her draw the dagger she kept sheathed at her waist. She also pulled an oblong shard of stone from her pocket that she had ground to knife-like sharpness and the perfect weight for throwing. After their daily games of throwing them at targets etched on trees, she and Keigan had developed deadly aim. A woman and a child living alone could never let down their guard. The leafy bushes along the overgrown path trembled and swayed, marking someone’s approach.

  A hunched-over crone from the nearest village pushed through the last of the overgrowth and labored into the clearing. Brenna relaxed and put her weapons away.

  “Greetings to ye, honorable Lady of the Wood,” the elderly matron wheezed as she struggled to catch her breath. She kept her eyes averted. None of the villagers looked at Brenna whenever they visited. They feared her almost as much as they needed her.

  “Greetings, Morag.” She noted the woman’s flushed cheeks with some concern. The village was a good stretch of the legs from here, especially for the aged. “Rest a moment ’til yer wind returns, aye?” None from the settlement tarried long whenever they came seeking help. One had once confessed to her that the parish priest had warned them not to anger the strange, solitary woman with healing gifts so rare God Almighty Himself must have sent her.

  “I dare not waste yer time, oh wise one,” the old woman said with a shake of her head. Her gasping breaths slowed, settling into a normal rhythm.

  Brenna wondered if Morag was one of the few who still followed the old ways and believed her to be the goddess Bride incarnate. Keigan had told her of overhearing that rumor from a pair of women who had brought their bairns to her. She didn’t care who they thought she was as long as they left her in peace unless they needed healing. Their gifts of goat’s milk, eggs, even tools, and furniture made her and Keigan’s lives much easier. She did fear familiarity with the villagers. Too many risks came along with it. But her healing was the only way to keep her and Keigan sheltered and fed.

  “I would ask for more herbs to ease my poor Alfric,” Morag said in a reverent tone. “He breathes much easier and even sleeps some after taking in the smoke.”

  Brenna nodded and retreated inside the hut to fetch more thorn apple. She only gave the old woman enough for a few fillings of Alfric’s special pipe. Too much, and the man would die. With the dried herbs secured inside a piece of scrap linen, she returned to the clearing, placed the small parcel atop a large boulder, then backed away. All who came to the wood feared her so much, they never allowed her closer than a few feet unless their ailment required her touch. “Remember, Morag, only one pipe a day. No more. And only in the shallow-bowled pipe I made for him. Any more than once a day, and ye’ll find yerself a widow, ye ken? ’Tis important ye heed my warning.”

  “Aye, m’lady.” The matron bowed, then shuffled over to the boulder and replaced the bundle of herbs with a folded cloth she pulled from the basket hanging from the crook of her arm. “Please accept this lovely shawl, m’lady. ’Tis woven from my finest threads and dyed green in yer honor.”

  “I thank ye, Morag.” Brenna wouldn’t pick up the gift until Morag left. It seemed to make folks nervous if she touched their offerings in front of them. “It looks most fine. I shall wear it with pride.” At least, she could give the old woman those words so she could brag that the Lady of the Wood had complimented her handiwork.

  Morag bobbed her bent head and gifted Brenna with a toothless smile. She seemed to stand a little straighter as she shuffled away.

  Keigan appeared from behind the hut with a large gray and black striped cat trotting along beside him. “Auntie! Síth’s back.”

  The child had a way with animals. Brenna had seen nothing like it. Only Keigan could befriend a wildcat of the Highlands.

  Brenna waved him over. “Add the water to the pot, then I suppose ye might see if yer friend would like a taste of the fish left from breakfast.”

  The cat flattened its ears, easing forward in a low crouch with a growl rumbling at the back of its throat. With the end of its tail twitching, it locked its golden eyes on the spot through the bushes the old woman from the village had just taken.

  “To yer bow, Keigan. Keep to the arrow slit in the door, mind ye. Watch me close to know when to shoot, aye?”

  “Aye, Auntie!” The boy disappeared into the hut and closed the door behind him.

  They had learned early on that the local wildlife’s wisdom far surpassed their own. They watched the animals and followed their signals.

  Brenna drew her dagger and throwing stones again. Rarely did over one soul from town visit in a sennight, much less twice in the same day. There had been no calls for help or to come running, so she doubted anyone had been injured or needed immediate help. Whatever or whoever had set the cat into battle readiness didn’t belong here. The footfalls sounded heavy and purposeful. Male, if she guessed right. She hefted both weapons and resettled her stance.

  A man as large as a Highland mountain loomed into view, his broad-shouldered massiveness made even more daunting by his black clothing. But it wasn’t his muscular dominance that robbed her of the ability to breathe. It was his silvery-white mane that shot a sudden coldness through her. That hair wasn’t the shade of old age but a shining crown he had borne since birth. The very same color as her Keigan’s. And those eyes of his. The clearest blue-gray flecked with white—like storm clouds splintered by lightning. Just like her sister had described so many times.

  “A step closer, and ye die.”

  The red-haired youth beside him halted, then inched back a step. “I think she means it. Ye go on ahead.”

  After a scowling cut of his eyes at the boy, he returned his attention to her. Lifting both hands with fingers outspread, he took another step closer. “We willna harm ye. I am in search of a child, and the villagers said ye were the finest healer—and mayhap even a seer who could help me find him.”

  Her first instinct was to lie so he would go away, but the rage she had nursed for years wouldn’t allow it. Besides, Keigan needed to learn firsthand what an uncaring bastard his father was, so he wouldn’t be tempted to search him out someday. She kept her weapons handy, itching to kill the heartless cur just like he had killed poor Bree. The only thing that stayed her hand was that his death would be so much easier than the one he had foisted upon her sister. “Ye’re either the bravest or the most foolish man I have ever had the displeasure of meeting. The child needed ye years ago at his birth. My sister needed ye even before that. I canna believe ye’ve the gall to cast yer shadow across our threshold now.” Years of angry suffering unleashed the fury within her. “She trusted ye. Cherished yer friendship. And how did ye repay her? By deserting her when she needed ye most.”

  His hands lowered to his sides while his icy stare stayed locked on her. “I know,” he admitted quietly. “I wish I had never left Nithdane Keep and abandoned Lady Bree. But ye must believe me when I say, I only just found out about…everything. I never received yer letter until this month. Just weeks ago. I swear it.”

  He must think her an addlepated fool who would believe anything. She refused to grace such a ridiculous lie with a response. “Ye didna come when we needed ye. We have no need of ye now. Shake the dust of this place from yer boots and never return, aye?”

  “I didna come all this way to turn tail and run when faced with yer hatred.” He stepped into the clearing; his broad chest thrust out. “Ye can try to kill me but know
this—I willna go easily.”

  Her clenched jaws tightened even more when the door behind her creaked. Keigan had always been the curious sort. What child of his age wasn’t? “Come stand at my side, Keigan. Ye may meet yer father and then bid him farewell because he will be leaving.”

  “Should I bring my bow and daggers?” the boy asked.

  “Aye, my precious one. Come out armed.” She wished her loathing could turn the man in front of her into a pile of ash. But then again, she wouldn’t wish him such a simple end. Nay. He needed to suffer as he had caused all of them to suffer.

  The warrior’s stance, dark and proud, softened when Keigan appeared at her side. His muscular throat flexed with a hard swallow, and he worked his mouth as though fighting to draw in air.

  Brenna decided to yank the fool from his stupor so they might be rid of him sooner. With a dismissive flip of one hand, she rested the other on her nephew’s shoulder. “I present to ye yer father, Keigan. The man who deserted yer mother and left her to suffer the wrath of a cruel clan. They tossed her out into the cold with no one to protect her. No one but me. His name is Magnus de Gray. But as ye know, I prefer to call him the great and mighty deceiver.”

  “Is it true what she says?” Keigan took another step toward the heartless rogue who had ruined their lives.

  The muscles in Magnus’s jaw flexed. “Aye, I left yer mother. I went to fight in a senseless war when I shouldha stayed at her side to protect her.” After a shuffling of his feet, he lowered himself to one knee. “But I beg ye to believe me when I say, I didna ken ye were in her belly. I didna know when ye were born, nor that yer sweet mother had died while giving ye life.” The man’s pale brows knotted. Regret darkened his features. “I ask yer forgiveness, Keigan, and I also ask for the chance to make this right.”

  Brenna held her breath. Whilst she would give her last coin to see de Gray reduced to nothing more than a pile of ash, her sweet lad had a say in this matter, too. And she also owed it to Bree. For some reason, her sister had befriended this lying womanizer, and her dying wish had been for her son to know his father.

  Keigan frowned, then placed his bow and throwing daggers on the ground. He marched forward until he stood mid-distance between Magnus and Brenna. His little head slowly tilted to one side. “Ye favor me. Just bigger.” The boy pointed. “Our hair’s the same. Granny Wick called the color of it snow on the mountain.”

  A sad smile made Magnus appear almost wistful. “Aye, my mother called mine frost on the heather.”

  A sudden vision of de Gray snatching up the boy and taking flight made Brenna step forward and stand next to her nephew. Let the bastard try it. She would stab him through the heart.

  “Why did ye not come when I was born? I dinna believe it when ye say ye knew nothing about me.” Keigan thrust out his little chin with the accusation. “Auntie gave Granny Wick the letter to send right off. It told about Mama going to heaven and how I needed a da right away. She told me so, and Auntie never lies.”

  “I met yer Granny Wick on the way here. She told me she didna send the letter until a few weeks ago because she loved ye and feared I would come and take ye away.”

  “Would ye have?”

  “Aye.” Magnus gave another solemn nod. “I wouldha come for ye quick as I could ride to Inbhir Ùige, and then I wouldha brought ye back to Tor Ruadh.”

  “Then why did she send the letter for ye to find me now?”

  Brenna smiled proudly. Her sweet lad was not a fool and had always been far wiser than his years.

  “Because ye left yer Granny Wick, and she feared ye needed my protection.” Magnus settled a hard stare on Brenna. “She knew yer auntie had suffered greatly and was afraid she would suffer more without me to care for the both of ye.”

  “Me and Auntie do just fine,” Keigan said. “We protect each other.”

  “Of that, I have no doubt.” Magnus blew out a heavy sigh. “But I am yer father, and I wish for the chance to be a good one to ye. If ye will allow it.”

  “Auntie says ye killed Mama,” Keigan accused.

  Brenna’s heart swelled at the sight of her sweet bairn’s hands fisted at his sides. Such a brave little man, her dear Keigan. This was so unfair to him. She wanted to grab him up and hold him but held herself back for his pride’s sake.

  Magnus stared down at the ground for a long while, then lifted his gaze. “I would never have hurt yer mother. But sometimes things happen. Things we canna foresee. Whether ye believe in fate or God, all of us are at the mercy of this world and what it does with us. I could not have saved her even if I had been at her side—as I shouldha been. All I couldha done was offer her what comfort I could as she passed through the veil to a better place.”

  “Would ye have?” the boy dared as Brenna struggled to swallow the emotions knotting in her throat. Her sister had suffered so very much, bringing this sweet lad into the world.

  “Aye, lad. I wouldha done anything I could to ease her way.” He clenched a hand atop his knee, flinching as though in pain. “What say ye, Keigan? Would ye at least be willing to grant me some of yer time? Time to get to know me?” After another glance at Brenna, he continued. “Then if ye tell me to go, I will go and trouble the two of ye no more.”

  The child frowned at him, studying Magnus with repeated up and down looks. The only sound in the clearing was the wind shushing through the trees. The boy sidled a glance up at Brenna. “What should I do, Auntie?”

  The trust and confusion flashing in her precious one’s eyes stopped her from blurting out that he should tell de Gray to go straight to Hell by the quickest route possible. Nay—she saw her sister in those trusting eyes. Again, she heard her sibling’s dying wish that Keigan know his father. She gritted her teeth, knowing what she needed to say. But, damn it all, she didn’t want to say it. With the lightest touch, she tapped the center of the child’s chest. “What does yer heart tell ye, my brave little warrior?”

  He looked back at the kneeling man and frowned. “I dinna ken for sure, but I kind of would like to talk to him a while since he knew Mama, and his blood flows in my veins, too.” He drew up a shoulder and rubbed his cheek like he always did when thinking hard. “Do ye think she would want me to know him?” he asked in a reverent whisper.

  No matter how much she hated Magnus de Gray, she could never lie to Keigan. She forced a smile and blinked away the threat of tears. “Aye, my dear one. When yer Mama held ye and kissed ye farewell before she went to Heaven, she said just that.”

  After a solemn nod, little Keigan squared his shoulders and faced Magnus. “I shall grant ye a wee bit of my time.”

  Magnus bowed his head. “Thank ye, Keigan.”

  “In my presence only,” Brenna interjected. She would adhere to her sister’s dying wish, but that didn’t mean she would toss all caution to the wind. His tale of just receiving the letter and the why of it was too neat and tidy to be trusted.

  Magnus stood and motioned for the young man behind him to step forward. “This is Evander Cameron. His father is cousin to the chieftain of Clan MacCoinnich.”

  Evander bobbed his head at Brenna. “Mistress.” He grinned down at Keigan. “I’m glad we found ye, lad.”

  Keigan didn’t respond, just stared up at him with a look that said he wasn’t sure if he trusted Evander or not.

  “Get the horses, Evander. Perhaps, the Lady Brenna could tell us where ye might water them.” Magnus shifted in place, his unease apparent.

  “Dinna call me that.” The title struck her sour. The fool thing had brought her nothing but pain. “Ye may call me Brenna.” She paused and held up a finger. “Unless folk are here from the village, and then I am the Lady of the Wood, understand?”

  “The Lady of the Wood?” Magnus repeated, both brows arching higher.

  “Aye. I found it useful to instill a bit of superstitious fear into the locals when they found my way with herbs and healing a thing of wonder.” She pointed toward the side of the hut. “Round that way. A few paces
beyond the felled tree. A good-sized burn twists into a shallow pool that should do well enough for yer horses.”

  “I can show him,” Keigan volunteered. “Horses like me.” The boy watched her. In fact, they all watched her to see if she would grant him permission to accompany Evander.

  Magnus moved to stand beside the pot soaking the reeds. “I shall wait right here until they return, aye?”

  She didn’t appreciate how easily he read her distrust. “Ye may go,” she told Keigan, her heart clutching when he took off like an arrow shot.

  “I didna come here to steal him from ye,” Magnus said quietly. “I came here to set things right, but only if he allows it.”

  “Things will never be right,” she said, pouring every ounce of hatred into her tone. Now that Keigan was out of earshot, she could speak her mind. “Because of ye, she’s dead. And Keigan is just as banished from Nithdane land as I am. Land that wouldha rightfully belonged to him one day.”

  He looked at her with an expression she didn’t understand. “Ye never heard whilst ye lived in Inbhir Ùige? How long have ye been out here in these woods?”

  “Heard what? And we’ve been here a little over a year. What has that to do with anything?” What game of deceit did this fool attempt now? Even though instinct bade her keep them ready, she put away her throwing stones and dagger.

  Keigan and Evander reappeared, leading a pair of horses that struck fear into her heart. The beasts were huge. “Keigan! Step away. Those animals will surely crush ye.”

  Keigan frowned. “Please, Auntie, no. They willna hurt me. Look—they like me.” He tugged on the reins of the dark, shaggy-footed warhorse, and the animal followed, docile as a lamb.

  “The horses willna hurt him,” Magnus agreed. “They’re accustomed to bairns. Tor Ruadh has many.”

  At war with the urge to grab the child up and protect him, she gave a curt nod and waved him on. “Fine, then. I guess I’ll allow it. But mind the hooves, aye? They’re big as yer head.” She sidled a glare at Magnus. “If he gets hurt doing this, I will kill ye. Slowly.”