The Ghost

by Greyson, Maeve

  “Then ye shall have a share of it, too, this morning,” Brenna said as she globbed a double spoonful into a dish and handed it to him. “Father and son eating the same breakfast, at last. A prosperous start to the day if there ever was one.”

  The woman’s sly look gave her away. She had picked up on his aversion to the mash and took wicked pleasure in torturing him with it.

  “Aye, a grand start,” he said, accepting the stuff as though it were poison. Within the confines of the hut, there would be no dumping it without getting caught. Never one to cower from a challenge, he scooped up a bite with his bread and ate the foul mixture as though he relished it.

  When he glanced up and spotted her gleeful look, it made the pasty clump of grains sticking halfway down his gullet almost worth it. It still amazed him how she bore no resemblance to her tiny, fae-like sister. Unlike her sibling, Brenna was a powerful beauty. Like a fierce warrior woman of the Norse. Tall for a lass and broad-shouldered, he had no doubt she would do well with a sword and shield if trained how to use them.

  Covertly, he allowed his gaze to appreciate the fullness of her breasts and the generous curves of her hips. With hair golden as grain ripe for the harvest and eyes striking as vivid bluebells, he would’ve remembered meeting this fine lass and maybe even tried to charm her. His attention slid to his son. And if that had happened, this child would not exist. Stabbing at the oats, he wondered which meddling god had cast lots for this game. Everything might happen for a reason, whether good or ill, but the gods loved toying with defenseless mortals.

  He forced the last bite of parritch down, chasing it with the last of his drink. Bowl and cup in one hand, he rose and patted his stomach. “Thank ye for another hearty breakfast.”

  “Ye are most welcome.” Brenna accepted his wares with a smug tilt of her head. After a glance out the window, she turned to Keigan. “The rain appears to have let up at last. If ye wish to show Master de Gray yer skills with our stones, ye may do so, as long as ye stay in front of the window where I can see ye as I wash the dishes.”

  “Please, call me Magnus.” He had lost count of the times he had asked her to use his given name. While he understood her dislike of him, he hoped that somehow, they could make peace for the child’s sake. And perhaps not only for Keigan but for each other as well. He liked Brenna, and the more time he spent with her, the more he realized he needed her to like him, too.

  “What do ye think I should call ye?” Keigan asked as he pushed away from the table. He glanced over at his aunt, frowning when she didn’t comment. He turned back to Magnus. “Well?”

  “Whatever ye feel most comfortable calling me.” Although, after saying that, he wondered what Brenna had always called him in front of the lad. He noticed that although she remained silent, her cockiness from earlier had disappeared. She twisted a wet rag between her hands as though wishing it was his neck she wrung instead.

  “I shall call ye Magnus for now,” Keigan said with amazing wisdom and clarity for one so young. “After a while longer, once I decide for certain about being yer son, I’ll know better then what to call ye, aye?”

  “I think that verra wise. Sound judgment, indeed.” Magnus opened the door, then turned back to Evander, who was still eating every crumb he could find. He pointed at the lad. “Ye’ve eaten enough, boy. Our mounts are just as hungry and needing their horse bread and water, aye? I dinna wish them to feel the urge to over-forage here. There’re several trees and plants that’ll bloat them fiercely if they get into them.”

  Evander shoved the last piece of bread into his mouth, bowed a thank you to Brenna, then rushed outside. Keigan scampered out after him. “I’ll help with the horses first, then we’ll throw stones,” he shouted back over his shoulder.

  “Is that why ye brought Evander?” Brenna asked as she soused a bowl in the wash bucket, then wiped it out with the rag. “As bait?”

  “Bait?” Magnus knew what she meant but wished to get this poison between them out in the open and cast it aside once and for all.

  “Aye,” she said, adding the washed dish to the stack of clean ones on the back of the table. “Bait. Ye said there are many children at yer Tor Ruadh. I’m sure ye know how young lads love to take every step the older ones do. They look up to them as if they’re gods.” Her scrubbing grew fiercer as she continued. “Ye knew Keigan would go with ye easier if ye had bait with ye.”

  Hell’s bells, the lass kept her rage well fed. “Actually,” Magnus propped the door open with a stone, inhaling a deep lungful of the clean, rain-washed air. “Evander’s mother forced him to come. Alexander, the chieftain, agreed, so the boy might learn that everything we do in this world has a consequence. Appears they caught him with the smithy’s daughter, and Gretna doesna think him ready to be fathering a brood of his own.”

  “And they thought ye to be a good teacher of this important lesson?” The huffing noise she made echoed with bitterness.

  “They thought me to be a good example. Not a teacher.” He stepped closer and lowered his voice to ensure it wouldn’t carry outside to the boys. “I understand yer anger. The resentment. Hatred even.” He threw up his hands. “Whatever ye wish to call it. I canna imagine all that ye’ve had to endure these past few years—but I also canna undo a bit of it. All I can do is attempt to make what lies ahead easier. For Keigan and for yerself.”

  Turning to watch the lads untie the horses and head toward the stream, he thumped a knuckle on the window ledge, then held up a finger. “One time I laid with yer sister. One time because she hoped to use the loss of her virginity to trade the prison of a forced marriage for the prison of a lonely nunnery. I never once told her I loved her nor ever tried to seduce her. I considered her a friend—and she knew that.” He rapped the windowsill again, harder this time. “But that doesna mean I willna honor my obligation to Keigan. I refuse to desert him as my father deserted me before I was born.”

  Brenna propped both hands on the table and stared down at it. “She loved ye as a dear friend,” she said without lifting her gaze. “Said ye were the kindest man she had ever met.” She looked up at him, her face filled with pain and sorrow. “Even when we were running, even when we were starving, she never once spoke ill of ye.” The furrow between her fair brows deepened as she straightened and stared out the window. “And she also told me ye had never lied nor tried to deceive her.”

  “I am so sorry she died,” he said, thankful that now the truth stood open between them.

  “I am, too,” Brenna replied, swiping away an escaped tear as she turned away. Head bowed and her back to him, she pulled in a deep, shuddering breath, then blew it out.

  Magnus waited, giving her the time she needed to settle what had to be a terrible storm within her. He understood little about women, but he felt in his heart that this one had been through what amounted to a terrible battle. All because of him.

  She turned and faced him, a vision of composure and determination. “I am finished in here. Shall we wait outside for the lads to return with the horses?”

  Magnus managed a smile and stepped aside for her to exit in front of him. “A fine idea.”

  He meandered around the muddy clearing, glancing at the overgrown path that had brought him to her. Every person he had spoken to in the nearby village had talked of her with enough awe and reverence to stir the memory of a terrible time in his life.

  His mother had been a white lady. A fine healer everyone sought for cures from the mildest maladies to the worst. When she had erred by insulting the vain wife of the procurator fiscal by telling the woman there was nothing to change her enormous nose, they had accused her of witchery. The court had then ordered his beloved mother crushed between boards laden with stones. To squeeze the evil from her soul, the parish priest had said. Magnus had arrived too late to save her and never forgiven himself for leaving her so unprotected.

  With a glance to ensure the lads had not yet returned, he motioned toward the path leading to town. “Superstitious folk can
be dangerous when they perceive themselves wronged. Ye dinna fear witch hunters?”

  Brenna frowned. “I have had no trouble so far. They have been nothing but grateful and share whatever they can spare for my herbs and remedies.” Her chin lifted to a defiant angle. “Unlike many places where I sought help, including those on Nithdane land, the folk here seem generous enough. Our lives have been a great deal easier because of them.”

  But the way she fidgeted in place, folding her arms, then letting them swing free, told Magnus more than her words. “Something troubles ye. Pray speak it. Let there be no lies or deceit between us.”

  “No lies or deceit,” she repeated with a snide cut of her eyes over at him. “That’s the only way I have kept us safe and fed most of the time since the banishment.” She began gathering up sticks and loose debris that had blown into the clearing during the storm. “Rest assured, I trust no one. I have learned the hard lesson of misplaced trust. Dinna doubt that I take the greatest of care with my healing and limit any dealings with the villagers. I let no one close, and neither does Keigan.”

  “What kind of life is that for a child?”

  “A safe one,” she snapped, hefting a stick as though ready to throw it at him.

  “A lonely one,” he corrected. He knew. His mother had done the same to him. That’s why he had left to seek his fortune at such a young age. Ironic. Since now, he preferred the peace of solitude and shied away from closeness. Closeness meant pain. Loss of friends in battle. His mother’s murder.

  And yet now he had a son. A child to worry about and protect. While he didn’t wish to live in the noisiness of a keep such as Tor Ruadh, he would do so for the sake of the lad. A child needed kith and kin. “He would have friends and safety at Tor Ruadh.”

  “I thought ye said it was his choice,” she dared. “Deceit?”

  He gave a slow shake of his head. “Nay, woman. If the lad doesna wish to come with me, I willna force my opinions on him. I have made many a mistake in my life. I hope to do right by my son and not scar him with the same choices that scarred me.”

  The tension appeared to ease out of her as she studied him for the span of several heartbeats. Without a word, she resumed her tidying of the area as though their conversation had never happened.

  Magnus’s hopes rose. At least, she seemed to believe what he had said. He hoped so. He also hoped if Keigan went to Tor Ruadh that she would come, too. It wouldn’t be right to leave her here all alone—so vulnerable and unprotected. Nay, he could never do that and have any peace of mind. Not after all she had already endured.

  Keigan’s laughter warned them the lads would be upon them soon, so Magnus made a show of flicking branches and leaves back into the bushes. Funny how he hadn’t noticed the noise of lashing wind and rain so much. He had been too distracted by the storm inside the dwelling.

  “See the throwers Auntie made?” Keigan asked, holding up several long shards of stone as he approached. “She chipped and ground their edges ’til they were sharp as blades and just the right weight.”

  Magnus examined one of the flint missiles, impressed with its design. “Fine work.” He looked up and forced himself not to smile when he caught Brenna watching him, as though his opinion mattered. “How did ye know how to create such a thing? ’Tis quite impressive, and I’m sure, verra effective.”

  She gave a slight shrug. “Ye work with whatever the good Lord gives ye.” With an affectionate nod at Keigan, she pulled several more from her skirt pocket. “We spent many an evening this past winter perfecting our workmanship. Did we not, Keigan?”

  “Aye,” Keigan said as he lobbed one missile at a nearby tree that had been used for target practice before. He closed one eye, aimed again, and threw another. “Auntie’s better than me with making them, but I can throw them good as her.” He motioned toward the target, then nodded at the stone Magnus held. “Ye try.” With a wink, he added, “It’s nay as easy as ye think.”

  Magnus hefted the shard, studied the target, then let the stone fly, missing the tree completely.

  Evander guffawed. “Did ye miss it on purpose? It canna be that hard to hit a tree with a rock.”

  Irritated at both himself and Evander, Magnus jerked a thumb in the boy’s direction. “He knows so much. Let him try.” He stepped aside. The cocky little arse wipe would see it was easier said than done. The weight of the thing had a mind of its own, causing it to fly off-kilter.

  Brenna stood quietly to one side, merriment sparkling in her eyes.

  Keigan grinned and passed a stone to Evander. “Here. This is my lucky one. It never misses.”

  The cocky lad made a show of checking the weight of the rock and aiming at the target, only to miss it completely, just as Magnus had done.

  “Why, Evander—did ye miss the tree on purpose to make me feel better? Ye didna have to do that, but I thank ye for yer concern.” Magnus fixed the youngling with a smug stare, certain to rub his fur the wrong way.

  “Gimme another one of those flints.” Evander tried again, missing the tree by an even greater distance. “Son of a whore!” he growled.

  “Evander!” Magnus strode over and thumped the boy on the back of the head. “Apologize for yer coarse language in front of a lady. I know yer mother taught ye better.”

  The lad ducked his head. “Forgive me, Mistress Brenna. I meant no disrespect.”

  “Ye are forgiven.” The corners of Brenna’s mouth twitched, betraying her struggle not to smile.

  “Ye hold them like this,” Keigan said as he took Magnus’s hand and placed the rock in a specific position in his palm. “Ye keep yer thumb there.” The boy folded his digit over the thick end of the shard, pressing it in a slight indentation of the flint. “And ye keep yer forefinger stretched out along it just so.” He fiddled with Magnus’s hold until it was set to suit him. With a nod, he stepped back. “Try it now. Dinna throw it hard. Just aim and let loose of it. Kinda sling it. The weight of the rock does the work.”

  Doing his best to follow the child’s instructions, Magnus threw the missile, overjoyed when it thunked into the tree and stuck. “I did it!”

  “Well done,” Brenna praised. She nodded at Evander, who stood pouting a few steps away. “Now, help Evander. He needs to learn, too.”

  Magnus stepped out of the way, moving to stand beside Brenna. “With those stone knives, the two of ye would be dangerous foes.”

  She gave him a side-eyed glare. “Dinna make fun of us. We do what we must for protection.”

  “I didna speak in jest, lass. Yer crafted knives are verra impressive, and the way ye wield them, even more so.” When he detected a hint of a smile and pride in her stance, he breathed easier. Winning this fair lass’s trust would be no small feat.

  Evander crowed, “I hit it! Look! I hit it!”

  “Well done!” Keigan bragged.

  “I believe he’s prouder of him than he was of me,” Magnus said so only Brenna could hear.

  “Remember what I said?” With a superior air, she smiled at Evander. “The young ones think the older ones are gods. Ye and I are merely the parents who more often than not tell them what they dinna wish to hear and make them do their chores.”

  His heart warmed at the fellowship in her tone. Her forgiveness meant a great deal to him. At the end of his life, when they weighed and measured all he had done, he wanted Brenna and Keigan to be on the good side of the scales.

  “Lady of the Wood! We have come for ye!”

  Magnus stepped between Brenna and the threatening shout. The owner of the harsh words hadn’t stepped into view, but from the rustling of the bushes and the pounding steps, whoever it was didn’t travel alone. “Keigan and Brenna into the hut. Evander, hurry! Fetch our swords. I canna tell how many, but it’s more than one.”

  Relief flooded through him when Brenna grabbed up the child and ran as he had bid. Then his heart fell when she reappeared at his side with her bow and quiver of arrows.

  “I meant for ye to stay inside the hut,�
� he said in a low tone as a trio of men shoved through the bushes.

  “Keigan is armed, as well. He’s a damn fine shot from the notch in the shutter.” She nocked an arrow, then stepped forward with a fiery glare fixed on the angry visitors. “I am the Lady of the Wood. Speak yer piece.”

  “We are the sons of Alfric and Morag,” announced the largest of the three. “They are dead.”

  “Both lived a great many years,” Brenna countered without lowering her weapon. “Be thankful they reached the end of their life’s path together.”

  “They are dead by yer hand,” the brother to the left growled.

  “We know our mother came here to fetch more of the herbs that always eased our father’s breathing,” the man to the right explained. “This morning, we found them dead, in the bed with the pipe ye gave them and barely a sprinkling of the herbs left between them.”

  “I warned Morag that too much of the smoke would make her a widow,” Brenna said. “She and Alfric chose their end, not I.”

  “They had years left with us!” the brother in the middle snarled. “Years! Instead, they are gone. Dead by yer poison.”

  “Yer grief blinds ye to yer parents’ wishes,” Magnus interrupted, taking another step forward, so he was closest to the men and not Brenna. “They feared loneliness. One left behind without the other. Surely, ye can see they wished to walk through the veil together.”

  “They had us!” the brother to the left retorted. “Neither wouldha been alone as long as one of us lived. Now, we have no one to cook for us or tend the goats. Who will mend our clothes? They knew we needed them and wouldha never left them without a roof over their heads or a warm hearth in the winter.”

  “It isna the same,” Magnus tried to explain, deciding the three selfish brothers despised the idea of fending for themselves more than they grieved the loss of their parents. “No son, no matter how beloved, can take the place of a wife or a husband. Leave here and mourn for yer dead. Know that ye have our condolences.”