The Ghost

by Greyson, Maeve

  Hell fire and demon tails. “Aye, Keigan. Yer auntie’s right.”

  “Then why did ye lay with Mama, then leave her?” He skimmed another rock across the water, then turned back and frowned up at him. “And did ye ever love her? Ye never said if ye did or no’.”

  “I cared about yer mother. Was verra fond of her. Considered her a treasured friend.” Damned, if he wasn’t babbling like a fool. Magnus looked all around, wondering where the hell Evander had gotten off to and why he wasn’t here to distract Keigan.

  “But ye didna love her,” Keigan surmised with unnerving insight.

  “Nay, lad. I did not love her,” Magnus admitted. He had sworn to never lie to the boy, and he had meant it.

  “Then ye should not have lain with her,” the child gently scolded.

  “Nay. I should not have.” Magnus knelt to Keigan’s level. “But if I hadna lain with her, then ye never wouldha been born, and this world wouldha been robbed of an amazing young man.”

  “And ye should never have left her either.”

  “Nay. I should not have. And for that, I have no excuse. All I can do is beg yer forgiveness and yer auntie’s forgiveness.” He would rather take fifty lashes across his back than continue this review of his poor choices. But he reckoned he deserved this, and all things considered, he had gotten the easiest share of the bargain. Keigan and Brenna had fought to survive because of the choices he made, and who knew what trials and suffering Keigan’s mother had endured before she died.

  The boy’s head tilted, and his eyes narrowed. After what seemed like forever, he gifted Magnus with a precious smile. “I forgive ye—as long as ye promise to forgive Auntie whenever she yells at ye. She’s kinda like a hurt animal sometimes, ye ken? Snarling ’cause she hurts inside, not ’cause ye’ve done anything wrong to her. She canna help it really. Just be kind and forgive her, aye? If we love her enough, maybe she can get better.”

  Magnus pressed a fist to his chest and lowered his chin in a solemn nod. “I shall forgive yer auntie each and every time she yells at me. I do so swear.” And he meant every word of it.

  Keigan beamed up at him. “Good. ’Cause she likes ye better than she does most folks.”

  More interested than he cared to admit, Magnus did his best to act indifferent. “Why do ye say that?”

  The lad brushed off his hands and picked up the pile of stacked dishes. “Auntie never sleeps unless she feels safe. She never wouldha slept while riding with ye unless she liked ye and felt safe.” His pale brows arched with an impressed seriousness. “Trust me. I know about these things.”

  “I am sure ye do,” Magnus agreed.

  “Keigan!”

  Magnus shooed the boy along. “Best run now but mind those dishes. I’ll bring along the skillet. Ye dinna want to keep her waiting.”

  The lad trotted ahead, hugging the plates and bowls to his chest.

  Drumming his fingers against the bottom of the frying pan, Magnus stared in the camp’s direction, thinking back over all Keigan had told him. Brenna had not had an easy time of it. Never, from the sounds of it. Nithdane Keep had been no loving sanctuary—especially not for the women living there. And then he had made the situation even worse. He stepped up on the embankment, then came to a halt. Since Brenna had already agreed to come to Tor Ruadh, why the devil did this uneasiness still plague him?

  He swallowed hard and stared down at the warped iron pan that belonged in the smithy’s scrap bin. That warm stirring, the unnerving tightness the thought of her always triggered in his chest, squeezed him even harder than before. Brenna mattered. Her happiness mattered. What she thought and felt about him mattered more than he cared to admit.

  “Dammit.” How the hell had he allowed his heart to soften toward her? He knew better. “I am a damned fool,” he muttered, knowing what had to be done. To undo the sins of his past and protect Brenna and Keigan both. She had to become his wife. But how he would ever get her to agree, he didn’t have a clue. “She will never agree to it. Not after all I’ve put her through.” Whacking the skillet against his thigh, he trudged back to camp, then came to a halt at the edge of the clearing. As silent as a breath, he eased behind a thicket, watching the comforting scene before him.

  Brenna had Keigan sitting on a rock in front of her, washing his face with a wet rag. His chin trapped in her hand; the lad looked less than pleased about the scrubbing. But she had a serenity that only appeared whenever she dealt with the boy. She was the picture of a loving mother, taking care of her child.

  Her child. Keigan was as much her son as his. More so, in fact, because she had raised the bairn. A heavy sigh escaped him. He had to make her realize he wanted to do better by her, and not just because of the lad. She mattered to him. He had to win her over. Without realizing it, his grip relaxed, and the pan slipped out of his hand. Its cracked handle sliced open his palm as it fell. A grunt escaped him at the biting sting of the cut.

  “Who’s there?” Brenna drew a throwing stone and pushed Keigan behind her. “Step out where I can see ye, or this stone’ll find its way through the leaves, and I promise ye’ll not like its greeting.”

  “Ease up now, lass. It’s just me.” He bent to pick up the pan, his heart nearly stopping when he noticed it lay in two pieces. “Shite!” he hissed under his breath. Her beloved pan. The handle and a good-sized chunk of its side had broken free from the rest. He was doomed for certain now. Shite! Shite! Shite! All he could do was confess and hope for her mercy.

  “I didna mean to drop it. I swear I’ll get ye a new one in Inverness,” he said, stepping free of the bushes. “I’m sure we can find ye a fine one there.” He held up the pieces, bracing himself for the arse chewing he deserved. “I am verra sorry.”

  Her open-mouthed shock made him feel even worse. How could he have been so careless with something she prized so dearly?

  Trying to fit the two pieces back together, he slowly shook his head. “I dinna think we can mend it.”

  “Toss that useless bit of metal aside, ye fool man, and be quick about it. Ye’re bleeding like a speared boar.” She rushed over, grabbed hold of his hand, and spread it open wide.

  “That hurts when ye do that!” He tried to pull away, but she held fast.

  “Be still,” she scolded, then turned to Keigan. “Fetch the whisky and one of my linen strips. This needs a good cleaning before I bandage it. I fear the cut’s too ragged for stitches.” With a brow arched higher than the other, she gave Magnus a look that made him feel like a lad caught stealing pies from the kitchen. “Did I not warn ye about the handle?”

  “Aye. Ye did.” He escaped her grasp and backed away until a safe arm’s length of distance separated them. “It’s not like I did it on purpose, ye ken? Leave off now. I can wrap it myself, and it’ll be fine.” He couldn’t believe he had been so clumsy. “And I meant what I said. Soon as we reach Inverness, we’ll find a shop where ye can have yer pick of pans. Any skillet that suits ye. Two even. I swear.”

  The bottle of spirits in one hand, Brenna held out the other as she walked toward him.

  Damned if he didn’t feel like trapped prey.

  “Give me yer hand. It needs washing out before I bandage it.” She marched another step closer. “And I’ll be the one handling all the healing in this camp, mind ye. I’ll no’ risk any of ye falling ill because of neglect fueled by stubbornness. Now, show yer son how brave ye are, and let me tend to that, aye?”

  When she put it like that, he had little choice. With his teeth clenched, he shoved his fist toward her.

  “Ye’ll grind yer teeth to dust if ye dinna relax and trust me,” she said quietly as she pried open his fingers. “This’ll sting a mite, but I’m sure it’ll not be too bothersome for a grand warrior like yerself.”

  At first, he was insulted, then the searing pain of the tonic she poured across the cut made him forget. “Sons a bitches!” He tried to yank free of her hold and escape the liquid fire, but she had his wrist locked in an iron grip, and his arm
hugged to her side. “What the hell is that? A red-hot iron wouldna hurt so bad!”

  “It’s just whisky.” She blew on the cut and held the bottle aloft. With a sympathetic smile, she hugged his arm tighter and squeezed his wrist. “Cheap whisky with herbs. A little honey. Oil of pine. Just a few things to make it better for healing. Hold yer breath now. One last rinse, and then it’ll all be over.”

  Aye, it would all be over. As the pain from the wretched remedy faded, the soft warmth of her hugging his arm gave him an aching somewhere else.

  “Here, Da.” Keigan held out his hand. “I’ll hold yer other hand so it doesna hurt ye so bad.” The boy gave him an encouraging smile and squeezed his fingers. “It’ll be done afore ye know it.”

  That accursed spot in the center of his chest swelled with a slow burn hotter than Brenna’s foul whisky. It was the first time Keigan had called him Da. Magnus held tighter to the lad’s hand. “Thank ye, son. Yer strength makes it a great deal more bearable.”

  The grateful look Brenna gave him made the tenderness in his chest rage even harder. Heaven help him, she already possessed a fearsome power over him. After his mother’s gruesome murder, he had allowed nothing to give his heart the slightest twitching—until now. Now, he needed his son and this enigmatic woman protected and safe. For all time. By him.

  “Ready to go now.” Brenna released him and picked up the bottle of liquid torture she had placed on the stump beside them.

  “Ready to go?” Magnus stared down at his hand. He had been so occupied with the stirrings in his heart, he hadn’t even realized she had wrapped his hand in a strip of bleached linen.

  “We’ll keep it wrapped until the cut seals over well.” Still frowning at the bandaged wound, she shook her head. “Where ye’re cut, isna good. The least bit of flexing, and ye’ll break it right open again. We must watch it.”

  “Thank ye.” He tucked it to his waist and made a formal bow. “And I beg yer pardon for my earlier behavior. Back in the woods. When we had words about Keigan and Tor Ruadh. I shouldna have done what I did to such a fine woman as yerself. Can ye find it in yer heart to forgive me?” If he were ever to win her, he had to make her know that he valued her and didna think of her as property or some wench for grabbing then tossing aside.

  The way she looked at him made him shift in place as though he stood barefoot on hot coals. He wasn’t good at this at all. But his son needed him, and Brenna did, too. It was just a matter of convincing her. Now was not the time to turn cowardly.

  Brenna’s attention moved to Keigan. She took hold of his shoulders and gave him a gentle nudge toward the horses. “Off wi’ ye now. Find Evander and enjoy what’s left of the daylight, aye? He might need yer help with the beasts.”

  Keigan gave her a quick hug, then darted away.

  When she turned back to Magnus, the look on her face made him swallow hard. A beauty when she raged, this calm kindliness made her even lovelier.

  “And I must apologize for the way I responded. It was less than proper, and I am ashamed,” she said. “Please forgive me.”

  He had never been one to dance with words. To him, the mumbling of social niceties and wordplay made as much sense as hunting with a baitless trap. They needed the truth between them—especially now that he had decided.

  “I kissed ye because I could resist ye no longer,” he confessed with a quietness that belied all he felt. “Yer fire draws me, lass. Tempts me. And I can protect ye and Keigan both.” He braced himself for what he felt certain would be her adamant refusal. “I despise the art of gaming with words, so I’ll just ask ye straight out. Could ye ever consider aligning yerself with a man like me? Especially after all the pain and loss I have caused ye?”

  “Aligning myself?” she repeated in a tone that sounded as though he had just asked her to pluck gold coins out of her nose.

  Perhaps he had worded his intentions poorly. How else should he say it? He squeezed the bandages wrapped around his hand. “Aye. Align yerself, ye ken? Pair off. Consider yerself…uhm mine.” There. That sounded clearer, and so far, she hadn’t unsheathed her knife. A good sign for certain.

  “As in yer wife?” She sounded as though she were about to laugh in his face. What the hell was so amusing?

  “Nay, lass. I wouldna presume to ask ye to be my wife,” he hurried to reassure. At least, he wouldn’t ask her yet. He didn’t wish to frighten her away. She needed time to know him better. Time to trust him and realize he meant only the best for her. “Ye’ve only just met me and discovered the truth about me.”

  “So ye mean to insult me by asking me to be yer mistress?” Eyes flashing and cheeks flaring a bright red. Now she looked as though she were about to draw her dagger and gut him. “Why, Magnus? Does yer woman not warm yer bed enough to suit ye?”

  “What woman?”

  “Yer woman! Back at the keep. Or should I say women?”

  “I have no woman,” he retorted, perhaps a little louder than he intended. “Or women. Back at the keep, nor anywhere else. Where the hell did ye come up with such an idea?” He had never said he had a woman anywhere. Why would she say such a thing? And how had she misunderstood him so badly?

  “Ye expect me to believe that a man such as yerself doesna have a woman?” She gave him an insulting up and down look, then flicked her hand as though dismissing him. “Why, I’d wager ye’ve got a host of them longing for yer return. All sorts of lasses all across the Highlands.”

  “I dinna ken where ye would get such a notion. But let me assure ye, I dinna travel the Highlands in search of women to bed.” Aye, he had found comfort now and then. That couldn’t be denied. But compared to some, he might even be considered celibate as a monk. Apparently, he had fumbled his telling her what he meant far worse than he thought. “I wouldna dare ask ye to be my wife because ye dinna know me well enough yet, and I dinna wish to make ye bolt. Do ye not need time to know me better so ye can decide if ye would like me as a husband and protector?”

  “What?”

  He scrubbed his face with both hands, silently cursing himself for all those years of solitude. If he’d had any sense, he would’ve traveled with one or more of the MacCoinnich brothers to learn their art of wooing women properly. “I fear if I repeat all I just said that I’ll mangle it worse than I did to begin with.” He blew out a defeated breath and allowed his hands to drop.

  She seemed calmer now. Almost pleased, even. “I heard what ye said. I’m just having trouble believing it.”

  “Which part?” Now it was his turn to be confused.

  “The part about deciding. Because it doesna usually matter if a woman thinks a man fit to be a husband.” She gave a half-hearted twitch of a shoulder. “At least not with most marriages.” A sad smile trembled across her lips. “It rarely matters what a woman thinks about anything.”

  “My wife would be my equal,” he said, wishing to take her hands but holding himself back. “She would be my partner. My helpmate. Mother to my children and likely as not, mother to myself when my conscience was found lacking, and I needed a good scolding.” The look on her face spurred him on, giving him the courage to say more. “We value women for their strength and intelligence at Clan MacCoinnich.” He risked sliding his fingers under hers and gently lifted her hand for a kiss. “After ye’ve had the chance to know me better, I pray ye’ll consider taking my name. But I daren’t ask ye now. It wouldn’t be fair. Not while ye’re so vulnerable.” Shite! He should’ve left that part off. This brave lass hated for anyone to think her weak. He had seen proof of that repeatedly.

  She stared at her hand, the hand he held. So very still. Not blinking. He swore she had even stopped breathing.

  “Brenna?” he whispered.

  She jerked as though startled, her lashes fluttering as she looked up, then eased her hand out of his. “Ye are a verra strange man, Magnus de Gray. Verra strange, indeed.”

  “Aye. Ye are not the first to tell me such.” His hopes faltered at the way she had withdrawn, but he w
ouldn’t give up now. He wondered if she meant his strangeness was a good thing or bad. She didn’t seem that put off—yet. “So, will ye at least bear what I said in mind? A pairing until we’ve had more time together?”

  “I willna bed ye until ye are my husband,” she said as if throwing down a gauntlet. Her chin jutted upward, and her eyes narrowed. “And no more forced kisses either.”

  “If memory serves…” Magnus mimicked her defensive stance. Since she had drawn no weapons nor told him to take his offer straight to Hell, he felt surer of himself. Encouragement did wonders for a man’s confidence. “I remember our first kiss as not entirely forced—leastways not once I got it good and started.”

  The genuine smile that sparkled in her eyes as well made her even more beguiling. “Aye, I might admit to such.” But just as quickly, her look changed to puzzlement. “I just wasna certain what ye meant by pairing. That sounds more like the matching off of prized animals for mating.”

  “Betrothed,” he sputtered. The word burst from him of its own volition. “I guess I didna say it that way before because I dinna wish to bind ye until ye see what a good man I will be for ye.”

  “Think that much of yerself, do ye?”

  “Aye, I do,” he said. He stood taller, puffing out his chest. “Ye are the only woman who ever set my heart astir, and I dinna intend to lose ye.”

  A coolness came over her, like storm clouds blanketing the sky. Jaw tight, she turned aside and stared downward. “Since we are speaking the truth and not dancing about with words, ye should know I am not a virgin before ye speak of betrothals or any sort of bindings.” A bitter laugh forced its way free of her. “Ye might be a good enough man, Magnus, but are ye certain I am good enough for the likes of yerself?” She turned back to him, glare fierce, and standing as though she awaited a walk to the gallows and took great pride in the sentence sending her there. “I did what was necessary to keep my precious boy safe, warm, and fed. I am ashamed of nothing.”