The Ghost

by Greyson, Maeve

  Magnus knew whatever he said next would either forge a path for them to walk together or build a wall between them that could never be torn down. He had to make her know that he understood and truly believed he had no right to condemn her for anything she had done to survive.

  “A warrior does whatever is necessary to win the war.” He eased closer, taking care lest she decide to run. With the softest touch, he traced his fingertips along her tensed jaw, then gently cupped her face. “Yer battles made ye the woman ye are today. The lass I admire. The woman I want for my own. What is it ye said before? ‘What’s done is done and canna be undone’?”

  The blue of her eyes shimmered to a darker shade beneath the sheen of unshed tears. When she blinked, a teardrop broke free and rolled down her cheek.

  Magnus caught it on his finger and brought it to his lips. “Dinna cry, mo ghràdh, unless ye weep from happiness. I swear I will do my verra best to never give ye a reason for any other kind of tears.”

  “How could I have ever hated you?” she whispered.

  “Easily, dear one.” Regret for his poor choices would walk with him the rest of his days. “And I deserved it. Then.” After a gentle kiss to her forehead, he smiled down at her. “But I swear to do my best to never deserve yer hatred ever again.” Cupping her upturned face between his hands, he grazed another chaste kiss across her mouth before locking eyes with her. “So, we are betrothed now, aye—until I have proven to ye beyond a doubt how I’ll keep ye safe and happy?”

  “Aye.” With a shy smile, mischief flashed in her eyes as she pressed a hand to his cheek. “Aligned. Paired. Whatever ye wish to call it. We will see what the days ahead hold for such an unlikely match as ours.”

  “Unlikely?” He didn’t much care for the sound of that.

  “Aye. Unlikely.” She tapped a finger on his chest. “A solitary man. A woman who hates people.” With a glance past his left shoulder, her eyes narrowed. “And a wee lad eavesdropping in the bushes even though he knows ’tis rudeness itself!” One of her brows arched higher, and she blew out a heavy sigh. “Heaven only knows what lies ahead for the lot of us.”

  Chapter Seven

  Brenna stared down at her hand as they rode along. She kept her gaze locked on the ring encircling her finger, remembering the inscription Magnus had ordered engraved inside it. Mo chridhe. M’anam. Mo chuid. My heart. My soul. My all. A poesy ring—a symbol of the promise between them, he had said.

  She could not speak when he slipped it on her finger. It fit perfectly—a prosperous sign for certain. The fine new skillet would have been more than enough, but he had insisted on the ring as well. He was determined to win her heart and wipe away all misgivings about the past. That made her smile. Silly fool. His kindness, honesty, and the way he was with Keigan had won her more quickly than she cared to admit. She might not fully love him yet, but she feared it wouldn’t be long—especially when he treated her with more respect than she had ever known in her life.

  “We should be there by midday.” Magnus’s arm tightened around her waist. “Dinna fret o’er much. I think ye will find Clan MacCoinnich most welcoming. Catriona, Mercy, Gretna—they’re all kind and wonderful ladies.” His pleased chuckling rumbled against her back. “All three are brutally honest, but they are each of them kind and good.”

  “Kind and good,” she repeated, her misgivings churning harder with every thump of the horse’s gait.

  “Aye,” Magnus continued. “In the past, they have all battled their own demons, so they’re sure to understand how ye faced down yers.” He paused as though searching for his next words.

  His pause made Brenna smile. He worried so much about saying the wrong thing to her. Her amusement melted away as quickly as it came. In part, he agonized over everything he said because of his fumbling betrothal, but he also struggled to choose the right words because of her habit of thinking the worst about everything. She scolded herself as she glanced down at the ring again. Life appeared to be taking a turn for the better. It would only be good sense to enjoy this change of luck rather than ruin it by waiting for something ill to happen. She vowed to change her ways.

  “Catriona is Alexander, the chieftain’s wife. Kind but fierce as can be,” he finally said. “Her brother tried to kill her when he failed at selling her to a Campbell chief before Alexander saved her.” He fluttered his fingers in time with his musings, tapping them against her arm. “Mercy is Graham, the war chief’s wife. She is sightless but brave as they come. She lost her sight when her lady’s maid bludgeoned her. Mercy’s father hired the wench to kill her. Gretna is the clan healer, married to Ian Cameron, cousin to the chief. She was a Neal, turned over to the witch hunters by her bastard of a husband, who faked his death.” A growling snort clearly expressed how Magnus felt about that. “As I said, they’ve each of them fought their own battles and won. They all admire courage and tenacity. I think ye’ll find them good friends once ye get to know them.”

  “That would nice.” She wouldn’t go into her misgivings. It had been her experience that women were often more vicious and territorial than men. But she would do her best to fit in and give everyone a fair chance—for Keigan and Magnus’s sake. And she would do better about not thinking the worst unless it turned out to be so. She twisted the ring on her finger. “Will ye speak of us to them? About our…pairing?”

  “Of course,” Magnus said. “Since Evander knows, I promise ye, it’ll be common knowledge in both the village and the keep before sunset. That lad couldna keep his mouth shut if his life depended on it.”

  “Aye, well, I suppose that’s true. Keigan’s been known to share everything he knows as well.” She fell silent and attempted to calm herself by taking in their surroundings. The land was so different here. Lush green glens surrounded by dusky blue mountains. Thick woodlands with ancient trees bigger than what two men could wrap their arms around. Breathtaking crags and dangerous ravines echoing with the gurgling burns that had slowly carved them out of the land. It was all beautiful, but she missed the sea. Waves crashing against the shore. Terns crying overhead. The sharp tang of the salty air. A heavy sigh escaped her before she could stop it.

  Magnus pulled their mount to a halt. “I think it’s time we stopped and stretched our legs a bit.”

  Before she could comment, the boys came up alongside them.

  “We stopping this close?” Evander asked as his horse danced sideways along the trail. It was as though the beast sensed its home stable within reach and was anxious to get there.

  “Go on ahead with ye.” Magnus waved them on. “But dinna be racing too fast across the glen and dinna enter the village until we catch up with ye, aye? I wish to be the one to introduce Keigan to one and all.”

  Evander grinned and tapped Keigan on the shoulder. “Ye dinna need to rest or make water, do ye? Wouldna ye rather keep going?”

  His grip tight on the lip of the saddle, the lad bounced in place. “Aye! Let’s be on our way.”

  “No racing!” Magnus ordered again.

  “Aww,” the boys groaned in unison.

  Brenna turned and spoke low, so only Magnus could hear, “Let them run a bit—as long as they’re careful. They’ve done well, and I trust Evander to keep Keigan safe.”

  Magnus still looked unsure but nodded. With a fierce glare, he pointed toward the glen. “Ye may run a bit, but take care, or I’ll have both yer arses, understand?”

  “Aye!” Evander grinned and took off before the adults changed their mind.

  As the boys thundered away, Brenna twisted in the saddle and tapped Magnus on the chest. “Now, tell me why ye really stopped.” His poor excuse of stretching their legs bordered on a bald-faced lie, and he had always sworn to keep the truth between them.

  Without answering, he dismounted, then helped her down, keeping his hands around her waist long after her feet touched the ground. He looked down at her, eyes narrowing as though peering into her soul. “Ye’re tenser than a newly strung bow. I feel yer worry. Hear the
fear in yer voice. Tell me what I can do to make this easier for ye.”

  Grazing her fingertips across the stubble of his beard, she kept her gaze locked on the small silvery scar on his chin. It was a poorly mended slice from a dagger if she ever saw one. She daren’t meet his gaze. So much compassion echoed in his tone. She feared she would lose control and confess all her troubles if she witnessed the same in his gaze. Her worries were hers to bear. Alone. She had nurtured them all these years, adding new ones with each passing day. She needed to keep them close until she could bury them away. They made her who she was.

  “Brenna—talk to me,” he whispered. “Let me help ye.”

  “I cannot.” She patted his chest with both hands and forced a smile. “Dinna fret. I will be fine.” Risking a glance upward, she swallowed hard, fighting to maintain control. “I am always fine.” She patted his chest again. “Ye have already helped me more than ye know. All I ask for is yer patience, aye?”

  He gathered her close and held her. “Ye have it and more,” he whispered. He kissed the top of her head and tightened his embrace. “Ye are a wonder to me, ye ken?”

  “How is that?”

  He tilted her face upward. “As soon as I set eyes on ye, I knew in my heart ye had to be mine.” His head lowered, he paused and whispered, “May I?”

  “Aye,” she breathed, hungry for the taste of him.

  As soon as his warm mouth settled on hers, he stiffened, then jerked around, pushing her behind him.

  “What is it?” She darted a glance around but saw nothing.

  “Someone approaches.” He drew his sword. “Listen.”

  Soft as a whisper, farther down the trail behind them, the unmistakable sound of hoofbeats.

  “Are we not safe here? Is this not MacCoinnich land?” She drew out her throwing stones and dagger. “What about the boys?” A distant flash of red through the trees shot fear through her. “British,” she whispered. “God help us.” She’d had dealings with soldiers who had strayed as far north as Wickhaven, and the encounters had not been good.

  “To the horse with ye,” he ordered without turning around. “Ride like Hell’s biting at yer heels, and dinna look back, aye? Get yerself and the boys to the keep. Warn Alexander.”

  “But—”

  He whirled around and hoisted her up into the saddle. Without another word, he smacked the beast’s rump hard and roared, “Hie wi’ ye, now! Hie!”

  Her weapons clutched in one hand and the horn of the saddle in the other, Brenna held on for dear life. The war horse might be enormous, but it moved with amazing speed. As the reins whipped through the air, she grabbed at them, finally catching them without losing her seat. She spotted Evander up ahead in the glen and leaned forward, praying Magnus’s horse was the faster of the two. Thankfully, her prayers were answered. She cried out for the lad to stop as she came up beside him. “Evander!”

  She slipped her throwing stones inside her belt but kept her dagger ready. “Get Keigan to the keep! Fast as ye can!” She turned her horse back in the direction she had just come. No time could be wasted by her going to the keep with them. “British coming. I dinna ken how many, but I’m going back to fight with Magnus. Have the chieftain send help quick as ye can.”

  Evander opened his mouth to argue, but she cut him off. “No arguing! Get moving! Now!”

  When the boy had done as she ordered, she spurred her mount into a fierce gallop. She would ride back part of the way, then dismount and creep up on them on foot. Who knew what cowardly evil the redcoats might attempt on a lone Scot they came upon in the woods? It hadn’t sounded like many approaching, and the flash of the uniform had been brief. She would do her best to maim however many there were, hopefully holding them off ’til Magnus could get to their horse and escape with her.

  “Stay here and no snorting or stomping,” she whispered to the mount as she led it into a thicket and secured the reins. Slipping a stone out of her belt and keeping her dagger ready, she crept forward with painstaking care through the treacherous leaf mold that risked giving her away with every crunching footstep.

  Deep voices rumbled up ahead. Two men. Magnus and another. She tilted her head to better hear, then frowned. Their conversation was too low to make out the words, but it seemed unnaturally calm considering one was a Scot and the other a damned Sassenach. Was Magnus that artful in cloaking his feelings while speaking to the enemy?

  She eased closer, then halted. Was that laughter? Sounds of genuine camaraderie? Silent as a beast of the woods, she shifted a branch and peeped between the leaves.

  Magnus and the bloody redcoat stood side by side. All smiles. Heads nodding. Chatting like a couple of old women gossiping over their washing. Perplexed, Brenna watched them a bit longer to make certain her eyes didn’t deceive her. The longer she stood there, the more irritated she became. That fool Sassenach had interrupted what had promised to be a very fine kiss. Damn him to Hell!

  She couldn’t stand it any longer.

  “Are ye siding with the English now?” she accused as she shoved free of her hiding place.

  Both men started and jerked around to face her, looking as guilty as if she had just caught them with another man’s wife.

  Magnus recovered quicker than the vile soldier. “I sent ye to the keep!”

  “I came back to rescue yer sorry arse from the bloody redcoats!” With an angry jab, she sheathed her dagger and stones into her belt.

  The ‘bloody redcoat’ found that uproariously funny, laughing out loud as he smacked Magnus on the shoulder. “Introduce me to your fine lady, my friend, so I might beg her forgiveness for causing such a stir.”

  Magnus reached for her and cocked a brow, his eyes daring her not to take his hand.

  Ignoring him, she marched closer with both arms folded tightly across her chest. He had better learn she would never heel like a dog. Such would not be their relationship.

  The redcoat turned aside and failed at hiding his amusement behind a fake fit of coughing.

  Nostrils flaring, Magnus huffed out a frustrated snort. He stepped over to her until his arm rubbed against hers. With a nod toward the Sassenach, he said, “Allow me to introduce ye to an old friend and one of the few English I trust. Commander Edward John Cunningham, 2nd Earl of Crestshire. He fostered with the MacCoinnich Clan. We’re as good as brothers.” With a tilt of his head in her direction, he continued, “Lord Crestshire, I present to ye Brenna Maxwell, a most irritating woman of fire and fury, who has seized my heart.”

  Lord Crestshire bowed. “It is my honor to meet a lady of such great power.”

  The smile he gave her seemed genuine enough, so she granted him a polite nod. “The honor is mine, Lord Crestshire. Pray forgive me, but I’m sure ye understand my reaction.”

  “I do indeed, madam.” The commander hooked his hands onto his lapels. “Unfortunately, many of my countrymen do not appreciate the Scots for the fine, proud people they are and treat them most reprehensibly.” He turned to Magnus. “Such is the reason for my visit to Tor Ruadh.” His jovial air disappeared, and he turned grim. “My time at Fort William is at an end, I’m afraid. I am to be replaced as Garrison Commander by Lieutenant Colonel Thaddeus Barricourt. A most foul-tempered, brainless man if ever there was one. He angered his elder brother, the Earl of Estringham, and an extended assignment at Fort William is to be his punishment—and the Highlands’ punishment, too, I fear. In fact, he has already arrived, stating he is ready to be apprised on the surroundings and management of the area’s savages.”

  The man’s punishment was his assignment to Fort William? She couldn’t resist asking, “And why were ye sent to Fort William, m’lord?”

  Lord Crestshire’s grin returned, and this time, it was Magnus turning aside to hide a smile. “I volunteered to come here, madam. It was my honor to serve in the Highlands, close to those I loved and respected since I was just a wee lad.”

  Now, she felt a bit guilty about the question, especially since both men knew very well
why she had asked it. “Again, I feel I must beg yer forgiveness. I fear my brazenness often borders on the rude.”

  Crestshire shook his head. “Trust me, madam, after dealing with Barricourt, I find such openness as refreshing as the air of this glen.” He smiled at Magnus. “I am more than a little pleased for you, old friend.” After a chuckle, he continued, “I must admit, I am surprised you finally agreed to give up a life of solitude, but I am glad that you did. You deserve such happiness.”

  Magnus clapped him on the shoulder. “Ye havena said what’s becoming of ye. Where will the king’s whims take ye next?”

  “Barbados.” The fair-haired man’s self-assured look soured and appeared strained. “I am to be their new governor. My first duty is to quell the recent troubles surrounding the sugar plantations.” His good-humored air disappeared completely. “Hopefully, my new bride’s parents will convince her to join me before we are too many weeks into autumn, and treacherous weather makes travel at sea unthinkable.”

  “Ye’ve married? Congratulations, man!” Magnus thumped him on the back. “May the gods bless ye with many healthy bairns.”

  Crestshire shot a sideways glance at Brenna, one she didn’t quite understand, but gave her suspicions. She had learned early on how to read a person’s feelings by their actions rather than their words. Her ability to do such had been a means of survival. For whatever reason, Lord Crestshire did not enjoy wedded bliss.

  “Does yer wife fear traveling by sea?” she asked, figuring that question innocent enough to give him an opening to share his burdens.

  “Nay, madam. Nothing as simple as that.” He blew out a heavy sigh and stared at the ground. “Ours was an arranged marriage and not a well-suited one at that, I’m afraid.” Squaring his shoulders, he stood taller. “But we shall see. Time might change things.” His good humor back in place, he smiled at Magnus. “That is why I am more than a little proud to see you have found a woman willing to defy your orders so she might protect you. That, my dear man, is a sure sign of true and heartfelt love.”