The Ghost

by Greyson, Maeve

  Magnus snorted. “Ye’re too late, priest. Mother had me baptized when I was but a few days old and stricken with a fever she couldna cure.” A sad fondness overcame him at the memory of her telling him of her panic. “She feared I would die. So, she thought to protect my soul in any way possible.” He drained the last of his drink and upended the glass with a thud on the windowsill. “Magnus Jedidiah de Gray. I dinna ken what happened to the record of it. I can only assume it’s recorded in a kirk somewhere.”

  “Jedidiah.” The Father laughed. “Ye ken yer name means ‘friend of God’? Aye, well, even friends fall out now and again and stop speaking to each other for a while.” He patted Magnus’s shoulder. “If I had known this about ye, I would nay have come at ye with the holy water. Forgive me, my son. It would honor me to say the words to bind ye with Mistress Brenna.”

  “She doesna wish a big affair.” Magnus focused on the children at play. “But I dinna think we should hide away as though we’re ashamed.” He spared a backward scowl at the three where they now stood beside the cabinet with all the decanters and glasses. “I am not a coward like some in this room.”

  “I am not a coward,” Alexander argued. “I merely know my limitations. Converting heathens isna one of my many strengths.”

  “Nor mine,” Graham said.

  Ian grinned. “I volunteered to help hold ye down ’til they had yer soul properly saved and watered, but Father said it wouldna work that way. So, I thought it best I keep quiet.”

  “Hold me down?” Magnus repeated. “Dare I remind ye who tossed yer arse during the games at the last gathering?”

  Ian’s grin widened into a toothy smile. “I let ye win. Respect for me elders, ye ken? I didna wish to shame ye.”

  Catriona threw open the door, silencing their banter. “Is it done yet? Mercy and I dinna wish her to see the dress.”

  “Is what done yet?” Magnus growled, even though he had a fair idea. If not for Catriona, he would tell the lot of them to kiss his arse. “If ye’re asking if I’m still bound for Hell, I would say that’s debatable.”

  “From that comment, I would say it is done,” Mercy said. She stepped into the room but turned and faced back toward the hallway. “Perhaps, if we show him the gown, that will improve his temperament.”

  “Hurry! Bring it inside. We dinna ken how long Gretna can keep Brenna busy in the healing room.” Looping her arm through Mercy’s, Catriona moved them both to one side as a pair of maidservants brought in a long bundle wrapped in yellowed linen. As soon as they had cleared the door, she hurried to close it behind them. “Quick, unwrap it.”

  While he approved of the rich shade of blue, other than that, Magnus didn’t know what to say. It was a dress. All that mattered was if Brenna liked it. “It seems nice enough.”

  “Seems nice enough?” Catriona repeated with a look that shot a chill through him.

  Noting the varying levels of indignation flaring across all the females invading the library, Magnus backed up a step. “I am not an expert on dresses.” As Catriona and Mercy opened their mouths, he hurried to continue, “However, I am amazed that ye managed to fashion it in one night’s time. I canna fathom how ye did it.” There. That should save his arse, especially since the rest of the men, including Father William, had retreated and left him to fight alone. “I feel sure my dear one’s heart will be touched by yer kindness.” He relaxed and felt a great deal safer when all the women smiled.

  “I am just proud I had not yet used the silk damask, or we never couldha managed it,” Catriona said. “’Tis simple, I’m afraid. There wasna time to fashion a proper mantua, but it turned out lovely, I think. We sewed nonstop to make it so.”

  “We hope it pleases her,” Mercy said. “And lets her know how much she belongs here.”

  “We’ve a proper feast planned for this evening. If she still wishes a private affair, ye can marry in the chapel with only us as witnesses and then come to the hall to celebrate.” Catriona gave a flip of a hand. “After all, we must all have supper anyway, aye?”

  “Aye.” The wily women’s plans seemed plausible enough. He circled the gown, finally noticing the intricate detailing, layers of lace, delicate pleats, and gathers. Never again would he underestimate the power of women united by determination. “Ye say she’s in Gretna’s room?”

  “Yes.” Mercy pointed at the door. “Go convince her to agree so we can help her get ready.”

  “We’ve already had the bath taken to her chambers, and Mrs. Fitzgerald’s set the laundress to boiling more water.” Catriona gave him a stern look. “A tub and ample soaps have been taken to yer room as well. Hot water will be there soon enough. Make use of it, aye?”

  “Welcome to our ranks,” Alexander said with a knowing smirk.

  Graham laughed. “Aye, man. Yer life will never be the same.”

  “A scrubbing before the feast wouldna be amiss for yerself, dear husband.” Catriona slid her unrelenting glare to Alexander.

  “And you as well,” Mercy said with her sightless eyes trained on Graham. “I can tell where you are by your scent.”

  “Makes a man thankful to be a priest,” Father William observed as he poured himself a healthy share of whisky and headed out the door. “I shall be in the chapel. Come to me when ye’re ready, aye?”

  Magnus escaped the room, wondering if he should’ve done as the priest and brought a drink with him. Alexander’s library had always been a haven for the men. After today, Magnus had his doubts it would ever be so again. But he had to admit, with a feast planned and a dress readied, they had lifted considerable weight and worry from him. Maybe now Brenna would see that the past didn’t matter to any of them. Truth be told, not a one of them had the right to judge her. He snorted out a wry laugh. As the priest would say, none of them were without their sins. Now, if only he could convince her that was how they all felt.

  Descending the narrow stone steps to the bottom level of the north tower, Magnus paused outside the door to the healing room. He couldn’t make out the conversation through the heavy oak door, but he could tell by Brenna’s giddy laugh that the visit was going well. Head bowed as he listened, what he heard made him smile. Gretna sounded just as happy. In fact, both women chattered back and forth like a pair of contented hens clucking over their morning feed.

  He pushed open the door and entered. “Ladies.”

  “Merciful heavens!” Gretna took hold of Brenna’s wrist and stopped her work with the mortar and pestle. “Flora asked me to come ’round today. I told her I’d be there early, and here it is well into the day. Would ye mind ever so much if I left ye for a wee bit?” Without waiting for a response, she whirled about and snatched up a covered basket. “I know ye can handle anyone who might come needing help. Why—ye know more about healing than I do!” With a sly glance at Magnus, the woman was out the door and gone before either of them could speak.

  With a puzzled frown, Brenna stared at the door. “Well, for goodness’ sake, I guess it slipped her mind until now.”

  “She is a busy woman. Keeps up with a great deal.” He moved to stand beside her at the long worktable in front of the window. A glance around explained all the odd smells. Shelves with tightly wrapped bundles, dark glass bottles, cloth-covered crocks, and small wooden boxes filled every available space. Dried herbs hung from the corners of the low ceiling. The cot in the corner beside a table set with fierce-looking saws, knives, and awls made him cringe. “I canna say that I have ever been in here before—thankfully.”

  “’Tis a fine healer’s room.” Brenna smiled, beaming as though she had just stepped through Heaven’s gates. She resumed grinding the mixture in the mortar, pulverizing what looked like dried sticks and leaves. Her smile faded, and her mixing slowed. “And Gretna didna act any different toward me because of yesterday.”

  He set aside the pestle and took her hands in his. “There is only today. That is why I am here.”

  The puzzled crease returned to her brow. “Ye’re not making sense.�
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  He kissed her knuckles again, deciding he liked the pungent aroma the herbs gave her skin. “Aye. I am making sense.” Still holding both her hands, he rubbed his thumb back and forth across the gold band on her finger. “We decided to marry at once. Did we not?”

  Her gaze dropped. “Aye,” she said quietly. “But with a new day, if ye’ve had a change of heart, I understand.”

  “My only change of heart is that I love ye more today than I did the day before.”

  “And ye’ve made me love ye more,” she whispered. She blinked fast and hard against her unshed tears. “Dinna make me cry.”

  “Catriona, Mercy, and Gretna are waiting to help ye get ready.” Magnus gently pulled her away from the table and steered her toward the door. “Alexander, Graham, Ian, and the priest are already in the chapel.” He had decided the best way to move this fine day forward was to sweep her into it before she could refuse. “We shall wed in the privacy of the chapel, just as ye wished. With the six of them as our witnesses. Then we shall celebrate with all, in the keep.” Gaining momentum, he walked her up the hall to where Catriona, Mercy, and Gretna clustered together, their faces wreathed in smiles. “Tonight will be our first feast as husband and wife.”

  “But—”

  “Nay,” he hushed her as if she was a child. “I am more than a little proud to have won such a woman.” With the gentlest of kisses, he tickled the words across her lips. “Mo chridhe, m’anam, mo chuid.”

  “My heart, my soul, my all,” she repeated, then turned her face aside. “Ye are certain?” she softly asked, staring at the floor as though unable to believe in such happiness.

  “More certain than I have ever been about anything.”

  She briefly closed her eyes while a tremulous smile played across her lips. With a squeeze of his hand, she opened her eyes to his, then turned toward the trio of females barely containing their excitement. “I am ready.”

  The ladies swarmed her and swept her away on a sea of lilting chatter.

  Magnus headed for the peace and quiet of his modest room, thanking the gods he had been born a male where scrubbing and dressing was a private affair.

  *

  “Yer eye is sharp as ever, Catriona,” Gretna said as she and Mercy encased Brenna in the silk damask bodice and overskirt. Holding the garment together at the waist, she eyed it with a critical frown. “I dinna believe it’ll take any tacking in or letting out at all. With the lacing good and tight, ’twill be a perfect fit!”

  “Mind the sleeves,” Mercy cautioned. “We wanted yer lovely shoulders left bare, so we used the same lace we overlaid across the silk of yer underskirt and stomacher. There wasn’t time for proper smocking on the sleeves, but the lace adds a perfect drape.” She moved the delicate material back and forth through her fingers. “So soft and lovely, but also very fragile.”

  “It’s the most beautiful dress I have ever seen,” Brenna whispered as the women tugged, fluffed, and adjusted to ensure the perfect display. She smoothed her hands down the snug bodice that came to a point right above the creamy lace layered over the matching petticoat underskirt revealed by the open cut of the gown. The dark blue of the silk damask draped perfectly, the overskirt made even fuller by tight pleating at the waist. Deep flounces of the material gathered back at the hips, then bunched into a bustle at the small of her back. The ladies had even managed a modest train to flow behind her. Never had she possessed such finery.

  “I wish we’d had time to add a wee bit of boning to the bodice,” Catriona said as she examined their handiwork. “But I think yer stays will do. I believe I like this better than a full-on mantua.” She stepped back a few paces, tilting her head, first one way, then the other. “Aye, this’ll do just fine. Ye’re a vision of loveliness itself.” A happy sigh escaped her. “And that dark blue is yer color, lass. Matches yer eyes and makes yer hair shine even more golden.”

  Words didn’t exist for her to make them understand how much their acceptance, generosity, and kindness meant to her. “How can I ever thank ye?” She pressed the corners of her eyes, willing the threat of tears to abate.

  “Dinna ye dare cry!” Gretna said, jumping to hold both hands under Brenna’s face. “Ye’ll spot yer lovely silk.” She looked over her shoulder. “Quick! The lass needs a cloth. Ye know as well as I there’ll be tears. I’ve never seen a wedding without one.”

  Catriona placed a lacy-edged handkerchief in her hand. “Here. Tuck this into yer bosom. As Gretna said, this’ll be a day for happy tears, and ye’ll need it.” She stepped back with another satisfied nod. “And ye can thank us with yer friendship and trust, aye? We’re truly happy Magnus found ye.”

  “Time for Fenna?” Mercy asked.

  “Aye,” Catriona and Gretna agreed in unison.

  Mercy moved to the door. “Fenna, Mistress Brenna is ready for you.”

  “Fenna?” In all the excitement, there had been so many maidservants helping her bathe and wash her hair, Brenna’s mind whirled. She couldn’t remember who was who.

  The tiny lass with the shortest hair and the largest smile bounced into the room, toting a basket of brushes and combs. “Mistress Brenna, ye look most becoming. Master Magnus is a verra lucky man.” With a sharp nod, she continued, “Dinna sit. Ye might crease yer dress and flatten the pasteboard we sewed into the bustle to make yer rump all grand and flare that train good and proper when ye walk.”

  A maidservant so forward she gave orders and made personal comments? Brenna didn’t mind, but it had been her experience that such a thing was rarely tolerated. “Thank ye. I hope he thinks so.”

  “Fenna is my lady’s maid,” Mercy explained. “She is very outspoken.” One of her smooth dark brows arched higher. “I wouldn’t have her any other way—most of the time.”

  Lady Mercy might be blind, but she noticed more than those who had two good eyes. Brenna wondered if the woman possessed the second sight. “Such an unusual clan. Treating all with respect and kindness? No matter their status? Especially women? Verra rare indeed.”

  “Kindness and respect make for strong kinship,” Catriona explained. “’Tis our belief it strengthens us, helps us overcome any obstacle we face.”

  “A strong kinship,” Brenna repeated as the maid brushed out her curls and arranged them. A contentedness filled her. She knew in her heart her sister was smiling down from heaven, happy that her son had accepted such a family as his own.

  “There now,” Fenna climbed down from the footstool she had used to reach Brenna’s hair. “I know ’tis simple, but yer hair is so lovely, I thought it fitting for this special day.”

  “Ye’ve made me feel grand as a queen.” Ever so gingerly, Brenna reached up and ran her fingertips along the fine ivory combs sweeping her tresses up high, then freeing the curls to cascade down her back.

  “And dinna ye fret about Keigan,” Catriona said as she offered her a small goblet of wine. “Maxwell and Grant have already built a fortress for the three of them in the nursery.” She laughed. “Little do they know that wee Maisie plans to attack them later on this evening.” With a reassuring flip of a hand, she continued, “I’ve warned Willa and Nanny to ensure there are no injuries.” She made a face, and her voice took on an amused but warning tone. “My sweet Maisie can be a vicious wee mite. They best not underestimate her.”

  Catriona’s assurance that Keigan wasn’t her responsibility tonight increased Brenna’s nervousness. A wedding night. With Magnus. The sharing of the marriage bed. She swallowed hard, forcing down a choking knot of worry with a sip of the wine. Everything she knew about such matters came from a darker time. Survival had bid her lock that vileness away and never think of it again. She prayed Magnus wouldn’t find her lacking.

  “I’d say it’s time we all got to the chapel, aye?” With a proud smile, Catriona took the wine away and set it aside. “Yer groom’s a waitin’.”

  “My groom,” Brenna repeated under her breath, willing herself to walk as gracefully as she could. The black leath
er shoes, tied with a bow that matched the silk of her dress and adorned with cream-colored heels, threatened to send her tumbling. Either that or pinch her toes clean off. May God have mercy on her soul. The cursed things squeezed her feet tighter than a starving dog’s bite on a bone. And Gretna had secured her stockings with ribbons tied so tight above her knees, her legs had gone all numb. “Help me not fall on my face, aye?”

  “Ye willna fall,” Catriona reassured, strolling along beside her.

  “We’ve surrounded ye,” Gretna added as she and Mercy took their places alongside her. “And Fenna’s at yer train to ensure it’s set off good and proper.”

  “I canna believe I’m doing this.” Giddiness filled her, threatening to send her head spinning. Swallowing hard, she fanned herself. “’Tis verra warm, aye? I’ll soak my chemise through.”

  All the women laughed. “We felt the same, dear sister,” Mercy reassured her. “And if need be, we have two more chemises ready, should you need to refresh before retiring with your husband.”

  “Aye,” Gretna said. “Just give us a nod, and we’ll have ye sorted and dry, quick as a blink.” She grinned like a proud parent. “The women of Clan MacCoinnich prepare for everything.”

  Attempting any level of gracefulness with pinched toes and the weight of the gown proved quite the challenge. But the longer Brenna walked, the better she adapted to the shoes they had shod her with. She looked forward to their removal at her earliest opportunity.

  The servants formed a line along her route to the chapel, all of them smiling and nodding, as though she were royalty itself. How kind they all seemed, and try as she might, she didn’t detect a single disparaging glance. Except for one. Cadha stood at the very end of the line closest to the archway leading to the kirk. That lass gave her a sour-faced scowl that left no doubt she thought Brenna lower than the earth upon which she trod.

  Brenna held her head higher. She assumed a disinterested air that informed the girl her opinion mattered less than a sputtering candle. That festering hen had no idea what she had survived. Nor was it any of her affair. She stored away the girl’s insulting attitude for future reference. It would be a frosty day in Hell before she ever defended that surly maid again.