The Ghost

by Greyson, Maeve

  “Well done, lass,” Catriona lauded under her breath. “And dinna fret, I’ll be having a word with that wee chit on the morrow.” She spared a glance back at the bothersome girl. “She should know the MacCoinnich way by now. Mrs. Fitzgerald and I shall offer her the choice of embracing it or leaving the keep.” With a squeeze of Brenna’s hand, Catriona gifted her an excited smile. “Today is a day of celebration, and I’ll let nothing spoil it. God bless ye, sister. May only good things come to ye from this union.”

  “Thank ye,” Brenna said. “For everything.” After a deep breath, she faced the elaborately carved doors of the chapel, struck mute by their grandeur. Beyond waited Magnus. Her groom. The man with whom she would spend the rest of her days. God help her. She prayed this was the right thing to do. Just because she had an overwhelming tenderness for him didn’t mean they could survive whatever lay ahead. But she would do her best. Not for her sister. Not for Keigan. But for her own aching heart. Life would be so much easier to bear with Magnus at her side. God help her—how she loved him. She only hoped he felt the same tender aching for her.

  “On wi’ ye now,” Catriona whispered as she pulled open the door to the right.

  “God be with ye,” Gretna said as she swung the left door wide.

  “Welcome home,” Mercy called out softly from behind her. “God bless ye and Magnus with good health, happiness, and strength to face whatever the future may hold.”

  “Wait!” Fenna called out. “Marcie made a lovely nosegay for ye.”

  A wee lass that could pass for a mirror image of Fenna except for her wild curly hair rushed forward with a bundle of ivy brightened with blossoms of blue, lavender, and pink. “’Tis heather, miss. I nurtured it where we seed the plants for the garden. I hope ye find the early blooms lovely.”

  “Thank ye, Marcie. It is perfect.” Brenna accepted the bouquet, smiling down at the symbols of fidelity, prosperous luck, and protection. “Thank ye so much.” Now, all she had to do was keep from shaking off all the blooms as she trembled her way down the aisle.

  The young girl smiled, then scampered away, disappearing down the hall toward the kitchens.

  “It’s time,” Catriona urged with a tilt of her head toward the doorway. “God bless ye, lass.”

  After sending up a quick prayer, Brenna entered the church’s narthex. She halted as soon as she stepped into the nave. The sight of Magnus, strong and sure, waiting in front of the altar, swept away every worry. Striking as ever in his black jacket, brushed ’til not a speck of dirt could be found. Dark waistcoat. Tall, polished boots. His startling white tunic and neckcloth made her smile. The man preferred black, even when it came to his lèine. But now creamy ruffles peeped out of his coat sleeves. And even though his neckcloth was knotted and tucked, she knew it, too, had the ruffles reserved for the most special of occasions.

  He wore a tartan of blue bands, some so dark they almost looked black, crossing others light as the sky. A length of it crossed his broad chest, the folds draped over his left shoulder and secured with a bronze brooch. His hair, pulled back and neatly tied, shone like polished silver. Her pounding heart shook the posies she clutched to her breast. Such a fiercely handsome man. Her true Highland warrior.

  One hand propped on the buckle of his belt, he held out the other. “Come to me,” he said. Or maybe he didn’t. Maybe it was just the way he smiled as he waited to take her hand.

  Chapter Twelve

  God’s teeth, how could this fine woman have agreed to take him as husband? Magnus refused to blink. He didn’t wish to miss a single moment of her walk toward him. Aye, the gown was fair enough, but it was the light in her eyes, her barely parted lips, the complete wonder of her that made it impossible to look away.

  He stayed in place as long as he could bear it, then went to her, meeting her partway down the aisle. “I have never witnessed such beauty,” he said with a reverence that came from the depths of his soul. Taking her hand, he led her back to the altar. “Thank ye, m’love.”

  “For what are ye thanking me?” Her fingers trembled in his, and the porcelain curves of her breasts lifted as she hitched in a nervous breath.

  “I thank ye for accepting me, precious one.” He kissed her hand, then held it to his cheek, reveling in loving contentment he had never felt before. No one existed but Brenna. “Ye made me whole again, m’love. I canna imagine life without ye at my side.”

  “Then I must thank ye as well,” she said with a shy tilt of her head. Her words, soft and breathless, were sweeter than any music. “For ye have made me feel the same.”

  Father William cleared his throat. He thumped a finger on the open book he cradled in one hand. “Well, then…now that ye each spoke yer own vows, shall I speak the Lord’s and make this official in the eyes of the church?”

  “Aye, priest. Say yer words,” Magnus said without breaking his gaze from Brenna’s. In his mind, their souls were already joined for all time. Grudgingly, he faced Father William, and Brenna did the same.

  The holy man uttered an imperious harrumph, then lifted his tattered book higher. “As ye all ken well enough by now, we gather here to unite these two in the sacred bonds of marriage.” He passed a glance around the sanctuary as though giving a sermon to a full church rather than just the chosen six standing in front of the first pew. With a bushy brow hiked to a stern angle, he looked at Magnus. “Do ye, Magnus Jedidiah de Gray, take this woman as yer honored wife and helpmate? Swear to always provide and protect her? Keep her at yer side, whether ye be rich as a king or poor as a pauper, ill as a bloated beast or fit as a fine Highland day, until death so parts ye?”

  “Yer book uses those words?”

  “Never ye mind. Just answer the question.” The priest drew himself up, looking as though he was about to rain down hellfire and damnation. “I shall have ye know I’ve married a good many souls in my day.” His eyes narrowed at the witnesses trying not to laugh out loud. “My words stuck well enough, I reckon.” With an imperious jerk of his head, his voice grew louder. “Count their bairns and their years together, aye? Now, do ye take this woman or not?”

  “I most certainly do.” Magnus pressed a kiss to Brenna’s hand. “For all time.”

  Father William swatted at their hands with his Bible. “No more kisses ’til I say.” He shifted his attention to Brenna, and his stern gruffness disappeared. “And now, my child, do ye bind yerself to this man? Hardheaded, infuriating soul that he is? Vow to stay at his side through prosperity or suffering? Cherish him all yer days ’til death shall part ye?”

  “I do.” She blessed Magnus with a loving smile. “Forever and a day.”

  The priest snapped his book shut and tucked it into the crook of one arm. He resettled his stance with a pleased bounce. “Verra good, then. In the eyes of the church and the record books of Scotland, I now proclaim ye man and wife. Let no man tear asunder what God Almighty hath joined.” He pointed at Alexander. “And all God’s people said?”

  “Amen!” Alexander bellowed, and the others echoed the same loud and clear.

  Father William graced Magnus with a perfunctory nod. “And now ye may kiss her proper.”

  With the greatest of care not to crush her wee bundle of heather and ivy, Magnus cradled her face between his hands and eased forward to seal their vows. His heart stuttered when she brushed away his touch and turned aside.

  “Catriona?” She held out the flowers.

  With happy tears and a big smile, Catriona hurried to take them, then returned to her place beside Alexander.

  “I shall let nothing come between us.” Brenna slid her arms around his neck. “Not even flowers.”

  “I dinna believe I couldha married a wiser woman,” he observed, then shared a kiss that forged their union with the heat of a smithy’s forge.

  “Well done!” Alexander cheered.

  Graham and Ian roared Clan MacCoinnich’s battle cry, nearly shaking the rafters with their chanting of je ressuscite!

  “To the hall!”
Alexander waved Magnus and Brenna forward. “The couple shall lead us to their banquet.”

  Magnus noticed Brenna’s hesitation and how her hold tightened on his arm. He leaned in close as though kissing her cheek but whispered, “It will be all right, m’love. Show them yer courage. How ye fear nothing—most especially how ye dinna give a damn about any judgments they have no right to make.”

  With a loving touch to his cheek, she smiled. “How can ye read me so well?”

  “Because we two are a proper match.”

  “All are waiting,” Catriona gently called out from behind them.

  After leaning up for a quick kiss, Brenna pulled in a deep breath and blew it out. “I am ready.”

  She lied, but Magnus admired her for the effort. He held tight to her hand, walking proudly beside her. They made their way to the main hall that had already filled with people. Word of their private ceremony and the celebration feast had spread like fire touched to dry tinder. Folks continued to mill into the room in a seemingly endless line of arrival.

  Two long rows of tables, running parallel down the center of the massive room, had several seated. Benches along the walls and beneath the gallery were almost full as well. Servants bustled among the guests, ensuring everyone’s tankards didn’t run dry. Food wouldn’t be offered to those at the tables and benches until the chief and his guests at the head table had been served.

  Torches and candelabras burned brightly, even though the sun still hovered above the horizon. Its brilliant beams poured in through the windows lining the upper gallery. A trickle of sweat started between Magnus’s shoulder blades, trickled down his spine, and pooled in the crack of his arse. Even with no fire in the hearths, the room had warmed with the heat of the late August day, and so many assembled.

  He fought the urge to keep walking once they reached the head table. It would be easy enough, just power through the archway and escape up the stairs to their chambers. Nay. He daren’t do such. Brenna might think him ashamed of her. Instead, he helped her maneuver the abundant yardage of her gown so she might sit. He took his place beside her after scooting her close enough to reach the table.

  “Thank ye.” Brenna drew a lacy cloth from between the cleft of her breasts and daubed it against the back of her neck, then her throat. “’Tis verra warm in here,” she said, shielding her words behind the kerchief. “How could so many arrive this quickly? The hall was almost empty when I passed through.”

  “Food, drink, and gossip are impossible for most to resist. Especially this time of year. The days are long, and the weather fair enough to make a walk from the village and even farther just a wee stretch of the legs.” Magnus motioned for a servant to fill her glass. “At least the chief’s candles are already lit. Pray they burn quickly. Alexander promised one round only.”

  “Chief’s candles?” She looked at him as though he had gone addled with the heat.

  After plucking a juicy slice of pear from the platter of fruits and cheeses, Magnus pointed it at the candelabra burning on their end of the table. “Those are the chief’s candles. When they burn out, everyone knows the gathering is at an end, and it’s time to leave.” He offered her the bite of pear. “For longer celebrations, more candles are added and lit. As long as the chief’s candles burn, all are welcome to stay and enjoy the festivities.”

  “But Alexander promised only one round, ye said?” She nibbled at the tidbit of fruit as though she feared it poisoned.

  “Aye.” Unable to resist, Magnus reached out and caressed her cheek. “But we can retire before then. ’Tis expected of us.”

  She dropped the fruit to her plate and cut a fearful glance at him. “They dinna do the—” She interrupted herself with a deep draught of wine, then held out her glass for more. A smiling maidservant appeared from behind them and filled it. After another hearty drink, she slid the goblet to the table, then stared down at it in silence.

  “Dinna do what?” The high color on her cheeks had drained away. Poor lass looked as though she had just seen a headless ghost. “Shall I call Gretna over? Are ye unwell?” He feared the heat had overcome her.

  “Nay.” She waved away his words but kept her gaze on her plate. “I had forgotten about the bedding ceremony,” she whispered. “I fear I am nay prepared for it.” After a hard swallow, she bowed her head lower, tucking her chin to her chest. “Father lived for weddings at his keep. He took great pleasure in helping the men strip the poor bride naked and enjoyed the consummation of the marriage as much as the groom.”

  Hell’s fire. No wonder the color had drained from her. Magnus had witnessed the brutal custom once and couldn’t imagine putting Brenna through such a thing. Ever so gently, he slid a finger under her chin and lifted her face. “I would never allow such a thing. Not ever. What passes between us is no one’s affair but ours.”

  “Truly?”

  “I swear it.”

  “Ye are the kindest man I have ever met.” Her relieved smile warmed his heart, as well as the rest of him.

  A loud clanging silenced the room. Alexander rose from his seat and held his tankard high. “A toast to the newly wedded couple.” With a wry grin, he waved his glass toward Magnus. “All of us feared our brother would die alone. Somewhere in the Highlands. With no one to grieve or pray over his bones other than wild animals.” His gaze slid to Brenna, and his grin became a broad smile. “But thankfully, our prayers were answered. He found this fine woman.” He held his drink high as if it was a scepter. “May God bless ye and keep ye both in perfect peace. May He grant ye many years of happiness, as well as many sons and daughters. Slàinte mhath!”

  “Slàinte mhath!” everyone roared, with so much pounding and stomping, the entire keep seemed to quake.

  In answer to the toast, Magnus leaned close until his lips brushed the velvet of her cheek. “Mo chridhe, m’anam, mo chuid,” he murmured against her ear.

  With a tender smile, she framed his face between her hands and kissed him long and slow.

  The hall went wild with even louder cheering.

  “Let us go, aye? Neither of us wishes to be here.” He held out his hand as he slid back his chair and stood.

  Brenna took his hand and rose to her feet.

  After a meaningful look shared with Alexander, Magnus led her from the dais and through the archway beside the long cabinet bearing all the bottles and pitchers of spirits for the evening. A glance back made him smile. The MacCoinnich guards had formed a barrier in front of the head table, one that stretched across the room, so none could follow and cause any mischief.

  Just as they reached the end of the narrow hallway leading to the turret staircase of the south wing, Brenna stopped him. “Wait! I canna bear this any longer.”

  Her words hit him like an icy blast of winter’s worst chill. “What?”

  With a pained expression, she glanced back down the hall, then lifted her foot, fighting back the layers of silk and lace. “These shoes. Lord have mercy on my poor feet. I am miserable. ’Tis a wonder they havena crippled me. I have to be rid of them. Now.”

  Magnus bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing, but she spied his amusement.

  “Ye think my torture funny?”

  “Nay!” he lied, struggling to assume a woeful look. Best help her before she found a weapon. “Steady yerself on my shoulders whilst I relieve ye of the offensive things, aye? I’ll have them off ye in no time.” He knelt at her feet, sweeping her skirts aside and cradling her lovely ankle in one hand. His man parts took particular interest in the feel of her leg encased in her stockings, making it necessary to adjust his crouch to allow more room for his rising cock.

  “Hold still afore ye knock me to the floor!” She clutched at his shoulders. “Forgive me. I didna mean to speak so harsh. Just hurry. I beg ye. Undo those terrible ribbons, pry them off, and I’ll leave the infernal things on the steps for Catriona.” She patted his back. “I didna mean to scold, but ye might as well know, ye didna marry a woman used to such trappings. Sa
ints alive, I canna understand how she bears these fool things.”

  Magnus squinted, trying to decipher the dark ribbon’s knot hidden in the shadows of her skirts and the poorly lit hall. Brenna’s foot had swelled around the ties until they cut into her flesh. “No wonder ye’re hurting. These look to be about three sizes too small.”

  “Just get them off me. Please.” She sagged forward, resting her brow on his shoulder as he struggled with the embedded knot. “Catriona thought they would be fine. I didna have the heart to tell her my feet are big as a pair of war shields.”

  “This is madness,” he said through gritted teeth. Wrapping an arm around her legs, he draped her over his shoulder and stood.

  “What are ye doing?” She thumped his back, squirming to get down.

  “Be still with ye.” He swatted her rump and strode to the stairwell, charging up the steps. “I canna see a damned thing in this shadowy hallway. If I cut them off ye here, ye’re liable to lose a toe.”

  “Cut them off?” she squeaked. “Ye mustn’t damage the leather. They’re Catriona’s, and I’m sure they’re dear to her.”

  “Aye, well, I’m thinking she’ll live past losing a pair of slippers.” By the time he reached the second-floor landing, he had worked up an even heartier sweat than before. He took hold of the latch and shoved, ready to be rid of his full dress of clothes and those damnable shoes. Why the hell did women put themselves through such foolishness? It couldn’t be to impress men. Who gave a damn about a woman’s feet when their bodies had so much nicer things to offer? The door did not open. “The key, Brenna?”

  “Key?”

  Her tone told him everything he needed to know.

  As gently as he could, he slid her off his shoulder and plopped her rump to the floor. “Cover yer face in case wood goes a flying.”