The Ghost Greyson, Maeve (reading an ebook .txt) 📖

“I thank ye.” As soon as both feet hit the ground, she shook out her skirts and hurried off behind a thicket. She needed some relief after so long in the saddle. As she took care of pressing matters, she listened to Magnus get the boys started on several chores. Their conversations made her smile. The man claimed to know nothing about parenting, yet the way he handled the lads said otherwise.

A great deal more comfortable, she emerged from behind the bushes. Her feet sank into the soft thickness of pine needles as she looked around. A deep breath treated her to the sharp, clean scent of the trees. She’d be harvesting some of those long green needles for steeping. Chopped and steeped in boiling water, they made a pleasant hot drink to stave off a morning’s chill.

She paused and glanced upward again, unable to get an unobstructed view of the sun’s position through the treetops. “Will we spend the night here?” No sense gathering what she needed for the brew if they would soon be on their way.

Magnus studied the place as he walked around the naturally formed clearing the land had been kind enough to provide. “Aye. I believe so. We covered a lot of ground today, and whilst our beasts are fine and hardy, they’re nay used to carrying two riders and all the additional supplies we loaded. They could use a good night’s rest.” He grinned. “And I’m not too proud to admit I would enjoy a brief stay here, too.”

“There’s fish!” Keigan’s excited shout came from somewhere deeper among the trees.

“He’s already caught one!” Evander crowed before the echo of Keigan’s excitement had fully faded.

“They’re supposed to be watering the horses,” Magnus said with a failed attempt at sounding stern.

“Keigan loves guddling for trout,” Brenna explained. “Almost as much as he loves eating them.” She shrugged. “And the boy has a talent for it. I assure ye we shall eat well tonight, considering all we just heard.”

Magnus stared at her as though he didn’t believe what she had just said. “Five years old and already an expert at tickling fish from a burn?”

“Aye.” His surprise pleased her. Most men didn’t think a woman could survive alone in the wild, much less train a child to survive, too. “He’s also adept with a bow and almost better at throwing daggers than I am. Ye saw him throw the stones.” She squared her shoulders. “And I am none too shabby at daggers and stones either, mind ye.”

Magnus shook his head, then trudged off toward the boys’ shouts. “I reckon I best see to the horses and the filling of the water bags, myself,” he called back to her.

Brenna knew better. If Magnus was like most men, he’d be down at that stream cheering Keigan on before she could blink twice. A sadness overcame her as she busied herself with pushing dried pine needles into piles for their pallets. A father and son would naturally share the joys of hunting and fishing. Keigan had enjoyed learning the skills from her, but now he and Magnus would be on equal footing and able to share in the hunt’s thrill. They would quickly forget her.

Cutting a branch from a nearby tree, she used it as a broom to clear the area of broken sticks, pinecones, and whatever else cluttered the encampment. The longer she swept, the more she thought about losing Keigan. She wasn’t a fool. As kind as Magnus had been, why wouldn’t the lad choose to accept him as a father? After all, how many times had the boy asked about his parents over the years?

Brenna suddenly regretted that she hadn’t instilled a deep, dark hatred for the man within Keigan. A bitter laugh escaped her. She hadn’t painted Magnus in a good light, but neither had she raised the boy with the undying need to hunt the man down and kill him. Nay, she could never have done that. Her conscience wouldn’t allow it. The fault of Keigan’s begetting didn’t fall fully on his father’s shoulders. Her sister had known full well what could spring from her ridiculous plan. Brenna swept harder, attacking the ground with a vengeance. Aye, but there was no way her sibling could have known all the chaos that would spring from that one fateful decision.

A horse’s snort made her turn. Magnus led both steeds while carrying the bulging water bags slung over one shoulder. “He’s already caught enough for supper. Fine, fat trout. Now, he’s helping Evander set traps for game and find ramps and mushrooms to go with them.” He draped the straps of the leather water bags over a branch, then stretched a rope between two trees and secured the beasts. “I promised him I’d help clean the fish. He left them by the stream. I’ll bring them to ye once I’ve finished.”

“Verra good,” was all she could reply through the misgivings churning within her. Her sweet nephew was lost to her for certain. Even though Magnus had offered her a home at Tor Ruadh as well, how could she accept such charity? For that matter, had he truly meant it? Nay, she wouldn’t even consider such. Hanging on to Keigan like a poor relation begging for food and shelter would be nothing but an embarrassment to the child. Besides, Magnus probably had a woman at the keep ready to care for his son. As well as himself, she silently added.

With a stern rolling of her shoulders, she cast aside the self-pity. She would do what she must and do it with pride. What was done couldn’t be undone. Tossing aside the crude broom, she hurried to start a fire and search out rocks that would help with propping the skewered fish and be flat enough to hold her poor battered pans.

A stick snapped behind her, and she whirled about. Keigan stood there, a worried look on his face.

“What’s wrong with my lad?” Brenna rushed to him,