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

“Because I grant ye, I willna hesitate to accept yer challenge and win it for us both.”

The suggestive innuendo in his tone made her shudder, but his self-satisfied smile stoked her anger. “I will go to Tor Ruadh—but for Keigan’s sake. Not because ye ordered it. My sweet boy’s happiness is all that matters.”

Magnus had the grace to jerk a nodding approval. “Good. I am glad ye chose to come willingly.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“Because I dare say…” The man’s infuriating look turned into an even more irritating smirk. “Keigan wouldha been a damned sight embarrassed when we arrived at the keep with ye tied and thrown over the arse of my horse.”

Then he turned and disappeared into the woods before she could wrestle her rage under control enough to speak.

“Damn ye to Hell!” she shouted after him.

His deep laughter echoed back to her through the trees, making her wish she had slapped him when she had the chance.

Chapter Six

Folding the last of his fried bread, Magnus sopped the drippings off the dented pewter plate Brenna had refused to leave behind. He glanced over at her as he shoved the food in his mouth. She knelt on the other side of the fire, scraping the last of their bountiful dinner into Evander’s bowl. He couldn’t fathom what the woman might be thinking. She kept her expression as blank as a fresh sheet of parchment. Not a word had passed between them since their explosive encounter.

What the devil had come over him? He ran his thumb along the dent in the plate, rubbing it as he stared at her. What the devil hadn’t come over him? Already a beguiling temptation, she had become impossible to resist as she raged and threatened not to come with him and Keigan. Never had he reacted toward a lass in such a way before. A wry snort escaped him. Never had he been so inclined. But what stirred him even more, was the way this gloriously furious woman had responded to him. Fire and lightning straight from the heavens had filled that kiss.

He rose from his seat on a fallen tree and walked over to her. She acted as though he wasn’t there, keeping her attention locked on her useless frittering of a stick through the softly glowing coals. Fine. He would leave her be for now. Without a word, he picked up the pile of soiled dishes and the iron skillet she seemed to cherish more than gold.

She started as though waking from a dream. “What are ye doing?”

“The lads hunted and fished. Ye cleared the camp and cooked. I intend to carry these to the stream and wash them. I do my part, aye?” Without waiting for a reply, he turned and walked away.

“Mind that skillet’s handle,” she called after him. “There’s a crack on the underside that’ll cut ye quick as a blade.”

Keigan appeared at his side. “That’s how she stole it out of the bin,” he said in a loud whisper after a quick glance back toward the camp. “She’s ’shamed about how she got most of our things before folk started paying for her healing. But I think she did good. Like treasure hunting for whatever we needed!”

“I think she did damned fine, m’lad.” They walked alongside the gurgling stream until they reached where the embankment leveled out and opened into a shallow with small enough pebbles for scrubbing. Magnus submerged the dishes, leaving them to soak as he washed them one by one.

“Dinna be angry with her,” Keigan blurted after a lengthy silence. “She loves me fierce, ye ken?”

“I am nay angry with her, son.” He paused in his rubbing of sandy grit against the inside of the pan. “I admire yer auntie, but I also wish she would allow me to make her life easier. It is my hope she’ll see that for herself once we reach Tor Ruadh.”

“Auntie’s the way she is because folks havena been all that kind to her.” Crouched at his side, the youngster peered up at him with the wisdom of an old soul flickering in his eyes. “She cries a lot at night when she thinks I canna hear her ’cause I’m ’posed to be asleep.”

“Why do ye think she cries?” Magnus set the skillet aside and reached for a dish. He had to keep the boy talking. The young one’s insights about Brenna could be more than a little helpful.

Keigan picked up a plate and half-heartedly swished it in the burn. “I reckon sometimes is ’cause she misses Mama.” He filled the dish to the rim, then barely tipped it, and watched the water trickle out. “Before we left Granny Wick’s place, she would always cry after mean old Mr. Wicklow hit her and made her go to the rooms I wasna allowed in. But I think that was ’cause she was angry at him, not ’cause he hurt her.” After a thoughtful pause, he nodded. “Aye, most definitely ’cause of her ire. If ye ever see her crying when her temper’s on the loose, ye best lie low. ’Cause her crying makes her rage even harder.”

“I shall bear that in mind.” Magnus hoped the boy kept talking. This information was golden.

Scooping up a handful of rocks, the lad clunked them into the dish and swirled them all around. “But now I think she cries mostly cause her heart’s awful lonesome.” The rattling pebbles inside the metal plate stilled as he looked up and met Magnus’s gaze. “She doesna have a soul in this world that loves her ’cept me. Told me so herself.” Dumping the rocks and wiping the dish on his shirt, he stood and added it to the stack of clean ones. He scooped up some larger stones, took aim, and threw them one by one across the water. “Do ye have a lot a folk who love ye?” he asked as he sent another pebble skittering along the stream’s rippling surface.

With