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

taking my name. But I daren’t ask ye now. It wouldn’t be fair. Not while ye’re so vulnerable.” Shite! He should’ve left that part off. This brave lass hated for anyone to think her weak. He had seen proof of that repeatedly.

She stared at her hand, the hand he held. So very still. Not blinking. He swore she had even stopped breathing.

“Brenna?” he whispered.

She jerked as though startled, her lashes fluttering as she looked up, then eased her hand out of his. “Ye are a verra strange man, Magnus de Gray. Verra strange, indeed.”

“Aye. Ye are not the first to tell me such.” His hopes faltered at the way she had withdrawn, but he wouldn’t give up now. He wondered if she meant his strangeness was a good thing or bad. She didn’t seem that put off—yet. “So, will ye at least bear what I said in mind? A pairing until we’ve had more time together?”

“I willna bed ye until ye are my husband,” she said as if throwing down a gauntlet. Her chin jutted upward, and her eyes narrowed. “And no more forced kisses either.”

“If memory serves…” Magnus mimicked her defensive stance. Since she had drawn no weapons nor told him to take his offer straight to Hell, he felt surer of himself. Encouragement did wonders for a man’s confidence. “I remember our first kiss as not entirely forced—leastways not once I got it good and started.”

The genuine smile that sparkled in her eyes as well made her even more beguiling. “Aye, I might admit to such.” But just as quickly, her look changed to puzzlement. “I just wasna certain what ye meant by pairing. That sounds more like the matching off of prized animals for mating.”

“Betrothed,” he sputtered. The word burst from him of its own volition. “I guess I didna say it that way before because I dinna wish to bind ye until ye see what a good man I will be for ye.”

“Think that much of yerself, do ye?”

“Aye, I do,” he said. He stood taller, puffing out his chest. “Ye are the only woman who ever set my heart astir, and I dinna intend to lose ye.”

A coolness came over her, like storm clouds blanketing the sky. Jaw tight, she turned aside and stared downward. “Since we are speaking the truth and not dancing about with words, ye should know I am not a virgin before ye speak of betrothals or any sort of bindings.” A bitter laugh forced its way free of her. “Ye might be a good enough man, Magnus, but are ye certain I am good enough for the likes of yerself?” She turned back to him, glare fierce, and standing as though she awaited a walk to the gallows and took great pride in the sentence sending her there. “I did what was necessary to keep my precious boy safe, warm, and fed. I am ashamed of nothing.”

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.