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

Pitying the poor girl, Magnus stomped and clapped. Brenna joined in, flapping her apron. They charged at the flock, scattering the birds in every direction.

“Thank ye ever so much.” The flustered maid curtsied, then held out the plate to Magnus. “’Tis yer favorites, sir. Just pulled from the oven.”

Surprised by such special treatment, Magnus stared at the girl, not sure what to do.

“Dinna just stand there.” Brenna nudged him. “Take it from her. Cook must ha’ sent them.” She leaned in and hid her words behind her hand. “Ye know how the fussy thing favors ye.”

Brenna was right. The dear old woman spoiled him as though she were his doting grandmam. There was naught to be done but accept it. “I thank ye, lass.” He lifted the cloth. The tantalizing aroma of meat pies greeted him, their golden crusts split and bubbling with rich brown gravy. Four of them nestled in the center of the platter, surrounded by odd-shaped pieces of broken crust glistening with butter. “Did Cook send these?”

“Nay,” the girl said with a shy smile. “I brought them ’cause they’re best straight off the fire.” She pushed a lackluster brown curl behind her ear. “Baked them for ye myself whilst Cook was at the smoke pit. I remembered from before how much ye relished them.”

From before? He struggled to recall the young woman’s name but couldn’t. Hellfire, had his memory left him in his prime?

“Eat them whilst they’re hot,” the maid urged, watching him with gleeful expectation. Her excited smile brightened her round, freckled face, her nose still smudged with flour.

Still puzzling over who she was, he bit into one of the scalding hot pies, then huffed and blew to get it cooled before it scarred his tongue permanently.

Brenna reached for the platter. “Here. Let me hold it for ye whilst ye enjoy yer treats. Fan yer mouth, aye?”

The young girl, slight of body and a full head shorter than Brenna, shoved in between them. She brushed Brenna’s hands aside. “Nay. These are for Master Magnus alone. I shall hold the plate whilst he eats them.”

Mouth opened in shock, Brenna backed away without a word. She stared at the maidservant as though the lass had just snarled at her like a beast on a short chain.

“Ye would do well to remember yer place, young woman.” Magnus handed the platter to Brenna, then turned to the girl. “If ye ever behave in such an impertinent way again, ye will no longer work here at the keep, ye ken?”

Brenna sidled closer, interrupting him with a touch to his arm. She gave the maid a tight smile, then nodded toward the path leading back to the kitchens. “Perhaps, ye best return to yer chores, aye? Mrs. Fitzgerald will be looking for ye.”

The sullen girl’s eyes narrowed the slightest bit. A hostile air settled across her before she gave a half-hearted curtsey. “As ye wish, mistress.” Then she stomped away, immediately swarmed by the flock of chickens.

Magnus returned the half-eaten pie to the platter. The thing had been a flavorless, underdone mess, and he was none too sure what sort of meat the girl had used. For all he knew, it could have been rat. He whistled for the dogs and tossed the pies to the ravenous hounds.

“I am sorry, m’love,” he said as he placed the empty dish on top of a barrel beside the fence. “I swear I will speak to Catriona and Mrs. Fitzgerald both about her behavior. I’m sure they can find work for her down in the village, so ye willna have to deal with her rudeness again.”

“Nay, my champion. Let it pass, aye?” Brenna looked thoughtful as she returned to watching the persistent little bird scour the paddock for bugs. “Catriona told me about that girl. We should bear her some extra patience, I think.”

“I refuse to tolerate anyone treating ye with such disrespect.” He rested a fist on the fencepost. “Who is she? She spoke as if I should know her.”

“Ye do know her. Her name is Cadha. Remember?”

“Cadha?” Magnus still didn’t remember the girl with the tangled brown hair and eyes dark as obsidian.

“The lass ye found wandering along the shores of Loch Shiel just this side of Glenfinnan? Winter before last, remember? Catriona told me all about the poor child. How ye found her nearly frozen and so starved she couldna keep down anything more than broth for days.”

He remembered now. While traveling alongside the loch, he had come upon a half-dead waif searching the icy shoreline for anything to eat. The poor mite’s head had been shaved, and her meager clothes were so rotted and torn, he could see bruises and rat bites all over her. She had been so thin, he thought her a lad escaped from a poorly run orphanage. But on the way back to Tor Ruadh, the child had whispered her name and said she had escaped her parents, who ran a public house in Glenfinnan.

Scrubbing a hand down his face, he shook his head. “I remember her now, but that still does not excuse her behavior. She has been here long enough to know what we expect of her.”

“Let it pass this time, aye?” Brenna traced a finger along the rough wood grain of the fence. “It was the smallest slight and meant nothing. I promise.” A disturbing sadness softened her eyes. “She and I have a great deal in common, I think.” The sadness left her as she gave the top rail of the fence a pat. “Now, where is this surprise ye promised me?”

Magnus didn’t have to answer. He pointed as Evander emerged from the stable. The lad led a massive dapple-gray warhorse, with Keigan in the saddle. Evander’s rope would control the beast if necessary, but Keigan sat tall and proud, holding the reins and guiding the animal with ease. The child had improved so quickly, he could ride without assistance. But to relieve Brenna’s fears and convince her the child was safe,