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

Keigan scowled at her, then wrapped his arms around her neck and hugged her tight again. “I remember,” he whispered. “But I dinna like it.”

“Neither do I, my brave one.” Brenna closed her eyes, memorizing the feel of this blessed child she loved more than life itself. If aught went wrong, at least he would be safe. At least, she prayed so. His safety was all that mattered.

“We must go now,” Magnus said quietly.

“Ye’ve got plenty stones, aye?” Keigan said as he eased out of her embrace, his little hands knotted into fists.

“I do.” Brenna stood, already missing the feel of this precious bairn safe in her arms. “But ye might give me a few more, if ye like.”

The child brightened and pulled a pair of the longest flint daggers from his belt. “My best ones. They’ll keep ye safe for certain.”

She tucked them both into the front of her bodice, then patted the spot where they nestled between her breasts. “I feel safer already. Thank ye, Keigan.”

The child smiled, then turned a serious scowl on Magnus. “I fear ye dinna throw them verra well, but would ye like some, too? Just in case?”

“I would.” Magnus shifted in place, looking both relieved and proud that his son had included him and hopefully forgiven him for acting like the boy was too young to understand.

After selecting another pair of stones from the trunk, Keigan held them out. “These should tuck nicely into yer waistcoat. I know they’re small, but that doesna mean they’re nay sharp or deadly.”

Magnus accepted them, then knelt to look the lad in the eye. “It pains me that ye speak as a man when all ye should know are the joys of a child. Forgive me, Keigan, for everything.”

Keigan rested a hand on Magnus’s shoulder. “I forgive ye. Just dinna get yerself killed today.” His lower lip trembled, but he didn’t cry. “Please,” he said, soft and low. “I need ye and Auntie both safe for me, ye ken?”

“I swear we shall do our best, son.” Magnus scooped the boy into his arms and held him tight.

Brenna blinked hard and fast, willing herself not to cry. Damned English. Nothing but trouble.

“Yer supper’s getting cold,” Greer interrupted, then cleared her throat. “Forgive me.” She tucked her chin and retreated a step while lowering her gaze to the floor.

“Mistress Greer is correct.” Magnus released the lad and rose to his feet but kept a hand on Keigan’s shoulder.

“Aye.” Keigan backed away, averting his eyes. “I willna watch ye leave. Auntie says ’tis ill luck.”

“That’s my good lad,” Brenna said with forced calm. She turned and hurried out the door, determined to get through this and return to her sweet boy as soon as she could. Magnus caught up with her, looking as grim as she felt.

“Hell’s fire, he talks as if he’s grown,” he said as they rushed down the stairs and into the hallway.

“He’s seen more than a child should.” Brenna had learned long ago that the less she spoke about the past, the easier it was to move forward. With a hand fisted to her chest, she pressed Keigan’s daggers against her breastbone. The feel of them strengthened her, a reassurance she sorely needed right now. “I pray this goes well.”

Magnus took hold of her arm and turned her to face him. With a loving touch to her cheek, he stared at her with a combination of frustration and longing. She held her breath, wondering what he meant to say before they entered the hall. Instead of speaking, he gathered her close and kissed her hard. Barely lifting his mouth away, his urgent whisper thrilled her like a lover’s touch. “Say ye will be my wife. Soon as the priest can say the words over us, aye?” The need in his eyes held her captive as he waited for her answer. “We are meant to be one, mo ghràdh. Do ye not feel it as well?”

“Aye, I feel it.” Life could be so fragile and short. She suddenly regretted making him wait as long as she had. “I will be yer wife, m’eudail.” She sealed the promise with a tender kiss, then smiled up at him. “As soon as the priest can join us.”

With a resigned sigh, Magnus glanced toward the hall, then back at her. “But for now…to battle.”

“To victory,” she corrected with a squeeze of his arm.

They stepped through the archway, and both her steps and her heart stopped. “God help me,” she prayed under her breath, then crossed herself while fighting the urge to run.

“What is it?” Magnus steadied her as he glanced around to see what had caused her reaction.

“Well, bless my soul,” boomed an oddly high-pitched voice for a man. “My little virgin whore came to welcome me to the Highlands.”

All sound, all movement in the great meeting room ceased as the tall, broad-shouldered British officer sauntered forward with a self-assured air. A menacing smile twisted his strangely distorted mouth as he gave an arrogant tilt of his head toward one and all. “Awfully kind of you to plan such a surprise for me. Really, it is. However, I have already had this one, you see. I’ve really no interest in using her again.” He tapped a finger on the wide scar splitting his bottom lip. The puckered red line continued down his chin and across his throat until it disappeared behind his neckcloth. “I’m sure you understand. After all, maidenheads don’t grow back to be ripped through again at one’s leisure.” Flipping a hand toward the handful of soldiers behind him, he continued, “Of course, these men might feel differently if you’d like to offer her to them.” With a gloating chuckle, he fixed a lusty smirk on Brenna. “I know my men at Wickhaven enjoyed her wares once I tore open her package.”

With a guttural roar, Magnus whipped out his sword and charged forward. “Enough!”

Barricourt drew his blade, as did every soldier