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

in her hand. “Here. Tuck this into yer bosom. As Gretna said, this’ll be a day for happy tears, and ye’ll need it.” She stepped back with another satisfied nod. “And ye can thank us with yer friendship and trust, aye? We’re truly happy Magnus found ye.”

“Time for Fenna?” Mercy asked.

“Aye,” Catriona and Gretna agreed in unison.

Mercy moved to the door. “Fenna, Mistress Brenna is ready for you.”

“Fenna?” In all the excitement, there had been so many maidservants helping her bathe and wash her hair, Brenna’s mind whirled. She couldn’t remember who was who.

The tiny lass with the shortest hair and the largest smile bounced into the room, toting a basket of brushes and combs. “Mistress Brenna, ye look most becoming. Master Magnus is a verra lucky man.” With a sharp nod, she continued, “Dinna sit. Ye might crease yer dress and flatten the pasteboard we sewed into the bustle to make yer rump all grand and flare that train good and proper when ye walk.”

A maidservant so forward she gave orders and made personal comments? Brenna didn’t mind, but it had been her experience that such a thing was rarely tolerated. “Thank ye. I hope he thinks so.”

“Fenna is my lady’s maid,” Mercy explained. “She is very outspoken.” One of her smooth dark brows arched higher. “I wouldn’t have her any other way—most of the time.”

Lady Mercy might be blind, but she noticed more than those who had two good eyes. Brenna wondered if the woman possessed the second sight. “Such an unusual clan. Treating all with respect and kindness? No matter their status? Especially women? Verra rare indeed.”

“Kindness and respect make for strong kinship,” Catriona explained. “’Tis our belief it strengthens us, helps us overcome any obstacle we face.”

“A strong kinship,” Brenna repeated as the maid brushed out her curls and arranged them. A contentedness filled her. She knew in her heart her sister was smiling down from heaven, happy that her son had accepted such a family as his own.

“There now,” Fenna climbed down from the footstool she had used to reach Brenna’s hair. “I know ’tis simple, but yer hair is so lovely, I thought it fitting for this special day.”

“Ye’ve made me feel grand as a queen.” Ever so gingerly, Brenna reached up and ran her fingertips along the fine ivory combs sweeping her tresses up high, then freeing the curls to cascade down her back.

“And dinna ye fret about Keigan,” Catriona said as she offered her a small goblet of wine. “Maxwell and Grant have already built a fortress for the three of them in the nursery.” She laughed. “Little do they know that wee Maisie plans to attack them later on this evening.” With a reassuring flip of a hand, she continued, “I’ve warned Willa and Nanny to ensure there are no injuries.” She made a face, and her voice took on an amused but warning tone. “My sweet Maisie can be a vicious wee mite. They best not underestimate her.”

Catriona’s assurance that Keigan wasn’t her responsibility tonight increased Brenna’s nervousness. A wedding night. With Magnus. The sharing of the marriage bed. She swallowed hard, forcing down a choking knot of worry with a sip of the wine. Everything she knew about such matters came from a darker time. Survival had bid her lock that vileness away and never think of it again. She prayed Magnus wouldn’t find her lacking.

“I’d say it’s time we all got to the chapel, aye?” With a proud smile, Catriona took the wine away and set it aside. “Yer groom’s a waitin’.”

“My groom,” Brenna repeated under her breath, willing herself to walk as gracefully as she could. The black leather shoes, tied with a bow that matched the silk of her dress and adorned with cream-colored heels, threatened to send her tumbling. Either that or pinch her toes clean off. May God have mercy on her soul. The cursed things squeezed her feet tighter than a starving dog’s bite on a bone. And Gretna had secured her stockings with ribbons tied so tight above her knees, her legs had gone all numb. “Help me not fall on my face, aye?”

“Ye willna fall,” Catriona reassured, strolling along beside her.

“We’ve surrounded ye,” Gretna added as she and Mercy took their places alongside her. “And Fenna’s at yer train to ensure it’s set off good and proper.”

“I canna believe I’m doing this.” Giddiness filled her, threatening to send her head spinning. Swallowing hard, she fanned herself. “’Tis verra warm, aye? I’ll soak my chemise through.”

All the women laughed. “We felt the same, dear sister,” Mercy reassured her. “And if need be, we have two more chemises ready, should you need to refresh before retiring with your husband.”

“Aye,” Gretna said. “Just give us a nod, and we’ll have ye sorted and dry, quick as a blink.” She grinned like a proud parent. “The women of Clan MacCoinnich prepare for everything.”

Attempting any level of gracefulness with pinched toes and the weight of the gown proved quite the challenge. But the longer Brenna walked, the better she adapted to the shoes they had shod her with. She looked forward to their removal at her earliest opportunity.

The servants formed a line along her route to the chapel, all of them smiling and nodding, as though she were royalty itself. How kind they all seemed, and try as she might, she didn’t detect a single disparaging glance. Except for one. Cadha stood at the very end of the line closest to the archway leading to the kirk. That lass gave her a sour-faced scowl that left no doubt she thought Brenna lower than the earth upon which she trod.

Brenna held her head higher. She assumed a disinterested air that informed the girl her opinion mattered less than a sputtering candle. That festering hen had no idea what she had survived. Nor was it any of her affair. She stored away the girl’s insulting attitude for future reference. It would be a frosty day in Hell before