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

“What are ye doing?” She thumped his back, squirming to get down.

“Be still with ye.” He swatted her rump and strode to the stairwell, charging up the steps. “I canna see a damned thing in this shadowy hallway. If I cut them off ye here, ye’re liable to lose a toe.”

“Cut them off?” she squeaked. “Ye mustn’t damage the leather. They’re Catriona’s, and I’m sure they’re dear to her.”

“Aye, well, I’m thinking she’ll live past losing a pair of slippers.” By the time he reached the second-floor landing, he had worked up an even heartier sweat than before. He took hold of the latch and shoved, ready to be rid of his full dress of clothes and those damnable shoes. Why the hell did women put themselves through such foolishness? It couldn’t be to impress men. Who gave a damn about a woman’s feet when their bodies had so much nicer things to offer? The door did not open. “The key, Brenna?”

“Key?”

Her tone told him everything he needed to know.

As gently as he could, he slid her off his shoulder and plopped her rump to the floor. “Cover yer face in case wood goes a flying.”

“Ye dinna mean to break it?” She stared up at him, wide-eyed and horrified. “Ye canna break it! What will Alexander say?”

“I dinna give a damn what Alexander says. He’d do the same if it were him.” Magnus had had enough of uncomfortable fancy clothes and barred doors. He was ready to strip down, stand in front of a good strong breeze, and drink a whisky before he settled down to the pleasurable task of consummating their vows. Shoulder lowered, he charged into the door, ramming it with a determined grunt.

Wood split and crackled, but the door didn’t give. Magnus backed up as far as he could on the stairway landing and dropped his shoulder again.

“Ye’re going to knock yer shoulder clear out of its joint!” she scolded. “Just run fetch the key, aye?”

“Nay,” he growled from between clenched teeth. The locked door had become the enemy. “The locks are weak. ’Tis the bars across the door that keep out real intruders.” He hit it full force. It sprang open and sent him sprawling across the sitting room floor. He rolled up to a sitting position, rubbing his shoulder all the while. It appeared he needed to spend more time in the practice yards. Damnation, he had gone soft. Either that or feckin’ doors had gotten a great deal harder than they once were.

Bunching up her skirts, Brenna crawled over to him. “Are ye all right? Let me see.” She moved to his side, pinching his fingers under her knee.

Yanking his hand out from under her, he bit back a yelp and forced a chivalrous smile. “Nay, m’lady. I wish yer comfort to come first.” Ignoring the minor aching in both shoulder and hand, he pulled his sgian dhu from his boot. With a pat to the floor in front of him, he held up the knife and smiled. “Yer feet, m’love?”

With a wiggle that made his mouth go dry, Brenna plopped down on her rear with both feet sticking out in front of her. Skirts hiked to her knees, she leaned forward and took hold of both legs. With an earnest look, she scooted closer. “Do ye think ye can cut them free without damage to the stockings? Mercy said I could keep them.”

Her fair breasts nearly spilled out over the top of the stomacher, robbing him of all reason. “Uhm…” was all he could think to say.

“Can ye at least try to save them?”

“Aye,” he managed to utter. “I shall do my best.” Tearing his eyes away from what he would rather be holding, Magnus forced his attention on the too small shoes and his lady love’s tortured feet. With the tip of one finger, he found enough slack in the leather below her ankle and above her arch for the width of his blade. There was no helping it. Her feet had swollen too much, making it impossible to cut or untie the string itself without injuring her. His dagger made quick work of the thin leather, loosening the slipper enough so he could peel it aside and sever the ribbon at the eye of the shoe. He tossed the offensive thing away, then massaged her poor foot. With a reassuring wink, he dipped his head toward her legs. “Ye’ve at least got one good stocking, m’love. I didna damage this one.”

Her eyes closed in sheer bliss. “That feels so good,” she said with a relieved groan.

In response, his cock hardened to the point of demanding relief. Soon. He cleared his throat and held out his hand. “And now the other foot.” Dispatching that shoe the same way. He wondered how many wedding nights had ever started like this.

With a relieved sigh, Brenna returned to her knees, shoved the yardage of her dress out of the way, and crawled back to his side. “And now yer shoulder. I saw ye rubbing it, so I know it’s hurt.” Grabbing hold of his jacket, she pulled it back with a yank that hit a tender spot that made him wince. “Ye see? I told ye to fetch the key rather than maiming yerself like ye did.”

He took hold of her hands and gently sat her back on her heels. “Allow me, aye? I promise, it’s naught but a little soreness that a dram will chase away.”

She gave him a look that called him a liar but remained silent.

Determined to prove he had not done himself any harm, he took his time unpinning the brooch at his shoulder, piling the extra length of his plaid in his lap, and shucking off his jacket. Belt and sword cast aside. Waistcoat and neckcloth soon joined the jacket on the floor. As he peeled off the tunic and tossed it, a grunt escaped him. Dammit.

Much to his surprise, Brenna didn’t say a word. Just stared at him.