The Ghost by Greyson, Maeve (best motivational books to read .txt) 📕

from him. “I swear that youngling keeps his head up his arse half the time.”

His frustration made Brenna smile. “’Tis part of the trials and joys of parenting.”

“How in the name of all that’s holy do ye bear it?”

“Bear what?”

“The worrying about him.” Magnus nudged his horse into a smooth gallop to catch up with the boys. Exasperation and wonder filled his voice as he shouted back at her, “Will he get hurt? Is he hungry? Is he ailing? Does he understand why I tell him what I do? God’s beard! Does it never end?”

The ranting of his insecurities over the thundering gait made Brenna laugh. “I dinna think it will ever end,” she called out. “Remember—this is my first time raising a bairn, too.”

Magnus slowed the horse. Thankfully, they no longer needed to shout. “I thought women were born knowing.”

“Born knowing how to raise a bairn?”

“Aye.”

“Not born knowing but taught.” An old bitterness flared, prodding her to add, “At least some clans teach women about bairns. If there’s an elder who cares enough to offer advice.” As soon as she shared her resentment, she regretted it because the conversation came to a halt. Perhaps it was just as well. In her current state, she risked saying more than she should. No one cared to listen to a snarling harpy, and she didn’t wish to sound like one.

They rode on in silence for a long while. Warm sun on her back and the repetitive thump of the horse’s hooves. The hypnotic combination lulled her past the point of caring about decorum. Perhaps it wouldn’t be so wrong to just lean against him for a moment or two while she rested her eyes. Nothing improper about that. The linen of his tunic, soft from many washings, almost gave her a sense of comfort and safety. Or was it the raw power in the muscular body shifting beneath the cloth? And he didn’t reek like most of the men they had forced her to tolerate. Nay, some sort of aromatic spice blended with his pleasant, manly musk. She breathed in deep, then tightened her grip on his belt and relaxed even more. Her cheek settled in the inviting dip between his shoulder blades. Surely, he would understand and not take offense if she rested against him for just a moment.

“Hold up!”

Brenna jolted awake, disoriented and shaken. “What…what’s wrong?”

“Ye were about to slide off, lass,” Magnus said with a gentle squeeze of her hand. “Come. Sit in front of me so I can keep ye from falling whilst ye rest.”

“Nay, I’m…I am fine,” she mumbled, blinking against the lingering sleepiness.

“Nay.” Magnus twisted in the saddle, wrapped an arm around her, and pulled, sliding her off the back of the horse and settling her neatly in the front of him before she could argue. He tucked her snugly against his chest, then kneed the mount back into motion. “Rest yerself. There’s no shame in it. The past several days have been a trial, and ye’ve slept verra little. What with my showing up. Angry villagers. Losing yer home. ’Tis no wonder ye’re bone-weary. Grant yerself this time of rest whilst we ride. I’d say ye’ve more than earned it after everything ye’ve done to protect Keigan with no one to help ye.”

“Well…” A humbling guilt filled her at such lavish praise. “I canna take credit for everything. Granny Wick was a great help. If not for her kindness, Keigan wouldha been born in a stable much like our Lord and Savior.”

“Quite a few years have passed betwixt then and now.” Magnus’s arm tightened around her as they maneuvered across a ridge dotted with large stones. “I’d say the lion’s share of the credit for the lad’s health and well-being should still go to yerself.”

“Ye’re verra kind,” she said quietly, hoping he wouldn’t hear. At the very least, she needed to dislike this man. She had given up on hating him. But becoming his ally and helping him grow close to Keigan would only result in the loss of her sweet child.

If her wee one left for Tor Ruadh, what purpose would she have in this life? She tucked her chin and allowed herself to lean against Magnus, closing her eyes to prevent further discourse. The more he talked, the more he heaped praise and thankfulness upon her, the more unsettled she felt. Considering Magnus de Gray the enemy had become almost impossible.

Even though the idea of sleeping again seemed farfetched, the next time Brenna opened her eyes, the countryside had transformed. Gone were the rolling hills dotted with clusters of trees here and there. Dense woods had taken their place. Steeper inclines and gnarled crags. The long shadows where the sun pierced through the canopy of thick pines told her it was later in the day. She straightened, reluctantly pushing away from the warm muscular chest that had made quite a comforting pillow. “Where are we?”

“The heart of the northern tip of Scotland. Probably farther inland than ye’ve been in a while. Still about two days’ ride from Inverness.” He brought the animal to a stop. “This looks to be a good place to tarry for a bit. The horses need rest and water.”

“And I need to make a pee,” Keigan said, grabbing hold of Evander’s sleeve and swinging down to the ground before anyone could offer a hand with his dismounting. He scurried to the nearest tree and let out a relieved groan as his stream hit a mound of pine needles.

“Best steer clear of that tree’s shed for pallets,” Evander teased. “He’s done soaked them through.”

“Ye dinna need to pee?” the child asked while still watering the base of the tree.

Evander joined him and, with his back to Brenna, set to releasing a stream of his own. “Aye, and this be a good enough place, I reckon.”

Magnus chuckled, then offered his forearm to her. “Take my arm, and I’ll swing ye down so ye might escape these two unmannerly heathens and tend