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

not just because of the lad. She mattered to him. He had to win her over. Without realizing it, his grip relaxed, and the pan slipped out of his hand. Its cracked handle sliced open his palm as it fell. A grunt escaped him at the biting sting of the cut.

“Who’s there?” Brenna drew a throwing stone and pushed Keigan behind her. “Step out where I can see ye, or this stone’ll find its way through the leaves, and I promise ye’ll not like its greeting.”

“Ease up now, lass. It’s just me.” He bent to pick up the pan, his heart nearly stopping when he noticed it lay in two pieces. “Shite!” he hissed under his breath. Her beloved pan. The handle and a good-sized chunk of its side had broken free from the rest. He was doomed for certain now. Shite! Shite! Shite! All he could do was confess and hope for her mercy.

“I didna mean to drop it. I swear I’ll get ye a new one in Inverness,” he said, stepping free of the bushes. “I’m sure we can find ye a fine one there.” He held up the pieces, bracing himself for the arse chewing he deserved. “I am verra sorry.”

Her open-mouthed shock made him feel even worse. How could he have been so careless with something she prized so dearly?

Trying to fit the two pieces back together, he slowly shook his head. “I dinna think we can mend it.”

“Toss that useless bit of metal aside, ye fool man, and be quick about it. Ye’re bleeding like a speared boar.” She rushed over, grabbed hold of his hand, and spread it open wide.

“That hurts when ye do that!” He tried to pull away, but she held fast.

“Be still,” she scolded, then turned to Keigan. “Fetch the whisky and one of my linen strips. This needs a good cleaning before I bandage it. I fear the cut’s too ragged for stitches.” With a brow arched higher than the other, she gave Magnus a look that made him feel like a lad caught stealing pies from the kitchen. “Did I not warn ye about the handle?”

“Aye. Ye did.” He escaped her grasp and backed away until a safe arm’s length of distance separated them. “It’s not like I did it on purpose, ye ken? Leave off now. I can wrap it myself, and it’ll be fine.” He couldn’t believe he had been so clumsy. “And I meant what I said. Soon as we reach Inverness, we’ll find a shop where ye can have yer pick of pans. Any skillet that suits ye. Two even. I swear.”

The bottle of spirits in one hand, Brenna held out the other as she walked toward him.

Damned if he didn’t feel like trapped prey.

“Give me yer hand. It needs washing out before I bandage it.” She marched another step closer. “And I’ll be the one handling all the healing in this camp, mind ye. I’ll no’ risk any of ye falling ill because of neglect fueled by stubbornness. Now, show yer son how brave ye are, and let me tend to that, aye?”

When she put it like that, he had little choice. With his teeth clenched, he shoved his fist toward her.

“Ye’ll grind yer teeth to dust if ye dinna relax and trust me,” she said quietly as she pried open his fingers. “This’ll sting a mite, but I’m sure it’ll not be too bothersome for a grand warrior like yerself.”

At first, he was insulted, then the searing pain of the tonic she poured across the cut made him forget. “Sons a bitches!” He tried to yank free of her hold and escape the liquid fire, but she had his wrist locked in an iron grip, and his arm hugged to her side. “What the hell is that? A red-hot iron wouldna hurt so bad!”

“It’s just whisky.” She blew on the cut and held the bottle aloft. With a sympathetic smile, she hugged his arm tighter and squeezed his wrist. “Cheap whisky with herbs. A little honey. Oil of pine. Just a few things to make it better for healing. Hold yer breath now. One last rinse, and then it’ll all be over.”

Aye, it would all be over. As the pain from the wretched remedy faded, the soft warmth of her hugging his arm gave him an aching somewhere else.

“Here, Da.” Keigan held out his hand. “I’ll hold yer other hand so it doesna hurt ye so bad.” The boy gave him an encouraging smile and squeezed his fingers. “It’ll be done afore ye know it.”

That accursed spot in the center of his chest swelled with a slow burn hotter than Brenna’s foul whisky. It was the first time Keigan had called him Da. Magnus held tighter to the lad’s hand. “Thank ye, son. Yer strength makes it a great deal more bearable.”

The grateful look Brenna gave him made the tenderness in his chest rage even harder. Heaven help him, she already possessed a fearsome power over him. After his mother’s gruesome murder, he had allowed nothing to give his heart the slightest twitching—until now. Now, he needed his son and this enigmatic woman protected and safe. For all time. By him.

“Ready to go now.” Brenna released him and picked up the bottle of liquid torture she had placed on the stump beside them.

“Ready to go?” Magnus stared down at his hand. He had been so occupied with the stirrings in his heart, he hadn’t even realized she had wrapped his hand in a strip of bleached linen.

“We’ll keep it wrapped until the cut seals over well.” Still frowning at the bandaged wound, she shook her head. “Where ye’re cut, isna good. The least bit of flexing, and ye’ll break it right open again. We must watch it.”

“Thank ye.” He tucked it to his waist and made a formal bow. “And I beg yer pardon for my earlier behavior. Back in the woods. When we had words about Keigan and Tor Ruadh. I shouldna