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

have done what I did to such a fine woman as yerself. Can ye find it in yer heart to forgive me?” If he were ever to win her, he had to make her know that he valued her and didna think of her as property or some wench for grabbing then tossing aside.

The way she looked at him made him shift in place as though he stood barefoot on hot coals. He wasn’t good at this at all. But his son needed him, and Brenna did, too. It was just a matter of convincing her. Now was not the time to turn cowardly.

Brenna’s attention moved to Keigan. She took hold of his shoulders and gave him a gentle nudge toward the horses. “Off wi’ ye now. Find Evander and enjoy what’s left of the daylight, aye? He might need yer help with the beasts.”

Keigan gave her a quick hug, then darted away.

When she turned back to Magnus, the look on her face made him swallow hard. A beauty when she raged, this calm kindliness made her even lovelier.

“And I must apologize for the way I responded. It was less than proper, and I am ashamed,” she said. “Please forgive me.”

He had never been one to dance with words. To him, the mumbling of social niceties and wordplay made as much sense as hunting with a baitless trap. They needed the truth between them—especially now that he had decided.

“I kissed ye because I could resist ye no longer,” he confessed with a quietness that belied all he felt. “Yer fire draws me, lass. Tempts me. And I can protect ye and Keigan both.” He braced himself for what he felt certain would be her adamant refusal. “I despise the art of gaming with words, so I’ll just ask ye straight out. Could ye ever consider aligning yerself with a man like me? Especially after all the pain and loss I have caused ye?”

“Aligning myself?” she repeated in a tone that sounded as though he had just asked her to pluck gold coins out of her nose.

Perhaps he had worded his intentions poorly. How else should he say it? He squeezed the bandages wrapped around his hand. “Aye. Align yerself, ye ken? Pair off. Consider yerself…uhm mine.” There. That sounded clearer, and so far, she hadn’t unsheathed her knife. A good sign for certain.

“As in yer wife?” She sounded as though she were about to laugh in his face. What the hell was so amusing?

“Nay, lass. I wouldna presume to ask ye to be my wife,” he hurried to reassure. At least, he wouldn’t ask her yet. He didn’t wish to frighten her away. She needed time to know him better. Time to trust him and realize he meant only the best for her. “Ye’ve only just met me and discovered the truth about me.”

“So ye mean to insult me by asking me to be yer mistress?” Eyes flashing and cheeks flaring a bright red. Now she looked as though she were about to draw her dagger and gut him. “Why, Magnus? Does yer woman not warm yer bed enough to suit ye?”

“What woman?”

“Yer woman! Back at the keep. Or should I say women?”

“I have no woman,” he retorted, perhaps a little louder than he intended. “Or women. Back at the keep, nor anywhere else. Where the hell did ye come up with such an idea?” He had never said he had a woman anywhere. Why would she say such a thing? And how had she misunderstood him so badly?

“Ye expect me to believe that a man such as yerself doesna have a woman?” She gave him an insulting up and down look, then flicked her hand as though dismissing him. “Why, I’d wager ye’ve got a host of them longing for yer return. All sorts of lasses all across the Highlands.”

“I dinna ken where ye would get such a notion. But let me assure ye, I dinna travel the Highlands in search of women to bed.” Aye, he had found comfort now and then. That couldn’t be denied. But compared to some, he might even be considered celibate as a monk. Apparently, he had fumbled his telling her what he meant far worse than he thought. “I wouldna dare ask ye to be my wife because ye dinna know me well enough yet, and I dinna wish to make ye bolt. Do ye not need time to know me better so ye can decide if ye would like me as a husband and protector?”

“What?”

He scrubbed his face with both hands, silently cursing himself for all those years of solitude. If he’d had any sense, he would’ve traveled with one or more of the MacCoinnich brothers to learn their art of wooing women properly. “I fear if I repeat all I just said that I’ll mangle it worse than I did to begin with.” He blew out a defeated breath and allowed his hands to drop.

She seemed calmer now. Almost pleased, even. “I heard what ye said. I’m just having trouble believing it.”

“Which part?” Now it was his turn to be confused.

“The part about deciding. Because it doesna usually matter if a woman thinks a man fit to be a husband.” She gave a half-hearted twitch of a shoulder. “At least not with most marriages.” A sad smile trembled across her lips. “It rarely matters what a woman thinks about anything.”

“My wife would be my equal,” he said, wishing to take her hands but holding himself back. “She would be my partner. My helpmate. Mother to my children and likely as not, mother to myself when my conscience was found lacking, and I needed a good scolding.” The look on her face spurred him on, giving him the courage to say more. “We value women for their strength and intelligence at Clan MacCoinnich.” He risked sliding his fingers under hers and gently lifted her hand for a kiss. “After ye’ve had the chance to know me better, I pray ye’ll consider