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

“But now that ye’ll be living here at Tor Ruadh, Merlin can roost with Keigan instead of my wee Finn.”

“Merlin?” Brenna vaguely recalled her nephew mentioning a pet of some kind but had paid little attention since the boy befriended all creatures, be they furry, feathered, or covered in scales.

“Aye, Merlin,” Gretna continued as they reached the chieftain’s solar on the third floor.

Brenna stared down at the woven carpet of rich burgundies and blues that had surely come from some distant land. “I canna go farther as filthy as I am from travel. Is there somewhere else we might go?”

“Ye are no filthier than my five little heathens, who run through here daily.” Catriona pulled her toward a cushioned couch, the likes of which Brenna had never seen. “Come and sit.” She squeezed her hand and smiled. “Ye’re family, lass. I promise ye’re welcome here.”

“Ye must tell us how Magnus asked ye to be his wife. He is always so reserved. I dinna think I have ever seen him even attempt to charm a lass.” Gretna patted the cushion beside her, inviting Brenna to sit. “Did he stutter and stammer or just have Evander tell ye what he wished? Lord knows that child of mine has never been at a loss for words with anyone.”

Perched on the edge of the seat for fear of soiling it, Brenna clasped her hands in her lap. She wasn’t comfortable here. Everything looked too fine to touch. Evander had told her of Clan MacCoinnich’s wealth, because of its specially bred horses, but she hadn’t imagined the likes of this.

“He didna stutter or stammer,” she said after realizing they both sat, looking at her, waiting for a response. “But he wasna quite clear at first—just asked me if I wished to align myself with him or be paired.” The memory brought a smile. “I accused him of rudeness, but then he made himself clearer.” Perhaps she shouldn’t share so much. As soon as the words left her mouth, she worried that Catriona and Gretna might twist them to their own advantage.

Instead, both women laughed, acting as though they expected no less. Catriona rose and moved to a long buffet laden with decanters. She filled three glasses with a potent-looking ruby liquid. “Bless Magnus’s poor, solitary soul. He doesna ken how to speak to women. He’s better with warring and such.”

“Ian told me the dear man barely spoke to anyone at all, right after his mother’s murder,” Gretna said as she rose to help with the drinks. “Blamed himself for leaving her unprotected.”

“Thank the saints he had the MacCoinnichs to help him through it,” Catriona said as she strode across the room to answer a quiet tapping on the door. With a step back, she opened it wide and motioned for the young woman with a cart of covered trays to enter.

Once the lass positioned the repast beside the couch, she turned to Catriona with a modest bob of her head.

“Thank ye, Annie. Ye may go,” Catriona said with a nod.

After stealing a shy glance at Brenna, the maidservant hopped a quick curtsey, then hurried out, closing the door behind her.

“Ye’re in luck, Brenna,” Catriona announced as she removed all the covers. “’Tis baking day.” Eyes closed, she inhaled deeply. “I love the smell of freshly baked bread.” She placed a steaming hot bannock slathered in butter and golden honey on a small plate and set it on the low table in front of Brenna. “Cook’s finest will fill yer empty wame ’til supper! Enjoy this, my newfound sister.”

“Cook is another of Tor Ruadh’s treasures,” Gretna shared as she handed a folded square of linen and a silver fork to Brenna. “Yer Keigan will also soon discover that Cook loves giving the bairns treats.”

Catriona laughed. “’Tis a wonder all of them aren’t plump as fine fat partridges ready for the spit!”

Palms sweating, Brenna clutched the linen and silverware in one hand and the treacherous goblet of wine in the other. She sipped at the heady drink, fearing her head would soon spin off her neck. This refreshment was much stronger than the cheap ale or whisky she had sometimes allowed herself. And she had watered those down even more to make them last longer.

“Keigan loves treats,” she finally said, cringing at the lameness of her ability to maintain a simple conversation. They would think her a dullard for certain.

“Where did Magnus find ye?” Catriona asked, leaning forward with interest as she returned to her chair. “The lads didna say, and Alexander didna ken either.”

“A fair bit north of Inverness.” Brenna slid the fragile goblet to the table alongside the plate. No way in thunder would she be able to force down a single bite and didn’t dare try. She unfolded, then refolded the square of linen, then folded her hands on top of it, battling the urge to twist it. “Keigan and I had built a shelter just inside the coast, about half a day’s journey south of Inbhir Ùige.” A hard swallow did little for wetting her dry mouth, but she daren’t take another drink for fear of losing the ability to remain upright. God help me through this, she prayed, hoping her pair of hostesses hadn’t already decided their precious Magnus had chosen a fool for a wife. She didn’t mean to be such a poor excuse for a visitor. So much had happened, was still happening. Everything had set her head to whirling, making it pound.

Gretna and Catriona shared a glance. Catriona gave the slightest nod.

With her hand resting on Brenna’s arm, Gretna scooted a bit closer. “When a body has fought for survival so long,” she paused, compassion and understanding filling her eyes, “It can be a hard chore to open up and trust anyone.” She leaned in even more. “Dinna fash yerself about trying so hard to fit in. Ye are among family now. Ye have all the time in the world to get to know us.”

Catriona set her glass on