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

sell me to.” Fingernails digging into her palms, she stared down at her trembling fists as every sensation from that terrible day rushed back to her.

The shame. Bile burning at the back of her throat. Coppery taste of her own blood. Barricourt and his men had used her for what seemed like forever. “I didn’t know their names. Not any of them. When they finished, each of them threw a crown on the floor beside me. Barricourt gave me a guinea.” A bitter laugh escaped her. “Said my maidenhead was worth a guinea.”

“Wicklow thought to take the money.” She lifted her chin but still didn’t meet his gaze. Instead, she kept her focus locked on a banner fluttering from the railing of the gallery across the room. “I kept the money by stabbing the bastard with his own blade. Then Keigan and I ran away.” It took all her courage to look Magnus in the eyes. “I dinna think I killed him, but I wished him dead—so, I’ll burn in hell for it just the same.”

Magnus stared at her, hands still planted on either side of her hips, muscular arms hemming her in. He didn’t blink, just looked deep into her soul with those cold, steel eyes her sister had so oft described with wonderfully romantic words. If only her sibling could see the doubt in those eyes now.

“Say something, damn ye,” she uttered, unable to stand it any longer. “Give me leave to go, beat me, or kill me. I no longer care, as long as my precious Keigan is safe.”

Magnus straightened and threw back his head, staring upward. A startling growl started somewhere in the back of his throat, then roared free, echoing to the rafters.

Brenna cringed, bracing herself for whatever his anger brought next.

He lunged and pulled her into a crushing embrace. “Forgive me, my dearest one, I beg ye. Please, forgive me,” he said in a ragged whisper. It took a long moment for her to realize the trembling came from him and not her.

His heartbeat hammered hard against her as he rained kisses into her hair and across her forehead. “Dinna leave me, mo ghràdh. Search yer heart, I beg ye. Can ye find it in yer heart to forgive me and still be my wife, even after all the suffering I caused ye?”

“Ye have gone daft.” The words escaped her before she could stop them. But surely, he must be tetched in the head to still wish to wed her. Had he not heard a word she had said?

“If wishing to make such a rare, courageous woman my wife means I am addled, then aye, that I am.”

“But what about…”

He stopped her with a finger to her lips and gave a sharp shake of his head. “All that matters is that the two of us and Keigan are together as a family. Nothing else, ye ken? Well…that and yer forgiving me. Yer forgiveness matters to me more than ye will ever know.”

More damned tears fell, unbidden and uncontrollable. She hated the weakness they betrayed. “The only thing I canna forgive ye for is making me cry. I hate to cry, damn ye.”

“Keigan mentioned that,” he said with a faint smile.

“I am sorry,” she whispered, still unable to believe his reaction. “I have placed everyone here in grave danger. Yer clan will never forgive me, and I dinna blame them.”

“They will forgive ye, and I swear, all will understand if ye choose to tell them all that happened.” Magnus helped her down from the table but kept an arm tight around her waist. “This isna the first time this keep’s been at risk, and I daresay, it willna be the last.” He half led, half carried her to the long cabinet behind the head table, and poured her a drink. “Besides,” he said as he handed her a whisky. “None of this wouldha happened if I hadna fathered Keigan and left Nithdane. The fault isna yers, m’love. It is mine.”

“If ye make me cry again, I’ll smack ye.” She didn’t mean it, but it was so much easier to say that than admit how much she loved him. God help her. She did love him. Loved him fierce.

“I love ye, too, my dearest one.” He leaned in for a gentle, whisky-flavored kiss. “Through this life and the next,” he added. “Nothing, not even death, shall part us.”

Chapter Eleven

“I fear there’s a problem.” Alexander offered him a glass filled with a generous portion of MacCoinnich’s best.

If that much whisky was needed to start this conversation, it couldn’t be good. “What problem?” Magnus accepted the liquid bribe, downed it, then held it out for another.

Alexander hesitated, then refilled both glasses to the brim.

“That dire?”

After sidling a glance toward the library door, Alexander picked up his drink, then stepped back and pointed at Magnus’s. “Get yer own. I dinna wish to waste a drop of this. Damn near spilled this one.” As he sipped, he looked toward the entrance again.

Magnus left his whisky untouched on the sideboard, placing his hand on the hilt of his sword instead. A hot tingling, one that had nothing to do with the drink, stirred his hackles. “Who waits beyond that door, Alexander?”

The fidgeting chieftain worked his jaw as though tasting something bad. Without a word, he thunked down his glass, strode to the door, and yanked it open. “Get in here. The lot of ye. I refuse to do this alone.”

Magnus braced himself as Father William, Graham, and Ian filed in, each of them giving him a look that clearly marked him as doomed. With the priest present, this had to have something to do with Brenna. Brothers in battle or not, if they thought to have their holy man dissuade him from marrying her, he would enlighten all of them on just how wrong they were. Then he, Brenna, and Keigan would leave Tor Ruadh. Forever. “What is this?”

Father William, short and gnarled as an ancient