Magnus released the pub keeper and stepped back as the man hit the floor. What the woman said made sense, and Lady Bree would have been canny enough to do just that. In fact, she had often told him of combing the beaches and cliff sides in search of nature’s treasures, as she had called them. The memory made his heart hurt. Such a sweet lass. What had she endured because he had taken another mercenary campaign rather than wintered at Nithdane? The thought weighed heavy on him as he strode to the door, tossed aside the ridiculous bar, and exited. He despised those who would stand idly by and watch while an innocent woman was stripped of her kith and kin’s protection. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted Evander skittering back to their mounts. The nosy lad had been eavesdropping at the window.
“I thought I told ye to tend the horses?” Magnus said, gruff with the lad, but his heart wasn’t in it. He settled into the saddle, struggling with the responsibility of all he had discovered. How had he managed to hurt so many with one foolish choice?
“I could see them from where I stood,” Evander defended. “I canna believe ye didna kill that arse worm.”
“I only kill when I must.” He nudged his beast with his knee and headed east.
“So, we ride the coast ’til we come across someone who knew her?” Evander edged his pale gray horse up beside Magnus’s black beast. “Reckon they traveled on foot?”
“I’m sure they did.” The thought rankled him, stirring the rage simmering in his gut. He wondered if they had escaped with anything more than the clothes on their backs—if that. Bree’s father had been an arrogant bastard, acting as though he ruled over the largest clan in all of Scotland rather than a wee cluster of folks he claimed were descended from Somerled himself.
Magnus had no doubt the man had made the banishing of his daughters into quite the spectacle. The fool had always lamented how his wife had failed the clan by not giving him sons.
Evander nudged his horse to a faster pace, keeping it abreast of Magnus’s. “Would a chief really treat his daughter so harshly?”
The worry in the boy’s tone warned Magnus this conversation had more to do with than just Clan Nithdane. “No good chief would treat his daughter so harshly. Most would just send them away. To a nunnery most likely.”
“What about a lass whose father isna so high in the clan?” Evander waved away the words as though they were midges. “Say…like the smithy’s daughter even.”
“Did ye bed Ellen? Is that why yer mother was fit to be tied and sent ye on this trip?” Gretna’s harsh lecture made sense now. While Evander might have the wants and needs of a man, he didn’t have the ways or the means to take care of any consequences should they arise. “Is the lass with child?”
“Nay!” Evander stared at him as though he had just said they would eat their horses for dinner. “At least…I dinna think she is.” He squirmed in the saddle. “I didna even get my willy all the way in her the first time we did it. When she pulled on it whilst I sucked on her teats, I couldna keep from spilling my seed.” His horrified look plainly said how he felt about that. “It felt so good, I thought I had died.” After a slow shake of his head, he added, “And the second time we done it, her da walked in on us. I thought I was dead then, for sure. That man’s big as an ox.”
Magnus bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing out loud.
“I went to chapel twice to thank God above that all the man did was drag my arse back to Mama.” The boy made a face. “’Course, then I thought I was dead, too. She might not be big as the smithy, but God help ye if ye give her a case of the red arse.” He gave Magnus an earnest look. “Ye think I’m gonna be a da? Will the chieftain make me wed Ellen? We only did it the two times, and the first shouldna even count.”
“Do ye love Ellen?” Magnus decided to attack this delicate issue from that angle.
“Nay—leastways not enough to wed her.” Evander frowned. “Did ye love yer Lady Bree?”
“That was a different situation.”
“Different how?” The lad’s eyes narrowed as though he smelled a lie.
“I was fond of her,” Magnus lamely replied, wondering how the hell their talk had taken this turn. “When she asked for my help, I couldna refuse.”
“Yer help with what?”
“The ridding of her maidenhead.”
“Her what?” Evander stared at him in disbelief.
“Has neither Gretna nor Ian talked to ye about these things?” Magnus wasn’t about to explain the joining of a man and a woman to the boy. It wasn’t his place.
Evander grinned. “I was just funning with ye. I know about the getting of bairns. Mama’s just afeared I’ll be making her a grandmam sometime soon. As long as I pull my willy out before my seed spills. That should work at keeping them away, aye? What do ye do?”
“What I do is none of yer damned concern.” If it wasn’t for the fact he had sworn to take care of the boy, he would snap the little arse wipe’s neck. “And ye would do well to remember it is a long walk back to Tor Ruadh.”
“Ye think her sister’s the one raising yer bairn?” Apparently, Evander preferred riding to traveling on foot and had decided to turn the conversation to a safer subject. “Ye think she’s the one who sent that letter? Why ye reckon she waited so long? More than five years? Wonder what happened to make her decide ye needed to know now?”
“The date of the letter was just over five years ago. From the look of the parchment, that’s when it was written.” Magnus had asked himself those same questions. “Although, I canna imagine it being handed about and en route to me for all that time. How could it have survived? Maybe Lady Bree’s sister helped her write it to give her peace before she died. Then it got set aside or lost. I dinna ken what couldha happened. All I know for certain is I must find the boy—if he still lives.”
“Her sister couldha got too busy to send it. What with taking care of a newborn babe and finding shelter for them both, she probably didna have a minute to call her own.” Evander looked thoughtful. “I know when it was just Mama and us bairns—it was hard for her to keep us all fed and safe. Many a night, her head didna touch her pillow.”
When the lad talked like that, he sounded a great deal older than his fifteen years. Magnus knew life hadn’t been easy for Evander and his brothers before their mother married Ian. “That’s why we must find them,” he said. “Lady Bree’s sister and the boy.”
“What’s her name?”
Magnus frowned. What was the sister’s name? For that matter, would he even know her if he saw her? No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t bring her to mind. Had he not met her during any of his visits to Nithdane keep? He finally shook his head. “If I ever knew it, I have forgotten.”
“I wouldna tell her that,” Evander advised in the tone of one who knew from experience. He squinted up at the sky. “At least this time of year, the days are long. Gives us more light to search.”
Magnus agreed. “Aye, we’ll only stop when the beasts need a rest. Ye’ve done well so far on little sleep, have ye not?” Or maybe it only seemed like the lad slept very little because that was the only time he was quiet.
The lad thumped his chest. “I can ride as long as it takes.”
And so, they did. Hours along the coastline. Stopping at every sign of habitation, from the smallest croft to clusters of dwellings large enough to warrant the title of village. Many remembered Nithdane Keep’s fall, but none knew what had become of the infamous woman blamed for it.
“Reckon we should change the way we ask about yer son and his auntie?” Evander suggested as they neared the last settlement they would reach before nightfall. “Maybe stop mentioning Nithdane and say ye’re trying to find yer dead brother’s bairn, after his wife died, too, and her sister wrote ye for help.”
“Ye mean lie.”
“Aye. When it serves a good enough purpose, a lie can be better than the truth sometimes.”
The lad had a point. Although, Magnus doubted his mother would agree with her son�
��s reasoning. “That shall be our story then. My dead brother’s bairn. But will folk not think it strange and grow leery that I waited so long to find them? After all, it wouldha been two women traveling alone over five years ago.”
“Tell’m ye been at sea and just got word.” Evander gave a decisive nod. “Ye could pass for a smuggler, and might could even mention one of Master Duncan’s ships if need be. Ye know at least one of their names, aye?”
This boy was a damned good liar. Duncan MacCoinnich, brother to the chieftain at Tor Ruadh, was also known as the smuggling lord, Devil Fraser Sullivan. After a run-in with the British whilst protecting his wife, Duncan and Tilda had settled on an island in the Archipelago of El Perdido, where they ran goods for Tilda’s father, the chieftain of Clan Mackenzie.
“Perhaps, I should let ye do all the talking.” Magnus winked at the boy.
Evander beamed with pride, reminding Magnus that he hadn’t been as kind as he should have been to the youngling. “Forgive me, Evander. None of this is yer fault, and I should not have treated ye as if it was.”
The boy shrugged. “I kent well enough ye didna mean it. Sometimes kin act that way when things go awry.”
“Ye are wise beyond yer years, lad,” Magnus said. “And I am proud ye consider me kin.” He nodded at the upcoming settlement. “Inbhir Ùige up ahead. Alexander told me of it. Fair sized place for this far north.”
“Reckon they’ll have a place where we might get some supper?”
Magnus laughed. Evander was always hungry. He hadn’t complained about anything during their travels but had been on the constant lookout for something to eat other than oatcakes. “As big as it is, I’m sure of it. We’ll go there first. Maybe they’ll even know something that will help us in our search.”
They came upon an inn situated on the main thoroughfare. A decent-sized establishment busy with weary folk seeking a bit of food and drink to end the day. There was even a stable beside it, so Magnus decided both they and the horses deserved a night’s rest with more comforts than a fireside camp offered.
As soon as they seated themselves, an older woman, tall and thin as a shadow, appeared at their table. With a weary smile, she tucked a wispy curl of gray back beneath her, kertch. “And what can I fetch for such fine gentlemen as yerselves?”
“Be that meat pie I smell?” Evander lifted his nose, sniffing at the air like a hound on the hunt.
“Aye, sir. That it is.” After a polite nod, she shifted her smile to Magnus, obviously knowing he was the one with the coin. “Shall I bring ye both a hearty serving along with bread and ale?”
“That would do us both well,” Magnus said. “We shall also be needing a room for the night. Can ye tell the innkeeper?” He tossed a pair of coins on the table. “This should cover the room and the meal, aye?”
The woman’s weariness melted away as she plucked up the coinage and tucked it into her belt. “Two pounds sterling? It most certainly shall, fine sir. More than enough. I’ll bring ye the key to our best room.” She turned and snapped her fingers at the barmaid on the other side of the dining area. “Pies, bread, and ale, Maggie, as much as they want, ye ken?”
The young woman dipped a respectful curtsey, then hurried off toward the mouth-watering aromas.
Before she rushed off to see to another customer, Magnus tossed down another coin. “And this one is for yer time, mistress.”
The matron’s smile disappeared, replaced with a thunderous scowl. “I will have ye know this isna that type of establishment any longer.”
“What does she mean?” Evander asked. “We still get to eat, aye?”
“Forgive me, mistress. Ye misunderstand my intent.” Yet another reason Magnus preferred solitude. He had never chosen words well. “I merely wish ye to sit with us and answer some questions.” He jerked a thumb toward the bustling room. “I can see ye’re verra busy. I wouldna presume to take up yer time without compensating ye.”
The bristling woman immediately calmed and lowered herself into a chair. “Then I must ask yer forgiveness, sir. I meant no insult to ye. Since my husband’s death, some are still confused about the services offered here at Wickhaven.” Her sharp chin thrust upward. Defiance and disgust flashed in her eyes. “Mr. Wicklow forced our maids to service our customers in any way they required. I thank the Lord Almighty every day for striking that man down.” With a proud look, she continued. “I am innkeeper now, and Wickhaven is a respectable place.”
Evander leaned close again. “What does she mean?”
“I will explain later,” Magnus said in a tone he hoped would shut Evander’s mouth until the boy could put it to use eating his supper.
“Ye may call me Mistress Wicklow,” the woman said with a chuckle.
Magnus gave her a polite nod. “I am Magnus de Gray. Pleased to make yer acquaintance.”
“Oh, dear God.” The matron paled and clasped a hand to her chest as though unable to breathe.
“My name doesna usually cause such a reaction.” Magnus noted all exits. The woman looked ready to bolt. She knew about Lady Bree. He could smell it. “Might I ask why my presence causes ye such distress, Mistress Wicklow?”
Working her mouth like a fish out of water, she clasped her hands and stared down at them. “It was I who sent for ye.” Her mouth tightened, then she waved away the words. “Nay. That is wrong. I didna send for ye exactly. At least not when I was asked to do so.” She swallowed hard, then looked up at him with tear-filled eyes. “But ye must understand, I couldna have any bairns of my own. And that…that precious babe brought me such joy. Please forgive me. I just couldna bear to part with him. For the longest time, he was this hellish place’s only light.”
Struggling to speak with a calm he didn’t feel, Magnus glared at her. “Where is my son?”
Her tears spilled over as she gave a quick shrug. “I dinna ken. Brenna, poor Bree’s sister, took him away when that beast of a man I married made her—” She cut herself off, angrily swiping at her tears. “Nay—I willna speak of it.” After pulling in a deep breath, she sat taller in the chair and blew it out. “It was then that I finally sent the letter I shouldha dispatched at the lad’s birth. I admit I held it a while longer, hoping she might return if she happened to hear the devil had finally died.” Her shoulders slumped, and she shook her head. “But she never did, and I guess I canna blame her. Not after…” Dabbing a rag to the corners of her eyes, she pulled in another shuddering breath. “Anyway, it was I who sent for ye. Praying ye would come. She is out there. Alone. Her and wee Keigan. I pray they survived the winter. Surely, they did. Brenna’s a canny one. But ye must still find them and see them safe for certain.” With slow, stiff movements, as though she had aged a hundred years, she rose from the chair. She pointed a shaking finger at him. “But ye must hold her no ill will, ye ken? Brenna bade me send for ye the day after Bree died. But I didna do as she asked. I couldna bear to part with that precious wee mite.” Her teary eyes didn’t waver from him. “It was I who robbed ye of yer son. Not her.”
Magnus sagged forward, fighting to breathe through a gut-wrenching punch of emotions. Keigan. His son’s name was Keigan.
“Ye might search south along the coast. I know Brenna would never go north again. Not after all that happened.” Mistress Wicklow shuffled a step away, then turned back. “I’ll pack food a plenty for yer travels. And treats for my sweet lad.” She slid her fingers under the cloth sash belted at her waist and pulled out the three coins he had given her. With a sad tilt of her head, she tossed them back to the table. “Room. Food. Drink. Stable. No charge. It is the least I can do after all I kept from ye.”
Chapter Two
“Keigan—fetch another bucket of water for the soaking pot. The rain barrel’s almost empty, so ye’ll have to go to the burn.” Brenna stood in the open doorway, drying her hands on her apron. “And dinna be dawdling in the woods, aye? I need it now, mind ye.”
The fair-haired child looked up from the strip of bark he had just peeled fro
m a long green stick. “Want this one, Auntie?” He held it up and showed her. “It’s tall as me!”
Brenna nodded. “Aye, that’s a fine one. Add it to the pot with the others.” She smiled as he placed the willow bark in the pot, then scooped up the bucket and scampered off into the trees. Her heart swelled at how tall he was getting. If only her sister could see him now.
A heavy sigh escaped her. How many times a day did she think those words? “Every time I look into those eyes that are just like hers,” she answered aloud.
Keigan had inherited his pale blue eyes from both his parents—or at least her sister had always said that de Gray’s eyes had been even lighter than hers. Like storm clouds split with lightning was how she had described them. Brenna had never met the man, so she wouldn’t know. That was yet another way she had failed her sister. Maybe if she had stayed at the keep with her instead of living in the woods with old Ursala to learn herbal lore, she could have kept Bree from making the choice that had cost her life. With an impatient jerk of her head, she smoothed her apron back in place. “No sense fretting about that now. What’s done is done, and canna be undone.”
The Ghost Page 2