The Ghost, Greyson, Maeve [funny books to read TXT] 📗

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