The Pocket Watch Read online

  “But Lo—”

  “Nay, let me finish. I also accept that while ye changed in an instant, ye’re the only one who has forgotten everything. Ye’re right, it will take time and perhaps courage. But I don’t expect ye to do it alone. I didn’t this morning—ye were just up before me.” He glanced sideways at her. “Another change I might add.” She smiled and shrugged. “However, beginning today, I will make certain the clan knows my feelings toward ye have changed. I will escort ye to all meals and I plan to spend some more time becoming acquainted.”

  She frowned. “I don’t want to go riding.”

  He laughed as he stood up. “We don’t have to go riding to spend time together.” He reached a hand out to her. “Come inside with me now and break yer fast.”

  She frowned. “I think I’d rather just stay here.”

  He arched a brow at her “I don’t recall giving ye an option.”

  She put her hands on her hips and glowered up at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “It means I’m yer laird, and yer betrothed and I’ve asked ye to eat yer morning meal with me.”

  “What? Wait, are ye saying I have to do what ye ask just because yer my…yer my…all of those things?”

  Clearly this was another hole in her memory. “Yes Maggie, I’m yer laird and yer betrothed and I generally know what’s best for ye.”

  She looked outraged. “Surely ye jest. Does being my laird and my betrothed give ye some special ability to know what’s best for me? Or is that just because ye’re a man?” But even as she blustered at him, she took his hand and stood up. If this was “angry Maggie” he found it rather adorable.

  He brushed her cheek with his fingertips. “Nay, Maggie. Being yer laird gives me the responsibility to pay attention to yer needs and see they are met whether ye wish to recognize them or not. Being yer betrothed does the same thing but it also makes me want to try to please ye. Being a man? Well that just gives me the ability to appreciate how very beautiful ye are as well as the desire to spend more time in yer company.”

  ~*~

  Holy God. Did he just say that? Has there ever been a woman born who wouldn’t melt at those words? She just stared at him. What had she been pissed off about?

  He smiled at her. “Now, we’ll go have our morning meal.”

  Oh, that was it. He’d asked her—no required her—to have breakfast with him. Thinking on it now, that was a stupid thing to be pissed off about. In fairness, he was right, she was hungry. She took the arm he offered and walked with him to the great hall.

  Both Logan’s mother and grandmother were already at the refectory table.

  “Ah, Logan, I wondered where ye were. There is much to do today.”

  “Aye, Mother, I will see to the preparations outside.”

  “What preparations?” asked Maggie.

  “It’s St. John’s Eve, dear,” explained Lady Davina.

  “What happens on St. John’s Eve?” Maggie noticed that several people within hearing distance rolled their eyes.

  “Ah, sweetling,” said Logan, “it’s a huge celebration. There will be bonfires and dancing until the wee hours of the morning.”

  “And then a great feast tomorrow,” added his grandmother.

  “Really?” asked Maggie, excited. “Everyone goes?”

  “Aye, everyone,” answered Logan.

  A guardsman named James who sat several seats to Maggie’s left muttered, “Everyone whose ears won’t bleed listening to our pitiful musicians.”

  Maggie felt the heat rise in her face.

  “Is something wrong, dear?” asked Lady Davina.

  Maggie shook her head and, forcing a smile, said, “Nay, my lady.”

  But Logan looked past her down the table. “James, what was that?”

  “Laird, I was just commenting on how Lady Margaret enjoyed the music at Pentecost.”

  Logan arched an eyebrow. “Which is to say, not at all if I remember correctly. However, there have been some changes since then. What hasn’t changed is that Lady Margaret is a noblewoman and my betrothed. Anyone who fails to remember that going forward will answer to me.”

  “Aye, Laird, I understand.”

  “See to it that everyone does.”

  “Aye, Laird.”

  ~*~

  After breakfast Maggie offered to help Lady Davina with whatever she needed to get ready for the celebration.

  “Margaret, ye were thrown from a horse but two days ago. Ye are injured and I will not risk making anything worse. Besides ye will want to be well-rested if ye plan to attend the festivities.”

  She did agree to let Maggie stay and watch the preparations for a while, but chivied her off in the afternoon for a rest. Maggie did lay down for a while, but after staring at the canopy for what seemed like ages, she decided to go through the clothes in the wardrobe and pick something to wear.

  Although it was a little daunting at first, Maggie did have fun trying things on. It reminded her of how she and Paige played dress up when they were little, pretending to be princesses.

  When Logan knocked on her door a few hours later, she still had things spread around and the room looked a little chaotic. “Oh, Logan, I wasn’t expecting ye.”

  “And I was expecting to find ye resting. What are ye doing?”

  “I was just looking at all of this…this…finery.”

  “Were ye looking for something in particular? Is there anything ye need?” He asked politely.

  “Are ye jesting? How could I possibly need anything? I’d say this is all a bit excessive.”

  He chuckled, “A couple of days ago, ye would have thrown a fit if I had said that. In fact ye did the day ye arrived.”

  She frowned at him. “Surely ye didn’t just come out and say that as soon as I got here?”

  He tried to look contrite, but a smile played at his lips. “Well not exactly. I just expressed surprise at the number of trunks yer father’s men carried in. I didn’t imagine ye’d take offense at that.”

  She laughed. “I suppose it might have been better not to make that observation about a lady’s things on the first day ye met her, but honestly, there are a shocking number of garments and the like here. The Grants must be very wealthy.”

  He shook his head slightly. “They aren’t poor, but I wouldn’t say they are very wealthy either. I suspect, as Laird Grant’s only daughter, he…indulges ye a bit.”

  She raised her eyebrows. “A bit?”

  Logan smiled. “Quite a bit?”

  She loved his smile and she smiled back. “Do I have any brothers?”

  He nodded. “One. He is eleven years older than ye.”

  “How old am I?”

  He chuckled. “Ye’re eighteen. Nineteen in September.”

  Yikes, eighteen and getting married? Maggie was nearly twenty two and felt much too young for that. “How old are ye?”

  “A score and six.” He put up his hand to stop her next question. “Maggie, I will happily answer any questions I can, but we have a celebration to attend.”

  She grinned, “Well then, I had better choose a dress.”

  ~*~

  Logan enjoyed St. John’s Eve more than any other in memory. Maggie’s joy and excitement were infectious. There were people who treated her with coolness, and Logan expected there would be for quite a while, but there were also people who were as charmed by her as he was.

  While Margaret could dance exceedingly well, Maggie couldn’t remember a single step. Still what she lacked in skill she made up for with sheer exuberance. He finally pulled her away from the revelry several hours after midnight. Her energy was flagging and her arms were wrapped tightly around her chest, suggesting that her ribs were hurting.

  “Maggie, come back to the keep with me now.”

  “Oh, Logan, I’d rather stay a little longer.”

  He shook his head. “I don’t recall giving ye an option, and as much as I would like to dance with ye until dawn, yer ribs are aching and ye’re exha
usted.”

  She gave him a mock pout. “Is this ye being my laird and betrothed again?”

  He grinned. “Aye, Maggie, and this is me being a man.” He cupped her cheek in one hand and to the delight of everyone there, gave her a sweet, gentle kiss.

  He gave her another more demanding kiss at the door of her chamber. Her passionate response thrilled him.

  “Sleep well, Maggie.”

  ~*~

  Logan found dinner the next day equally as enjoyable. In many ways, with the huge holes in her memory, it was as if Maggie had never attended a feast. She approached the meal with an almost childlike awe. Again, she didn’t seem to recognize much of the food served but she tried everything. She didn’t like it all, but unlike Margaret, Maggie tried not to let it show.

  It became almost comical and with each course he began to look forward to the inevitable whispered question, “Logan, what is this?”

  He would whisper the answer and then watch as she took a bite. Sometimes her face would light with a smile and she would eat more. Sometimes she smiled and nodded but the smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. Even then she would take one or two more bites. After she had done that twice he had to find out why.

  “Maggie, are ye enjoying the venison pie?”

  He knew by her reaction she wasn’t, but she nodded. “It’s very well prepared.”

  He grinned “That’s a lovely way to say ye don’t like it.”

  She blushed. “It isn’t that I don’t like it, and I wouldn’t want to offend the cooks. I just like other things better.”

  Logan found the whole thing endearing. He fought desperately not to laugh aloud when she tasted the eels in broth. Her eyes went wide as she tried not to react to something she clearly didn’t like. She swallowed hard, immediately reaching for her goblet of wine and downing several gulps before shuddering. She frowned, but then visibly steeled herself to take another bite.

  He decided to rescue her. “Maggie, I do hope ye don’t care too much for eel. It is one of my favorites.”

  She grinned. “Oh, then I’ll be certain to leave plenty for ye.” In a whisper she added, “Was I that obvious?”

  He did laugh at that but whispered back, “I suspect only to me.”

  Chapter 8

  Over the next few weeks Maggie threw herself wholeheartedly into medieval life. It wasn’t always pretty, but it was fascinating. After she had convinced Lady Davina her ribs were fully healed, she spent much of her time helping that good lady with the tasks of running a keep. This put her in constant daily contact with other clan members in a way Margaret had never been. It was amazing to Maggie that Logan’s one cautionary statement made to James that morning stopped any overt disrespect. Even so, she was aware that many people still didn’t like or trust Margaret. She continued to hope that by working among them she might be able to repair some of the damage Margaret had done.

  Maggie realized early on the name by which people chose to address her was an indicator of their sentiments. Logan of course had started addressing her directly as Maggie immediately, but he still referred to her publically as Lady Margaret for a while. Soon however his mother and grandmother took their cue from him and began to address her as Maggie or to others as Lady Maggie. Thereafter she was Lady Maggie to all those clansmen and women who forgave Margaret’s transgressions, remaining Lady Margaret only to those who didn’t. Lady Maggie’s memory loss was met with willing instruction, Lady Margaret’s with impatience. The thing everyone found most odd was specifically what she remembered and what she didn’t. Lady Maggie could do sums, and read Latin but she couldn’t read Gaelic. Maggie suspected that Margaret couldn’t read either language but as she had interacted so little with the Carrs, they would be unlikely to know that.

  Lady Maggie also remembered quite a lot about healing arts. People began to seek her help if Bearnas was not readily available. On the other hand, while Lady Margaret had once been very skilled with a needle, Lady Maggie had no clue how to work a tapestry. It was Lady Agnes who took on the challenge of teaching her this “forgotten” skill.

  Maggie didn’t particularly enjoy learning needlework but she did it willingly because it allowed her to spend time with Logan’s grandmother. Lady Agnes was loved and respected by the clan and Maggie adored her. In addition to tapestry and embroidery skills, Lady Agnes taught Maggie about the clan, its history as well as its current members. Maggie learned who was courting whom, who had trouble bearing children, who suffered from gout, who couldn’t be trusted with a secret and a host of other tantalizing tidbits. She also told Maggie as much about the Grants as she knew.

  One afternoon, as they chatted while Maggie practiced stitches, she discovered an odd set of coincidences. Maggie was struggling to match an embroidery pattern Lady Agnes had started for her. Becoming frustrated, Maggie huffed, put her needle down and rubbed her eyes. “I don’t think I am ever going to be able to do this.”

  Lady Agnes looked up from her work and said with mock severity, “Don’t give in to the impatience of youth.”

  “But ye said yerself, this is a simple pattern.”

  Lady Agnes gave her a cheeky smile. “Ah, Maggie, don’t give in to the arrogance of the ancient either.”

  Maggie shook her head, “Ye aren’t ancient.”

  “I’ll be three score and eleven in a few days.”

  “That’s just a number. Ye’ll only be ancient when ye act ancient.” Maggie had lost track of the specific date, but her birthday was soon too. “Lady Agnes, what day is yer birthday?”

  “We’ll celebrate the feast of Ancient Agnes in two days.”

  Maggie laughed. “Stop that. Ye aren’t ancient.”

  Lady Agnes chuckled. “If ye insist. I suppose we’ll have to celebrate the Feast of Mary Magdalene instead.”

  “Yer birthday is on the Feast of Mary Magdalene? So is mine.” Damn. As soon as it was out of her mouth she realized what she had done. At least she caught herself before saying it was why she had been named Magdalena.

  Lady Agnes gave her a sad smile. “Nay, lass, ye are confused on that. Yer birthday is the second day of September. But it might have been yer mama’s birthday. Mind ye, I’m not certain of that, but her name was Malina. Often women named Madeline, Malina or Lena were born on Mary Magdalene’s day. I would have preferred one of those names to Agnes.”

  “I think Agnes suits ye.”

  “Do ye? Well, Maggie certainly suits ye much better than Maahhgaret.”

  Maggie laughed at the snooty way Agnes had said Margaret.

  The conversation moved on to other things, but Maggie was rather happy she would quietly get to celebrate her real birthday along with Lady Agnes. And regardless of whether it was Malina Grant’s birthday or not, the fact that she and Maggie were both named after Mary Magdalene was bizarre.

  ~*~

  Logan was growing very fond of Maggie and made an effort to spend every evening with her. They often played games, but again, he was puzzled by what she remembered and what she didn’t. She could play chess rather well, was frankly ruthless at backgammon, but didn’t remember fox and geese, a game every child learns to play.

  Logan also looked for occasional opportunities to steal her away during the day. On the Feast of Mary Magdalene he took her hand after the morning meal. “I want to take ye somewhere. Will ye go with me?”

  “Aye. Where are we going?”

  “You’ll know in just a few moments,” he said walking out of the keep with her.

  As they neared the stables, she stopped and pulled back. “I don’t want to go riding.” Her brow was furrowed and her fear palpable.

  He continued to hold her hand. “I know ye don’t.”

  She pulled back again. “Then I’ll just go back and help yer mother prepare for the feast.”

  “Nay, Maggie, I want ye to come to the stable.”

  She shook her head. “Ye said…right after my accident…ye said I didn’t have to go riding.”

  “I said ye didn’
t have to go riding for us to spend time together. And that is true.”

  “Please don’t force me to ride.” She looked so young and scared at that moment it hurt.

  He kissed her forehead. “Sweetling, I will not force ye to ride. Ever. But I would like for ye to get over yer fear. I should have put ye right back on Robin as soon as he had calmed. It would have been better for both of ye.”

  She shook her head more vigorously. “Nay, it wouldn’t have. I don’t want to ride. I don’t need to ride. Logan, I don’t even remember how to ride.”

  The note of panic in her voice surprised him but it was evidence that he was right. Her fear had only grown in the last month.

  “Maggie, if ye ever want to leave Castle Carr—to visit yer da, or go to a fair or anywhere—ye will need to get over yer fear of horses.” Her eyes filled with tears and it tore at his heart. He gathered her into his arms and could feel her trembling. “Wheesht, sweetling, don’t cry. Ye needn’t ride today but I do want ye to see Robin, perhaps let him touch ye and touch him too or maybe give him a wee treat. Then if ye’re feeling brave enough, maybe we’ll take him out of his stall and let ye just walk with him. I won’t let anything happen to ye.”

  When she had regained control he kissed the top of her head before releasing her and taking a step back. “Can ye do that? Will ye try?”

  She nodded. “Aye, I’ll try.”

  “Ye’re a brave lass, Maggie.”

  ~*~

  The panic Maggie felt when she thought she had to climb onto the back of a horse again had nearly overwhelmed her. All she wanted to do was run back to the keep. As her chest tightened and tears began to flow, the logical side of her brain scolded her saying Logan was right. She had developed an irrational, unhealthy fear of horses and facing it was the right thing to do. But the illogical side of her brain was quick to point out that in her almost twenty two years of life the single only time she found herself on the back of a horse, was moments before she was thrown off that horse. Backwards. Not to mention the fact that there was no reason she would ever need to ride a horse. They weren’t going anywhere until after the wedding and then she would be safely back in her horse-free twenty-first century life.