The Lost Soul

by Ceci Giltenan

  The water source for Castle Grant was a well—although Margaret’s water source had been the servants who brought her anything she needed.

  A couple of hundred paces behind the byre was a pasture encircled by a stone fence. She led Honey through the gate and into the small pasture. A water trough stood just inside. There was still water in it, but if it didn’t rain today, she would have to fetch some from the spring to fill it. Again she smiled at the recollection that didn’t feel quite like her own. And yet, with each new memory, this version of herself became more and more real to her. She smiled, remembering what Nyada had said about ice and water. I guess the ice is melting a little.

  After securing Honey in the paddock, Margaret noticed a henhouse behind the byre. She’d feed the chickens after she’d seen to her grandfather’s breakfast. So, she fetched the bucket of milk from the byre and walked to the springhouse.

  On entering it, she was momentarily amazed. Water flowed from the ground into a trench built of stone. The trench drained into a wide, shallow basin that had been hewn from stone. A notch on the other side of the basin allowed the water to drain out of it, keeping the water in the basin at a constant depth. It fed into another, deeper basin set a little lower. That basin also had a spillway cut into the other side, which allowed the overflow to run into a trench leading out of the building. This is what fed the small pool she’d seen.

  The constant flow of cold spring water in the upper basin kept anything submerged in it cool. Indeed, there were a variety of crockery jars sitting in the water. Even the little building itself was cooler than the mild late summer day outside.

  There was a small table against one wall and wooden shelves built on another. They held a number of empty crockery vessels, a small stack of toweling, several wooden trenchers and bowls, two empty buckets, a water dipper and a knife.

  She emptied her bucket of milk into a large jug, covered the jug with a towel and sat the jug into the water.

  She almost thrust the bucket into the water to rinse it, but instantly realized that wasn’t how it was done. She took the dipper from the shelf and dipped water into the milk bucket to rinse it out. She poured the dirty water into the trench that led outside, repeating this process several times until the bucket was clean.

  Then removed a jug which contained the milk from yesterday evening’s milking. Her grandda would want porridge for breakfast and he liked cream on it.

  She smiled. Although Margaret Grant generally didn’t eat a morning meal, she knew this version of herself did. And she liked creamy porridge too.

  Margaret skimmed off some of the cream that had risen to the top of the jug and put it in a smaller crock.

  Several costrels hung from a hook on the wall. They were harvesting oats today and would need those, so she filled them, and slung the leather straps over one shoulder.

  Then, having taken care of everything, she picked up both jugs and the milk bucket and carried them to the cottage where she busied herself making porridge and a pot of the warm herbal drink her grandfather liked.

  She was just swinging the pot of porridge off of the fire when a voice behind her said, “Sweetling, I’m sorry I slept so long.”

  She turned to see her grandfather. He was so very dear to her, the feeling was almost overwhelming. “Ye needed the rest.”

  “Well, I’ll go milk Honey. I won’t be long.”

  “I have already milked her. Sit down and enjoy your breakfast.” She ladled up a bowl of porridge, poured a generous amount of cream over it and placed it on the table.

  But he didn’t sit down immediately. He crossed the small room and kissed her on the cheek. “Thank ye, Margaret. Ye’re a pure blessing and have been from the moment ye first drew breath.”

  Margaret was struck with an overwhelming emotion that she’d never felt before—at least not as Margaret Grant. It was a little like Nyada’s compassion that had flowed into her the night before. And yet, this wasn’t coming from an outside source. It came from within and was directed toward her grandfather. The power of it was wonderful and yet terrifying. The heady sensation left her momentarily breathless.

  He sat down at the table but didn’t begin to eat.

  Margaret stared at him a moment, confused. “Aren’t ye going to eat?”

  “Of course I am. I’m just waiting for ye to get yer own bowl, unless I’m so late rising that ye’ve eaten without me.”

  Margaret laughed as she ladled up her own bowl. “Nay, ye only slept a wee bit longer than normal.”

  When she sat at the table with her bowl, her grandfather bowed his head and asked a blessing before they started.

  As they ate her grandfather mapped out the plans for the day. “There is only the small field of oats left to harvest.”

  “We should be able to have it done today then.”

  “Aye, but I’m feeling a bit off. I have been all week.”

  This concerned her. She knew he’d been moving slower than usual, but harvesting was hard work. She figured he was tired. “What’s the matter?”

  “I’m just feeling my age.”

  “Then we won’t work as long. We can take two days, or even three to bring in the last field.”

  “I don’t want to do that, sweetling. The weather is fine, perfect in fact. If we wait too long we risk a storm damaging the crop.”

  “But ye can only do what ye can do.”

  “Aye. That’s why I went to see David yesterday.”

  David? Oh, their nearest neighbor.

  Her grandfather continued. “I asked if he’d send Noah to help today.

  A huge smile spread across her face. “That will be perfect. We’ll have no trouble finishing today, with a bit of help.” And while those words were true, she had other reasons for being happy about Noah coming. Margaret likes Noah.

  Her grandfather smiled broadly and nodded. “I’m glad ye agree.”

  Then as if summoned by their discussion, Noah appeared at the door. One look at him and Margaret felt as if a dozen birds had taken flight in her stomach. Margaret likes Noah a lot!

  He was nothing short of gorgeous. Broad shoulders, brown hair, and twinkling blue eyes had her instantly captivated. He was so tall, he had to duck a little to pass through the door. And when he did, he flashed her a smile that made the birds flutter even more wildly. She tried not to look too awestruck. It might seem very odd to them. And yet, something told her this attraction to Noah was normal for her. In truth, Margaret couldn’t imagine there had ever been a woman born who wouldn’t have reacted to Noah in this way.

  She was dead certain that this was a man the other version of herself had long admired.

  “Good morning, Noah,” said her grandfather.

  “Good morning, John, Margaret,” he nodded to each of them in turn. “’Tis an uncommonly fine day.”

  “Aye, that it is,” said her grandfather.

  Until this point Margaret had just stared, dumbstruck. Say something, or he’ll think ye’re an eejit. “Good—good morning, Noah. Can I…can I get ye anything?”

  He flashed her a brilliant smile.” A mug of that herbal drink ye brew for yer grandda wouldn’t go amiss.”

  She stood, tearing herself away from the splendor of his smile to fix the drink for him.

  “We just have my last small field left to harvest. “If ye don’t mind, I’ll leave the cutting up to ye. I think I’ve worn myself out on the larger fields and I’m not sure I’m up to swinging a scythe this morning. I’ll tie sheaves—at least until my old bones loosen up a bit. When Margaret is finished here, she’ll join us.”

  “Grandfather, it will only take me a minute to wash these dishes. If ye don’t mind a cold midday meal, the only other pressing thing I need to do this morning is feed the chickens. Then I can tie the sheaves and ye can stay here and rest.” The words were out of her mouth before she knew what she was saying. Margaret Grant would never have made that offer. She did have memories now of having tied sheaves in this other life. It was hard
, hot, backbreaking work. She certainly didn’t want to do it. But her feelings for this man who had been both father and grandfather to her were warm and wonderful and not like anything she’d ever felt before. He needed rest, and if this is what she had to do to ensure he got it, she would. Moreover, the reason for the work made her want to do it.

  Noah agreed. “Aye, John, let us handle the harvesting.”

  Her grandfather nodded. “Ye know, I expect that is the best plan today. But Margaret, ye needn’t do the washing up or feed the chickens first. Those things won’t overtax me. Ye go on with Noah. The more ye accomplish before the sun is high, the better.”

  Margaret frowned briefly. She’d fully expected him to argue. That he didn’t was a worry, but she didn’t want him to know. She forced a smile and said in a slightly over-bright voice, “I’m sure ye’ll be right as nails before long.”

  Noah flashed another brilliant smile. “Aye, John. A day of rest will do wonders.”

  Margaret nearly swooned. The Margaret Grant side of her was beginning to recognize the benefits of this endeavor. She’d never helped with harvesting anything, not even herbs in the kitchen garden. Still, even if the other version of her didn’t already know how to tie sheaves, she’d have been happy to learn if it meant spending the day with Noah.

  “Well then, I’ll just get my hat and the costrels of water.” She started to put them over her shoulder when Noah put out a hand.

  “I’ll carry them.”

  She smiled at him. “If ye insist.”

  He slung the leather straps over his shoulder while she took a broad brimmed straw hat off a hook on the wall. It would provide a bit of shade and protect her already hopelessly freckled face from the sun.

  As they were leaving the cottage Noah asked, “If yer grandfather’s scythe is sharp, would ye bring it along?”

  She gave him a quizzical look, “It’s sharp. He honed the edge last night. Is the one ye brought dull?”

  He laughed. “Nay, it has a fine edge on it too. But it will dull before the whole field is cut. It will save time if I don’t have to stop and sharpen it.”

  “That’s an excellent idea. I’ll just get grandda’s scythe from the byre.” As she did this, she noticed a horse in the paddock with Honey. Noah’s horse. He had put his saddle in the byre. She removed the scythe from its hook on the wall and joined Noah again.

  For a while, they walked to the small field in comfortable silence. But before too long, Noah glanced sideways at her and said, “Ye’re a quiet one this morning.”

  She smiled. “That’s because I can’t get a word in edgewise with all of yer chatter.”

  Noah laughed and flashed her that heart-stopping smile. “Fair point.”

  “I guess I’m just a bit worried about grandda.”

  “Aye, I can understand that. He doesn’t look well this morning.”

  “For the last few days, by the middle of the morning he’s had trouble catching his breath and by midday, his lower legs are swollen. It has taken us twice as long to harvest the oats as it did in the past. He asked for yer help because he fears this fine weather we’ve been having won’t hold.”

  “Aye, and he’s right. How long has he been like this?

  “For the past week or so, maybe a little longer. I’m sure whatever it is will pass.”

  “Ye mean everything else this summer has gone well? Ye had no trouble bringing in the hay?”

  She sighed. Clearly he knew it had taken longer for her and her grandfather than it had for other farmers. Still, they were able to do it. “I guess now that I think about it, it may have taken a bit longer to bring in the hay than it has before. The weather didn’t really cooperate.”

  “But if ye’d been able to bring it in faster, that nasty patch of rain wouldn’t have slowed things down even more.”

  His voice was gentle and held no accusation.

  And now that he’d pointed it out, she knew he was right. All of their neighbors, many of whom had significantly larger tracts of land, had completed their grain harvest days ago.

  She frowned. She was worried, but that caused pain she didn’t want to feel now. So she told herself her grandfather would be fine as long as he didn’t overdo things. She would not make more of this than it was.

  ~ * ~

  Glancing out of the corner of his eye, Noah watched the emotions play on Margaret’s face as they resumed their silent walk. It was not his intention to upset her. But if she truly didn’t realize that John’s health was failing, someone needed to open her eyes.

  The whole situation was worrisome.

  He had known her since she was very young. He’d never really thought of her as a lass until several years ago when she began to fill out a little from the scrawny thing she’d been growing up. She ran and played and worked as hard as any lad he knew. But she wasn’t a lad. Nor was she like any other lass he knew. She was unique and beautiful…and he adored her.

  Seeing her grandfather’s failing health caused his heart to ache for them both. She had very little in this world except her grandfather and this farm. Perhaps that was why she wanted to minimize his ill health.

  However, while she might not want to think about it, plenty of folks speculated about what would become of her when her grandparents died. The talk increased some when her grandmother had passed away. But now that there were whispers of John’s failing health, it seemed everyone had an opinion on it.

  “John needs to find a husband for her. If she’s left alone, the laird will give the farm to someone else and find a place for her to work in the village or castle.”

  “Nay he can’t do that, not without the laird’s approval first. It’s a fine tract of land he has, but no man will marry her for it unless he’s certain it will fall to him.”

  “But the laird’s a fair, reasonable man. Anyone John would choose will be well able to run the farm. The laird isn’t likely to object.”

  “Possibly not. Still he may already have plans of his own. In which case, she’d end up in the village or castle anyway.”

  The discussions were endless, but everyone agreed on two things, the laird wouldn’t leave Margaret to run the farm on her own and it would break her heart to have to leave it when her grandfather passed away.

  It was on the tongues of all the clan’s farmers. It was simply not possible that Margaret wasn’t worried as she watched her grandfather’s health deteriorate.

  In his mind, the solution was simple, he should marry her. But a number of years ago his father had made promises to another farmer, a man with three daughters.

  Noah shouldn’t be upset. The other farm was much larger and many more people lived there. The income from it would be greater and the work involved to run it less. But he didn’t care. He wanted this woman. And if that meant running this farm with only her to help then that is what he’d do.

  But it wasn’t possible. At least not now.

  “Well here we are,” she said brightly. She squinted up at the sky. “The sun’s well up and the sky is clear and blue. The weather should stay fair all day.”

  “Let’s hope so. But it also means we must finish today. We’ve had five days of this in a row. I can’t believe there’ll be a sixth one.” He put the costrels on the ground before he began cutting grain. He smiled to himself. If he’d been working with anyone else, he’d have just kept one over his shoulder so he could take a drink as needed while he worked. But this would give him a good reason to stop and enjoy her company occasionally.

  “What are ye grinning at?” she asked, green eyes twinkling.

  “Me?” he asked, startled that she’d noticed. “Nothing at all—except that ye’ve nothing to do until I get to work.” And with that he walked to the edge of the grain and started swinging the scythe.

  He glanced at her occasionally while they worked. She was very good. Ideally there would have been at least two people tying sheaves for every one swinging a scythe. But if they had to, the grain could be tied into sheaves by twi
light. But using a blade as sharp as these in poor light would be dangerous. That was why both he and John had planned to cut today. Once the grain was down, they could help gather it too.

  When it became clear John couldn’t bear up to that much work today, Noah figured it would be well dark before they finished in the field. But she was fast and efficient. She didn’t lag too far behind him.

  She stopped every now and then to stand and stretch. It was grueling work. And when she did this, he always tried to steal a glance at her. And what a sight she was. Her clothes were damp from perspiration. She’d put her hands behind her and arched her back. This thrust her round breasts against the fabric, leaving little to the imagination and giving him ideas he shouldn’t have. But oh, how he wished she could be his.

  ~ * ~

  Margaret was astonished by her stamina. Through the morning they only stopped occasionally to rest a moment and have a drink of water. They took a slightly longer break at midday when Grandda brought them bread, cheese and fresh water.

  The pristine blue skies, that had greeted them in the morning, still held no hint of clouds. While that was unquestionably perfect weather for harvesting grain, it meant the sun beat down mercilessly by afternoon.

  As intended, her hat provided a little shade. Still, even though her tunic and overdress weren’t overly warm—being well-worn and thin with age—perspiration had the bodices of both soaked. She straightened to wipe the moisture from her face and rest her back. Each time she did, she took the opportunity to watch Noah work. His broad shoulders strained at the fabric of his tunic with each arc of his blade. He was an impressive man.

  But once, when she glanced over, her chin nearly hit the ground.

  Noah, clearly suffering from the heat and exertion as much as she, had removed his tunic. Garbed in nothing but his shoes, trews and a sheen of sweat, he was a sight to behold. She wanted to run her hands over those strong shoulders and back. She imagined what it would be like to have his arms around her, to have him kiss her.

  Much to her consternation, while lost in these romantic musings, he looked up to find her gawking at him. She covered by wiping her face again and saying, “’Tis an unusually hot day, wouldn’t ye say?”