The Pocket Watch

by Ceci Giltenan

  Maggie nodded but stiffened, bracing herself. His hands encircled her waist. He was exceedingly gentle, but pain shot through her ribs nonetheless. She clenched her teeth to keep from groaning.

  He stood her on the ground but didn’t remove his hands. “Are ye all right?”

  “Aye, I’m fine.”

  “Margaret, ye don’t lie well.”

  “I…my ribs hurt, but I’m fine.”

  He looked at her with what seemed to be a mixture of concern and confusion. “Well, let’s get ye inside.”

  They entered the keep and it was all Maggie could do to keep from staring in wide-eyed amazement. The walls were stone, but the ceiling and floors were wooden. The hall was bustling with activity. It looked as if they were preparing to serve a meal. She smiled to herself, remembering a “medieval banquet” she had attended on a vacation to Ireland. It had been fun, but nothing like this—although a cup of mead wouldn’t go amiss. Her ribs were throbbing.

  A beautiful older woman who seemed to be directing things looked in their direction. “Oh, son, ye’re back. We were growing concerned.” She swept across the room towards them.

  “I’m sorry ye worried, Mother. We were delayed a bit. Lady Margaret was thrown from her horse.”

  “Oh my. Margaret, dear, are ye injured?”

  “I’ll be fine, my lady, thank ye.” My lady? Where did that come from?

  The woman’s eyebrows shot up in obvious shock. She looked at her son as if seeking an explanation. Perhaps that hadn’t been the right way to address the woman.

  “She has broken ribs, Mother. I’ve sent for Bearnas.”

  His mother looked concerned. “Broken ribs? Margaret, ye must be in pain. Bearnas will have a potion for ye. The best thing ye can do now is go to yer chamber and rest.”

  Her son nodded. “Aye. We’ll send Bearnas up as soon as she arrives.”

  “Ye’re worried for nothing. I am fine,” Maggie assured them.

  “Nay, lass, ye really do need to rest,” said the older woman. “Go to yer chamber, and I’ll be up shortly.”

  Well, it looked like Maggie was going to have to pretend to have amnesia after all. She stood still for a few moments before saying, “I’m not sure where it is.”

  Chapter 4

  Logan stared at Margaret in disbelief. “What do ye mean, ye’re not sure where it is? It hasn’t moved.”

  His mother jumped to the heart of the problem, asking, “When ye fell, did ye hit yer head, lass?” her tone was laced with concern.

  Margaret gave a small nod. “Aye, my lady.”

  His mother frowned. “Do ye know yer name?”

  “Margaret?”

  “I’ve been calling ye Margaret. Do ye know yer clan name?” asked Logan.

  “I’m not a Carr?”

  Logan was dumbfounded. “Nay, lass, ye aren’t. Do ye know my name?”

  She shook her head.

  His mother gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. “Blessed Mother. She’s lost her memory. I’ve heard of it happening with a blow to the head.”

  Logan could scarcely believe it. “Ye remember nothing? When were ye going to mention this?” He had trouble keeping the irritation out of his voice, for which he was immediately sorry, because she took a step backwards, appearing frightened.

  Margaret shrugged slightly. “Ye were rightly upset with me and I didn’t want to make things worse. I-I thought it must have been from hitting my head and my memory would come back when my head cleared.” Her expression was guileless. “But since it hasn’t, would ye mind telling me yer name?”

  “I’m Logan Carr.” Logan had known something was amiss. This explained her odd behavior. It was almost amusing; she had forgotten to be unpleasant. “This is my mother, Lady Davina Carr and ye are Lady Margaret Grant.”

  After his mother recovered from her momentary shock, she took charge in her usual efficient style. “Logan, send Bearnas up when she gets here.” She reached out and took one of Margaret’s hands. “Margaret, dear, I’ll show ye to yer room. Don’t worry, lass, we’ll sort this out.”

  ~ * ~

  Lady Carr led Maggie to a wide staircase which curved upward and narrowed considerably the higher it went. They climbed two levels before she stepped into a hallway. Margaret’s chamber was halfway down the hall. When she walked into the room she could scarcely take it in. A bed with a beautifully carved headboard stood against one wall. But instead of four posts holding a canopy like pictures she had seen, the canopy, with rails holding heavy woolen curtains, was suspended from the ceiling. Large tapestries adorned the walls. The room also held a massive wardrobe, several chairs, a washstand and a large chest.

  Maggie walked towards the bed. She ran her fingers reverently over the carving and across the thick, soft wool bed covering. She turned to Lady Carr. “It’s beautiful.”

  Lady Carr cocked her head to one side with a puzzled expression. “Aye, I’ve always thought so. I’m glad ye like it.” She smiled. “Now, let me help ye remove yer outer garment. I think ye should lie down.”

  “Aye, I think ye’re right, but ye needn’t help me undress.” Maggie looked down at the dress and realized there were no buttons or any other fastenings that she could see. She tried to look over her shoulder, but the pain in her ribs prevented her from twisting far, so she couldn’t figure out how to remove the dress. She cast a sheepish glance at Lady Carr who looked amused. “Uh, I guess I do need yer help.”

  “Certainly, dear.” Lady Carr moved behind her. “The laces are in the back.”

  After Lady Carr helped her out of the dress Maggie became aware of the watch chain hanging around her neck under the loose-fitting, white silk garment she still wore. Just as Gertrude had said, the watch came with her. She would have to find a place to hide it as it might seem odd to them if they saw it. But for now, she left it under her clothes and climbed into the bed.

  Lady Carr put the dress away before returning to stand by the bed. She brushed a stray hair off of Maggie’s forehead, reminding Maggie so poignantly of her own mother, tears welled in her eyes.

  “Oh, sweetling, are ye in pain?”

  “Nay. I mean, a little, but…” Maggie scrambled for something to say. She couldn’t very well say she missed her mother.

  “I know it must be terribly frightening, lass. But I’m sure ye’ll start remembering things soon.”

  Good. Lady Carr had provided her own explanation for the tears.

  A knock sounded at the door, “Come in,” called Lady Carr.

  A white haired woman carrying a leather satchel entered. “My lady, I understand Lady Margaret has had an accident.”

  “Aye Bearnas. She was thrown from her horse. Margaret, this is Bearnas. She is one of Clan Carr’s healers.”

  “We’ve met, my lady,” said Bearnas. Her tone of voice suggested that Bearnas wasn’t too happy about that fact.

  “Bearnas, Lady Margaret has broken ribs, but perhaps more distressing, she hit her head and is having trouble remembering things.”

  Bearnas’ eyes widened in surprise. “Well, let’s see what’s what then.” She proceeded to examine Maggie, arriving at the same conclusion Maggie herself had. “Aye, yer back is bruised and I’ll warrant ye have at least two broken ribs. I’ll give ye a willow bark infusion for the pain but they will heal with time and rest.”

  Maggie had worried about what might pass for medicine in this time but she did know that willow bark had a substance in it like aspirin. That should help the pain and inflammation. Bearnas was also right about the best treatment; there was nothing to do for broken ribs but allow them time to heal.

  Bearnas continued, “There’s also a small bump on yer head. I’ve heard of people not remembering what happened for a time after a bad blow to the head. Ye’ll remember it all again soon enough, I warrant.”

  Lady Carr frowned. “Bearnas, it’s not the accident she’s forgotten. She remembers nothing, not even her own name.”

  Bearnas frowned. “Nothing? I don’t b
elieve it.” She fixed Maggie with a stern look. “Do ye find this amusing, my lady? Scaring Lady Davina like this?”

  “I—I…” Maggie didn’t know what to say. Bearnas’ accusatory tone left her with no doubt that like everyone else Maggie had encountered, the healer didn’t like Margaret either.

  “Nay, Bearnas, I’m certain she’s not lying,” Lady Carr assured her.

  Bearnas looked doubtful. “Do ye know anything?” she asked Maggie.

  “I know my name is Margaret Grant and that I’m at Castle Carr, but only because I’ve been told that. I don’t know where Castle Carr is.”

  Bearnas shook her head. “It’s in the Highlands, southwest of Inverness.”

  The Highlands? Scotland? Maggie hadn’t seen any kilts. It must be the fourteenth century or earlier.

  “Do ye know what day of the week it is?” the old healer asked.

  “Nay,” said Maggie.

  “Good heavens, child,” said Lady Carr. “It is Saturday, three days before the feast of St. John the Baptist.”

  The feast of St. John the Baptist? Maggie didn’t know a lot of saints’ days off the top of her head, but she knew this one. It was six months before Christmas Eve, the twenty-fourth of June. Three days earlier would make it Saturday, June twenty-first, the day of Elliott’s wedding—hundreds of years from now, that is. Maggie nodded slowly, “So it’s June. Can ye tell me what year it is?”

  “’Tis the year of Our Lord twelve hundred and seventy,” said Lady Carr gently.

  Holy cow, the thirteenth century? Maggie had gone back in time seven hundred and forty four years. She must have looked shocked for both women stared at her. She knew she should probably say something, but all she could manage was, “Oh.”

  Lady Carr took one of Maggie’s hands in hers, patting the back of it. “Don’t worry Margaret, have a rest for now. I’ll send yer meal up.”

  “That isn’t necessary, my lady. I can come down.” Maggie was only going to stay long enough to see what a real medieval dinner in a castle was like anyway. Dinner in the thirteenth century and back to the twenty-first century for breakfast.

  Lady Carr frowned at Maggie, looking perplexed. “But ye…nay, perhaps ye’ll join us in the hall tomorrow, my dear. Bearnas says ye need to rest. Yer father will be extremely angry if something happens to ye in our care—and that would be disastrous.”

  Maggie started to argue, but Bearnas interrupted her. “Nay, my lady, Lady Davina is right. Take this willow bark infusion and rest for the remainder of the day. Perhaps yer memories will be back by morning.”

  Clearly they weren’t going to back down, so Maggie acquiesced, drinking the potion and lying down in the beautiful bed before they left.

  She stared at the canopy suspended from the ceiling, thinking about all that had happened. It had been an experience beyond anything she could have imagined. As much as she wanted to see what dinner in the great hall would be like, she realized she should probably just say the word and go home. If they found Margaret had passed away, it would be easily explained. After all, they believed she had sustained a serious enough head injury to lose all of her memories.

  Still, something nagged at her. Lady Carr had said, Yer father will be extremely angry if something happens to ye in our care. Maggie wondered why exactly she was in the care of the Carrs. Maybe she had been captured and was being held for ransom. Yes, that happened all the time in romance novels and the Carrs seemed none too fond of her. Still, she had been out riding with Logan and she obviously had been given fine accommodations. Wouldn’t she be locked in a tower or a dungeon if she were a prisoner?

  Maybe she was lady-in-waiting or something to Lady Carr, but that seemed unlikely too. Surely she wouldn’t be out riding with Logan if she was meant to be a companion or personal assistant or—whatever a lady-in-waiting was—to his mother.

  Lady Carr also said it would be disastrous if something happened to Margaret while in their care. What did that mean? Maggie would feel terrible if the Carrs suffered some serious consequence as a result of Margaret’s irresponsible behavior.

  Perhaps it would be best if she stayed here long enough to know exactly what would happen to the Carrs when she did leave. There might be a way to make sure her death couldn’t be blamed on them.

  ~ * ~

  That evening, Logan sat at the head of the table brooding. He was having trouble grasping todays turn of events. Margaret, the woman he dreaded marrying, had nearly gotten herself killed and had lost all her memories in the process. He offered up a prayer of thanksgiving that she wasn’t hurt, and perhaps it was churlish of him, but he also thanked God for the change in her personality for however long it might last.

  His grandmother, who sat on his right, said, “Logan, what has ye so preoccupied this evening? Has the shrew soured yer mood again?”

  His grandmother was not one to mince words and frankly, for the last few weeks if he was out of sorts, Margaret was nearly always the cause. However, this evening it wasn’t her nasty disposition that had him brooding. “Did ye hear what happened today, Grandmother?”

  “Aye, the lass nearly killed herself and her mount, but wound up only being thrown on her arse.”

  “That she did, but she can’t remember anything now and…well, she’s changed.”

  “A thump on the head couldn’t possibly bring about enough of a change to make her tolerable.”

  Logan’s lips twitched as he tried to hold back a smile. “Grandmother, please.”

  “Please what? I have no idea why ye tolerate her. Burn the betrothal and send her back to her da with the ashes.”

  “Ye know I can’t do that.”

  “Can’t do what?” asked his mother, who sat on his grandmother’s other side.

  “I told him he should have done with that mean-spirited, wee shrew, and send her back to her da.”

  “Nay, Agnes, he certainly cannot do that,” said his mother. “The betrothal was signed years ago. It would be a terrible insult to the Grants.”

  His grandmother frowned. “My son signed those papers before meeting the lass. If he were still alive, and could see the kind of woman she is, I’ll warrant he’d agree with me. We don’t need the Grants as allies that badly.”

  Logan shook his head. “Grandmother, while we may not need them overmuch as allies, we don’t want them as enemies. Mother’s right. Failing to honor the betrothal would likely result in a feud we can ill afford.”

  His grandmother harrumphed. “Well, if that brainless twit goes and gets herself killed it will be worse. He won’t just be insulted, he’ll seek immediate retribution. Yer grandfather never trusted the Grants.”

  He smiled indulgently at his grandmother. “I know, but that’s why Da sought the betrothal—to limit the threat they posed.”

  His mother nodded her agreement. “So there will be no more talk of breaking the betrothal and we must ensure her safety going forward.”

  Logan frowned. “Mother, do ye think I would have risked her life intentionally?”

  “Nay, of course not, but if she isn’t going to heed ye, she mustn’t be allowed to ride.”

  He shrugged. “I don’t think we have to worry about that until her memory returns. She seems terrified of horses now.”

  His grandmother harrumphed again. “Well, if she has indeed changed, and the good Lord is smiling on us, her memory never will return.”

  As unkind as it might be, Logan prayed the same thing.

  Chapter 5

  Maggie woke very early the next morning. For a moment she thought it had all been a dream. Then she opened her eyes. Canopy, carved bed, stone walls—not a dream; she was definitely in the thirteenth century. She stretched and groaned at the painful reminder of being thrown from a horse yesterday and breaking her ribs. She climbed out of bed gingerly to avoid another sharp stab of pain.

  The previous afternoon and evening, Bearnas had checked on her several times, as had Lady Carr. Lady Carr also sent servants up with food and fresh pitchers of
water for the wash stand.

  Late in the evening a young woman had knocked and timidly entered the room. “If it pleases ye, my lady, I’ll help ye get ready for bed.”

  Maggie was at a loss. “Is there some reason I need help getting ready for bed?” At the girl’s confused look, Maggie said, “I’m sorry, what’s yer name?”

  The girl’s eyes grew wide, “What they’re saying is true then? Ye’ve lost yer memories?”

  Maggie smiled. “Aye, it is true. So would ye mind very much telling me yer name?”

  “Nay, I’m sorry, my lady, I’m Freya, I have served as yer maid since ye arrived at Castle Carr.”

  “It’s nice to meet ye Freya. Please pardon me if this seems like a silly question, but what do ye do to help me get ready for bed?” Maggie had been putting herself to bed for quite a few years. She couldn’t imagine needing help.

  “My lady, I help ye out of yer clothes and put them away. I comb and braid yer hair, and I empty yer wash basin and chamber pot.”

  Ah, the chamber pot. That had been a whole new experience today. As a nurse she had helped a great many people use bedpans or bedside commodes, but the idea that someone had to do this for her was embarrassing. “Surely I can do that myself. Perhaps you can just show me where?”

  The girl couldn’t have been more shocked if Maggie had suggested dancing naked on the battlements. “By the saints, my lady, ye can’t do that. I would be mortified. It is my responsibility. What would people say? I know ye wanted a better maid than me, but please, ask Lady Davina to assign someone else. Don’t shame me so.”

  “Freya, I-I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to shame ye. I just…never mind. Of course I won’t ask Lady Davina to assign someone else. Please, help me get ready for bed.”

  Now, in the morning light, Maggie had to make use of that convenience once again. When she had finished, she washed and looked in the wardrobe for something to wear. She was awed by the number and variety of garments Margaret had. She found another white silk léine like the one she had worn yesterday. There was a huge variety of overdresses, but most required either help or dexterity to lace up. With some difficulty she finally found a pale green one with laces up the sides. Surely she could manage this.