He blustered a moment before finally saying, “As long as ye are honoring the contract, I guess not.”
Maggie breathed a sigh of relief and focused her attention on some of their other guests. She had managed to keep the visiting lairds and their ladies straight but she gave up trying to figure out who everyone else was. By the chilly response she received from some of the visitors, it was clear they had experienced Margaret before. However, news of her accident also circulated so others seemed willing to reserve judgment.
After the meal was cleared away, the music and dancing began. Maggie had learned quite a bit since St. John’s Eve, but she was hardly proficient. Still she enjoyed herself and would dance every dance if Logan didn’t pull her aside occasionally to rest.
Many of the dances required the dancers to rotate from one partner to the next. During one of these she found herself partnered briefly with a Grant guardsman. Just before he swung her to her next partner he whispered, “Margaret, the act ye’re pulling is brilliant.”
She didn’t have the opportunity to assure him it wasn’t an act. Ah well, everyone would realize it soon enough.
~*~
The next day Maggie spent much of the morning helping Logan’s mother see to the needs of their guests. But at midday Lady Davina said, “Maggie, dear, would ye mind going to check on Agnes please? She stayed in her chamber this morning because she was feeling a bit off. I want to make sure she’s well.”
“Of course, I will,” said Maggie.
When she arrived at Lady Agnes’ room, she knocked and then entered. “My lady, I understand ye aren’t feeling well.”
“Maggie, I think it is time ye stopped calling me my lady.”
“What would ye like me to call ye?”
“Agnes would be fine. Grandmother would be better.”
Maggie hugged her, “I would love to call ye Grandmother. Now, Grandmother, I understand ye aren’t feeling well.”
“Aye. I think I might have overindulged a bit on the berry tarts last evening. I love them, but they always cause me distress.”
Maggie suspected the berry seeds were the cause but there wasn’t much to do for it. “I can make a tisane out of mint and chamomile that might soothe ye a bit,” Maggie offered.
“Och, if ye think it would, I would be grateful.”
“I’ll just go fetch the herbs. I won’t be long.” Maggie hurried downstairs, out the back of the keep and into the kitchen garden. She smiled to herself as she remembered the first time she had been in this garden and Logan had explained why as her laird and betrothed he knew what was best for her. Normally she would have taken a moment to appreciate the beauty and peace of the garden, but she was anxious to get back to Agnes.
As she gathered the fresh mint and chamomile, she heard footsteps behind her. She turned and was surprised to see the Grant guardsman who had whispered to her the previous evening.
He hurried towards her, looking delighted. “Margaret, ye are positively brilliant, lass. I thought yer plan to play the shrew was excellent, but this is so much better. No one suspects a thing. We can leave tonight. Meet me just after midnight, near the stables and we will be away.”
Maggie stared at the young man, hardly able to believe what she was hearing. “I—I’m sorry?”
“Ye can drop the guise now. We’re alone, my love.”
Maggie saw the look of sincere adoration in his eyes and for the second time in as many days, she had flashes of memories that were not her own. Memories of being in this man’s arms. Like those of Margaret’s father, these memories were associated with strong emotions…love. Dear God, this man loved Margaret and she him. Maggie remembered her own pain when she learned that Elliott loved another. In an attempt to lessen that ache, she said, “I am so very sorry. I can tell ye have genuine feelings for me, but this isn’t an act. Truly, I don’t remember.”
“How is that possible? Did ye think up this ruse to try and fool me instead? Have ye decided ye want to be Lady Carr after all, instead of a banished guardsman’s wife?”
“Please, it isn’t my intention to hurt ye. Honestly, the accident happened and I don’t remember anything. I am so sorry.”
“Ye’re sorry? Nay lass, we love each other. Perhaps I should remind ye of just how much. He pulled her into his arms.
Maggie fought him. “Nay. Stop this. Please.”
He grabbed her face with both hands, kissing her brutally.
Maggie forced herself not to panic. She had taken self-defense classes in college and that training kicked in. She relaxed for a moment, waiting to feel him relax too. She put her left hand on his right elbow, and stepping into him slid her right hand up, between his arms and around his neck as if she were returning his caress.
~ * ~
Logan entered the great hall, looking for Maggie.
“She’s gone to fetch some herbs for yer grandmother. Ye’ll find her in the kitchen garden I expect,” said one of the serving women.
He left through the rear door, heading for the enclosed garden. When he reached the entrance he saw a Grant guardsman kissing Maggie, but worse, it appeared she was returning his embrace. Then, almost before Logan realized what was happening, Maggie turned her body into the man. She bent at the waist and with her right arm positioned around his neck, pulled him down onto her back. With one twisting move, she flipped him onto the ground, then before the stunned man could react, she kicked him in the groin. He curled his body, groaning in pain.
As the man writhed at her feet, she said, “I told ye, I don’t remember ye and I don’t love ye. And yer rough handling tells me ye don’t love me either. This time I will forget it, but don’t ever dare touch me again or Laird Carr will kill ye.”
Logan was at her side in an instant. “Laird Carr will kill ye anyway.”
Maggie threw her arms around him. “Oh, Logan, ye’re here.”
“Aye, love, and although that was rather impressive, I’ll take care of this cur.”
The man still rolled on the ground, groaning in agony.
“Nay, Logan, don’t hurt him. It seems Ma—I mean it seems I was fond of him…before. He thought to remind me of that. He won’t do it again.”
“That is for certain, because he won’t live to do it again.”
“Please Logan. He meant no harm. He thought—”
“He thought it was acceptable to touch my betrothed.”
Maggie pulled Logan’s arm, urging him away from the injured man and towards the garden entrance. She whispered, “Please Logan, I know what it’s like to have a broken heart. Don’t punish him more.”
Maggie’s heart was so gentle, how could he deny her? “Fine, I won’t hurt him, but neither will I tolerate his presence any longer. He will be escorted off Carr land immediately. Come with me and I’ll see to it.” He turned with her to walk towards the door in the wall.
What happened next was a blur.
Maggie turned her head to look back at the injured man. “Nooooooo!”
At her scream, Logan too started to turn, only to be hit in the chest with all the force Maggie’s small body could exert. He was knocked off balance as she fell in a heap at his feet, a dirk protruding from the left side of her back. In one fluid motion, Logan pulled his own dirk and sent it sailing. It landed with a sickening thud, hilt deep in the chest of the guardsman, who crumpled on the spot, dead.
Logan bellowed for help as he knelt beside Maggie, turning her over and cradling her in his arms.
Her eyes fluttered. “Logan,” she whispered.
“Oh, my sweet lass, I am so sorry.”
“Not yer fault,” she whispered.
Dear God, he was losing her. This remarkable woman who he loved more than his next breath, who had likely just saved his life, now lay dying in his arms. He wanted to beg her to hang on, to fight, but he couldn’t. He knew there was only one way to ensure she lived. “Maggie, ye need to say the word now.”
She looked up at him, confusion clouding her expression.
> “The word, Maggie. The one that will take ye home. Ye still have time, say it.”
“Nay, I want to stay…with ye.” She took a ragged breath. “I love ye.”
Several tears slipped down his cheeks. “My darling lass, I love ye too. I can’t bear to lose ye, but I fear…I fear…please, say the word while ye still can.”
Her beautiful blue eyes locked on his. “Nay, Logan. I would rather die…here in yer arms…than live the rest of my life without ye.”
“Dammit Maggie, don’t do this. Say the word.”
She closed her eyes.
Where the hell was everyone? He scooped her into his arms and ran from the garden.
~ * ~
Maggie’s thoughts became jumbled. The pain in her back was intense. It hurt to breathe. She was vaguely aware of Logan shouting orders as he carried her to the keep. Her surroundings came in and out of focus. Logan’s mother was there…and her mother…no her mother couldn’t be there. She blinked her eyes to clear her head. They were in her bed chamber and Logan lowered her gently to the bed, positioning her on her right side. That’s good. I need sleep.
Logan whispered, “I’m begging ye, Maggie, say the word.”
Say the word? Nay, she wouldn’t do that. She would sleep though. She closed her eyes and drifted off.
She hadn’t dozed long when she woke to the sharp pain of someone palpating her back.
“Ye did well, leaving the dirk in until I got here. It may have slowed the bleeding.” It was Bearnas’ voice. “But it looks like she’s lost a lot of blood anyway.”
“Is there anything ye can do?” Logan’s voice sounded tight and strained.
“Laird, if the knife had gone in straight it would have pierced her heart, but it went in at an angle and feels as if it is lodged in bone, probably her shoulder blade.”
“That’s good, aye?”
“Aye, it missed her heart. But because of the angle, the wound is deep and I may not be able to stop the bleeding when I remove the dirk.”
A strangled sob from the other side of the bed caused Maggie to open her eyes. A man knelt beside her. He was familiar but she couldn’t quite remember. He reached to take her hand. “Margaret, my wee lass, hold on. I can’t bear to lose ye.”
Margaret’s father. That’s who he was. She squeezed his hand with what little strength she had. “I will, Da,” she whispered.
Bearnas said, “Maggie, lass, I need ye to be strong now. I’ll get the needle and thread ready. Laird, ye’ll need to hold her while I remove the knife and sew up the wound.”
“Use whisky,” Maggie whispered.
“Ye want a dram before I start?” asked Bearnas.
“Nay. Soak the needle and thread in it…pour it on the wound.”
“By the saints, lass, why would I do that.”
“It helps stop…” what was the word? “It may prevent…festering.”
“Bearnas, Maggie knows what she’s talking about. Do it,” said Logan.
Moments later Maggie wondered at the wisdom of her instructions. Fiery pain sluiced through her as Bearnas doused the wound with whisky. It was more painful than she had imagined possible. She wanted to scream, but she hadn’t the strength. She prayed she would pass out so as to be released from the searing agony, but she remained stubbornly conscious.
“Hold her now, Laird. It may take a bit of force to dislodge the blade from the bone.”
Logan knelt behind her and slipped one arm under her right shoulder, reaching around her chest to grip her left shoulder. He placed his other hand on her back, below where the knife rested.
Maggie felt Bearnas pull on the knife. As Bearnas had feared, it didn’t come easily. The pain radiated through Maggie’s shoulder as Bearnas pulled. Then suddenly it gave way.
She heard Bearnas gasp and press hard on the wound. Maggie could feel the warm blood trickling down her back. Her brain was growing foggy again.
Laird Grant gripped her hand. “Margaret, stay with me, lass.”
But Logan kissed her temple whispering, “Say the word, Maggie.”
The word? “Nay.”
With that she slipped into oblivion.
~ * ~
When Maggie woke, she was lying on her stomach. She had no idea how much time had passed. She felt terrible. The wound in her back throbbed, but worse, she was weak and so hot, her skin burned as if licked by flames. She had a fever and some part of her brain told her she needed fluids. She opened eyes. The room was dark save for the light of several candles. Her eyes met the worried, storm grey eyes of the man she loved.
“Logan,” she whispered over dry cracked lips.
“Oh, Maggie, my sweet lass.”
“I’m thirsty.”
“Aye, sweetling, let me help ye.”
He turned her gently over, then slipped an arm under her, raising her head so she could drink. The cool water tasted good. After she had taken several sips, he asked, “Do ye think ye could swallow some broth? Bearnas said it is the best thing for someone who has lost a lot of blood.”
“Aye, she is right.” At least in the absence of intravenous fluids and transfusions.
He helped her drink some rich broth until she could swallow no more. Then he lowered her back down, positioning her on her right side. “Are ye comfortable?”
“Aye, as much as can be expected.”
“Bearnas will probably have my head for not waking her as soon as ye woke. She’s just in the next room. But Maggie, I want to speak with ye alone.”
“Logan, I am staying.”
He shook his head in frustration. “Ye have lost an enormous amount of blood for such a wee thing. A fever is setting in. I fear for yer life, my love. I let ye down. I didn’t protect ye, but I can’t bear the thought of ye dying when ye don’t have to.”
“Ye didn’t let me down. Why would ye think that? He was Margaret’s clansman…and he loved her. There was no reason to think he would harm us.”
“He didn’t intend to harm us. He intended to kill me. Ye were just fool enough to take the blade instead. Ye saved my life, Maggie.” He caressed her cheek.
She leaned her head into his caress. “I love ye Logan.”
“And I love ye—with everything in me, I love ye. But, please, Maggie, the fever will get worse. Much worse. And ye are so very weak already. Ye must go home where ye’ll be safe.”
“Nay, Logan. Losing ye forever would truly kill me.”
“But maybe this is what was meant to be. Maybe this happened because Margaret cheated death once and the time is up. Maybe ye were never meant to stay.”
“I don’t believe that. Gertrude said the decision to return was mine. She wouldn’t have given me a choice if there was none.”
“How can ye be sure of that? She was a stranger to ye. Perhaps she was evil…a witch.”
“There is no such thing as witches. And Gertrude was—I can’t explain it but I am certain she was not evil.”
He started to argue with her. “Nay, Logan. I am meant to be here with ye. And I will live through this.”
The pain in his expression was nearly palpable. He leaned down and kissed her ever so gently.
“Ye’ll see…” she whispered.
~ * ~
Just like that, she slipped away again. Logan kissed her forehead. “Please, God, please let it be so. Help her through this. Ye brought her to me and ye let me love her. Please don’t take her away.”
Chapter 12
Logan maintained his vigil with Bearnas at Maggie’s bedside. His mother, Margaret’s father, and even his grandmother also stayed with them for long stretches. They encouraged Logan to rest, but he refused to leave. As he had predicted, her condition worsened. She woke often, feverish and confused. Each time Bearnas worked to get Maggie to swallow as much broth or water as she could.
However, occasionally Maggie woke and seemed lucid. These were the moments he waited for. Each time he begged her quietly to say the word, to save her life. Each time she said, “Nay, Logan.”
Maggie’s periods of delirium puzzled the others. She spoke of Elliott, Amanda, Gertrude and Paige. When his mother and Maggie’s father looked to him for an explanation, he shrugged and said, “It’s the fever.”
Still, her feverish babble was preferable to silence. Often she lay so still the bedclothes barely moved as she breathed. It was during these moments when cold, raw fear gripped Logan’s heart. He watched from breath to breath, fearing that he wouldn’t see another.
Late in the evening of the third day, the day they were to have been married, she began talking as if to her mother, but Margaret Grant would never have said the things Maggie said. Margaret’s mother had died giving birth to her.
“Mama, ye’re back.”
Laird Grant looked at Lady Davina. “Does she mean ye?”
Logan’s mother frowned. “She must. But she has never called me ‘mama’ before.” She crossed the room and took Maggie’s hand in hers. “Maggie, rest child.”
Logan remained silent. If his mother believed Maggie, in her delirium, was speaking to her maybe they would ask no questions.
“I love ye, Mama, and I’ve missed ye so much.”
“Lass, I’ve been here all evening.”
Maggie seemed to look right through his mother. “But, how did ye find me here?”
His mother looked confused. “Sweetling, I don’t understand.”
“It hurts so much. I’m glad ye’re here.” Tears welled in Maggie’s eyes. “Mama, please don’t tell me to go home. I know Da probably needs me, but…”
Laird Grant, who sat in a chair on the opposite side of the bed, reached across to take her hand. “Margaret, I’m here too, little one. Rest easy now. Ye needn’t worry about a thing.”
“But when ye were sick, Mama…”
His mother frowned and looked at Logan. “What is she talking about?”
“I’m not sure, mother.” How could he explain this?
The tears slipped down Maggie’s cheeks. “Aye, I do want to stay. I love him so much. I wish ye could meet him, Mama.” Her eyes found his and she smiled. “Aye, that’s him. He’s worried. He knows I’m not Margaret and he loves me, but he thinks I should go home. He keeps asking me to say the word, but I won’t. Tell him I can stay.”
The Pocket Watch Page 10
