The Pocket Watch

by Ceci Giltenan

  Like his father, Evan was extremely observant and empathetic. Even at only eight years old, he tried to think of others first.”

  “I am very tired, son. Bringing a baby into the world is hard work, but I am all right. After a few days of rest, I’ll be perfect.”

  Her very serious son cocked his head and frowned, a mannerism so like Logan’s it made her heart swell. He would be a good chief someday.

  She smiled at him. “I promise, I’m fine. Go see yer new sister.”

  With the crowd around the baby growing, Malina came to Maggie’s side. “She’s pretty, Mama.”

  “I think so too, sweetling.” Maggie put her arm around her oldest daughter.

  “What’s her name?” demanded Ella from across the room.

  “That’s a good question,” said Logan. “We haven’t picked one yet.”

  “Don’t name her Ella. That’s my name.”

  Malina huffed. “Ella, more than one person can have a name. I’m named after mama’s mama and Evan was named after Saint Evan.”

  “Well Edward and me have our own names.”

  Maggie cast a knowing smile at Davina. Edward and Elasaid had actually been named after Maggie’s parents, Edward and Elise, but Alpin Grant, Davina and Logan were the only people who knew that. “Yer sister is right, Ella, but we won’t name the baby Ella too. That might be a little confusing. We were thinking of naming her after Great Granny since she was born on the same day.”

  “Oh, goodness, nay,” said Agnes. “I have never liked my name.”

  “What would ye name her, Gweat Gwanny?” asked Edward.

  “Hmmm.” Agnes considered for a moment. “I might name her Mary, after Mary Magdalene…but nay, that isn’t a lot better than Agnes. I do like the name Maretta though.”

  “That’s a beautiful name, Agnes,” said Davina.

  Logan nodded, “I agree, Grandmother. I quite like it.”

  “I do too,” said Maggie.

  “Is anyone opposed?” asked Logan, as if in a meeting of elders.

  Malina and Evan shook their heads but Edward asked, “What does ‘posed mean?”

  “It means is anyone against it,” said Evan.

  “I’m not ‘posed,” said Ella, “and Edward isn’t eever.”

  “How do ye know?” demanded Edward.

  Ella frowned and put her hands on her hips. “Are ye ‘posed?”

  Maggie grinned. As surely as Evan had reminded her of Logan, she saw herself in this gesture.

  Edward frowned at his sister. “No, I’m not ‘posed.”

  “See? Tol’ja.”

  “Ella, don’t be so bossy,” Maggie admonished her gently.

  Logan picked the little girl back up. “Well since no one is ‘posed, we will name her Maretta.”

  Agnes lifted the baby, so as to look directly at her face. She said, “May God bless ye, Maretta and give ye a long and happy life,” before gently kissing Maretta’s forehead. Then she looked around the room. “Logan, take this wee lass now, and Davina and I will herd this lot out of here.”

  There were a few moans and pleas to stay. Logan stopped it with one stern look, after which they all kissed Maggie and left with Agnes. When they were gone, he laid the sleeping babe in her cradle before sitting next to Maggie on the bed. “Ye do need to rest now.”

  “Aye, I do. Lay with me for a while.”

  “Sweetling, I’ll stay with ye, but I’ll sit in the chair.”

  “I don’t recall giving ye an option.”

  He grinned. “Nay, love, I suppose ye didn’t.” He lay on the bed beside her, pulling her close.

  “I love ye, Logan,” she whispered, almost asleep.

  “I love ye too. Sleep well, Maggie.”

  A note to the reader

  I was desperately trying to figure out what to write for this novella when, out of the blue (I firmly believe it was Divine intervention), I remembered a time-travel story I wrote in college. I had one copy, written by hand, which found its way into a box of memorabilia with baby shoes and wedding cards. Unfortunately, the box was destroyed when our basement flooded a few years ago. Thankfully, the basic plot was indelibly written in my memory so now, more than thirty years later, I pulled it out and dusted it off.

  Although originally Maggie travelled back to Colonial America, other than that, the bones of the story are unchanged. Maggie meets the old woman who gives her the pocket watch with which Maggie travels back in time, exchanging souls with another woman. As I started to form the characters for the story, I thought I would give a little nod to H.G. Wells (author of The Time Machine, 1895) by giving Maggie “Wells” as a last name. However, as I researched things a bit, I learned that Wells wasn’t the first person to tackle time travel.

  It was actually Edward Page Mitchell, an American Journalist and author of science fiction, who is credited with having written the first time-travel story. But here is where things take a bizarre twist. The name of Mitchell’s story, first published in the New York Sun in 1881, is The Clock that Went Backward. Of course I had to read it. There aren’t actually many similarities between the two stories, but I was amazed by the fact that a timepiece is the conduit for time travel in both stories. Furthermore, I learned that, among many stories Mitchell wrote is another first, a story titled, Exchanging Their Souls (1877). It too bears little resemblance to the soul exchange described in The Pocket Watch but that I found the fact that he wrote about both topics intriguing.

  So in homage to Mr. Mitchell, I gave Maggie his surname, named her father Edward and her sister Paige. Additionally, I named the old woman in my story, Gertrude, a character from The Clock that Went Backward.

  About the Author

  Ceci started her career as an oncology nurse at a leading research hospital, and eventually became a successful medical writer. In 1991 she married a young Irish carpenter who she met at a friend’s wedding. They raised their family in central New Jersey but now live with their dogs and birds in paradise, also known as southwest Florida. While she loves spending time writing “happily ever afters” she still works fulltime in the pharmaceutical industry.

  Her bestselling, Duncurra series, Highland Solution, Highland Courage, and Highland Intrigue are available as e-books, audiobooks, and paperbacks. There are also inspirational versions of each of these which close the bedroom door. Ceci will be continuing this series in the near future.

  The Fated Hearts series begins with Ceci’s novella Highland Revenge (originally appearing in Highland Winds, The Scrolls of Cridhe – Volume 1) and continues with Highland Echoes and Highland Angels.

  If you enjoyed The Pocket Watch, you might like:

  The Midwife: The Pocket Watch Chronicles

  Coming March 1, 2016, available for pre-order now

  Can a twenty-first century independent woman find her true destiny, in thirteenth century Scotland?

  At his father’s bidding, Cade MacKenzie begs a favor from Laird Macrae—Lady MacKenzie desperately needs the renowned Macrae midwife. Laird Macrae has no intention of sending his clan’s best, instead he passes off Elsie, a young woman with little experience, as the midwife they seek.

  But fate—in the form of a mysterious older woman and an extraordinary pocket watch—steps in.

  Elizabeth Quinn, a disillusioned obstetrician, is transported to the thirteenth century. She switched souls with Elsie as the old woman said she would but other things don’t go quite as expected. Perhaps most unexpected was falling in love with Cade MacKenzie.

  Other Books by Ceci Giltenan

  Highland Revenge - Excerpt

  Eoin MacKay hadn’t gone terribly far when he caught a glimpse of white halfway up a massive oak. She was well hidden. Her plaid was dark green; he wouldn’t have noticed her among the leaves if he hadn’t been specifically looking for her. He strode closer to the tree, stopping once so he could look up through the branches. There, perched in the crotch of two thick limbs was a woman so perfectly beautiful she might have been part faery. He was
left momentarily speechless. Her skin was fair, with a faint pink blush to her cheek. He couldn’t see the color of her eyes, but they were ringed with sooty lashes. Something told him that, regardless of their hue, they would sparkle. Her rosy lips were full and soft—lips that were made to be kissed. The late afternoon breeze ruffled the mass of black curls around her shoulders. Her léine was torn, but otherwise she appeared none the worse for wear. She is not a faery, she is a MacNicol, he reminded himself.

  She looked down at him silently with her head cocked to one side, as if she was trying to solve some puzzle. She didn’t seem remotely frightened. That would have to change if he was to exact his revenge. “Have ye had a lovely day perched in yer tree, watching us search for ye?”

  “I suspect my day was better than yers.”

  Her impertinent answer irritated him. “Well ye’ve had yer bit of fun, but it’s over. Climb down.”

  She ignored him. “Who are ye?”

  “Yer captor, and I ordered ye to climb down. Do it now.”

  “Nay, I asked ye a perfectly reasonable question, and ye aren’t my captor if ye can’t reach me. Until I know who ye are, I think I’d just as soon stay free, even if I am up a tree.”

  “Free? Nay lass, ye’re as good as locked in my dungeon, and I promise ye will regret yer impertinence.”

  He called to one of his men. “Donald, it fair breaks my heart, but the MacNicol lass doesn’t wish to join our company.”

  “An arrow would bring her down quick enough.”

  “Aye it would, but ye heard her guardsman. This is Fiona MacNicol, Bhaltair’s niece. I wouldn’t want to harm a hair on her wee head.”

  Donald snorted. “Ye have no love for the MacNicols, and neither do I. Have ye forgotten? One of my older brothers rode with ye that night.”

  “Ye’re right, Donald. I have no love for the MacNicols, but the ransom this one will fetch will hurt Bhaltair’s greedy, black heart nearly as much as a steel blade thrust into it. Mark my words, we’ll have our revenge. We are leaving. Climb up, drag her down and bind her. She managed to evade us once and I won’t have it happen again. We have already wasted too much time on her.” He didn’t spare her another glance but called over his shoulder, “By the way, lass, I am Laird Eoin MacKay, and ye’re most assuredly my prisoner.”

  Highland Revenge is available as an e-book, audio book and paperback.

  Highland Echoes - Excerpt

  Sutherland Castle, Early June 1340

  Soaked by the late spring rain and chilled to the bone, Bram Sutherland thought the gates of home had never looked so inviting. It had been a long, wet ride from Castle MacKay. The skies had only cleared in the last hour. They would have been welcome to stay another night waiting out the storm at Naomh-dùn, the MacKay stronghold, but thankfully his father had declined. Bram couldn’t stand the thought of spending another minute there. His betrothed had married Eoin MacKay. Bram hadn’t wanted to linger and be reminded of his loss.

  Letting Fiona MacNicol go had been the right thing to do but that didn’t make it less disappointing. Until yesterday he hadn’t even met her. But once he had, he found her not only beautiful, but strong, loyal, and possessed of a loving heart—a heart that was, unfortunately, deeply in love with Eoin MacKay. Even though Bram had been tempted to force the terms of their betrothal contract, her heart would never belong to him and he couldn’t bear to see her unhappy.

  They slogged into the courtyard. His father gave his mount to the care of a stable hand. “Son, I expect supper is nigh on the table. Leave yer beast to one of the lads. We’ll fill our bellies with good food and ale and try to put this mess behind us.”

  Bram generally preferred to care for his own horse and while he had been looking forward to the warmth of hearth and home for hours, arriving at the start of the evening meal had disadvantages. He was less than anxious to face the onslaught of questions about what had happened and why they didn’t have Fiona MacNicol with them. “I’ll see to Goliath myself but I won’t be long.”

  “Bram, ye could have had her. The law was on our side.”

  “Nay, Da, we have been through this. It would have been wrong. Fiona and Eoin love each other.”

  “Bah. Love. Kentigern MacKay would never have stood for this.” His father’s tone of voice clearly conveyed how unimportant that detail was.

  “Perhaps not, but he is dead. Eoin is laird and in spite of being solid allies for years, if we had forced the issue, he would have become a mortal enemy to the Sutherlands until either I lay dead or he did. Not to mention the fact that I would be married to a woman who would have hated me forever. This was the right course.”

  “Whether it was or wasn’t, it’s done now and we’ll need to find another way to ally with the MacNicols. I think I must consider Bhaltair’s daughter for Boyd, and the sooner the better. We need to get that sorted while they are young—before either of them gets any foolish notions about love in their heads.”

  Bram just shook his head at his father’s utter dismissal of the emotion. Bram had understood from an early age that he would marry a woman of his father’s choosing, a woman who strengthened clan ties. He hadn’t thought much about love and perhaps had discounted its importance as thoroughly as his father had. That was until he saw Fiona and Eoin together. He didn’t want to admit it, but he envied them.

  His father must have taken his silence for agreement, because he continued, “Aye, the more I think about it, the more I’m convinced. I will take care of it as soon as Laird MacNicol has recovered. And we will find a bonny bride for ye too, Bram. That young Anna MacKay is quite a pretty thing, even if she is a bit too bold for her own good.”

  “A bit too bold? That is an understatement. Whoever marries her will have his hands full. I’m not sure I’m up to the task. Besides, she is very young.”

  “Seventeen is not that young. But there is also Annice…”

  “Nay, Da, please, can’t this wait? I don’t wish to discuss another betrothal at the moment and I need to see to Goliath.”

  “Fine, we won’t discuss it now. It can wait…a few days. Don’t dwell on this, Bram.”

  “Aye, Da.”

  His father turned toward the keep, calling as he went, “Don’t be all night. Yer mother will want to hear every detail of what happened and I don’t have the patience.”

  By all the saints, Bram loved his mother but he didn’t have the patience for an inquisition tonight either. Bram led Goliath into the stable, removed his tack, rubbed him down, and fed him an extra portion of oats. When he had finished, he was still not anxious to face the crowd certain to have formed in the great hall. He could avoid it by going straight to the kitchen. Innes would give him food and ale and he could slip up the backstairs, avoiding the great hall altogether tonight. He actually might be able to get through this day without having to rehash everything yet again.

  Bram walked from the stables through the outer bailey heading to the rear entrance to the inner bailey, near the kitchens. As he passed one of the small dwellings located within the outer bailey, a woman’s voice, perhaps the most beautiful voice he had ever heard, drifted toward him on the breeze. He stopped to listen. The tune was unfamiliar and he couldn’t quite catch the words, but it was delightful.

  He followed the enchanting melody, drawing close enough to the source to understand the lyrics.

  Hush my sweetling, hushaby,

  The sun sets slowly in the sky,

  Tis time to sleep for evening’s nigh,

  Hush my sweetling, hushaby.

  Hush my sweetling, little dove,

  Mama’s heart is filled with love,

  Papa watches from above,

  Hush my sweetling, little dove.

  They were the nonsense words mothers crooned to bairns, but he was entranced by the soft, sweet voice of what could only be an angel. He stopped in front of the tiny cottage to listen.

  Hush my sweetling, little sprite,

  Too soon ye’ll wake to morning bright, />
  So sleep now through the still dark night,

  Hush my sweetling, little sprite.

  The woman stopped singing words but continued to hum her lullaby until finally her voice faded away altogether. Bram was so captivated by the music it took him a moment to realize it had emanated from Innes’ cottage. However, it certainly was not Innes singing. She would be in the kitchen or the keep now, overseeing the evening meal. Who was it then?

  As if in answer to his unspoken question, a young woman he had never seen before stepped out of the cottage. She was perfectly lovely. Her face was delicately beautiful; as angelic as her voice. Rich auburn hair spilled from under a white kertch in soft curls that reached well past the middle of her back. Tall for a woman, she had full breasts and her belt cinched a narrow waist. She stretched and rolled her shoulders, her movements graceful and oddly enticing. Bram felt a twinge of disappointment when his brain registered the kertch. She was married. Of course she was—she had been crooning a lullaby to a child.

  When she cast a glance his direction, she gasped and stumbled backwards, feeling blindly for the door latch. “I didn’t see ye there. Ye startled me.”

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t intend to.” Why was he apologizing to her? He had committed no offense. He took a step toward her.

  She went from frightened to ferocious in a matter of seconds. “Stay back. What are ye doin’ here anyway? Who are ye?” she demanded.

  Who did she think she was? She was certainly in no position to demand anything from him. “I think, lass, it is ye who needs to start explaining. Who are ye and why were ye in Innes’ cottage?”

  “Innes is my grandmother, she asked us to stay with her.”

  “Yer grandmother? Innes has no children. I won’t tolerate liars, no matter how lovely they are. Who are ye? I want the truth and I won’t ask again.”