The Pocket Watch (6 page)

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.

By the time she had it on, she was reminded of a child who had misbuttoned her coat. One side was laced tighter than the other, making the dress fall awkwardly. She was frowning, trying to adjust it when Lady Carr knocked and entered the room with Freya behind her.

“Margaret, dear, ye are up earlier than usual.” On seeing her predicament, Lady Carr stifled a smile.

“My lady, let me help ye with that,” said Freya.

“I thought I could manage to dress myself,” said Maggie, embarrassed.

In just a few moments, Freya had evened the tension of the laces so the dress hung properly.

Lady Carr asked, “How are ye feeling this morning?”

“My ribs are sore, but otherwise I am well.”

“Does yer head hurt?”

“Nay, it doesn’t, but I still don’t remember anything.”

“My lady, sit here please and I’ll comb out yer hair,” said Freya, guiding her to a chair.

“Are ye feeling up to Mass then?” asked Lady Carr.

Mass? Yes, that would be good—something familiar. “Aye, I would love to go to Mass.”

Lady Carr smiled. “Very well then. When Freya has finished with yer hair, she’ll bring ye downstairs.” With that Lady Carr left the room.

Maggie closed her eyes and sighed as Freya began combing her hair. “I love to have my hair combed.”

Freya stopped. “What did ye say?”

Maggie looked over her shoulder. “I said, I love to have my hair combed.”

“Nay, ye don’t, my lady. Ye always complain that I pull too hard or that I’m doing it wrong.”

“Do I?” Maggie shrugged. “Well I like it now. Thank ye.”

Freya looked astounded. “I don’t think ye’ve ever said that.”

“What?”

“Thank ye. Leastways, ye’ve never said it in my hearing.”

Maggie frowned. “Well, I’m sorry. That was very impolite of me.”

Freya shook her head, grinning, “Ye’ve never said that either.”

“Then I’m sorry about that too. I have the distinct feeling I might be saying it a lot.”

Freya laughed. “Let me finish with yer hair so ye can go to Mass.”

When she was done, Freya placed a veil over the elaborate braid she had worked. Maggie thought it was a shame to cover the beautiful braid but just before she said so, she remembered that women covered their heads in church even well into the twentieth century.

Freya showed Maggie to the great hall where Lady Carr waited with Logan and a much older woman. Freya curtsied to them before excusing herself.

Maggie said, “I’ve made ye wait, I’m sorry.” Freya must have been right about Margaret never apologizing, because everyone within earshot looked surprised.

Lady Carr smiled warmly. “Ye needn’t worry, lass. Ye remember my son, I trust?”

“Aye, good morning, Logan.” Freya had curtsied, maybe she should. She bobbed a curtsy, figuring it wouldn’t hurt.

Logan arched an eyebrow. “Good morning. I trust ye’re well this morning?”

“Aye, thank ye. And ye?” Shocked looks all around again. Did Margaret have no manners at all?

“Aye, Margaret, I am. Thank ye for asking. Unless much has changed from yesterday, I suspect ye don’t remember my grandmother, Lady Agnes Carr.”

“It’s lovely to meet ye,” said Maggie. She curtsied again.

Lady Agnes nodded coolly at her.

Maggie realized she had yet to meet Laird Carr and she wasn’t sure whether Laird Carr was Logan’s father or grandfather so she asked, “Will Laird Carr be joining us?”

Logan cocked his head. “Margaret, I’m Laird Carr.”

Maggie’s jaw dropped. “I—I’m sorry…Laird…I didn’t know, or at least I didn’t remember.”

He laughed. “Clearly.” Offering her his arm he said, “Shall we go to Mass?”

Maggie accepted it, walking with him outside and across the bailey to the chapel. She hadn’t thought about it until they entered the chapel, but she had a moment of panic. What would they think if she couldn’t say the words of the liturgy?
Get a grip Maggie, ye have amnesia
.

However, when the Mass started she had no trouble. She recognized the language as Latin. She had studied Latin throughout high school and had learned all the prayers of the old Tridentine Mass in Latin. Of course it would be another three hundred years before Pope Pius V revised the Roman missal into a unified Mass. Still it wasn’t vastly different and understanding the liturgical Latin helped her follow along. Frankly, she was somewhat amazed. Other than the language in which it was celebrated, the Mass had changed very little in seven hundred years. In a way it was comforting. She felt connected not only to the people around her, but to the people all over the world and throughout time who performed the same ritual daily.

Logan took her arm again as they left Mass. “That was interesting Margaret.”

“What? The Mass?”

“Not precisely. Twas interesting how closely ye seemed to listen to the readings.”

“Well, I’ve always liked the story of Christ’s mercy toward the woman at the well.”

“Have ye?”

“Aye.” She frowned. “Do ye find that odd?”

He nodded. “Extremely odd. Ye’ve never listened before because other than reciting the prayers, ye don’t understand Latin. So ye wouldn’t have known the Gospel was the story of the woman at the well.”

Crap
. Maggie had only understood the Latin because she herself had studied it. It was the language of the medieval Church and she had just assumed Margaret knew it as well. Losing all of her memories was one thing, knowing stuff Margaret had never known was something else.
Bluff Maggie
. “Ye must have misunderstood me. I haven’t been here that long, ye said so yerself.”

“I didn’t misunderstand.”

“Maybe I was just keeping it a secret but…well…I forgot to keep the secret.”

“Why would ye do that?”

“I don’t know, Logan. Why would I ride my horse flat out on unfamiliar ground when ye had warned me not too? I can’t explain it. From where I stand now, it was pure stupidity and hiding the fact that I understand Latin is equally as stupid. It serves no purpose that I can see.”

He considered her for a moment, but appeared to accept the explanation. Maggie was thankful for that, but it was clear she needed to find out why Margaret was living at Castle Carr and what the consequences for the Carrs would be if she were to die. Maggie wanted to get home before she made another major gaff and they began to suspect her of being a witch or something.

When they had reached the keep, Logan let go of her arm and gave her a little bow. Not sure of what to do, she gave a slight nod of her head and stood there.

He frowned. “Do ye need something?”

Yeah. Breakfast
.

His mother and grandmother had entered the hall behind them. Lady Davina said, “Margaret, dear, I’m glad ye felt able to attend Mass, but ye should return to bed and rest until dinner.”

Dinner? She hoped that meant lunch, but had they all had breakfast? Maggie thought people fasted from midnight until after Mass even up into the twentieth century. “I…well…I suppose I missed the morning meal.” She could manage without breakfast if she had to but she had hoped to find out more about why she was here.

“Nay, ye haven’t,” said Lady Davina, “but ye aren’t in the habit of eating a morning meal.”

“I’m not?” Evidently no one told Margaret that breakfast is the most important meal of the day.

“Nay, ye aren’t, dear. But I will have something sent up to ye if ye wish.”

“I don’t want to be a nuisance. I can eat down here with everyone else…or in the kitchen.”

Logan’s grandmother couldn’t contain her laughter. “Well that would set the kitchen staff on their ears. The high and mighty Lady Margaret, who can’t suffer to take her meals in the great hall with everyone else, deigning to eat in the kitchens.”

Maggie was shocked. Had she understood correctly? Margaret was a guest but didn’t dine with them? “I’ve never eaten with ye in the hall before?”

Lady Agnes said, “Not since yer father left after bringing ye here.”

The heat rose in Maggie’s face; she was acutely embarrassed on Margaret’s behalf. “How long have I been here?”

Logan answered her. “Ye arrived on the Eve of Pentecost.”

That told her very little. Depending on when Easter fell that year, Pentecost might have been anywhere between two and six weeks ago. “How long ago was Pentecost?”

“Ye’ve been here for three weeks, dear,” said Lady Davina, gently.

Maggie gasped. “I’ve taken all of my meals in my chamber for three weeks?” All three Carrs nodded. Once again Maggie found herself apologizing for Margaret’s poor behavior. “I can’t imagine why I was so exceedingly rude but I am sorry.” She had never been so embarrassed and she simply wanted to escape. “I’m very sorry. Please excuse me.”

Maggie started to leave but Logan’s mother put a hand on her shoulder, stopping her. “Margaret, don’t be so hard on yerself. It has been a difficult adjustment. Ye just needed a bit of time.”

“Three weeks is rather more than a bit of time and exactly what have I been adjusting to?”

Logan arched an eyebrow. “Me.”

Him? What did that mean?
It only took a split second for her to land on the possible explanation. And to her chagrin less than that for it to fly out of her mouth. “Oh, dear God, are we married?”

Logan gave a mirthless laugh. “Betrothed. But I’m pleased to learn ye’ve forgotten everything but how much ye hate me.”

~*~

From the moment Margaret had fallen off the horse the previous day, Logan had been puzzled. He accepted that a blow to the head might cause memory loss, but Margaret’s entire personality had changed. How was that possible? Still, if her reaction to learning they were betrothed was a glimpse of the old Margaret, her response to his callous comment was not.

“Nay, Logan, I’m sorry. That isn’t what I meant at all. I was just surprised. I guess…I thought…well, yesterday it didn’t seem as if ye liked me very much. I didn’t imagine we were betrothed. Please forgive my disrespect, I truly meant no offense.”

After the misery she had caused with her sharp tongue over the last few weeks, he couldn’t let that lie. “Ye meant no offense? It should be obvious ye’ve done nothing but offend since ye arrived.” Damnation. The old Margaret would have spat back something equally as rude. But now she blushed furiously and looked down, embarrassed.

His mother frowned. She wouldn’t openly criticize him as she might have when he was younger, before he became laird, but her expression spoke volumes. Even his grandmother, whose patience with Margaret had worn thin after only a few days, looked affronted.

He had to say something. “I’m sorry Margaret.”

She shook her head, but didn’t look him in the eye. “Please don’t. I can’t explain anything that has happened or why I’ve been so unkind. But clearly, ye are not the one who should be apologizing. Please excuse me.”

“But ye said ye wanted to eat. Come sit at the table and break yer fast with us.”

“Really, that isn’t necessary. I’m fine. I’ve lost my appetite anyway.”

Logan scowled. “Margaret, come to the table and eat.” She looked surprised and confused. He hadn’t intended to sound quite so curt.

Unlike the spitting viper he had grown accustomed too, Margaret blushed even more deeply. “Nay, thank ye. Please…forgive me.” She practically ran to the stairs, leaving them staring in her wake.

Neither his mother nor his grandmother looked pleased, but he wasn’t sure if their irritation was directed at him or Margaret.