The Lost Soul

The Pocket Watch Chronicles

By
Ceci Giltenan

This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, locations and dialogues in this book are of the
author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or
persons, living or dead, is completely coincidental. Any actual locations mentioned in this book
are used fictitiously.

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic
or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval
system, without permission in writing from the author.

All rights are retained by the author. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in
any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by
any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher
except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. The unauthorized
reproduction, sharing, or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright
infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is
punishable by up to five years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.

Copyright 2019 by Ceci Giltenan

www.duncurra.com
ISBN: 978-1-949407-07-5
Produced in the USA
 Dedications
To the dear friends on whom I can always count.
Time, distance and disagreements may cause the occasional bump in the
road, but I know you are always there for me, just as I am always here for
you.

And, to my dearest Eamon.

 Acknowledgements
I owe a thank you to Suzan Tisdale for inviting me to write this. I shook
me from my writer’s block!

I also owe many thanks to both editors who worked on this book,
Kathryn Lynn Davis and Sue-Ellen Welfonder.
 Table of Contents
Dedications
Acknowledgements
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Epilogue
 Though no one can go back and make a
brand new start, anyone can start from now
and make a brand new ending.
- Carl Bard
 Chapter 1
Absolutely nothing in Margaret Grant’s life was going well.
Nothing. Although she’d been betrothed to Laird Logan Carr for a number
of years, she didn’t want to marry him. She had never wanted to marry
him.
Of course, everyone around her told her it was a good match. Her
father had said over and over that an alliance with the Carrs would be
invaluable to Clan Grant. But what did that matter to her?
She was sick to death of hearing about what a good man and strong
leader he was. The way people talked it sounded as if Laird Carr might
rival good Saint Joseph himself. But that’s all it was—talk meant to lure
her into accepting the situation.
Well she wouldn’t do it. No one, most especially her father, gave a
fig about what she wanted. Her happiness meant nothing to anyone.
Aye, her father bought the finest fabrics and hired the most skilled
seamstresses to make anything she desired. He had given her Robin, her
strong beautiful gelding. But this was simply her due. Fathers were
supposed to take care of their daughters. If he really loved her, he
wouldn’t force her into this union.
There was only one person on Earth who cared anything for her at
all. Anson. He was one of her father’s guardsmen. He, above anyone,
wanted to see her happy. He whispered sweet things to her whenever he
was near and had stolen the occasional kiss when no one was looking. He
found ways to give her little gifts. Nothing terribly wonderful or valuable
—that would have drawn attention. But Margaret knew that if she could
have married him, he’d have done whatever it took to make her happy.
He’d said so over and over.
But now she didn’t even have him.
Her father had sent her to live with the Carrs for a while before the
wedding. He’d said it was a kindness. It was an opportunity to meet her
betrothed and his family in order to get to know them better.
In her opinion there was nothing kind about it, and it was only an
opportunity to be miserable for even longer.
She’d decided immediately that if she was destined to be
miserable, she’d make everyone at Castle Carr miserable as well. And so
far, she was doing a good job of it.
 She couldn’t bring herself to be pleasant to anyone. Why bother?
The fact was, the more she held herself away from the Carrs, the better off
she was. She had even refused to eat in the great hall. She thought perhaps
if she appeared so unhappy that she wasn’t eating, Laird Carr would break
the betrothal and send her home. But Lady Carr, Logan’s mother, simply
had meals sent up to her. Margaret had overheard that misguided woman
tell Logan that if they treated Margaret with kindness and patience, she
would come around.
That was not going to happen and the sooner the Carrs realized it
the better.
Thankfully, after a couple of weeks, Logan had finally accepted the
futility of it all. He stopped making any effort to please her. That just
proved how little her husband-to-be cared for her.
He did take her riding occasionally. She liked to ride, so she didn’t
discourage this too much. When he’d asked her to go riding with him
today she’d shrugged and said, “Why not? There’s nothing better to do at
this dreadful place.” But this small concession didn’t mean she was going
to simply accept the awful situation. She couldn’t bring herself to show
any appreciation. Why should she?
She’d remained cold and silent until they had ridden quite a
distance from the castle.
But her silence seemed to be having no effect. She wanted to push
his patience. If he didn’t break soon and send her home, she would find
herself wedded and bedded.
They had reached a gently sloping heath—one he’d never brought
her to before. She wanted to feel the freedom of galloping hard, flying
along on Robin’s back, with the wind in her face. This looked like the
perfect place to do that, so, with as much disdain as she could manage, she
asked, “Are we going to ride like old crones again today?”
As usual Logan didn’t react. He only shrugged, saying, “We can
pick up the pace a little if ye wish.”
“We can pick up the pace a little,” she mocked him. “Yer docile
bag-of-bones may be satisfied plodding along, but Robin needs a run.” So,
to further irritate him, she didn’t wait for an answer, but simply kicked her
mount into a gallop.
“Margaret, ye have to be careful—” Logan had shouted after her.
 She was not a little girl who needed to be instructed in how to ride.
She yelled over her shoulder, “I am an excellent rider and I don’t need the
likes of ye telling me what to do.”
She heard him riding hard behind her, bellowing for her to stop.
She smiled. Hearing the desperation in his voice only fed her need to go
faster. She leaned low over Robin’s neck, preparing to urge him on, but
before she could, she felt as if someone had yanked her upwards. Then,
everything went black.
~*~
Margaret awoke to find herself lying on the ground, the sun warm
on her face. That was odd. The day had been dull and gray moments ago.
What had happened? Why was she lying on the ground? Surely
Robin hadn’t thrown her. But what other explanation could there be? Then
she remembered the sensation of being pulled off her horse. Laird Carr
must have done that.
How dare he? And then to simply drop her on the ground. She
raised her head, preparing to release a stream of vitriol at him. She
glanced around, but Logan Carr was nowhere to be seen.
Neither was Robin.
She called out to both of them, but the only response was the
twitter of birds and the gentle murmur of a nearby river. As she took in
more of her surroundings, she realized that she was no longer on the heath,
rather she seemed to be in a beautiful glen. Trees were in blossom and a
gentle breeze blew the heather that surrounded her.
How could the trees be in blossom? It was late June. The spring
blossoms had long since faded and blown away.
“Where am I?” she asked aloud.
To her surprise, someone behind her said, “Ye’re in a magical
place. A place full of hope and potential. That’s why the trees are always
in blossom.”
Margaret stood quickly and spun around to find an old woman in a
voluminous black cloak standing nearby. “Who are ye? How did I get
here? And for that matter, how did ye know what I was thinking?”
“My name is Gertrude. I can’t say exactly how ye got here. And yer
thoughts were clear to me because I know what I need to know, when I
need to know it.”
 Margaret was stunned. “If ye know what ye need to know, why
don’t ye know how I got here?”
Gertrude chuckled. “I’d have thought that was obvious. Evidently, I
don’t need to know how ye got here. Besides, why ye’re here is a much
more important question.”
“Then, why am I here?”
“I’d say it’s because ye’ve been given a second chance.”
“A second chance at what?” asked Margaret.
“At life,” said Gertrude simply.
“Life?” Margaret gave a derisive huff. “In case ye hadn’t noticed,
I’m very much alive.”
Gertrude smiled, shaking her head. “Actually, dear, ye aren’t. And
quite frankly, I’m not sure ye ever really have been.”
“What is that supposed to mean? Of course I’m alive.”
“Not completely. Look at yerself.”
For the first time since waking, Margaret glanced down. The shock
of what she saw nearly killed her…or it would have had she been alive, but
it seemed she wasn’t. She appeared to be made of vapor—most closely
resembling her idea of what a ghost would look like.
“Wh-what happened to me?”
“Now that I can answer. Ye died.”
Margaret gasped. “I died? Are ye dead too?”
“Nay, I’m not dead. I’m not human, so I cannot die.”
“Not human?” Margaret could scarcely believe what she’d heard.
“Then what are ye?”
“For lack of a better word, I’m an angel.”
“Ye’re not an angel.” Margaret scoffed. “Ye don’t have wings.”
Gertrude smiled indulgently. “Angels don’t have to have wings, but
suit yerself. What I am doesn’t really matter. The reason ye’re here is
much more important.”
“But wait, how did I die?”
Gertrude sighed. “Just before ye arrived here, ye were galloping
flat out up a slope where ye’d never ridden before. And Laird Carr—a
wonderful young man, by the way—was trying desperately to stop ye.”
Margaret squared her shoulders and tilted her chin up. “I have
ridden since I was a child. I didn’t need instructions from him.”
 Gertrude cocked her head. “There is no need to get haughty with
me. And, as it turns out, ye’d have been significantly better off if ye’d had
the good grace to listen to him. The wee rise ye were charging up dropped
sharply into a river on the other side.”
Margaret pouted. “I didn’t know that.”
“Clearly,” said Gertrude. “However, Logan did, and he did his best
to stop ye.”
“But I didn’t reach the top of the hill. I’m certain I didn’t. I’d have
remembered falling off the other side. What’s more, I felt him pull me off
the horse.”
“That wasn’t Logan ye felt, it was me.”
“But ye just said that’s how I died.”
“I said no such thing. However, if I hadn’t intervened that is how
ye would have died, along with that fine mount of yers.”
Margaret gasped. “Robin—”
“Didn’t die. And neither did yer body. What ye actually felt was me
pulling the soul from yer body to make way for another. A soul from
hundreds of years in the future, a kind sweet lass named Maggie Mitchell,
entered yer body just in time to rein Robin in.”
“And my soul landed here?”
“Not immediately. It was an exchange. Yer soul went into her body
briefly.”
“Then why am I here and not in her body?”
“That’s a very good question. I’ve never known it to happen before.
Normally, when she either returned to her own body or decided to stay in
yers, yer soul should have moved onward. But, evidently it didn’t.”
“The fact that I’m a ghost made that rather obvious,” said
Margaret, mockingly.
“Ah, but ye see, ye aren’t a ghost.”
“Then what am I?” asked Margaret.
“It would appear ye’re a lost soul.”
“A what?”
Gertrude explained, “A soul without a body.”
“Isn’t that a ghost?”
“Nay, not exactly.”
“So, my soul is here without my body. Why did I not simply go to
Heaven?”
 Gertrude arched a brow at her. “Do ye believe ye deserve to be in
Heaven?”
“Of course I do,” said Margaret indignantly.
Gertrude laughed. “My dear child, that was a trick question. No
one deserves Heaven. That’s rather the point isn’t it? Heaven is a gift.”
Margaret sighed. “Then why am I still here on Earth?”
“Ye’re not exactly on Earth either.”
“Am I in Purgatory? If I am, I don’t expect I’ll be here long. My
father will have hundreds of Masses said for my soul.” And if this was
Purgatory, it wasn’t so bad. She could stand to wait a bit.
“Nay, ye aren’t in Purgatory. This is a magical place, attached to
the Earth, but not actually a part of it. And I suspect ye’re here because ye
deserved Heaven even less than most people, but evidently someone took
pity on ye.”
For a moment Margaret’s mouth fell open in shock. Finally she was
able to form words. “I deserve it less than most people? But why?”
“Only ye can answer that. Still, it seems, for some reason, ye’ve
been given a second chance. I suggest ye use it well.”
“A second chance? I don’t understand. How can I do anything with
no form or substance?”
Gertrude shrugged. “I can’t tell ye. I don’t know.” She motioned to
the glen around her. “This isn’t my place. Another is the guardian here. I
trust she’ll make things clear in her own time.”
“What do I do until then?”
“At the risk of sounding preachy, I suggest ye examine yer
conscience and see if ye can figure out what ye could have done
differently.”
“Everyone makes mistakes,” said Margaret, defensively.
“Aye, that’s true. But failing to learn from them is perhaps the
worst mistake of all. Don’t waste this opportunity. I’m dead certain ye
won’t get another one.”
With that, Gertrude simply disappeared.
Margaret huffed loudly. “Examine my conscience?” Her thoughts
went to priestly instructions on preparing for confession—think about the
Ten Commandments.
All right. Love God. Have no other gods. Don’t use the Lord’s
name in vain. Keep the Sabbath. She did those things. She went to Mass
and said her prayers as she should. She never swore or cursed.
Honor your father and mother. She had no mother, but Margaret
respected her father.
Don’t murder, don’t commit adultery, don’t steal or lie. She hadn’t
done any of those things.
Don’t covet things that aren’t yours. She had anything she wanted,
what was there to covet?
“I haven’t done anything wrong,” she said aloud in defiance.
“Have ye not?”
The voice belonged to a woman. Margaret glanced quickly around,
but didn’t see her.
“I haven’t broken any of the commandments.”
Margaret heard what sounded like a heavy sigh and a wave of some
horrible, aching emotion washed over her.
“I—I—I haven’t,” she said. Somehow the dreadful sensation she
was experiencing robbed her of her bravado. The voice didn’t respond and
the silence only made the discomfort grow.
“What are ye doing to me?” she asked.
“I’m not doing anything, lass.”
“But what is this pain I’m feeling?”
“Ah, that. It seems ye’re feeling the weight of my disappointment.”
“Yer what?”
“My disappointment. It has caused ye to feel guilt, and as odd as ye
might find it, that’s a good sign.”
“I don’t—,” Margaret’s voice broke on a sob. Until then, she hadn’t
realized she was crying. “I d-don’t like it.”
“No one does. But it’s a step. Shall we take another one?” Then just
as suddenly as Gertrude had appeared and disappeared, a stunning woman,
wearing a glittering white gossamer gown, materialized at her side. She
also wore a cape that was draped behind her and appeared to be woven of
silver and gold. But her clothing was nothing compared to the woman
herself. In fact, she was easily the most beautiful woman Margaret had
ever seen. She had pale blonde hair, crystalline blue eyes and skin so fair it
practically glowed.
Margaret sucked in a ragged breath. If taking another step would
make her feel worse, she didn’t want to do it. She was poised to say no, but
the things Gertrude had told her resounded in her head. Don’t waste this
opportunity. So after taking a deep breath to steel herself she said, “Y-
yes.”
The woman smiled and it was as if the sun had grown brighter and
warmer. “Good. My name is Nyada and this,” she motioned around her, “is
my realm. So let’s take another look at yer conscience then, shall we? Ye
were going through the commandments. A very limited approach, but it’s a
place to start. What do ye consider to be the worst commandment to
break?”
Margaret thought about this for a moment. “I guess, ‘You shall not
murder.’”
Nyada nodded. “Very well. And ye said ye’ve never killed anyone.”
“I haven’t,” answered Margaret.
“It’s true ye’ve never actually ended someone’s life, but words
sometimes cause more damage than weapons. Words can break spirits.
They can crush hope. Have ye always used yer words wisely and avoided
these things?”
Margaret was silent for a long time. She wanted to say she had but
as she opened her mouth to speak, she was flooded with memories of all
the times she’d been unkind and spiteful.
The woman pressed her. “In fact, can ye think of one single
instance when ye chose to be kind and supportive?”
“Of course I can.”
“Then tell me,” said the woman gently.
“I…” Words wouldn’t come. The fact was, although she wracked
her brain, she couldn’t think of anything. Finally she said feebly, “I thank
my father when he gives me things.”
“Do ye? And is it heartfelt appreciation ye show him?”
“I—I don’t know,” Margaret said honestly. “It was good manners.”
“Aye, lass, it was. But good manners without conviction, lack
substance. Furthermore, have ye ever shown good manners, or even the
smallest kindness, to anyone but yer father? Anyone who ye considered in
a lower station?”
“I…don’t know. I can’t remember every conversation I’ve ever
had,” she said, defensively.
“Let me help. I could show them all to ye, but that would be more
than ye could bear. Let’s just think about Freya.”
“Freya? Who’s Freya?”
 “The lass assigned to serve ye at Castle Carr. Ye do remember her,
don’t ye?” Nyada’s voice was laced with weariness.
“Oh her. Aye.”
“I’m going to give ye a rare gift. For the next few moments, ye’ll
remember everything ye’ve ever said to her, only ye’ll hear it as she did.
For the first time ever, ye’ll feel the impact of yer words.”
And suddenly, Margaret’s brain was filled with her own cutting
voice—complaining, criticizing, demeaning. She couldn’t block it out. As
each word sliced into her she was unable to stop the tears from coursing
down her cheeks. She had only been at Castle Carr for about three weeks,
but her harping voice went on and on. She hadn’t really said all of those
things in that short period of time. She couldn’t have.
But even as she tried to deny it, she knew she had.
“Please stop,” she begged.
Instantly, the painful discourse ended.
“So, Margaret, while Freya still has her life, ye did yer very best to
kill her spirit.” Nyada’s voice was gentle, even if the message was
damning.
“I’m sorry,” Margaret sobbed.
There was a long silence, during which Margaret tried
unsuccessfully to regain control of her emotions.
Finally, Nyada nodded slowly. “Ye know, I think ye might be.”
“I am, I swear I am.”
“But, my dear, what ye felt was the damage ye did to one person
and that was only in the last few weeks. Do ye realize how much more
ye’ve done?”
Margaret wanted to say yes, but the untruth wouldn’t cross her lips.
Finally she said, “I don’t know. I don’t think so.”
Nyada reached out and touched her shoulder. When she did
Margaret was flooded with a different emotion. A good one. It felt
wonderful. She could only describe it as…freeing. “What is that?” she
asked, knowing the woman would understand what she was asking.
“That, sweetling, is my compassion.”
Margaret took a deep breath, as if by doing so, she could take the
delightful feeling deep inside her.
Nyada laughed - the sound like tinkling silver bells. “Oh, precious
child, I know ye want to hold onto it, but ye can’t. The only way ye’ll feel
this again, is to learn how to give it to others.”
“But that doesn’t make sense. If I give it away, I won’t have it.”
“But ye will. Ye’ll have it tenfold. Compassion, and its kin Love
and Kindness, are not like food or currency. The only way ye can feel them
fully is not to hoard them, but rather to give them away.”
Margaret wasn’t sure she understood, but she said, “All right. I’ll
try.”
Nyada smiled. “Maybe ye will.” But her tone suggested she didn’t
believe it.
“I promise I will if ye give me another chance at life.”
“Is that what ye want? Another chance?”
“Aye. It is.”
“Well, I do have the power to give that to ye, but it isn’t without
cost.”
Margaret looked down at her ethereal body. “I don’t have anything
to give ye. Perhaps my father could—”
“Nay, lass. The price is far more precious than gold. Ye must give
me something ye've never offered to anyone before.”
“Like what?”
“Remorse?” Nyada suggested.
“I just gave ye that.”
Nyada laughed mirthlessly. “Ye gave me the tiniest amount—just
enough to prove ye’re capable of it. But ye’ll never miss the bit ye’ve
given me and it will be far too easy to forget about it.”
“Then what must I do?”
“Ye must spend the night here and remember more of the pain
ye’ve caused.”
“But ye said remembering it all would be more than I could bear.”
“That’s not exactly what I said. I actually said if I had shown ye
everything, it would have been more than ye could bear. But if ye choose
to remember it yerself, and more importantly, make the effort to
understand the harm ye’ve done, that might be enough.”
Margaret nodded enthusiastically. “Then I’ll do it.” She wanted her
life back and she’d do whatever it took.
“What I’m asking ye to do is more difficult than words can
capture. Still, the only way to know is to try.”
“I want to do it. I want to try.”
 “That is very brave of ye. So I’ll leave ye to it. I’ll be back in the
morning unless ye call for me to end the ordeal.” With that she turned and
started to walk away. It was only then that Margaret realized what she’d
thought was a silver and gold cloak was actually a pair of delicate wings.
“Ye have wings,” Margaret blurted out. “Are ye an angel then?”
Nyada turned back to her, an indulgent smile on her face. “Humans
do insist on naming things. I’m an immortal spirit.”
“Then ye are an angel?”
She shook her head. “All human languages are imprecise, but I
prefer the name fairy.”
~*~
Nyada had referred to Margaret’s coming experience as an “ordeal”
and while human language may be imprecise, that summed it up perfectly.
It was nothing short of agony and it felt as if it lasted an eternity rather
than a few hours. She nearly called out for release many times. But she
didn’t. She kept going. And yet as difficult as it was, she was dogged with
the fear that it wouldn’t be enough.
However, when the pink light of dawn illuminated the sky the next
morning, it brought with it peace and hope. Margaret believed she had
done what she could. She just hoped it was enough.
Finally, when the sun shone fully above the horizon, and a gentle
breeze blew away the morning mist, Nyada appeared again, her face alight
with a warm smile. “Well done, Margaret. Ye have given me what I asked
for and now ye must continue to earn your second chance.”
“So I’m going back to my body?”
Nyada shook her head. “Before I give ye a corporeal body, it is
absolutely vital that ye understand the work ye still have to do.”
“Work?” Tears filled Margaret’s eyes. She couldn’t face another
night like the one she just had.
“Don’t look so distressed. What ye must do now is learn the feel of
compassion.”
“But I felt that yesterday.”
“That was my compassion for you. Now you must feel it for yerself
by showing it to others.”
“Is that all? I’m certain I can do that.”
 “Don’t underestimate how difficult it will be. “I fear ye’ll find it
equally challenging. Now ye must learn the power of kindness, love and
compassion. This often means setting aside yer own wants and desires and
to consider others first. Only then will ye truly live.”
Margaret frowned. “I know how—”
Nyada put a hand up to stop her. “Nay, ye don’t. I can see yer heart
and yer history.”
Margaret’s temper rose. “If I’m such a terrible person, why give
me a second chance at all?”
Nyada didn’t answer the question, instead asking one of her own.
“If I asked ye to bake a loaf of bread, could ye?”
Margaret shook her head. “Nay.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t know how. I’ve never had to do it before.”
“Exactly.”
Margaret frowned. “I don’t understand.”
“Ye can’t bake a loaf of bread because ye’ve never been taught
how. It hasn’t been expected of ye. Kindness, compassion and even love
must be learned—just like baking bread.”
“But there are people who loved me and showed me kindnesses.”
“Of course there were. Just as there have been people who baked
bread for ye. Of course yer father loved ye. But he wasn’t particularly
skilled at these things either. Sadly, he showed his love by giving ye
things. The servants who cared for ye didn’t think it was their place. The
great pity is that yer mother was brimming with love and compassion.
Ye’d have learned well at her hand.”
“She died when I was born.”
Nyada smiled sadly. “I know. And she has watched ye grow. ‘Twas
the ache in her heart that drew ye here.”
Margaret felt on the edge of tears and she wasn’t sure why. “Well
then, if these things have to be learned and no one taught me, how can I
change anything?”
“Because you are about to become another version of yerself. One
that has grown up learning the things ye didn’t as Margaret Grant.” She
raised her hand, palm out and made a circular motion.
Margaret took in a sharp breath. Whatever Nyada had done hadn’t
hurt, but neither was it pleasant. Thankfully it only lasted for a second.
 “Look down,” said Nyada.
When she did, Margaret laughed joyously. “I have my body back.”
Not precisely. From nowhere, Nyada produced a large silvery
looking glass.
The reflection peering back at Margaret was not her own. Before,
she had been delicately beautiful—fair hair, bright blue eyes and fine-
boned features. The reflection looking back at her now was not beautiful,
at least not in her opinion. She had long reddish hair that had been woven
into a braid which hung to her waist. It was apparently very curly because
the tendrils that escaped the braid were practically cork screws. Her face
was extremely freckled and her eyes were a brownish green. To top it off,
she was dressed in a horrible coarse, linen tunic under a plain brown linen
overdress and her feet were bare. “This isn’t my body. I’m…prettier.”
“I think ye’re very pretty. However Margaret, the Margaret you’ve
become, is an absolutely lovely young woman—where it matters most. I
know ye don’t understand that now, but ye will.”
“I believe ye, thousands wouldn’t.”
To Margaret’s surprise, Nyada laughed richly. “I cannot tell ye how
many times I’ve heard that, but it is the truth nonetheless. This is another
version of ye.”
Margaret looked at her hands. Once fair and soft they were now
work roughened and calloused. “I don’t understand.”
“Yer ‘self ’ is yer mind and heart, not yer body. This other version
of ye is not Laird Grant’s daughter. Now ye are simply Margaret, the
daughter of a crofter.”
“A peasant?”
“Aye.”
Margaret furrowed her brow. “I don’t know how to be a peasant.”
“Ye will.” Nyada waved her hand again.
Margaret felt as if some force was rapidly coursing through her
body. Again it didn’t hurt, but it felt terribly strange. As if someone else
was inside her.
Nyada said, “I have just given ye history and memories. Yer name
is Margaret. Not Margaret Grant. Simply Margaret. Ye’re the only
daughter of a crofter, who lived on Clan Keith lands. Both yer father and
yer mother died when ye were young. Yer grandparents raised ye, but yer
grandmother died last winter. Now ‘tis only ye and yer grandfather left to
work the farm.”
With each statement Margaret remembered the details surrounding
them. She remembered her parents. Her mother died giving birth to a baby
boy and her father died a few years later in an accident. Fresher and more
acute was the pain of losing her grandmother who had died of an illness
this past winter. Her heart ached for all of them. But even as her awareness
of this other life grew, she couldn’t make herself believe it.
“This isn’t possible. It can’t be. How could I have been Margaret
Grant and this other Margaret at the same time?”
Nyada sighed. “I know this is difficult to comprehend and as hard
as ye try, ye may never fully understand it. The simple truth is that I can
make things exist and have done that.
Margaret frowned. “Is it magic?”
“That is another very imprecise human word, but if it helps ye
understand it, then it’s the word we’ll use.”
“So ye’ve used magic to give me someone else’s body?”
“Nay. Ye aren’t taking over someone else’s body—that’s Gertrude’s
kind of magic. When ye leave this realm, ye will just be Margaret. While
it may feel like it for a while, ye’re not two separate people. Think of ice
and water. They look different, and for ice to form, it had to be exposed to
different conditions. But when you combine them, eventually the ice melts
and blends with the water, becoming indistinguishable from it. They
become one again. Does that help?”
Margaret nodded, “Aye, a bit.” Margaret decided it didn’t matter if
she understood it or not. As long as she had the chance to get her life back,
she’d accept it for what it was.
“Good. Now there are a few things ye need to know before ye leave
my realm. Last night ye learned the awesome power of words. But even as
they can rend and destroy, they can also nurture and uplift. Remember this
as ye go into the world to learn kindness and compassion. Ye must control
yer tongue.”
Margaret nodded. “I think I can do it.”
“I have given ye one gift that will help—guilt.”
“What? Isn’t that what last night was for?”
“Aye, ye certainly were flooded with guilt last night. But until then,
ye’d rarely—if ever—felt it before. Now it will be a part of ye. It will help
ye guard yer words. And if yer sharp tongue causes pain, ye’ll feel it too.”
Margaret huffed. “Ye’re not making this easy.”
“But I am. Ye’ll be surprised at how much harder it will be to say
hateful things. And that is the first step to learning compassion.”
Still not sure this was a good thing, Margaret just nodded silently.
“Also, ye must not tell anyone about this realm and the gift ye’ve
been given. They will not believe ye and will think ye addled. I cannot
stress this enough. Yer second chance will be over if ye utter a word of this
to anyone. Do ye understand?”
“Aye, but there’s no need to worry. I’m not sure I believe it and it’s
happening to me.”
Nyada chuckled. “Good. Finally, a few months have passed since
ye were last in the Earthly realm. It’s now late August.”
Although this surprised Margaret, it was minor compared to
everything else. There was no point in asking about it.
Nyada continued. “Now it’s time for ye to be going. I will just
remind ye that, like all humans, ye have free will. Yer choices are yer own.
Make them well. Use what ye’ve learned here.”
“I will,” said Margaret with more conviction than she felt.
“Then I’ll say farewell. But I’ll warn ye one last time, if ye fail to
learn from all of this, yer second chance will be gone. Therefore, I must
ask, are ye certain ye still want this?”
Margaret nodded resolutely. “Aye, I am.”
 Chapter 2
No sooner had Margaret said the word than she found herself on a
milking stool beside a cow. An empty bucket was on the ground under the
cow waiting to be filled. For a moment she panicked. She had no clue how
to milk a cow.
Yes ye do, said a small voice within her. She reached forward, took
a teat in each hand and immediately began milking the cow—as if she had
been doing it her whole life. Well I probably have been. Oddly enough, as
soon as that thought occurred to her, she knew this wasn’t actually her
normal routine. Her grandda hadn’t awakened yet, which was extremely
unusual. She’d decided to let him rest and had milked the cow to help him.
The cow also knew this wasn’t the normal way of things. She
fidgeted, twisting her back end away and nearly kicking over the bucket.
“Wheesht now, easy, Honey.” She smiled. The cow’s name was
Honey. Milk and Honey—cute. “Grandda needs a little extra rest this
morning and we’re going to give it to him, so ye need to behave yerself.”
As if she understood, Honey settled down and let Margaret finish
milking her.
When no more milk came, Margaret stood, picked up the pail of
milk and patted Honey on the flank. “Well done, lass.”
By rote, she moved the milking stool to a spot in the corner of the
byre. But now what was she supposed to do?
Put the cow in the paddock, put the milk away, then return to the
cottage and prepare something for breakfast. The voice in her head was
very clear. Still, Margaret had a moment of panic—she didn’t know the
first thing about making cows move, what to do with fresh milk or how to
cook.
Then the memories of this life supplanted her fears. She knew
exactly what to do. She sat the bucket of milk on the stool and guided
Honey out of the byre.
The scene that met her was both long-cherished and brand new at
the same time. The sun hadn’t yet reached the horizon and everything was
bathed in the soft pink light of morning. A little cottage stood a hundred
paces away or so. It was where she lived. Nay, it was more than that—it
was home.
 A little farther past the house stood a small building. Beside it was
a pool of water that fed a small stream.
Ah, they had a spring. The little stone structure that stood over it,
the springhouse, was there to keep debris out of the water.
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 twilight. 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?”
A salacious grin spread across his face. “Aye, it is. I’m not sure
which is better, my tunic sticking to me or the sun beating down on my
bare back.”
Margaret returned his grin. “Oh, the sun on yer bare back is much
better.”
He laughed richly. “Ah, Margaret, I never knew ye were such a
cheeky lass.”
Still a little surprised by her own boldness, Margaret canted her
head and said, “Ye asked. I thought it would be rude not to answer.”
He laughed again before bending back to his work.
She could have stood and stared at him all day, but they’d still be
working at midnight if she did.
Finally, when the sun was dipping low in the sky, the last sheaves
were tied and stacked.
A fresh evening breeze was stirring as they gathered their things to
leave. To her regret, Noah put his tunic back on.
They chatted about the harvest as they walked home.
She said, “Praise be that the entire crop was cut and stacked in dry
weather. I’m glad it’s done.”
 “I expect so. Ye don’t shrink from work, but after days of this, I’m
certain ye’re weary.” He smiled. “I’m weary, so I hope ye are. I’d hate to
be outdone.”
She chuckled and admitted, “I can barely put one foot in front of
the other. A day of housework will feel like a holiday after this week.”
He laughed appreciatively. “Aye, the work never really ends, does
it?”
Margaret answered, “Nay, it doesn’t.”
But until today, Margaret Grant had never known what it was like
to do more than needlework. Oddly though, she found she liked it. Her
back and shoulders ached terribly and she was dead on her feet. Even so,
the feeling of a day well spent was satisfying. And chatting comfortably to
the man at her side as they walked was more than pleasant.
When they reached her cottage, she asked him to come in for
supper.
“There isn’t anything I’d like more, but I should go while there’s
still some light.”
“Good night, then. God see ye safely home.”
“Thank ye, Margaret. Sleep well.”
Her grandfather had done the evening chores and Margaret was
thankful for it. She ate bread and cold meat for supper. Then all she wanted
to do was go to bed.
But as she lay there, sleep wouldn’t come. She couldn’t get Noah
out of her mind. It would seem her first reaction to him this morning was
completely normal for the other version of herself. As the day passed, she
remembered many other days spent in his company. They had grown up
together. He and his brothers had treated her like the sister they didn’t
have. And she’d thought of them as brothers. As Margaret Grant she
hadn’t had this kind a relationship with her own brother. Of course he was
much older. But as she thought of them she felt a warmth and kinship
she’d never experienced before.
And while she still felt this brotherly love for Noah’s brothers, it
was no longer what she felt for him. A few years ago something had
changed. The strong heat of attraction had begun to blaze. She wanted him
as a woman wants a man. But Margaret had kept these thoughts and
feelings to herself. There was no point in telling anyone. Noah wasn’t free
to marry.
 Still, it didn’t stop her from dreaming about him.
But as she did conjure wicked images in her mind, a thought
occurred to her. I could steal him away. I could seduce him. I could get him
to refuse his father’s dictate and marry me instead.
That’s what she had planned to do with Anson. She didn’t want to
be told who to marry and she didn’t like not getting her way. She’d
planned to sneak away with Anson and marry him regardless of what her
father wanted. The consequences of breaking the betrothal contract with
Laird Carr would have been terrible. It could have started a feud. But that
hadn’t mattered a bit to her. Nothing as bad as that would happen if she
coerced Noah into marrying her.
As she thought this a heavy weight descended on her. She
recognized it instantly. Guilt.
While she was certain she could seduce him, she wouldn’t. It
would be wrong. Still she argued with herself that the circumstances were
different here. It might make a few folks angry for a little while, but it
would probably blow over. Still, it might not be very pleasant, and
Margaret was unwilling to inflict any pain on her grandfather, Noah’s
family, or the lass he was destined to marry.
She didn’t like guilt.
But Nyada had been right. It helped her consider the impact of her
decisions on others.
She also remembered Gertrude’s warning, that failing to learn from
mistakes was perhaps the worst mistake of all. She’d admonished
Margaret not to waste this opportunity, that she wouldn’t get another one.
Margaret did want her life back. She would leave Noah alone.
Damn.
 Chapter 3
For Margaret, the next three days were uneventful. As Noah had
predicted, the weather shifted. It was cooler and brief showers fell daily.
She had been the other version of herself now for four days. The
rhythm of her life was steady and unending but she had purpose. She
cleaned the cottage, baked bread and churned butter, spun wool into yarn
and made hearty soups for them to eat. She’d never done any of these
things as Margaret Grant and thus had never experienced the satisfaction
that came from them. She loved it, which led her to believe that marrying
Laird Carr and running his household would feel the same way. Maybe it
wasn’t such an awful fate.
On the morning of her fifth day she woke to dark, stormy skies.
Before midday the skies had opened and a steady cold rain was falling.
Although after his day of rest, her grandfather had seemed to be his
normal self. Today he tired easily and had trouble doing anything. He had
gone to milk Honey that morning, but he hadn’t put her out in the paddock
for the day.
“Not that she minds being out in any weather,” he explained. “But
this damp day is making my bones ache. I don’t want to have to fetch her
back through the rain this evening.”
He had done that a few times over the last few weeks, so Margaret
put it out of her head.
Just before time for the evening meal, her grandfather opened the
door of the cottage to look out. A steady rain still fell, although it was
tapering off a little. “I’m right glad I didn’t pasture her today. I’ll get wet
enough just going to the byre.”
He looked so very weary that Margaret said, “Nay, grandfather,
don’t. Let me go.”
He shook his head. “Ye’ve been working all day while I’ve spent
most of my time whittling. I can do this.”
“Ye’re right, I’ve been working all day inside and now I wouldn’t
mind a bit of air.”
He looked relieved and offered no more argument. “Well, if ye’re
sure.”
“Of course I’m sure.” She took a plaid from where it hung on a
hook near the door, covered her head, and hurried through the yard to the
byre. But as soon as she reached the little building, panic set in. The latch
was broken, the door was open, and Honey was gone.
The latch had been loose for weeks. Bored and preferring grass to
hay, Honey must have pushed against the door until the latch gave way.
She ran back to the house. “Grandda, the latch on the door of the
byre has broken and Honey is out. I’m going to look for her.”
“Oh dear, blessed Mother. I’ve been meaning to fix that for weeks.
What with the harvest and all, I put it off. I’ll go with ye.”
“Nay, Grandda, there’s no need for both of us to go. Ye stay here.
She won’t have gone far.”
“But it’s pouring.”
She laughed. “That’s all the more reason why both of us shouldn’t
go. But it’s just a drizzle now anyway.”
He didn’t argue more. “Well at least take a lantern. With the heavy
clouds, daylight is fading fast and ye’ll need it to get home.”
So with her plaid wrapped snuggly around her and a lantern in her
hand, she went out into the misty, gloomy evening.
She walked through fields and woods calling for the missing cow
for over an hour. Even though it was no longer raining, the damp mist had
penetrated every layer.
This was terrible. They needed their cow. Until last spring, they’d
had three. But one had grown too old and was no longer able to come into
calf. And the other died trying to bear her calf. That left Honey.
But there was nothing to do for it now. It was completely dark and
there was no point continuing to search. She’d check with their neighbors
tomorrow to see if the beast had wandered onto their land.
Just as she turned to go home she saw a light flickering in the
distance. She watched for a moment as it grew nearer. Someone carrying a
lantern was walking towards her.
For a moment she was ready to turn and run for home. This could
be someone dangerous. But she chuckled even as the thought occurred to
her. Anyone dangerous would not be carrying a lantern.
Or leading a cow.
She sighed with relief. It looked as if someone had found Honey
and was bringing her home.
It didn’t take long for her to be even more pleased. The someone
drawing near was Noah.
 “Ye found her,” Margaret called, overjoyed. She ran to meet him.
“Aye, she wandered down to our pasture. But ye shouldn’t be out
here alone at night.”
“It’s safe enough. I have a lantern.” Even as she said it, the
Margaret Grant side of her questioned the wisdom of this. She never
would have ventured outside the castle wall without an escort—day or
night. But she had been a noblewoman. This Margaret had no such
constraints on her. Here she was completely free—another sensation she’d
never experienced.
He arched a brow at her. “I’m not sure I agree. But ye’re safe now.
And since the miscreant has been found, I’ll walk ye both home.”
“Ye needn’t trouble yerself further,” said Margaret, although she
really did want his company.
“It’s no trouble at all.” He started walking towards her home.
Margaret smiled broadly and fell in beside him. “Thank ye. It’s
very kind of ye.”
“It’s my pleasure.” He flashed her the smile she loved, looking as if
he truly was pleased to tramp through the gathering gloom of a wet
evening leading a cow. “How’d she get out?”
“The latch on the barn door has loosened over time. Grandda
decided not to put Honey in the pasture today so he wouldn’t have to slog
through the rain to get her for the evening milking. Honey evidently had
different plans.”
“Ah, the stubborn tart finished breaking the latch.”
Margaret laughed. “Aye.”
They chatted easily as they walked. Margaret didn’t care that she
was damp and cold. She’d never felt this easy camaraderie with anyone. It
was fun and comfortable. It made her wonder what it would be like to
share her life with a man like this. If only she could.
When they reached the cottage, her grandfather met them in the
yard. “I was watching for ye, but I didn’t expect ye’d find a braw lad and a
wayward cow.”
She laughed. “’Twas the wayward cow who found the braw lad.”
“Thank ye for walking them home, Noah,” said her grandfather.
“Ye’re very welcome.”
“Will ye come inside and have a warm bite to eat before ye venture
home?”
 “I won’t tonight, thank ye. It’s getting late.”
“Ye’re sure?”
“Aye, but thanks.”
Her grandfather tilted his head as if a thought had just occurred to
him. “Noah, has yer da brought his sheep down from the high pasture
yet?”
“Nay. ‘Tis only yers and ours left up there. But as soon as the
weather breaks, I’ll be riding up to get them.”
“Would ye mind terribly taking Margaret with ye? I just don’t
think I’m up to it.”
A grin split Noah’s face. “I wouldn’t mind at all. And if Da can
spare me, I’ll give ye a hand with the shearing.”
Relief flooded her grandfather’s face. “That is exceedingly kind
and most appreciated. Thank ye.”
“Ye’re welcome. I’ll just secure this beastie.”
“I can do it,” Margaret insisted. “She needs to be milked anyway.”
“She can wait a little while longer,” said her grandfather. “Come
inside, warm up and put on dry clothes. If ye stay in those wet ones, ye’ll
catch yer death.”
“He’s right,” said Noah. “I’ll see to her.”
Margaret put her hands on her hips. “I expect ye’re none too warm
or dry, and ye still have to walk home.”
He winked at her. “But I’m a braw lad. Ye said so yerself.”
She laughed.
“What’s more,” he continued, “I haven’t been wandering around in
the mist for ages as ye have. Paul found her in one of our fields and
brought her back to the cottage. I brought her straight here.”
“Fair enough,” she said. “Thank ye again.”
“I’ll say goodnight to ye both then,” said Noah as he headed
towards the byre.
Before they were inside the cottage, Noah turned back for a
moment calling, “John, I’ll take care of the latch for ye.”
“Thank ye,” her grandfather answered.
Margaret frowned. Fixing the latch would take very little effort. A
year ago her grandfather wouldn’t have accepted that help. A year ago he
wouldn’t have let the latch go this long without repairing it. That thought
did not cheer her.
 Chapter 4
Once inside, Margaret quickly changed into dry clothes then
returned to the main room of the cottage. She should go milk Honey, but
she’d spare a few minutes to eat something first.
She put bread and bowls of stew on the table for both her
grandfather and herself.
After he asked a blessing, she started eating. Between the warm
fire and the hot meal, she was beginning to thaw. But as she ate with gusto,
she realized her grandfather sat, staring.
“Grandda, is something wrong?”
“I am dreadfully sorry I let this happen.”
“There’s no harm done, don’t worry yerself over it.”
“But I do worry. I’m growing weak. I get winded when I do the
smallest things.”
Margaret really didn’t want him to fret over this. “It’s just all of
the hard work bringing in the harvest. Ye’ll be back to normal soon, I’m
sure.”
“Sweetling, I love ye with my whole heart. I know ye’re trying to
keep my spirits up and hope alive.”
“Grandda—“
“Nay, lass, the time has come to listen to me and face the truth. I
grow weaker every day. I’ve been drinking the dandelion root infusion and
I think it helps a little. Still, it will not stave off death forever.”
“Grandda, please, ye aren’t going to die anytime soon.” She took
his hands, squeezing them tightly.
“Yer lips to God’s ears. I certainly hope not. But I don’t have to die
to be unable to work this farm. I’m nearly there now.” Her grandfather put
up a hand to stop Margaret’s protests. “Aye, I can still do a bit, but if I
hadn’t been able to hire Noah, the oats would still be standing. Or worse,
beaten down by the heavy rain.”
“Fair enough. Ye aren’t able to work the farm alone anymore. But
all it takes is one hired man at harvest time in the fall and perhaps to help
twice a year with the shearing. And if we used some of this year’s income
to buy another cow—or maybe two—we could sell more butter and
cheese. I can manage that alone much easier than I can fields of oats.”
 “I’m certain ye could. But the laird needs grain to be grown
wherever it’s possible to do so. Pasturing cattle on flat, sunny fields is not
an efficient use of the land.”
“But—”
“Nay,” he said rather sharply. “Please hear me out. Ye’re right, we
might be able to keep the farm going as it is for a while, as long as we can
hire someone to help. However, the laird is not convinced of this.”
“The laird? Has he spoken to ye about it?”
“He hasn’t, yet. At least not directly. He mentioned it last year
about this time, and then again this past spring. I’ve heard tell that he and
some of his men are visiting all the outlying crofts. He’ll be here any day
now. After this harvest, I’m certain he will not allow things to remain as
they are.”
“Ye’re worrying for nothing. The harvest has gone beautifully—
just a little slower than in past years.” She tried to keep her tone light so as
not to worry him more. Still, the specter of an uncertain future weighed
heavily on her.
“Aye. We got lucky with the long stretch of fine weather. But as
sure as I’m sitting here, he will not risk it again.”
Margaret took a deep breath in an attempt to control her panic and
heartbreak. “Surely, he won’t throw us out of our home. He’s a good
compassionate man.”
Her grandfather gave a half-hearted chuckle. “Nay, he won’t throw
us out. But since I have no male heirs, he will want to make certain there
is a man here to take over when I’m gone.”
Margaret frowned as her grandfather went on. “That means he will
either select a husband for ye, or move us into the village near the castle
and provide me with a small stipend. Perhaps he’ll offer ye a position
serving in the castle.”
Margaret was horror-struck. Becoming Lady Carr someday was
one thing. Working as a serving maid in Laird Keith’s castle was entirely
different.
“But Grandda, I don’t want the laird to choose my husband and I
definitely don’t want to be a servant in the castle or live in the village.”
He nodded. “I know, lass. It isn’t what I want either.”
Panic coursed through her. This wasn’t how things were supposed
to go. She was completing the task Nyada had set for her. She was learning
how to love and show compassion. After just a few days, putting the needs
of others before her own was becoming second nature. The ice continued
to melt. She was becoming a better person. But now what should she do?
Both versions of herself were shocked by this news.
A small voice inside her said, maybe this is the first test of all
ye’ve learned. She needed to do what was best for her grandda. With a
heavy sigh she asked, “Which option do ye want to take?”
Her grandfather laughed. “Neither, of course.”
Margaret was flooded with relief, until she realized that one option
or the other was inevitable. “But ye just said, ye don’t think he’ll allow
things to stay as they are.”
“Nay he won’t. Nevertheless, I will ask him not to make a decision
immediately. Then you and I can decide what our best course is.”
“Do ye think he will agree?”
He shook his head. “Nay. As soon as he sees me, he’ll know as well
as I do that my time on Earth is growing shorter. He won’t want to risk ye
being left here alone. Still, I’ll ask anyway.”
“And when he doesn’t agree?” Margaret wasn’t sure she really
wanted to hear the answer.
Her grandfather sighed. “Margaret, my precious lass, I always
imagined I’d draw my last breath where I drew my first, right here. I
would prefer that ye marry. Someday ye must anyway. But eighteen seems
very young and if ye’re dead-set against it for now, we’ll move to the
village.”
As Margaret Grant she had vehemently opposed marrying a man
her father had chosen and had intentionally made everyone around her
miserable. But Margaret Grant had been given no choice at all. Her
grandfather was giving her one. Her first instinct was to go to the village.
She didn’t want to marry someone she didn’t know, someone the laird
picked for her, someone who wasn’t Noah. Nay, set that thought aside. Ye
cannot marry Noah. But this had been her grandfather’s home his whole
life. She could not allow him to be moved from it.
“I will marry if it means we can stay here.”
Profound relief flooded her grandda’s features and the realization
that she had put his mind at such ease filled her with warmth. She just
prayed the laird would choose someone with whom she could stand to
spend the rest of her life.
 But nay, she only had to stay here long enough to learn how to be
kind, compassionate and loving. She would be getting her own life back.
Her own life where someone else had picked a husband for her. She
frowned at this thought. She guessed this was another lesson and
something she couldn’t avoid.
She had no doubt that this was the best choice for her grandfather.
But was she dooming Margaret to life with a man she might not like?
Should she consider what was best for her too?
Nay, the decision was clear. Both versions of herself would choose
to do what was best for Grandda.
Suddenly, the warm cottage felt too small. She needed to get out.
She needed to be alone.
“Grandda, I really should go out and milk Honey before it gets any
later.”
“But ye haven’t finished yer supper.”
She smiled at him. “Neither have ye. I’ll finish mine when I get
back.”
Once outside she could no longer hold back her tears. Margaret had
tried so hard to keep her grandfather happy, and hopeful, but now she
realized even that had been about her. About what she wanted. She loved
her grandfather and the thought of losing him, wrenched her heart.
She started running to the byre. She didn’t want Grandda to hear
her crying and she couldn’t hold back much longer. By the time she
reached the byre she had given in to sobs.
She pulled open the door and was shocked by the light that spilled
out.
Noah was there. Pitchfork in hand, piling hay into Honey’s manger.
“Noah…” her voice broke on a sob. There was no hiding the fact
that she was crying. “Why are ye still here?”
“I said I’d fix the latch. And since I was here, I milked Honey and
was settling her for the night.”
“I-I didn’t think ye were going to fix it tonight.”
“I wanted to make certain she didn’t get out again. But why are ye
crying? What’s wrong? What happened?”
“N-nothing. N-not yet anyway.”
“Then what’s the matter, sweetling.” He stepped forward and put
his arms around her.
 She accepted the comfort he gave, resting her head on his chest.
“It’s just…well…grandfather is ill. He says he’s dying.”
“Aye, lass. I know. I’ve known for a while now.”
She looked up at him. “Why didn’t ye—” her voice broke on a sob.
“Why didn’t ye tell me.”
“Because ye weren’t ready to hear it yet.”
She sniffed. “It would seem I wasn’t ready to hear it today.”
He pulled her close again. “No one is ever ready to hear that. And
yet, I think yer grandfather has done ye a great kindness.”
“A kindness? Why do ye think that?” Her tone was incredulous.
Noah chuckled, and kissed the top of her head. “Yer grandda loves
ye with everything in him. He also has loved his life and this little farm.
He wants to know that both ye and the farm will go on and thrive even
after he’s gone. I don’t think he can assure himself of that if ye refuse to
accept that he won’t be here forever.”
“But how can he be happy if he’s facing his own death?”
“Your grandfather has lived a long, fruitful life.”
“But there has been so much sorrow. He lost his daughter by
marriage and his only son at such a young age. And when my grandmother
died last winter, he lost the heart of his heart.”
“Aye, he’s had losses. No life is free from them. But the point is, he
had people in his life who were dear to him. He had a son at his side for
many years who he loved and was proud of. I know he adored yer mother
too. And the heart of his heart? It was his great good fortune to have her
with him for many, many, years. I’m certain when he moves on, they’ll all
be with him again. Until then, the light of his life continues to shine
bright.”
“The light of his life?”
“Ye, Margaret. Ye’ve been his joy from the first day ye drew
breath. And ye will be until he draws his last.”
Her chin quivered and in spite of her best efforts the tears began to
flow again. “I don’t want to lose him.”
“I know,” he said, rubbing her back lightly as she cried.
As her tears slowed, she took several deep breaths in an attempt to
regain control.
“Better?” he asked.
She nodded, looking up at him. “I’m sorry.”
 “For what?”
“For sobbing all over ye.”
He chuckled. “Ye needn’t be. Holding ye in my arms is not a
chore.”
His expression was heart-melting. No one had ever looked at her in
that way. Her thoughts immediately went to Anson, the Grant guardsman
who she’d thought she wanted to marry. He’d told her repeatedly he’d do
whatever it took to make her happy.
She knew now that would have been impossible. She wasn’t
completely sure what this feeling was, but it didn’t remotely resemble
whatever she’d felt for Anson.
Almost without thinking about it, she stood on her tiptoes, slipped
her hands behind Noah’s neck and kissed him. He didn’t immediately kiss
her back and she pulled away slightly to judge his reaction. Perhaps, in her
emotional state, she had misread everything.
The momentary look of shock that crossed Noah’s face was
instantly replaced with a heat that made her weak in the knees and left her
a little in awe.
He slid one hand up her back, cradling her head as he leaned in to
kiss her deeply, lighting a fire at her core. His hand tightened around her
braid, pulling slightly, tipping her head back. He planted a feather-light
kiss on her shoulder, just at the edge of her tunic.
She swayed, captivated by his touch.
He took her braid in his right hand, holding it to one side, then slid
his lips up the column of her neck before placing a soft kiss behind her ear.
She shivered with delight, unable to suppress a small giggle.
He gave a low throaty chuckle and his kisses became harder. He
moved back down her neck to her shoulder, gripping her upper arm with
his free hand, massaging lightly before he pushed the neckline of her dress
out of his way, exposing her left shoulder and kissing it.
He kissed her cheek again, before turning his focus back to her
neck and shoulders. He nipped lightly at her neck then ran his tongue from
her neck to her shoulder, sending another wave of delightful shivers
running through her. She felt him smile against her neck before he kissed
it again. Then he trailed his tongue up to her ear, this time sucking gently
on her earlobe.
 The sensations were amazing. She had never experienced anything
like this before, and he was only kissing her.
Soon, his kisses became hungrier and more demanding, his hands
pushing down slightly. It was nearly overwhelming.
Perhaps sensing her sudden insecurity, he slid his left hand under
her arm and around her waist embracing her even as he continued to hold
her right shoulder firmly with his other hand. The sensation of physical
support infused her with a feeling of deep serenity. She didn’t have to
worry. He was there and he would take care of her.
As his kisses became more intense, he tightened his grip on her
braid, pulling slightly to move her head where he wished. He tilted it back,
kissing up the column of her throat to her lips.
She was lost in the sensation of his lips on hers. Almost of their
own volition her hands slid up his chest to his face. She held on, never
wanting this to end.
He turned his face to the side, kissing one hand. “Ye’re lovely.”
“No, I’m not.”
He nipped her hand playfully. “Don’t argue with me. Ye’re lovely.”
He emphasized each word, then kissed her head. “Yer wild red hair is
beautiful, even though ye try to tame it in a braid.” He kissed the tip of her
nose. “Yer freckled nose is adorable.”
“My nose? It’s horrible. The tip turns up and—”
“—and it’s covered with freckles. I know and it’s completely
charming. I can think of nothing I’d like more than a house full of children
all of whom have this perfect nose.” He turned the palm of one of her
hands towards him and kissed it. “Then, of course, there are yer hands
which are nothing short of exquisite.”
She barked a laugh. “Stop it. Now I know ye’re lying.”
He looked at her seriously. “I value honesty and I would never lie
to ye. Aye, they are red and roughened, but that means ye’re strong and
capable. Ye’ve been caring for yer grandda and taking more and more
responsibility on this farm to ease his load. Ye love him and this land and
ye aren’t afraid to show it.”
Margaret was dumbstruck. To her—at least to the old her—beauty
was purely physical. To be attractive, her hair had to be combed and
smoothly coifed, her skin alabaster and unblemished, her hands fair and
soft, and her clothes had to be made of the finest fabrics. Perfection was
solely superficial. Because of that, she had never bothered to look beyond
the surface for loveliness.
Evidently Noah did.
He grinned at her. “I’ve rendered ye speechless. But, Margaret,
please believe that to me ye’re beautiful because of who ye are and what
ye value, and that shines out of every pore.” His grin broadened. “Then of
course, there are these delicious lips.” He leaned in and started kissing her
again.
She opened to him, allowing his tongue to plunder her mouth. She
leaned towards him when he pulled away, only to feel the tug of his hand
in her hair. He was in control. And as proud as she was to be strong,
Margaret—holding everything together, she didn’t want to be in charge of
this. She relaxed completely, closing her eyes again and simply allowing
him to kiss her as he desired.
Finally his kisses gentled. He let go of her hair and caressed her
cheek with his right hand. “I’m sorry, Margaret. I shouldn’t have done
that.”
She looked up at him and smiled. “I didn’t stop ye.” That kiss had
been everything she’d ever dreamed about and more. “And for that matter,
I started it.”
He chuckled. “Aye, I suppose those things are true. Margaret, my
sweet lass, I love ye. I have for ages. I would give my very soul to marry
ye.”
His soul. She couldn’t do this. She loved him too, but this wasn’t
meant to be about her. She sighed and stepped back, out of his embrace.
“But ye can’t.”
He looked stricken. “Maybe there’s a way.”
“I don’t see one.” She scrubbed her face with her hands. “I don’t
think this is something we can change.” She picked up the bucket of milk
that sat on the milking stool. “I’ll put this in the springhouse. Good night,
Noah.”
And with great effort, Margaret turned and walked out of the byre.
 Chapter 5
Margaret woke before dawn.
She hadn’t slept well. She’d been awake long into the night. So
many things were on her mind. Her thoughts whirled relentlessly.
It was all too much for her to sort out.
Finally, before the sun had even peeked over the horizon, she rose
and started her day. By the time the sky was light enough for her to tell
that it was going to be a clear day, she had most of her morning work
completed.
Noah had said, when the bad weather broke, he’d help move their
sheep from the high common land down to the better grass on their own
fields. Therefore, it was possible he’d arrive this morning. Just in case, she
filled costrels with water and put apples, bread, cold meat and cheese in a
small leather bag so they would have something for the midday meal.
As she was finishing she heard her grandfather call, “Good
morning, Noah.”
“Good morning, John. ‘Tis a fine day for a ride up to the high
pasture.”
She wrapped a plaid around her shoulders and left the cottage
carrying the costrels and the bag of victuals. There he sat on his horse’s
back. Handsome didn’t begin to describe him and her heart fluttered as it
always did on seeing him.
Two herding dogs sat on the ground beside him.
Her grandfather hadn’t had a herder for years. They usually kept
about fifteen sheep. For a small flock, a herding dog was helpful, but not a
necessity. Being able to ride up to the sheep on a horse was nice too. In
recent years she and her grandparents had walked to the high pasture, and
herded their sheep back down. They hadn’t had a horse for about three
years. Again, horses were useful beasts, but it was possible to tend a small
farm without one. They borrowed oxen when they plowed their fields.
Then she was struck by an awareness that she was certain the other
version if herself had never had—they were poor. Not dreadfully so, but
they did without luxuries like dogs and horses. She glanced down at her
bare feet. Shoes were another luxury which she didn’t wear in the summer
so they would last longer.
 Margaret also realized this state of affairs hadn’t come on
suddenly. Her grandfather had been able to do less and less each year.
Noah interrupted her musing. “Ye look very pensive, lass. Is
something bothering ye?”
“She’s probably just a bit tired,” said her grandfather. “She’s been
up since well before daylight and has left me nothing to do.”
Noah frowned. “We don’t have to go today. I’ll fetch Da’s sheep
and come back tomorrow.”
She shook her head. “Nay, I’m fine. I’m not tired.” A bald-faced
lie. “I’m just wondering if I packed enough food.” Another lie, but she
couldn’t very well share her revelation with them.
“I’m sure there’s more than enough. We should be on our way.” He
reached a hand out to her and pulled her up onto the horse in front of him.
“John, we’ll be back before dark.”
“Aye, take care.”
With that, Noah turned his horse and they rode away, heading up
the mountain.
The morning air was fresh and cool, but with her back against
Noah’s warm chest, Margaret was cozy. Of course, once more Noah’s
nearness lit a fire at her core which may have had as much to do with it.
His arms around her felt so good, she wanted to sink into his
embrace and stay there forever. Why did she torture herself with wild
imaginings about someone who could never be hers?
A wicked voice inside her answered, because even as unsatisfying
as they are, the wild imaginings are better than nothing.
They hadn’t gone far when Noah pointed off to the right. “Look.
There’s a fairy ring.”
And sure enough, not far from the path was a ring of mushrooms.
But as soon as Noah had said the word “fairy” it was as if someone had
thrown icy water on the heat of Margaret’s desire.
She was not here to fall in love with a man she couldn’t have.
She was not here to entice a man to defy his father.
She was here to earn her second chance by learning from the other
version of herself.
So, having effectively chastised herself, she forced thoughts of
what it would be like to be his, out of her head.
At least sometimes.
 When she’d turned to look at him, only to find his heated gaze on
her, it was much harder.
When he laughed or teased it wasn’t easy either.
But when he smiled at her, his eyes twinkling, she’d abandon the
effort completely until something reminded her of how foolish she was
being.
They had her grandfather’s sheep separated from the others a little
after midday. With the help of his two superb sheep dogs, they herded
them down the mountain to one of her grandfather’s enclosed fields.
There were no gates to go through. They had to remove stones from
the wall encircling the meadow to create an opening. They restacked them
when the sheep were in the field.
Only then did they take some time to rest.
Noah hobbled his horse, allowing him to graze. The dogs napped in
the sunshine. Their work for the day was over.
Noah spread his plaid out for them to sit on. The thick wool
provided an effective barrier from the damp ground.
Margaret put out the food she’d brought for them.
They exchanged light banter, chatting about inconsequential things,
just as they had all day.
When they were done eating, Margaret made to stand.
He put a hand on her shoulder. “Wait.”
“I’m sorry, were ye not finished?”
“Nay, it isn’t that. I wanted to talk with ye.”
She gave a small laugh. “We’ve been talking. In fact, we’ve talked
all day.” And she couldn’t remember enjoying herself more.
“I know, but there’s something I need to say.”
She sat back down and waited expectantly.
Before he started, he took a deep breath, as if summoning his
courage. “I couldn’t get my mind off of ye last night.”
That was about the last thing she expected to hear.
“Touching ye, kissing ye…I didn’t intend to do that.”
Ah, he was feeling regret. While this caused a stab of pain, she
recovered quickly. “Please Noah, ye needn’t worry about it. It won’t
happen again.”
He gave a wry laugh. “That’s what I’m worried about.”
Again, the absolutely unexpected response.
 “Sweetling, I told ye last night that I love ye, and I do. But even I
didn’t realize how much until we kissed.”
“But Noah—”
He put up a hand. “Nay, hear me out. We are perfect for each other.
I know my father made a vague promise to Amos, but that’s just it, it was
never formalized. Even the church wouldn’t recognize it as a betrothal.
And it isn’t as if I don’t have two other brothers who could marry Amos’s
lassies. Da agreed that one of his three youngest sons would marry his
eldest daughter. Amos wanted time to decide which of us would be best for
Nell. Well I can promise ye, a man who is ten years older and in love with
someone else is not the best candidate.”
She couldn’t help but laugh at this.
He grinned sheepishly. “Furthermore, discussing what the laird
might have planned for ye, I don’t think I could bear seeing ye married to
someone else.” He cupped her cheek and kissed her. “I don’t want anyone
else to taste these lips or feel yer soft body writhe beneath him.”
“Writhe?” she asked, not completely sure of exactly what men and
women did together.
He chuckled and kissed her again. “Aye, my beautiful lass, there
will be writhing and I’ll see that ye enjoy every moment.”
A hot blush rose in her cheeks, but probably more because she
wanted him to make love to her more than out of any embarrassment.
He pulled her onto his lap and kissed her again, deeply and
passionately this time. All shyness fled. She wanted nothing more than to
stay here, on his lap and in his arms, forever.
Finally he ended the kiss and caressed her cheek. “I love ye,
Margaret. Please be my wife.”
She rested her head on his chest and sighed. She wanted this with
all of her being. Not simply to love and be loved, but to love this man and
to be loved by him in return.
“I want nothing more. But—”
He put a finger on her lips. “Nay, don’t finish that thought. I will
find a way.”
 Chapter 6
John sat on the bench outside his front door, enjoying the late
afternoon sunshine. Margaret and Noah should have been back by now. He
smiled to himself. Maybe they were lost in each other’s company.
That wouldn’t upset him at all. It’s what he had hoped for. He had
admired and respected Noah for quite a few years now. In fact he wasn’t
the only one who’d wanted this. At least three years ago his wife, Annie,
had suggested that he approach Noah’s father and ask for a betrothal.
“John, no man in his right mind would refuse such an offer for one
of his younger sons. Ye don’t farm a large tract, but it’s big enough to
support a small family, while not being so large that it requires many
hands to do the work.”
John had agreed with her, but Margaret had only been fifteen at the
time. Most common folk didn’t seek betrothals years in advance as
noblemen did. What’s more, he would prefer that Margaret have a say in
choosing her husband and she had been much too young for that yet.
Still, Annie kept after him. “That young man is too attractive for
his own good. Every lass within miles will be eyeing him. Talk to his da
and just let him know ye’d be happy to discuss such a match.”
She had been right. Noah was only four years older than Margaret.
They had known each other since they were children. Now that they were
older, they had fewer opportunities to spend time together. The hope that
they’d fall for each other with no outside help was foolish. So last year,
after the harvest was in, and they were celebrating the feast of St. Michael,
John had discussed it with David.
“Ah, John,” he said, “Margaret is a sweet lass and with yer farm as
her dowry, that’s a hard offer to pass. But Amos has three daughters and a
larger tract to farm. I agreed years ago that I would settle one of my
younger sons with Nell. Furthermore, if he agreed to divide the tract, I’d
let another son marry his second daughter.”
“But Nell is ten years younger than Noah,” John had argued. Surely
Paul or Matthew would be better choices as they’re much younger than
Noah.”
“Perhaps, but I left it up to Amos. He wants to wait until his lassies
are a bit older before deciding.”
There was no talking him around, so John had quit trying.
 Then, this past winter, as Annie lay dying, he began to worry again.
What if something happened to him? Margaret would be left alone and her
fate would be in the hands of the laird. In fairness, Laird Keith was a good
man and would see that Margaret was taken care of. However, he knew
that didn’t necessarily mean she’d be able to stay here on this land. So
John had continued to hope that Amos would decide to settle Nell with one
of David’s other sons. As yet, that hadn’t happened.
It was his dearest hope that Noah would fall in love with Margaret
and take matters into his own hands. In good conscience, John didn’t feel
he should suggest it. He considered both David and Amos good friends.
All John could do was ensure that Noah and Margaret had ample
opportunities to spend time together.
He wasn’t sure how long he’d pondered these things when he heard
horses. He turned to see the laird and a handful of his guardsmen
approaching.
John sighed heavily. His time was up. He had to address Margaret’s
fate now.
He welcomed the laird and his men when they arrived and offered
them refreshment. “It’s a fine warm day, will ye have a mug of heather
ale?”
“That’s very kind of ye, John. We’d appreciate a cool drink.”
So John fetched the cask of ale from the springhouse and filled a
wooden mug for each of them.
Initially, the laird only inquired about the harvest.
“The oats are all in, Laird. The sheaves are standing in the fields,
drying. It was a very good crop this year.”
“Excellent. Ye’ve done very well. I’ll be sending out wagons in a
few days to collect the sheaves. When the grain has all been threshed,
winnowed and milled, I’ll send ye a portion back.”
“Thank ye, laird.” This was how it was always done. It took many
hands to process the grain, and less was lost if it was all combined.
The laird glanced around. “Where is yer lovely granddaughter
today?”
“She’s moving our sheep to another pasture.”
“I see. She does a fair bit of the farm work?”
“Aye, Laird. She has for years. She’s a dab hand at nearly anything
that needs doing.”
 Laird Keith smiled and nodded. “I’m sure she is. John, I’d like to
discuss something with ye privately.”
“Certainly. Would ye like to go into the cottage?”
“Aye, I think that would be best.”
Once they were inside, John said, “Please have a seat. And can I
refill yer mug?”
“Nay, thank ye, I’ve plenty,” said the laird as he sat down. “And
please sit. This isn’t a conversation to have standing.”
“Thank ye, Laird,” said John, taking the seat opposite the laird and
waiting silently for him to raise the subject.”
“John, this is never easy so I’ll just say it. I can no longer ignore
the fact that ye aren’t as strong as ye once were. The day is coming soon
when ye won’t be able to handle this farm anymore, even with Margaret’s
help.”
John sighed. “Aye, Laird. But it hasn’t come yet.”
“Perhaps not. Still, it would be irresponsible on both our parts if we
don’t address this now.”
“The harvest is in, Laird. Surely it can wait until spring.”
A sad smile crossed his features. “I don’t think it can. What’s
more, I’m fairly sure ye know that yerself. Ye’d never have sent her to
move the sheep on her own otherwise.”
John decided not to tell him that she wasn’t alone. “I suppose it is
time to see her married. Perhaps to one of David’s younger sons.” It didn’t
hurt to make the suggestion.
The laird steepled his fingers under his chin, appearing to take no
notice of what John had said. “This isn’t the largest farm on my lands.
Even so, it takes the work of several hands to keep it going. If I see her
married to a farmer, she will still need to help with the work. But what
will happen when she has children to tend on top of everything else?”
John frowned. He didn’t like the direction this was going. “She’ll
manage. Annie did.”
“Perhaps, but I was thinking it would be best if I settled a married
man here. One whose children are already old enough to help.”
John hadn’t expected this. “Laird, this is our home.”
“Aye, but ye’ve earned the right to a bit of ease. I would give ye a
home in the village and a stipend on which to live. Ye could spend yer last
days in comfort without the worry that goes hand in hand with farming.”
 This wasn’t at all what John wanted, but he had to hear his laird
out. “And Margaret?”
“One of my guardsmen has been fond of her for quite a while. He
would like to offer for her hand.”
A guardsman? Someone Margaret barely knew? “Laird, she loves
this farm. It’s her home. Please don’t force her—either of us—to leave it.”
The laird looked a bit taken aback. “I had hoped force wouldn’t be
required. I thought perhaps she’d like the opportunity to improve her
station.”
Improve her station. John hadn’t thought of it in that way.
Marrying a guardsman would do certainly do that. Not to mention that she
would never have to worry about a crop failing or losing livestock to
thieves, illness or predators. Keith guardsmen were well compensated. She
would never know want. There would always be plenty of food on the
table.
Maybe he should reconsider this. Aye, this had been his home his
entire life. He didn’t want to leave it. But was he being selfish? His life
was almost over. Did it really matter where he drew his last breath as long
as Margaret was with him and he knew her future was secure?
“John? Ye’ve gone very quiet on me.”
“I’m sorry, Laird. Ye just gave me something to ponder.”
The laird chuckled. “And where has that pondering led ye?”
“Well, sir, I don’t think Margaret cares much about her station.
And I know she loves this farm. But it is hard to ignore the security she’d
gain by being married to a guardsman.”
“Indeed.”
John had assumed the laird would suggest a farmer’s son—or
perhaps several, all of whom he knew.
He himself had already vaguely suggested one of David’s sons. He
was certain if Margaret married Noah she would have a loving marriage
and a happy life. What was more important than that? He had to ask again.
“Sir, I know ye have her best interests at heart, but would ye
consider marrying her to a farmer? Perhaps David’s son, Noah?”
The laird smiled sadly. “I heard yer suggestion the first time. Noah
is a fine young man, but I have already given my approval for a wedding
between him and Amos’s eldest daughter.”
 John couldn’t hide his disappointment. “I didn’t know Amos had
decided which of David’s sons he wanted for Nell.”
“The decision was made this morning. I doubt Amos has even had
time to tell David yet. John I’ll say it again, I think the marriage I’m
proposing is in everyone’s best interests.”
“I appreciate that, sir. It’s just that I’m sure she’d be happier
married to someone she knows better.”
“Noblemen nearly always marry complete strangers. And it isn’t as
if she’s never met the man.”
John wouldn’t point out that Margaret was not a noblewoman.
“Which of yer men is it?”
“Gavin.”
John frowned. “I don’t know him very well.”
The laird smiled. “He’s young and has only been a guardsman for a
couple of years. But he’s a good man—one of my best. He is strong and
level-headed. Perhaps a little on the quiet side.”
John nodded, mulling this over. Finally he asked, “Do I have any
choice in this, laird?”
Laird Keith sighed heavily. “If ye’re absolutely opposed to it, I
won’t force her to marry Gavin. However, I must give this parcel of land
to someone who is younger and strong enough to manage it.”
That meant there was no choice. They had to move to the village,
and if that was inevitable, marriage to a guardsman was indeed what was
best for Margaret. “May I have the chance to speak to Gavin before things
are finalized?” He wanted to speak with Margaret too, but there was little
to be gained by that. They had to do as the laird commanded. Perhaps it
would simply be better to present her with the reality of the situation.
“I thought ye might want to. He’s with me today.” The laird went to
the door of the cottage and called, “Gavin, would ye join us please.”
 Chapter 7
Noah relished every moment of the ride back to her grandfather’s
cottage. He had his beloved in his arms and she had agreed to marry him.
There was just the slight problem of his father, but he was confident
they’d be able to work this out.
However, as they rode into view of the cottage, his spirits fell. The
laird, several of his men and John were in the yard. He had hoped to be
able to speak with John alone, but perhaps this was for the best.
Margaret’s breath hitched and she whispered, “Oh no.”
“Don’t worry, my love.”
“Nay, ye don’t understand. Grandfather believes that the laird is
going to either move us to the village or find a husband for me.”
“Well, we’ll be able to save him the trouble of looking then. I’m
sure it will be fine.”
But he wasn’t sure.
And it wasn’t fine.
Just as Margaret had suspected, the laird visited John to discuss the
farm and a husband for Margaret. However, Noah, like everyone else who
had speculated about the situation, assumed that the laird would want
Margaret to marry someone who could manage the farm. If she didn’t
wish to do that, being a compassionate man, most folks thought he’d offer
them a home in the village.
But that wasn’t the case. The laird wasn’t giving them an option to
stay on the farm at all, and even worse, he wanted her to marry Gavin, one
of his guardsmen.
If felt as if someone had punched Noah in the gut.
Noah stood in front of the laird, Margaret at his side, her hand in
his. “Laird, would ye please reconsider allowing John and Margaret to stay
on the farm? I want to marry her. I love her and she loves me.”
“Noah, ye aren’t free to marry,” said the laird.
“Pardon me sir, but the agreement my father has with Amos is for
one of his sons to marry wee Nell. I have two younger brothers who would
be much better suited than I. She’s but eleven now.”
“I know the terms of the agreement. And yesterday, I’d have
considered it. But I spoke with Amos this morning. He asked for
permission to finalize the betrothal between Nell and yerself.”
 “But has it been finalized?” Noah asked. A formal betrothal was as
good as a wedding. Getting out of it was an arduous process.
The laird shrugged. “I don’t know. I doubt it. I spoke to Amos
before coming here. He’s let it go this long. I don’t imagine he rushed off
to see yer da after our meeting.”
“Then as long as there isn’t a formal betrothal, I am free to marry.”
The laird drew himself up. “Ye are only free to marry if I grant my
permission, which I have not done. I granted my permission for ye to
marry Nell. Besides, the fact remains, I think it takes more than two
people to manage this farm.”
“With all due respect, laird, I believe that Margaret and I are more
than capable of managing this farm. But I’m not asking ye to give it to me
with Margaret’s hand. I’m only asking for her hand. If ye don’t wish for us
to stay here, we won’t.”
He felt Margaret tremble and glanced at her. Tears had started to
slip down her face. Instantly, the laird and everyone else disappeared for
him. He only had eyes for the woman he loved whose heart was breaking.
He pulled her into his embrace. “Oh nay, Margaret, don’t cry. Please, don’t
cry.”
She nodded and tried to regain control. But once she did, she
stepped away from him and turned towards the laird.
“Sir, ye’re my laird. My parents and grandparents and their
grandparents before them have served on Keith land as long as there have
been Keiths here. I love my grandfather and I understand his desire to live
his last days here. I love this farm. It’s my home and I’d always imagined
raising my own children here. Ye know that we have always been faithful
to the clan and this land. Even so, if ye believe there is someone better
able to tend it, as much as it will cause my heart to ache, I will respect
that. But please, I’m begging ye, please let me marry Noah.”
Laird Keith frowned. “I gave Amos my blessing on the union
between Noah and Nell.”
Margaret bit her lips. It appeared to take everything in her to keep
the tears at bay.
Noah glanced at John who looked near tears himself.
Then, very softly with her head bowed, she said, “Please, laird.”
Sighing heavily, the laird’s shoulders slumped. “If,” he said,
stopping for emphasis, “and only if,” he continued, “a formal betrothal has
not yet been finalized—”
Margaret’s head shot up as quickly as Noah’s did.
“And both Noah’s father and Amos agree, ye will have my
permission to marry.”
Noah could not suppress his sigh of relief. “Thank ye, Laird. Please
pardon me, but it’s rather urgent I get home immediately.”
The laird waved him away.
“With yer permission, Laird, I’ll just bid him farewell,” said
Margaret.
“Aye, ye may go.”
Slipping her hand into Noah’s she walked with him to the small
paddock.
As they walked, Noah’s thoughts were spinning. They were not out
of the woods yet. She started to speak but he stopped her. “We don’t have a
lot of time, so I need ye to listen. I am overjoyed that Laird Keith gave his
tentative approval, but I’m worried about the conditions he’s imposed.
Like the laird, I doubt that Amos and my father have had a chance to
finalize anything yet. And I believe I can gain my father’s approval. But I
am not at all confident about what Amos’s reaction will be.”
Her anguished expression pained him, but he had to get this said.
“Still, the fact remains that the laird’s permission, and that of my father
and Amos, are courtesies, but not bound by law. A formal betrothal is. But
so is a handfasting. I am going home now to find out if a betrothal exists
yet. If it doesn’t, I will tell my father what the laird said as well as seek his
permission to marry ye. However, regardless of whether he gives it or not,
and without knowing whether Amos agrees or not, I will marry ye. The
only way to do that is to handfast tonight.”
“Tonight?”
“Aye, lass. If my father has a chance to speak to Amos tomorrow,
and Amos doesn’t agree to a wedding between Nell and one of my other
brothers, I have no doubt the betrothal will be signed tomorrow.”
She looked terrified but she nodded.
“Do ye remember seeing the fairy ring on the ride up the
mountain?”
“Aye.”
“Meet me there when the moon is high.”
“I will.”
 He wished he could banish the worry in her expression, but there
was nothing more he could do now. He gathered her in his arms. “I love ye,
Margaret, and I’ll see ye tonight.”
“I love ye too, Noah.”
He gave her a quick kiss, mounted his horse, and rode for home.
~*~
Margaret wasn’t sure how she made it through the next few hours.
If anything her grandfather seemed more worried than she was. Finally she
bade him goodnight and went to bed. She didn’t intend to sleep, but
everything had happened so fast, she hadn’t had time to think about it all
and there were certain facts she couldn’t escape.
Her grandfather’s poor health was not likely to improve and the
laird would not allow him to continue to manage this tract of land. Laird
Keith wanted her to marry Gavin. They would have a home, with her
grandfather, in the village. This would have tempted Margaret Grant. She
would have a slightly higher status in the clan and adequate coin to buy
whatever she needed.
But the Margaret she had become didn’t want to marry Gavin, she
loved Noah. And although the laird had given his tentative approval, there
were so many conditions it seemed unlikely they’d be able to marry
anyway. It also seemed that marrying Noah didn’t ensure that her
Grandfather would be able to live out his days here.
Noah had suggested a way they could bypass the conditions the
laird had set—essentially slip away tonight and marry in secret.
It didn’t strike her as remotely amusing that this was nearly the
same dilemma she’d faced as Margaret Grant. Only then, the answer was
simple. She did precisely what she wanted to do and the rest be damned.
But she could no longer do that. Because the other version of
herself was warm, and loving and compassionate, she’d learned what these
things meant and how they felt. What’s more, she valued them and wanted
them in her life.
At some point in her never-ending argument with herself, it had
occurred to her, this was a test. This is what would determine whether
Nyada would give her a second chance at life, so it was absolutely vital
that she make the right choices.
What was best for her grandfather?
 What was best for Noah?
What was best for her? She would have to live with the
consequences.
Oh, dear God, no she wouldn’t. If she made the right choices she’d
get her life back. But she didn’t want her life back. She wanted to stay here
and marry Noah.
Her circular arguments were going nowhere. How was she
supposed to know what to do if ultimately making the right choice meant
leaving this life?
She needed help. She needed to talk to Nyada but she had no clue
as to how to do that.
Then it occurred to her, she was planning to meet Noah later at the
fairy ring. If she had any chance of speaking with Nyada, surely it would
be at a fairy ring.
Margaret got out of bed, intending to go straight there. Then she
realized she was still wearing her old, worn work clothes. She was getting
married tonight; a little finery was in order. She washed quickly, put on a
fresh white linen underdress and her best green wool overdress. She
unbraided her hair and combed it. As she started to braid it again she
remembered that Noah had said he liked her hair. She smiled. It might be a
chore combing it later, but she left the wild red ringlets unbound.
Finally, she wrapped a clean plaid around her shoulders, holding it
on with her one piece of jewelry—a brooch that had been her
grandmother’s.
She stepped out of her small room, into the main room of the
cottage. Hoping her grandfather was asleep, she stood and listened for a
minute. His soft, even snores coming from the only other room in the
cottage set her at ease.
She slipped outside into the clear cool night. The stars were bright
and the moon was well above the horizon. It would be at least an hour or
more before it reached its peak. Still, she practically ran to the fairy circle.
Even if Nyada couldn’t hear her, she might gain some inspiration to help
her sort things out.
Once she reached it, she stood at its edge. For a moment she
wondered if she should step inside it. But she decided against that. She felt
it would be rude. It would feel like entering someone’s home without
being invited. She chuckled to herself. The former Margaret Grant would
have just charged right in, as if she owned it.
As soon as that thought occurred to her, she sobered. The former
Margaret Grant. That is why she was here, but what should she do now?
Then she remembered, when she was in Nyada’s realm at the start
of that one awful night, Nyada had said, “I’ll be back in the morning
unless ye call for me to end the ordeal.”
Well, she was in the midst of another ordeal now. Perhaps that was
the answer.
She closed her eyes, bowed her head and said, “Please, Nyada, I
don’t know what to do.”
She neither heard nor felt anything. Without opening her eyes she
said, “Please, I need your help.”
“Open, yer eyes lass, I came as soon as ye called.”
Shocked to see the beautiful fairy standing in the middle of the
circle, all Margaret could say was, “It worked.”
“Aye, it did. Now tell me why ye’ve called me here.”
Not wanting to waste time if it wasn’t necessary, Margaret asked,
“Do ye know what’s happened?”
She nodded, “Aye. I’ve been watching.”
“Then ye know I’ve come to yer test, but I don’t know what to do.”
“My test?”
“Aye. I’m supposed to consider the needs of others but nothing’s
clear. Is it better for Noah to marry Nell and receive a much larger farm in
the process?”
“Is that what he wants?” asked Nyada.
“Nay, he wants to marry me. But if he does, it may mean he gains
nothing at all.”
Nyada smiled indulgently. “That isn’t true. He does gain
something. What is it?”
What did he gain? The only thing left she had to give was her love.
Realization dawned. “Me, my love.”
“Exactly. I trust I don’t have to ask ye which is more valuable.”
Margaret shook her head. “Nay, ye don’t.” Then feeling a bit
cheeky she grinned and said, “The farm, right?”
Nyada laughed. “It seems among other things ye’ve acquired a
sense of humor. Has this solved yer problem?”
 Margaret frowned. “Not fully. It may be best for Noah to handfast
tonight, but then what will become of my grandfather?”
“Sometimes knowing what to do involves trusting others. What is
yer impression of Laird Keith?”
“He seems to be a good man. I just wish we didn’t have to leave
our home.”
“Ye’re right, Laird Keith is a good man. I know his heart. He has
many things to consider too, but rest assured, yer grandfather’s wellbeing
is chief among them. It is what guided his actions today. Whatever
happens, yer grandfather will be fine.”
Margaret heaved a sigh of relief. “That eases my mind quite a bit.”
“But not completely,” said Nyada.
“Nay, there’s one last thing. If I have learned the lessons ye
intended, ye said I’d have a second chance at life. I know now that
Margaret Grant can be a good person, but I don’t want to be her anymore. I
want to stay here in this life.”
“I never said ye’d be Margaret Grant again.”
“Ye did. Ye said I’d have a second chance at life.”
“And ye do. Right here as who ye are.”
“But ye said I had to earn my second chance.”
“Aye, that’s true. Tell me, Margaret, if ye hadn’t learned kindness,
compassion and love, if ye ignored the things that this version of yerself
knew, would ye be any happier here than ye were as Margaret Grant?”
“Nay.”
“That’s right. Ye’d have wasted yer chance. Ye’d be living in a Hell
of yer own making.”
The relief Margaret felt was only momentary. “But the things I did
as Margaret Grant were destined to start a feud. If I can’t go back, I can’t
fix anything. I can’t stop it.”
“Ye don’t need to. Ye left a bit of a mess for Maggie Mitchell, but
she’s up to the task.”
Suddenly Margaret’s throat was tight and tears welled in her eyes.
“Thank ye,” she whispered.
Nyada laughed. “I didn’t do this. Ye did. I just made it possible. Ye
should be very proud of yerself. Ye learned what ye needed to
exceptionally well. Frankly, I didn’t expect ye to be worried about the
Grants. That tells me the ice has completely melted and both versions of
yerself have become one.”
“Well then, thank ye for making it possible.”
“Ye’re very welcome. I have one last thing to tell ye before I say
farewell. Ye were right in assuming it would be rude to step inside the
ring, uninvited. However, I am inviting ye. When ye handfast with Noah
tonight, make yer vows to each other inside the ring. It’s a place between
realms. I’ll be able to see it and I love weddings.” She said with a smile.
“But there will be others who want to see and bless yer union.”
Margaret’s jaw dropped. “From both of my lives? My mothers? My
father? My grandparents?”
Nyada shrugged. “I’m certain they’ll be among them.”
Margaret couldn’t speak. There were no words to express what she
felt.
Nyada laughed again. “I told ye human languages were imprecise,
but I understand, and ye’re very welcome. Now, I’ll say farewell. Ye won’t
see me again. Ye won’t need to.”
“Farewell, Nyada.”
Then Nyada simply faded away and was gone.
Margaret’s heart was finally at ease, but she was exhausted. She
looked up at the moon. It might still be an hour or more before Noah
arrived. She pulled her plaid over her head and curled up on the soft grass.
She’d just rest until he arrived.
 Chapter 8
Once Noah had returned to his home, he sought out his father
immediately. To his great relief, Amos hadn’t been there yet. But talking
his father around was harder than he’d expected.
“Noah, think about this. Ye will gain Amos’s farm.”
“And an eleven year-old wife. Please. Ye’ll be able to convince
Amos that Paul or William are better suited.”
“Both of them have a lot of growing up to do.”
“Paul is seventeen and William fourteen, they are well on their way
to maturity. Not to mention the fact that Nell has a lot of growing up to do
too.”
“I know that Noah. I never wanted Amos to choose ye. But for the
chance that one of ye, or maybe even two, would get that farm, it was
worth making the promise. How can I back out of it now?”
“Ye aren’t backing out, at least not completely. Ye still have two
sons, either of whom can fulfill yer commitment.”
After much more discussion, his father agreed to try to convince
Amos to change his mind about Noah. “But, son, I am not hopeful. I’ve
always suspected he wanted the betrothal to be with ye. He probably
thought I wouldn’t agree to it if that had been his first suggestion. Even
then ye were on the verge of manhood and she was just a wee lassie.”
Noah frowned. “Was he right? Would ye have turned him down?”
“Noah, son, his farm was on the table. His farm.”
Noah was dumbfounded. “Ye would have agreed to a betrothal to
me?”
“Of course I would have.”
“Well then I’m glad Amos hedged.”
“I am too. Now two of my sons will inherit farms—maybe three.”
Noah decided not to tell his father that the laird might give John’s
farm to someone else. He’d deal with that when and if it happened.
Still, his father confirmed Noah’s own suspicions about what Amos
would do. Thus, the only way to make certain he could have Margaret as
his wife was to handfast with her tonight.
When the moon was high, and he was certain everyone was asleep,
Noah rose from his bed to slip away.
 His youngest brother stirred and barely awake asked, “Noah, where
are ye going?”
“Out. Go back to sleep.”
Still half asleep, he asked, “What are ye going out for?
“I have to get something.”
“Oh.” He closed his eyes again.
Noah stood still, waiting to make sure his brother had returned to
sleep.
But when he finally thought it safe to move again, his brother
mumbled, “What are ye getting?” But the question was followed by a
snore.
Noah smiled and whispered, “The love of my life, and if all goes
well, a farm for ye.”
Once out of the house he all but ran to the fairy circle. The moon
was high and as worried as Margaret had been, he didn’t want her to have
to wait.
When he arrived at the spot, it was to find her asleep beside the
circle. She’d left her copper curls free and, as wild as ever, some had
escaped from the plaid around her and framed her face.
He knelt next to her, and leaning down gave her a soft kiss.
She stirred and blinked her eyes open. A sleepy smile spread across
her face. “Noah.”
“Ye need to wake, my sweet. We have some business to attend.”
More awake now, she sat up, her smile growing wider. “Aye, we do.
How did things go with yer father?”
“We were right, Amos hadn’t visited him yet so there’s no
betrothal. And after a good bit of discussion, Da came around. But as I
suspected, he too doesn’t think Amos will. So if ye still want to be my
wife, we need to make our vows now.” He stood and held a hand out to
help her up.
“Before we do, can I ask ye something?”
“Of course, ye can ask anything.”
“Why did ye suggest we meet here, at the fairy ring?”
That wasn’t what he was expecting. He shrugged. “I’m not sure. I
guess I wanted a spot between our homes and it’s what popped into my
head. Why?”
 “I was just curious. This place is beautiful and the ring lends a
sense of magic to it.”
He nodded. “I suppose it does. Maybe we should say our vows
inside the circle.”
She smiled. “I was thinking the same thing.”
She stepped into the circle and he followed.
He stood facing her, and crossing his hands he clasped hers, right
hand in right and left hand in left. “Margaret, I love ye with everything in
me and it seems I have forever. We are soulmates. Will ye be my wife?”
A beatific smile lit her face. “Aye, soulmates. I will be yer wife and
take ye as my husband. I’ll love and care for ye. I’ll work by yer side. I’ll
keep yer home and if God so wills I’ll give ye children. I want us to live
and cherish each day as if it were our last and I pray we grow old together
doing so.”
Noah swallowed hard. The words touched him deeply. “Margaret, I
am in awe. God has blessed me with the wonder of ye and I am eternally
grateful. I promise to always love, protect and defend ye as long as I draw
breath. I too want us to live and cherish each day as if it were our last and I
pray we grow old together doing so.” He leaned down and gave her a
languorous kiss.
When the kiss ended, she gave an almost giddy laugh. “We’re
married.”
He laughed too. “Aye, we are.”
Then her brows drew together. “What do we do now? Go back to
our homes?”
“Absolutely not. This is our wedding night. I don’t want to be
separated from ye, and I don’t want ye to have to face yer grandda alone in
the morning.”
She sighed, looking relieved. “I don’t want to be apart from ye
either.”
“And another thing. If we consummate our vows, there is no
chance that this handfasting can be annulled.”
Even in the moonlight, he could see the blush rise in her cheeks.
She smiled shyly and stepped out of the fairy ring, pulling him with her.
~*~
 Margaret woke to the sound of birds. The soft morning light called
her to rise for the day, but she ignored it, snuggling closer to Noah, in
whose arms she’d slept. Making love with him, under the moon and stars
had been nothing short of magical. She still felt wrapped in that enchanted
cocoon and was not yet ready to emerge. She wasn’t sure she ever would
be.
A little later, when he woke, he too seemed reluctant to rise. But
soon the sun was above the horizon and they had to go and face their
families.
They went to see her grandfather first.
He was standing outside the cottage, apparently waiting for them.
When they reached him, Margaret kissed him on the cheek. “Good
morning, Grandda.”
But he was having none of it. “The niceties can wait. Did the two of
ye bypass the laird’s conditions and slip off in the night to handfast?”
Margaret nodded contritely. “Aye, we did.”
She was not expecting the look of sheer relief that swept over him.
“Well, thank God. I feared ye’d never figure it out.”
“Ye’re not upset?” asked Margaret.
“Not at all. It’s what I’ve wanted for years. It was just that blasted
promise David made to Amos that stood in the way.”
“Then why didn’t ye say so?” asked Margaret.
“I couldn’t. It wouldn’t have been right. It was a drastic course of
action. If ye were truly meant to be together, I figured one of ye had to
think of it on yer own. Although I suspect I know, what finally pushed ye.”
“The laird’s conditions. I knew I could probably convince my da to
try and change Amos’s mind. But I was equally confident that Amos
wouldn’t budge.”
“Ye’re absolutely right. This was the only way.”
“But Grandda, what if the laird takes the farm from us.”
“He won’t.”
“But he said—” started Noah.
Her grandfather interrupted. “He said he believed it takes more
than two people to run this farm. That’s all. Then Margaret made that
beautiful, impassioned plea. I’ll warrant there isn’t a man alive who could
have said nay to her. Watch yerself, young man, she’s yer wife now.”
Noah laughed. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
 Her grandfather bent to pick up a cask of heather ale. “Well, now
all we have to do is tell yer parents.”
“We?” asked Margaret, more than a little surprised.
“Aye, we. I want to stand with ye to show my support. Then, when
they come ’round I want to be there for the celebration. That’s why I’m
taking the ale.”
“Ye had it ready to go?” she asked. “Ye were that sure we’d
handfasted?”
“I only hoped. If ye hadn’t, I’d have drowned my sorrows in it.”
Noah laughed. “Well then, let’s go. I’ll carry the cask for ye.”
“But we haven’t had breakfast,” said Margaret.
“Ah well, that’s yer punishment for defying the laird,” said her
grandfather with mock severity.
“Fair enough,” she said with a grin.
When they reached Noah’s home, David saw them coming and met
them halfway across the yard. “Noah, where have ye been, or need I ask?”
“I met Margaret in the night and we handfasted. Da, I love and
respect ye, but I couldn’t risk—”
“—Amos’s stubborn self. I know.”
“Now, David,” said her grandfather, “ye know this was the best
outcome.”
At that moment Noah’s mother rushed from their cottage. The
words that spilled from her lips surprised everyone. “Oh Noah, ye’re
home. Please tell me ye married her.”
“We handfasted,” he answered.
“Good enough,” she said opening her arms to Margaret. “I couldn’t
be happier.”
Margaret returned the embrace but Noah’s father continued to
scowl.
“Mary, he defied the laird.”
“He did not,” she said indignantly. “Ye gave yer permission, and
now Amos is bound to give his.”
“Because he married before ever even talking to Amos.”
She waved her hand as if brushing away an annoying insect.
“Details.”
“Ye can’t stay angry, David. What’s done is done,” said her
grandfather.
 “But Amos’s farm, who wouldn’t want his son to gain that?”
“Yer son will have it. Just not Noah. It’ll be Paul or William,” said
Mary.
“Not if Amos backs out entirely,” he countered.
“He won’t,” said her grandfather. “Yer sons are some of the finest
young men in the clan. He knows that.”
“Besides,” added Mary, “Nell is still a child. And she’s mooned
over William since she was a wee thing.”
Finally David gave in. “Very well. As John said, what’s done is
done.” He smiled and opened his arms to Margaret as well.
Then, just as her grandfather predicted, a celebration followed. It
wasn’t fancy, but it was festive.
There was a tense moment when Amos arrived, his wife and three
daughters in tow.
“Amos,” said David, “we need to talk.”
Amos looked a bit confused by the fete that seemed to be
underway, but he nodded. “Aye, we do. Yesterday I sought the laird’s
permission to formalize a betrothal between Noah and Nell.”
David nodded. “I had heard that. The laird mentioned it to John last
eve.”
“I see,” said Amos. “That does make things awkward.”
David frowned “Why?”
Amos looked uncomfortable. “Well, today he came back to see me.
He said he’d given the matter a lot of thought and he believed William
would be a better choice.”
Mary gasped, “Did he?”
“Aye, and after discussing it, I think so too. It’s nothing against
Noah, mind ye.”
“Of course not,” said John, “And I absolutely agree that William is
the best choice.”
“Then we have a betrothal?” Amos asked.
“Aye we do. Now we’re having a celebration. Please join us.”
“What are we celebrating?” asked Amos.
“A betrothal for one,” said David.
“But ye didn’t know about it until just now.”
“Sir,” said Noah, “We are celebrating my marriage to Margaret.
Nell is a lovely wee lassie, but that’s just it, she is a wee lassie. Please
forgive me, but I have loved Margaret for years, and couldn’t stand the
thought of not taking her as my wife.”
Amos blustered for a while but then agreed that it was all for the
best and he and his family joined the celebration which lasted well into the
evening.
Margaret was happier than she deserved to be. Being here married
to Noah, at his side, her hand in his, felt like Heaven. She smiled
remembering what Gertrude had said, “No one deserves Heaven. That’s
rather the point isn’t it? Heaven is a gift.”
“Thank ye,” she whispered to the night.
 Epilogue
It was harvest time again only this year Margaret wasn’t able to
help as much. She had given birth to their son in late June. She had
experienced love in many ways over the last year, but once she held that
wee life in her arms, she believed she finally understood the full nature of
unconditional love.
It was a cool, breezy but sunny day and she was doing the wash
instead of tying sheaves, the baby asleep in a basket nearby. To her
surprise she heard the jingle of a horse’s tack from the front of the house.
She frowned. Noah hadn’t ridden to the field. The horse was in the
paddock.
The baby began to fret so she lifted him out of the basket and
walked to the front of the cottage to see who was there.
A woman wearing a voluminous black cloak, was clambering off of
a pony’s back.
Margaret called, “Good day, goodwife. Tis a brisk afternoon, can I
offer ye a warm tisane?”
The woman turned to face Margaret, the hood of her cloak slipping
off her head. “While that sounds perfectly lovely, I won’t tarry today. I’ll
just give my pony a wee rest if ye don’t mind.”
“Gertrude?” Dear God, what was she doing here? Margaret
clutched her son tighter.
The old woman laughed. “Margaret, my sweet lass, I’m only here
for a wee visit. I wasn’t sure ye’d even remember me.”
Margaret gave a shaky laugh. “Remember ye? I’m fairly certain
I’ll never forget ye. I believe the last time we met ye said I deserved
Heaven even less than most people, and someone must have taken pity on
me.”
“Aye, I did.” Gertrude reached out and touched Margaret’s
shoulder. Instantly the fear that had risen, unbidden was gone, replaced by
loving warmth and a sense that all was right with the world. “I know that
seemed overly harsh.”
Margaret smiled and shrugged. “It was true.”
“But the knowledge stung. And yet, it was vital that ye understand
and take the whole situation seriously.”
 “I know that now. When I think back to the person I was, to the
years I spent mired in my own selfish ways, I can’t help but wonder why I
deserved the second chance.”
“Oh sweetling, ye were a lost soul in so many ways, but this,”
Gertrude waved her hand in a circle as if to encompass all of Margaret and
her surroundings, “was inside ye all along. No one had awakened it yet.”
Margaret laughed. “Well, losing my body was certainly a rather
sudden awakening.”
“Sometimes that’s what it takes. But it seems that ye’ve made
absolutely wonderful use of yer second chance. Ye look positively
radiant.”
“Thank ye, Gertrude. As hard as this was in the beginning, I’m so
much happier than I’ve ever been before.” Margaret frowned. “In fact, I’m
not sure I’d ever really been happy.”
“Ye see? It’s just as Nyada told ye, love, kindness and compassion
can only really be felt when ye give them away.”
“Truer words were never spoken,” said Margaret, hugging her wee
son a little tighter.
“I’m glad ye’ve learned that. And, speaking of love, who is this
strapping lad?”
Margaret arched an eyebrow, “Don’t tell me, ye don’t know.”
Gertrude laughed. “Of course I know, but introductions are always
appreciated.”
“Well then, Gertrude, this is my son, Orrick.”
“Orrick is a wonderful name.”
“Would ye like to hold him?”
“I’d like nothing more,” she said as she held out her arms.” After
Margaret placed Orrick in them, Gertrude cuddled him close. “There is
nothing on Earth more wonderful than holding a peacefully sleeping
bairn.”
Margaret smiled and nodded. “I couldn’t agree more.”
Gertrude kissed his forehead. “Orrick, may God bless ye, and keep
ye always. May He make ye as strong and steadfast as the mighty oak
whose name ye bear. And may ye live a long, healthy and happy life,
always knowing ye’re loved.”
“Thank ye, Gertrude,” said Margaret. “Thank ye for everything.”
 “Ye’re very welcome lass. Now, I’ll give this sweet bundle back to
ye. I must be leaving.”
Margaret took Orrick from her, saying, “Are ye sure I can’t give ye
a warm drink?”
“Nay, thank ye. I have places to go and people to see. And in a
moment, that wee rogue is going to demand a warm drink of his own. So
give me a hug and I’ll be on my way.”
When Gertrude hugged her, Margaret was once again filled with
abiding peace. “Will I see ye again?”
Gertrude laughed and mounted her pony. “Only time will tell, lass.
Only time will tell.” Gertrude clicked to the pony, who started to amble
out of the yard.
Margaret called, “Farewell, then. I’ll keep ye in my heart.”
“And I’ll keep ye in mine,” answered Gertrude. Then, she simply
disappeared, pony and all.
Margaret smiled down at her son. “I can think of worse places to be
than in the heart of an angel.” Then, just as Gertrude had said he would,
Orrick awoke and began rooting fretfully. She cuddled him close as she
headed toward the cottage. “Aye, lad, ye’ll have yer warm drink in just a
moment.”

~ The End ~

If you enjoyed Margaret’s story and are curious about Laird Carr and
Maggie Mitchell, please look for The Pocket Watch: The Pocket Watch
Chronicles.

You can learn more about other titles by Ceci Giltenan at

www.duncurra.com.

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