Page 7 of Reviving Her Highland Spirit

“Ye need tae keep your strength up, lass,” she murmured. “More vegetables, and not so much wine.”

“I barely have half a goblet, Ma.”

“She should have milk, don’t ye think, Bryce?” Sola said, barely seeming to hear Maggie. “Milk’s good fer the bones.”

“Aye, I think so,” Bryce cast an imploring glance at Sola. “Drink a little milk, lass. For your Ma.”

Sola was murmuring something to one of the servers, who nodded and rushed away. Maggie knew what was going to happen. The man returned with a large mug of foamy, creamy milk, and set it down in front of Maggie. She reddened. Nobody had milk at the feasting table, not even Angus. Maggie longed to get up from the table and leave.

Well, she couldn’t. If she did, they’d all come running after her, anxious and pestering her with questions.

Do ye feel ill?

Does your head hurt? Ye must tell us at once.

Shall we fetch a physician?

Why are ye not eating?

Please eat just a wee bit.

And so on. Maggie’s fall had changed everything. It had changed her. There was a scar on the back of her skull, a raised line that she could feel under her fingertip. There was a puckered scar on her forearm from the bad break, and in cold weather, Maggie could feel her ribs ache from where they’d been bruised and broken.

For the accident she’d had, Maggie had been lucky, she knew that. She’d fallen badly, and could easily have snapped her neck. If it hadn’t been for Stardust, intuitive and so well trained, Maggie would likely have been trampled, too. Stardust had leaped, so as to avoid crushing her fallen rider under her hooves.

Even Maggie’s long sleep, from which she couldn’t be awoken, could have resulted in death without the care of her family. Even then, she might simply have never woken up again.

It was all luck. Maggie had cheated death, and she knew it. But she hadn’t come off unscathed by any stretch of the imagination. Aside from the more obvious results of her accident - fear, scars, and so on - there was the breathless, nervous scrutiny of her family, all afraid that she would slip back to sleep again.

So Maggie sipped at her mug of milk until it was all gone, and was rewarded by Sola’s beaming smile of relief. She ate everything on her plate, even though her appetite had been spoilt.

At least she had the memory of her conversation with the stable boy to tide her over.

Maggie hadn’t seen him before. He didn’t look like a boy in any form. He was every bit as tall as Uncle James and her Da, and he was broad and strong. He had a beard, so Maggie couldn’t quite bring herself to call him a stable boy, even though it was just a title.

She wasn’t sure what had possessed her to spill her heart out like that, telling him about her accident and her fears. Why should he care? It meant one less horse to saddle up. He probably couldn’t care less about what she’d said, and only listened out of politeness. Maybe she’d made a fool of herself.

“Ma, Maggie wouldn’t come riding with us today,” Bonnie said, pushing out her lower lip. She didn’t mean to be petulant, but Maggie’s hand itched to slap her cousin. “Can’t ye make her come?”

Aunt Lyla smiled mildly at her daughter. “Maggie will come riding with ye when she is ready, and not before. Don’t pester her.”

Bonnie sighed but didn’t bring it up anymore. Maggie glanced up and caught Aunt Lyla staring shrewdly at her.

* * *

“Do ye have a minute tae spare, Maggie?”

Maggie, on her way to her family’s wing of the keep and her own room, flinched. She’d tried to sneak past the big library where they all rested and read that evening, but should have known that there’d be no escaping Aunt Lyla’s sharp eyes.

Maggie reluctantly stepped inside. Aunt Lyla was alone in here, sitting in a comfortable chair before a roaring fire. She smiled at Maggie, gesturing for her to sit.

Lyla was a healer, often called the best healer Clan McAlister had ever seen. Lyla would always chuckle when people said that, and she invariably said the same thing: “Ah, well, ye never met the woman who taught me. I’m no match for her her, and I never will be, God rest her soul.”

It was Aunt Lyla’s face that Maggie remembered the most, from the foggy, early days after her accident, when everyone was so sure that she would die.

“How are ye today, Maggie?” Aunt Lyla asked when Maggie was comfortably settled in her seat. It wasn’t unusual for Aunt Lyla to summon Maggie and ask how she was feeling, and listen intently for the answer.

Today seemed different, though. Aunt Lyla seemed to be listening out for something.