Page 8 of Reviving Her Highland Spirit

“Fine,” Maggie said. “I dinnae feel up to going riding with the girls, I’m sorry.”

“‘Tis not why I asked ye here. I’ve told them time and again not to badger ye. How are yer ribs?”

Maggie sucked in a breath experimentally. “Fine,” she answered.

Aunt Lyla nodded. “Ye body is healed as well it will heal, Maggie. I thought ye wouldnae walk again when they first brought ye in, or that ye would just sleep your life away. We often underestimate how well our body can heal itself. With a little help, a person can survive anythin’.”

“Aye. I’m glad for yer help, Aunt.”

“Your body is healed, but your soul isnae,” Aunt Lyla continued as if Maggie had not spoken. The firelight jumped and glittered in her eyes, giving her a strange, otherworldly look. Maggie fidgeted uncomfortably. She didn’t lie very often, but most children tried to tell a lie to get out of trouble at some time or another. She’d occasionally managed to fool her mother - Sola seemed to believe, or wanted to believe that her children were honest in all things.

Aunt Lyla, on the other hand, had never been fooled. Not once. Not by Maggie, not by anyone.

“My… my soul?” Maggie stammered. She didn’t dare assure her aunt that her soul was fine.

Aunt Lyla sighed. “An accident like that can break something inside. As it stands, there’s not much a healer like myself can do about that. Ye will have to heal it yourself.”

Maggie bit her lip. “I dinnae ken what ye mean, Aunt.”

Aunt Lyla leveled a stare at Maggie. “Oh, I think ye do. I’m not scolding ye, Maggie. Ye have made so much progress. But ye cannot stop now. Don’t let fear get in the way of you living your life.”

I’m not, Maggie wanted to say, indignantly. But all she felt was tiredness, bone tiredness creeping through her limbs.

I didn’t even do anything today, Maggie thought miserably. Aloud, she said, “Aye, Aunt. I’ll think aboot it.”

Aunt Lyla nodded, leaning back in her chair and smiling. “I know ye will, lass. Sleep well.”

Maggie hurried out of the study, mulling over what her aunt had said. How was a person supposed to fix a soul?

Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to go back to the stables tomorrow. After all, that stable boy - Callum - had promised to help her.

4

Maggie sourly eyed her reflection in the mirror. She had put on a little weight since she’d stopped riding. Not much, but a little. It was probably the combination of less exercise and more food, pressed on her by her family. Her breasts and hips were larger, and her stomach softer than before. Maggie didn’t particularly care about that, but when she tried to pull on her riding breeches, she immediately noticed the difference.

Her breeches were specially made for her, out of soft leather that molded perfectly to her legs and backside. Riding for hours on end was a painful experience for anyone. The chafing and bouncing could be unbearable. Sometimes Maggie had come home from a long day of riding only to find herself barely able to stand closing her legs, to say nothing of the pain in her hips and lower back.

It could be even worse for ladies, who only wore long skirts and nothing firm and supple enough to protect their legs. Aunt Lyla had suggested the riding breeches, and since then, Maggie had had several pairs. They were remade for her whenever she grew out of them.

This pair was barely two years old, but she hadn’t worn them for months. They still technically fit, but hugged her legs more tightly than was really proper, and pinched at her waist.

Maggie briefly considered abandoning the breeches for a dress, but quickly decided against it. She threw on a linen shirt, a woven waistcoat, and a drape of tartan to serve as a cloak.

In short, she was wearing men’s clothes. Well, it was hardly Maggie’s fault that the only clothes that allowed a person to move and ride freely belonged to the men.

She glanced nervously at herself one last time.

I’m makin’ a mistake, Maggie thought. Before she could allow herself to lose her nerve and change back into her ordinary clothes, Maggie sucked in a breath and turned her back on her reflection, leaving her bedroom and closing the door behind her.

The family always ate alone for breakfast. Uncle James and Bryce had already gone out early in the morning to perform some lairdly duties. Aunt Lyla and Sola sat side by side at the head of the table, talking to each other about something. The children sat wherever they pleased, tucking into their breakfasts.

Bonnie glanced up at Maggie’s approach, and her eyes lit up.

“Maggie, are those your ridin’ things?”

Maggie cursed her overenthusiastic cousin. Everyone stopped talking and turned her way. Maggie didn’t miss the flash of relief and delight that crossed her mother’s face, hastily masked.

It was another reminder that she was still an invalid in their eyes. She probably would remain an invalid for quite some time.