Staring at her mouth, his own lips moved ever so slightly, as if pondering a thought that hovered there. Magda's gut felt suddenly hollow, as some long-neglected need fluttered to life in her core, tightening her breasts, speeding the pounding of her heart. "I—I'd say no."
James's laugh was a low and sultry rumble. "You, hen, are a delight indeed." Clapping his hands to his thighs, he pulled back from Magda, seeming not to notice the embarrassment and fury waging battle on her face.
"I'll send word for Lonan," he said. "I'm still unable to fathom what's transpired here, but a lengthy chat with the good Brother is in order." He added sternly, "I'd know what dark arts he's about, and why he's chosen to play at them under my roof."
He rose to leave. Still reeling from their exchange, Magda stopped him. "James," she said through clenched teeth. "Aye?"
"Will you please no longer refer to me as a barnyard animal? I have a name, and it's Magda. Or Magdalen, if you prefer," she heard herself amend, cursing her habit of resorting to politeness in even the most extreme of circumstances.
He flashed her a rakish grin and countered, "I'll consider myself advised, hen."
"I tell you, good man, this is different." There was a muffled sound of dulled steel as James pulled his sword from its scabbard. "I am completely and utterly charmed." Elbows at his waist, James held his practice sword poised in an easy stance, bobbing lightly on the balls of his feet.
"Aye," Tom teased, "I've heard similar words fall from that mouth of yours before." Taking his time to fit each finger into an elaborate pair of leather gauntlets, he warned. "You'll have scandal at your door if you install a mystery lass in your bed."
"She's not in my bed," James said dismissively. "Now, place that sword in your hand. You've delayed this moment long enough."
"You know I prefer my pistol to all other weapons."
"Aye, and your enemy prefers you out of gunpowder, standing dumbly with an unseasoned blade in hand. Now," James commanded, "spar."
Tom swept his blunted practice sword out, striking a tentative blow. Flicking his blade to the side, James easily deflected the other man's strike.
"You must tell me who she is if I'm to leave you be. You've found an exotic princess from a foreign shore, perhaps?" "No princesses, sorry to disappoint." James swung his broadsword around slowly, giving his friend the chance for an easy block. "That's the way," he encouraged.
"Tom," he added in a grave whisper, "she claims to be from the future."
"Oh, James!" Tom shouted, seized by laughter. The point of his blade dropped to the dirt. "That's rich!"
A light film of sweat already coated Tom's brow. He tugged at his collar to help catch his breath. "I think, my friend, you've been ensorcelled by a bonny lass with an eye to becoming a marquise."
"This is no jest," James said flatly. "I saw… the wonders she has…"
He was cut short by another sudden hoot of Tom's laughter. "She's flashed her wonders already? I told you, a clever marquis hunter "—
"Hold your tongue," James snapped. "And raise that blade to me or I vow I'll end this lesson and give you some true sparring. Now listen, man." They slowly circled each other, heavy broadswords held in both hands, their blades touching lightly. "She had on her person objects that defy reason."
James twirled his blade overhead and slashed downward, forcing Tom to raise his sword high in a block above his head.
"She wore a miniature clock on her wrist, lit from within yet not hot to the touch, capable of making a sound fit to puncture your ears."
Tom's face was a fixed, blank mask as he parried James's increasingly aggressive volley of sword thrusts.
"And a fire that she kept in her pocket. Aye, man," he asserted in answer to the skeptical look that Tom managed over his blade. "A small bonny thing, like a jewel, cool in the fingers, that builds a flame with the turning of a wheel."
"Keep your guard up!" James shouted abruptly. "That's it, thrust, thrust!"
Short of breath, Tom sputtered, "Is this a scheme to back out of your quarrel with the king?"
"You'll not jest so." James drove at his friend from the side, bringing his sword down with a crash onto Tom's quivering blade just at eye level. "Ever."
"Careful, James," he yelped. "Mind the face!"
"I 'd no sooner misjudge my blade's mark than unintentionally cut mine own hand off." James's sword dipped up and down in an effortless feint.
"My feelings are unchanged, Tom. My intentions regarding our king remain deadly serious. I'd sooner not battle Charles, but if he'll not abide the sensible thoughts of sensible men, I see no other choice."
James punctuated his last thought with a strong thrust of his sword, and Tom skittered backward.