"I'm a thespian, not a soldier," Tom panted, holding his blade in a defensive posture. "So please just have a care."
"I thought you were a philosopher," James quipped.
"Ah. that was last year."
"Not so much hopping, Thomas. You'll tire. Your advantage is size."
"Thai's not what Fin told." Brows furrowed with exertion, Tom swung his blade around, and James easily ducked back to avoid it.
"Come man, thrust! Throw your weight into it." Taking his heavy sword into one hand, James canted his body to the side and propelled himself forward, the long, lean muscles of his legs stretching into a wide V. "Attend the left side!" he shouted, and back utterly straight, breath coming as easily as if he'd just risen from bed, James slapped his sword lightly onto his friend's side.
"Och, man, I've just killed you." James stuck his blade into the ground and leaned into the hilt. "When I take my weapon by a single hand, what is it I've lost?"
"Not the battle, surely," Tom huffed, gratefully resheathing the blade at his hip.
Ignoring his jibe, James explained, "Placing my sword in a single hand, I have the advantage of reaching you from a great distance. But, in so doing, I lose strength and speed. Yours was an opportunity lost."
"Aye, James, once again you've bested me. I hope you're well pleased."
"What would please me is if you'd put your back into it. I'll not be able to mind you on the battlefield."
"And you'll thankfully not have the need to," Tom replied quickly. "I'm eager to be a font of wise counsel, but when it comes to the fighting, I prefer taking refuge in the outer ranks." Pausing, he retrieved a small square of linen from his pocket with which to wipe his eyes. "So you sincerely intend on going to battle over this?"
"We've signatures plenty on the Covenant, and the University at Aberdeen will surely provide us with even more," James said.
referring to the manifesto they'd drawn up with a group of like- minded men. With it, they hoped to rally support—and signatures—throughout Scotland in an effort to protect their country's religious freedoms. "King Charles cannot, will not, ignore the reason of so many of his countrymen." The king had married a Catholic, and Scotsmen viewed his new prayer book as but the first of many offenses. As crosses and chalices of gold began to adorn more altars, many feared the integrity of their own kirks were in danger. "What if you find Aberdeen lacking in sensible men? And," Tom asked, his voice treacherously low, "what if you find that your Scottish king now listens only to his English countrymen?"
"Aye," James responded gravely, "that is when you and I will talk of battles."
He knew he'd puzzled his friend with his talk of Magda, but James couldn't spare it a second thought. Tom, rightly, had steered them back to discussion of the king and their Covenant. Tom had not believed him and his story of Magda, likely never would believe him. And that was oddly acceptable to James.
He swirled his port, the liquid shimmering off the faceted crystal of his glass like a dark purple jewel. His hair was still damp from bathwater as scalding as he could bear. Stretching his legs out from the folds of his thick robe, he savored the languid feel of worked muscles beneath hot skin.
He knew the lass was special. Had known it the moment he'd seen her, leggy and spooked like some gorgeous chestnut filly. Her explanations defied reason, but so too did her strange and wonderful treasures. She claimed to be from the future, and he found he believed her. Enough, at least, to have had that devilish portrait stored away for everyone's protection, despite the fact that her repeated touching of the thing had been futile.
The situation was a test for any true romantic, and James was nothing if not that. Poetic words and deeds inspired him, drove him, and James challenged himself as to why her extraordinary tale should not be so.
Besides, she was different from anyone he'd ever known. Other people rarely caught James off his guard; for another person to astonish him so was a rare joy. Indeed, with her charmingly tentative poise, she was a refreshing contrast to the usual society women. Rather than fill the air with empty chatter, Magda gave word to economically chosen remarks through lips full and swollen as if just kissed, and James found he'd likely believe her if she claimed to be Mary Queen of Scots returned from beyond to seek her vengeance.
He saw clear the tempest that lay dormant in her eyes, shimmering like lightning on the horizon, giving lie to her studied outward calm. James was sorely tempted to be the man who'd set spark to flint, releasing Magda from her precise and tightly coiled exterior.
Contrary to Tom's cautioning against ambitious lasses in search of titled husbands, Magda seemed unimpressed by the luxury of her surroundings. Most other unmarried women of his acquaintance ingratiated themselves to James, cooing over his clothes, estate, furnishings—even his bloody horse wasn't above notice. Although not a vain man, James couldn't help but be aware that his affable nature and pleasant looks had opened many a door—not to mention a few petticoats—for him. But the things that elicited fawning titters from her female peers instead set Magda's eyes to a slow burn: a playful pat on the rump, a flirtatious word, or a prolonged glance drew that pretty jaw of hers into an ill-tempered pique that drove James to distraction.
And what was he to do with her? He'd sent for Brother
Lonan, knowing his duty was to help her find her way home, yet he found he did not enjoy entertaining that thought.
But James and his men had penned the National Covenant merely weeks ago, and it was an issue he felt with the utmost urgency. The king had to be stopped immediately from making an ill-informed decision that would impact every kirk in Scotland. Indeed, he seemed set to sabotage the very notion of religious freedom.
To stop the Covenanter momentum now would be like an incomplete thrust of the sword. There was no time to spare: James had a dispute to kindle with Charles, and that meant he'd a woman with whom he needed to dispense.
He gave his port one last swirl and tossed it back. Political concerns could wait till the morrow. He had some hours left to him yet, in which to contemplate the set of that pretty jaw.
Chapter 7
"Come in." Magda said from her seat in the window. James had set her up for the time being in a small, but sweetly cozy room of her own. Remaining in his room had clearly not been an option, even though he did make more than a few jokes at the prospect.
Restless and unable to sleep, she'd risen with the dawn and passed much of the morning perched on the cascade of small downy pillows that were piled in the window seat. The sun glimmered over the sea on the horizon, and Magda was comforted by the familiar pulse of the tides in the distance.