But tonight was different. Tonight brought with it Magda, appearing over and over in his mind's eye. He'd watched her from behind as they golfed, and fragmented images spilled into his thoughts now. How she'd knit her brow in concentration, unconsciously flicking her tongue along the corner of her mouth as she contemplated the course. How the tight bodice of her dress had highlighted the gentle curve of her waist and the long ivory line of her neck as it rose elegantly from the neckline.
Her power and poise had awed him as he'd watched her swing her arms down, pivoting her body to connect with the ball. And more than once, James had to force himself to look away from the forward jut of her pelvis as she followed through.
He'd let himself go too far with her. James had known many a woman, and never had he lost control in such a way. The urge to touch Magda just a moment longer, to slide his hand a trace deeper in her skirts, to grip her to him that much harder had seized him like a madness.
He had to harness his desires. Magda had a home, and he needed to return her to it. She was too much of a distraction. He had responsibilities. His obligation to his country far outweighed anything—or anyone—else.
The thought brought with it an unexpected stab of melancholy. No woman had ever surprised him; none had ever caught him unawares with merely a word or a look. Were it another time, he'd perhaps keep her close, unravel the mystery of why a single lass could humor him so.
He worried for a moment whether taking her to Aberdeen might not be the wisest course. He'd a duty to his country, though, and sometimes speed outweighed sense.
Surely they would find Brother Lonan in Aberdeen, and James would deposit Magda with him.
With his regrets.
Chapter 8
"I beg your pardon?" The distant lapping of the waves on the shore had mesmerized Napier, still fogged and trying to chase the remaining tendrils of last night's sleep from his brain with a cup of tea. The air was particularly brackish that morning, as if the receded tide was a blanket pulled back to release the strong scent of seaweed and shells that lay beneath, littering the stark stretch of wet brown sand. He'd just taken another sip when he thought his wife had begun to broach the topic of golf, of all things. "It sounded as if you said "—
"I did indeed," Margaret interrupted. "Which you would know already were you abed at a reasonable hour last night, instead of partaking in more of these tiresome political ruminations you seem to be obsessed with of late." She paused to pick up the teapot and, with great deliberation, warmed their cups. Margaret and her husband would soon go down, as always, to join the rest of the household in breaking their fast, but to sit each morning on their balcony, overlooking the seashore and greeting the sun with a spot of tea, had become their treasured routine. Dawn had well and fully broken, and a rod of white sunlight glared along the wet sand. "I did indeed say golf." She blew on her tea and sipped it gingerly. Napier hid a smile. He could always tell when his wife had some juicy bit of news. He knew she enjoyed the telling of it, and he'd let her prolong her pleasure. She'd been a beauty in her youth, and he had been shocked when she'd chosen his quiet reserve over one of the many men more outgoing in their charms who'd courted her. Napier vowed he'd never give her cause to her regret her decision. They'd never been blessed with a child, and though Margaret didn't hesitate to make her opinions known, she'd not once complained of her lot. So, if his wife wanted to delight in telling him her gossip, he'd delight in the hearing of it.
"But I thought nothing vexed you so much as to hear about your brother's golf games," he said.
"Oh, you've the truth there," she replied tartly. "But I'd endeavor to play at swords and longbows if I thought I'd gain some insight into my brother's heart. We've tried for years to find him a suitable match, and he shows up one morning with some accented beauty."
"A beauty, eh?" Napier raised his brows with affected gusto. "Archibald!" Margaret swatted her husband with her napkin, and not missing a beat, continued, "I tell you, this Magda is a peculiar one. But I dare say, I quite took a fancy to her. Do you know she plays golf as well as a man?"
"Not so." He'd been feigning his interest somewhat, but now Napier leaned in. truly intrigued.
"So indeed! She played golf with the men." Margaret put down her teacup to free her hands for broader gesturing. "As did I."
Napier's usually stoic demeanor shattered as he let go a brief and explosive laugh.
"I most certainly did," Margaret huffed. "That Sydserf and I were a duo. I made quite a pretty shot on, what do you call it, the fairway."
"Dear heart, women don't "—
"Women most certainly do. Why, Mary Queen of Scots herself was quite the golfer."
"Oh really?" He chuckled. "My Margaret playing golf." Napier shook his head. He looked at his wife, ever amazed that he'd been so blessed with a woman who never ceased to surprise him. He wasn't a naturally joyful man, but his wife made him more of one each day. Napier's mind turned to coarser things, and he mused he'd risk much to catch sight of that plush rump of hers bending over a tee. "Well, that would be quite a sight."
Margaret flushed. They'd been together nearly twenty years now, and he knew she recognized the look in his eyes.
After savoring her discomfort for a moment, Napier aske d, "But who is this lass then?" He'd finished with his tea, and set to smoothing the corners of his moustache up and the length of his goatee down. He knew that such vanities only emphasized his thin, elongated features, but he knew too that his Margaret's preference was a well -tended and fashionable man. "Who—and where—is her family?"
"She claims the surname Deacon. I think it's Irish."
"And are we to welcome this rudderless lass into our home?"
"Well," Margaret exclaimed, "we shall be gracious as always."
Napier recognized that even Margaret herself hadn't known until that moment where she would stand regarding the strange and wayward woman.
"But of course we'll do whatever you say, my beauty." He smiled warmly, a rarity seen generally only by his wife. Beautiful she was too, he thought. Her glossy brown hair was not yet grayed, and she bore the Graham family regal height and carriage. She'd grown in girth since their youth, but he loved her all the more for it. Margaret was lush refuge for his tired bones, though he'd never dare breathe as much to her, knowing how prickly she'd grown about her weight. "You are my one and only mistress, and you know I live only to please you."
"Good." Margaret's eyes sharpened. "Then you will refrain from this Aberdeen madne ss."
"Ah." Napier girded himself. He'd known she wouldn't be happy about his departure, and had been fearing this exchange. "Go I must, dear heart. To protect your brother, at the least."