"You'd have more luxurious accommodations than this, then."
She froze at the sound of his voice and peered at him. He'd eased back further, leaning on his elbows.
"Where you're from," he added in an easy voice. "You would've washed in much grander baths, I'm certain. "
She relaxed a little. He clearly had no intention of stealing so much as a glimpse of her. "How can you tell?"
"How could I not?" James laughed. "Considering the fear you bring to such a wee trickle as this, it's not difficult to imagine you don't often find yourself bathing en plein air." "No." She examined the dirt packed hard at her fingertips. "Not exactly." She plucked a yellow leaf from atop a nearby rock and used the stem to scrape her nails clean. "Though I guess this isn't so bad."
"Not so bad? You're a funny one, hen. Just give a look around. Not so bad indeed."
Magda stood straight. Her feet and calves were numb to the cold now, but she found she liked the sensation, and burrowed her feet more deeply into the powdery silt of the streambed. Alder trees reached high all around, their rounded leaves fluttering in the breeze. She focused her senses outward, attuned to the occasional plop of their tiny cones dropping from branches high above. She breathed in, and crisp air filled her lungs, rejuvenating her. When was the last time she'd stood among the trees like this? Seen trees in someplace other than Central Park? Surely not since her brother's death.
Peter. What would he make of all this? Would she be nearly so calm about this whole situation if Pete were alive, at home waiting for her? No, she'd be hysterical. Stomping, raging, freaking out. Not bathing in an idyllic babbling brook with some famous hero of old.
She stared at James. The strong triangle of his back. He inhaled deeply just then. She could see the rise and fall of his rib cage. He tilted his face up to the sun. Just then she wished she really could see the look on his face. His eyes
would be closed. She imagined she'd see his pleasure written in the subtle change in his features. In the smoothness of his brow, the slight curve to his lips.
She rubbed her wet hands briskly over her face. No, the degree of panic she felt definitely did not match what her current predicament called for.
"Magdalen?"
She cleared her throat. "Yes?"
"Merely ensuring you've not turned into some gorgeous red-feathered creature and flown away."
"No," she said tentatively. His attentions made her self- conscious, and she bent again to the water, rushing to finish. "I'm still here."
* * *
It was supposed to be just a quick peek. James had promised he wouldn't look, but after her prolonged silence and much internal debate, in the end, his concern for Magda had won out. He'd wanted to ensure she was still there, sound and upright.
And was she. He'd intended a brief glimpse, and instead she'd taken his breath away.
She'd knotted her petticoat to just above her knees, and though the water concealed most of her legs, the simple white gown clung to her, revealing modest curves at her hips and breasts. He watched, mesmerized, as her delicate hands reached to cup handfuls of water, stroked up along elegant stretches of pale arms, down her long throat, and back again, a smooth curtain of auburn hair hanging down all the while, threatening to graze the surface of the water. He wanted to look away, but kept telling himself just one moment more. She'd spotted the tumble of rose petals at the water's edge. He smiled as he watched her give a shrug, then bend to scoop a handful. The wild roses were much smaller than their formal counterparts, but he knew the petals were no less soft. He watched her crush them, bring them to her nose, shutting her eyes to breath in their perfume. They would be like suede in her fingertips. The scent lush, and likely familiar.
He turned away quickly then. She'd begun to rub the petals over her arms and chest when James remembered himself.
It was clear the lass was terrified of water. And worse, her fear seemed tied to some greater issue close to her heart. She'd not told him what the matter was, and he hadn't pressed, but he'd thought to be on the alert for whatever might come to pass during what should've been a quick dunk and splash in a stream. But instead he found himself adjusting his position on the rock, uncomfortably aroused by the unexpected and intimate glimpse.
He felt her grow still at his back. Would she be looking at him? he wondered. She was likely just examining her dress, or perhaps adjusting a stocking. But, turning his face to the sun, James fantasized that she watched him from behind instead.
Eyes shut, he listened intently to the rustle of clothes as she began to dress. He breathed in deep, imagining he could smell the roses on her skin from far away. There was the rasp of cord against fabric. She'd be lacing her bodice then. How would it be to untie those laces, set free that bosom into the cool air. to see Magda clothed just in sky and the shadows from the trees above?
He felt the cool spill of shadow over his legs and opened his eyes. Magda stood before him, clean and dressed, and he couldn't stop his gaze from raking up the length of her. Nervously pleating and smoothing a swath of her skirts, she seemed almost embarrassed to stand before him. He found her self-consciousness endearing, took it as a sign that perhaps she too had perceived the intimacy of his close proximity.
"Better now?" He hopped to standing and in a flash was inches from her. He sensed the chill of her skin against his warmth, noticed the slight shiver that trembled up her torso. He chafed her arms softly, to lend her heat. The barest scent of roses teased him, and he paused.
He couldn't help himself. Leaning down, he tucked his nose close at her neck and breathed deep. "I see you found some use for those petals, hen."
"I…" She felt the cool pull of air along her skin as he breathed in. All rational thought emptied from her mind and Magda shivered. "I…"
"But here, you're chilled." He swung his coat over her shoulders and pulled her unnecessarily tight to his side. "We shouldn't tarry now. The sun sets early this time in the season."
The coat around her shoulders was warm. She pulled it tight around her, and the smell of him lingered in her senses. "I can walk," she managed.
Though he nodded, James didn't loosen his grip. As they emerged from the trees, Magda gasped, halting them where they stood. She felt him instinctively put his hand to his empty scabbard, sensed him scanning the land before them. But she couldn't spare him a glance. She could only stare up at the sky, awestruck.