“That we can’t see the stars?”
“No, hen, that you come from a city. You seem . . . not readily impressed, aye?”
She did turn to him then, without thinking, and smiled.
“Well this . . . these stars impress me.”You impress me.She gazed back at the sky and thought how grateful she was not to have missed this.Not to have missed you.Regardless of what she’d been through, in some small measure, this had made it all worthwhile.
“Thank you.”
“Whatever for, hen?”
“For this.”
Chapter 10
“Does your friend Tom know?” Magda hammered her heel into the solid barrel of her horse’s belly to catch up. It had taken the full two-day ride to Aberdeen for her to realize that the trick to the lazy, gray mare was forceful persistence.
She and James had set out that morning for King’s College on the outskirts of the city, and though it was early yet, the old horse was already asserting her stubborn streak.
“Where you come from? Aye, he knows. And,” James added with a smile, “if he didn’t believe it before, watching you golf brought the truth to your words. I’ve not seen him beaten so handily in quite some time.” He ran his eyes up and down Magda sitting erect in the saddle. “And wouldn’t the jackals of society chatter to see such a fine stroke from a lass? One look at you, and golf would become the latest infatuation of every woman at court.”
She found herself smiling at his compliment. Between the lethargic horse and her awkward saddle, Magda had lagged behind the men on the road to Aberdeen. James had circled back to check on her frequently, and his tireless attentions were chipping away at Magda’s reserves. She was finding it difficult to maintain formality around his amiable chatter, and the two of them slipped once again into easy conversation.
“Of course I can play,” she replied dismissively. “A talent for worthless pursuits was the currency in a family like mine. Golf, horses, skeet—you name it, we prized it.”
Though, hearing herself say it, Magda realized how different the situation would be in the seventeenth century, where an ability with horses and guns would’ve been a matter of life or death.
“Horses!” he exclaimed. “So you say, hen, but I’ve yet to see your skill as an equestrienne. Though”— James pulled his reins, swinging his mount toward Magda to more fully examine her— “you do sit a horse quite prettily.”
“You try riding this silly thing.” Magda scowled. Despite her protests, everyone had insisted she ride a ladies’ sidesaddle. Though beautiful, she considered it to be an entirely preposterous contraption, featuring an uncomfortable hook from which to dangle her leg, elaborate baroque stitching, and to top it off, a small, red-leather-lined pocket she was informed could be used to store a handkerchief.
James nodded, gesturing his hand to her, palm up, as if to say she’d won on that point.
Magda gave him a warm look in return. She didn’t know what dark magic it was that had brought her to this man’s side. Or, she mused, what brand of sorcery was casting a spell on her now, because home sure was a blurry memory at the moment. She supposed she loved her parents, and was fond of her job. She certainly knew she missed hot showers—yesterday’s dunk in a frigid stream hadn’t even begun to touch the soil that clung to her skin like an extra layer.
Magda reminded herself that life for seventeenth-century women wasn’t all tea biscuits and silk duvets, and that it was James’s wealth and status that cast her new surroundings in an unrealistic light.
She knew she wanted to return to her world in Manhattan,hadto return, but the urgency she’d initially felt paled when compared to the fantasy she was fulfilling. The art historian in her was thrilled to be getting such a detailed, real-life glimpse back in time. History was alive around her, with a cast of characters and costumes like something from a movie set, and with a previously unimagined depth that no painting she’d ever seen could bring to life.
Magda had landed in a world where the pace was slow, and yet the stakes were dramatically heightened. Minor injuries could be fatal, a simple change in weather could pose an inordinate obstacle, and people regularly staked their lives for the things they believed in.
And James Graham was about to do just that. She knew in her head that he was just a man, but she marveled at the invisible thread that had pulled her through time to him. A bond that she could just almost feel tied snug around her heart, continuing to draw her close to his side.
Something had happened between them yesterday. First while she studied that broad back during her bath, then later, under the stars. She’d felt the heat of his body radiate to hers and sensed his face turned to her, so close. She shivered, remembering the feel of his breath on her cheek. She’d been so afraid to look back at him, to meet his gaze and the intensity she knew she’d find there.
What would it have been like if she’d turned to him? To be held in his strong arms, feeling that breath mingle with her own, leaning her body into his, hearing his passionate whispers for her alone?
Like a dramatic punctuation to her thoughts, the clock tower of King’s College Chapel peeked through the trees in the distance, and the sight took Magda’s breath away.
“Magnificent, aye?” James pulled his horse to a halt. He seemed pleased by her awe.
Unlike the predominantly granite buildings that made Aberdeen city proper feel so stolid and uniformly gray, the chapel was constructed of sandstone, and from a distance appeared a warm, mottled yellow and brown. Inexplicably delicate prongs and ornate embellishments topped a gigantic stone crown at the top of the tower.
“How did they do that?” she gasped.
“With great precision, I imagine. It’s said there’s a sundial up there somewhere, though you’ll not be able to see it from the chapel itself.”
“And you think Brother Lonan is there?”
