“My elder you may be,” James snapped, “but you’ll not patronize me. I indeed see the truth of what I fight for. I’m driven to battle for a principle, honor-bound to ensure Scotland’s religious freedoms are protected. It is that honor that will find us victorious.”
“Then at least let me take Magdalen. I fear she’s a distraction, and distractions kill, lad.”
“I said no, Napier. Believe me. I would that she were home— away to herownhome.” He stood abruptly, curling his hands into fists then dropping them loose to his sides. “But until that time, I’ll not cast her to the winds. These are dangerous times. She was sent to me and shall remain under my care.”
“Sent by whom? Och,” Napier grumbled when met with James’s silence, “I wish you weren’t so mysterious about this whole business.”
“You must trust me on this. The lass has none but me to turn to. I’ll not send her off until I have more of an . . . understanding of her situation. She can bide with you well outside Aberdeen while I fight.”
“She can bide with me in Montrose.”
“I’d keep her close to me.” James slammed his open palms onto the table in front of him, leaning close to his brother-in-law. “And that is the end of the matter.”
Napier stood to face him. “Who knows how many troops Charles might be marching toward us even now?” He pleaded, “You’ve no reckoning of the fight that could lay ahead.”
“Magda stays,” James said with finality. “Whatever my thoughts on the lass, I’ll not leave her.”
“We march on the morrow,” James announced, settling himself next to Magda on the grassy riverbank. “Our troops are rallied well beyond the Brig o’ Dee under a General Leslie.” He nodded toward the bridge in the distance, whose low, stout arches spanned the River Dee.
“We have some men of high birth, and a goodly number of swords-for-hire, but I doubt we’ll need to resort to such gross tactics.”
“You act like you’re excited about this,” Magda grumbled. She didn’t relish watching him march into the sunset, nor did she want to be shuttled back to Montrose either. Fate had sent her to James, and somehow she’d come to trust him. Despite the close proximity of battle, she’d stay with him as he’d asked. At least until they could find Lonan, and a way back to her own world.
“A chance to trade doublet for armor? Aye, I am excited. But,” he said, swooping up onto his knees, “I’d take a charm for the fight.”
Magda gasped at his suddenly unsheathed broadsword.
“Goodness, that’s some weapon.”
“Aye, indeed it is.” His wicked wink brought an indignant blush to her cheeks.
Balancing it on his forearm, James held the sword aloft. Sunlight glinted sharply off the blade, a couple inches wide at the base and tapered to a deadly sharp point.
“’Twas a gift from my father. He’d wanted to gild the basket,” he said, referring to the thick filigree work that protected the hilt and ultimately would guard the swordsman’s hand, “but I prefer the look of raw steel.”
James moved so quickly, she didn’t have time to protest. One swift flick of his sword, and a small strip of Magda’s hem fluttered between his fingers.
“For luck, aye?” James deftly tied the light blue strip of silk into a knot and pinned it to his bonnet. “You’d not deny the warrior a wee talisman, would you?”
He smiled and reached out to gently pinch her chin. “Don’t look so dire, hen. You’ll keep safe with Margaret’s husband while I fight.”
“So that’s it then?”
If only she’d listened to Walter more. Magda remembered that day at the museum when he’d told her of the horrible fate that James Graham had met.
Would meet.
Was this that moment? Would this next fight bring his death?
She stared sullenly at the river, concentrating on its noisy rush, willing the pounding of water over rock to deafen her to the thoughts in her head.
Tears stung her eyes as renegade memories crept in to stab her unexpectedly, and Magda wondered if she’d ever be able to look at the water the same way. Or if Peter’s death had ruined her forever.
And now James was off, more reckless than her brother ever had been. Magda didn’t think she could bear to watch yet another man cut away from her. She couldn’t withstand more grief.
“To what horrible place have I lost you?” The gentle tone of James’s voice brought out a husky Scots burr. He sat, setting his bonnet on the grass by his side, and the soft brown waves of his hair tousled loose in the wind. “You seem as if you’re the one who’s off to battle. Tell me your mind, hen.”
She tried to inhale deeply, her breath coming in shudders as she fought back the tears. “It’s my brother.”
