She’d ridden back to Montrose in silence. James’s uncertain destiny made her sick with fear. He seemed so intent on saving the world, just as her brother had. And Magda was terrified that, as it had for Peter, the day would come when James, with some gesture both foolish and grand, would get himself killed. She would lose him like she’d lost Peter. She’d barely survived her brother’s death. Magda couldn’t bear to go through such darkness and despair again.
She needed to protect herself from it. Needed to find her way back home.
She’d thought of his portrait as they traveled, and how it might once again be a portal for her, returning her back to her own time. It had disappeared from his room, but certainly it would still be somewhere in his possession, and she looked for it now.
She loved James— knew with regret and certainty that he was likely the only man she would ever love. She felt the sadness of leaving him already, profound and creeping steadily through her, deadening her to all other emotion.
The shadows grew darker, and she looked to the candle on the floor beside her. It was sputtering now, and she estimated she had but thirty minutes more until she lost the light. She had just one trunk left to go.
Magda knew as the lid opened effortlessly that this would be the one. Reluctance and eagerness both coursed through her. She leaned the lid against the wall and there it was, sitting atop a pile of someone’s long-forgotten dresses. A portrait lying amongst the threadbare velvet and lace. His portrait. And once again it buzzed with the eerie energy she’d felt when it had sent her back in time. It was suffused with life, an almost sentient presence that spoke to Magda. Beckoned her.
Tentatively, she reached down and took the painting in her hands. The black background was even more ominous in the candlelight. It was cold under her touch, yet hummed with its own strange vitality.
She placed the painting on the floor to lean against the trunk. She stared at it, knowing with certainty that it was a door back to her time. Where would it land her? Would she be back in that same workroom, as if nothing had ever happened?
Was this it? Was this all there was to her time with James?
Nausea rolled through her at the thought. She realized a part of her had hoped to find the painting lifeless, had imagined that the decision would be made for her. But just as she’d wanted, the life Magda would lead was hers to choose. She could go forward in time, back to her workroom and her tools, back to her apartment, with hot showers and all the comforts she could imagine. So why was she claimed by doubt that left her feeling so empty and alone?
“Magda!”
She shrieked at the sound of Tom’s voice.
He stood in the open doorway and scanned the room, trying to make sense of the scene. “What are you about, lass?”
Cold dread prickled through her chest at the vision of Tom. Distress furrowed his features, exaggerated in the spectral light of the single candle he held.
“They have him, lass. They have James. He had a price on his head. Some petty laird has betrayed him for gold.”
“I . . .” Bile rose in her throat. “I . . .” Magda looked from Tom to the portrait at her side. Terror and love swelled in her in equal parts.James.
It was happening. What she’d feared most was coming to pass. James had been captured. The man she loved was going to be hanged.
And she was sitting here, rifling through trunks, thinking of abandoning him. Thinking about her old world, things like showers and work. How could she have forgotten how empty that life had felt after Peter’s death? How life without love was a hollow procession of lonely days and unending, sleepless nights?
Magda dropped her hands from the painting as if stung. James would never abandon her. She wouldn’t abandon him now.
She looked at the painting, edging away from it. She loved James, more than anything. To flee now would be an act of cowardice. She would no longer live her life in fear of loss.
She had to try to save him. If she succeeded, she would live with him and love him every day for the rest of her days. The time would come when she’d lose him, or James her, but Magda wouldn’t let the fear of that day dictate her life.
“I can’t leave him.”
“We must run,” Tom said.
She rose steadily to her feet. “We have to find him.”
“There’s naught we can do, Magda.” Tom went to her and grabbed her shoulders, pleading. “We’ll be lucky to escape with our own heads. Listen to me. We leave now, take shelter with the Camerons.”
“You listen tome.” Magda pulled from his grip. “They’ll be expecting us to run,” she said. “Campbell will be looking for us on every road out of here.”
“The more reason to make haste, woman.”
She heard herself say the words before she’d even thought about them. “James said you were once an actor.”
“Aye,” Tom replied, bewildered. “On the finest stages in all Edinburgh.”
“Well then.” Magda looked at the trunks all around her. “We need to find some disguises, because I need to help James.”
