Chapter 13 #2
James had to chuckle at such a kindly understatement of the uptight Lord Napier.
Magda seemed encouraged and, sitting down, embellished, “The man must have worn out the soles of his shoes with all the pacing he did. And packing that small bag of his, and unpacking, and packing again, whenever he got new word about what was happening on the bridge.”
James stilled for a moment as the dreadful thought dawned on him that he had put Magda in harm’s way after all.
He hadn’t even conceived that they could lose the battle.
The horror of what could have befallen her had the townspeople gotten the upper hand chilled him.
Napier’s restlessness hadn’t been high-strung at all. It had been wise.
Pushing that thought aside, James forced ease into his voice. “Aye, that is a peculiar wee valise he has. Margaret would have bought it for him.”
“And you can imagine how he approaches packing the thing. The word tidy doesn’t begin to cover it—” Magda stopped.
James had been trying his best to be amiable, hoping to push the pain of battle to the back of his mind, but images of the day’s senseless killing kept rising to the surface.
“Can you tell me what happened today?” she asked quietly.
“Magdalen,” he began, moderating his breathing as moments from the day came to him in a rush. “I spent a lifetime in hell this day. I spent years studying, training, preparing for a day such as this. To lead soldiers into battle, protecting the rights of my country, its people.”
He caught her eyes and held them. “But the horrors I saw, lass. These men . . . many of them boys yet. They’d pledged their life’s blood for my battle, my dream. And yet, at day’s end, there were only but a few familiar faces among the fallen. These men died under me, and I didn’t even know them.”
She was quiet for some time, then finally ventured, “You could get to know them. Should get to know them. It would make you a better leader.”
“Aye, you speak true. I thought to follow the general. But a man—a true man—stands alongside, not behind. I ken he’s a seasoned soldier, Leslie is, but he doesn’t know most of the men he fights with.
I’ll not accept that a general can have success on the field if he’s no true knowledge of the weapons in his arsenal. ”
He touched his hand to hers, squeezing it briefly, then pulled back.
“So many men, and bedlam all about. The Irish boys took off like a flock of loosed pigeons. The hired men fired muskets and hoped for a fair spot of luck. And the Highlanders. Och, the most blooded of all of us. With nary a musket among them, they were forced to spend the day seated upon their hands as Leslie demanded that the brunt of the attack come but from the center, while we were choked on that bridge like a cork in a bottle.”
Magda hesitated, “Do you have to fight on the bridge? Can’t you fight somewhere else instead?”
“What?” James looked at her flatly.
“Just, I don’t know,” she stammered, looking nervous to say the wrong thing. “Move the battle or something. You know, just come at them from a different place, maybe?”
“It’s impossible.” He shook his head. “The plans have been drawn. The Dee is in flood. Our strength is firepower; we’d never get the men and their weapons across a swollen river.”
“Well, you don’t have to use just the guns, right? I mean, people cross rivers all the time. And most of your men have swords anyway. You just said the Highlanders don’t even have muskets.”
James started to dismiss her once again, then began to think.
“I suppose it could work,” he said after a time.
“So simple, aye?” He nodded now, considering.
“With the Dee in flood, they’d never expect us from the right flank.
” He began to think out loud, passion renewing his voice.
“We scout downriver a bit. Surely we’ll find some place to ford across.
The ponies could manage it. And I know just the lot of men for the job. So simple. It’s brilliant, lass.”
He enthusiastically cupped his hands on Magda’s cheeks and planted an offhanded kiss on her mouth.
He pulled away quickly, and they both froze.
James memorized her face, so close to his, and her eyes, glittering green like a cat’s in the evening twilight.
He marveled at their vibrancy, alight like some rare gem.
He looked into those eyes for just a heartbeat too long and felt panic skitter through him.
He sensed himself in a very different kind of danger, even as her gaze pierced him through and warmed him to the soul.
And it was in that instant James realized he was capable of loving, truly loving, a woman.
Something flickered on the fringes of his mind, urging him to flee, to avoid at all costs this vulnerability. To be rid of this sudden feeling of want that he hadn’t known possible.
Instead, unwilling to help himself, he reached out to her. Tangling his fingers through the fine auburn silk of her hair, he cradled her head and brought his mouth roughly to hers.
She was so soft in his arms. Her full lips opened to him with an eagerness that nearly undid him. He inhaled deeply, hungering for as much of her as he could take, wanting to consume her, to feel Magda’s tongue in his mouth and her breath in his lungs.
She wrapped her arms about his neck and pressed herself against him, her breasts firm against his chest. His hand trembled as he drew it carefully from her hair, grazing down her cheek and jaw, her skin as soft as those rose petals beneath his fingers.
Magda stretched higher, pulling closer, rubbing against him, and more than anything he wanted to bring his hand down and tear the dress from her, taking those breasts in his hands, his mouth.
“Och.” With a groan he pulled himself from her.
“Good Christ, lass, but I want you so.” He brought his forehead to hers and tried to calm his thundering heartbeat.
He breathed slowly, deliberately. “I’m a ruined man, Magda.
Like an angel you are, sent to me from some place beyond my ken, and you’ve doomed me to forever crave your touch. ”
“James.” She whispered his name, and tracing her tongue along his lip, she beckoned him back.
“Magda,” he murmured. “Lovely Magda.” He brought his mouth to hers gently then, and the taste of her moan in his mouth broke him.
He couldn’t do this. She didn’t belong there, in such a brutal, uncertain time. He’d not ravage her in some tent on the eve of battle. He might be a man forever destroyed by her touch, but he’d not bring her down too.
“I must go.” His voice was a hoarse whisper.
James rose from her, had to turn his back to avoid seeing what was the most powerful temptation of his life.
He knew if he were to look once more at her, see the invitation he knew he’d find in her eyes, there would be no going back. He’d not be able to stop himself again.
With a muttered oath, he wandered blindly away, to lose himself in the gray smoke of the soldiers’ camp.