Chapter 32
Magda dashed to the room she shared with James. She’d just received word of his return, and news that he’d sustained some sort of injury. The healer passed her on his way out, and his grave nod sent a shiver up her spine.
She’d been sleeping so long apart from him, lying awake through long, cold nights, and wishing so hard for his return, yet she hadn’t imagined it would happen in this way.
Once she’d even tried Gormshuil’s henbane, in search of anything that would grant her rest and a blank mind. But though it seemed to lessen the ache in her wrist, the green concoction only gave her a fitful sleep, sweaty and filled with strange nightmares.
Fear blanched her skin a bloodless white against the dark blue and black plaid of the arisaid that seemed unable to warm her. All she knew was that even the most minor wounds could fester, threatening limb or life.
He sat on the bed, propped up against a half-dozen pillows that appeared ready to slide under his slumped weight. Foul herbal smells assaulted her, infusing the sharp stink of alcohol that hung in the room.
“James?” she said, voice quivering.
“Aye?” His eyelids fluttered open. His cheeks were flushed and eyes bright, and Magda wondered if he wasn’t already fighting a fever. “My Magda,” he said with a wan smile, his voice weak. “You’d rouse any man to life.”
She raced to his bedside, but stood uncertainly, afraid to stir him.
“Come,” he whispered hoarsely. “Give me your ear, hen.” He coughed weakly. “I’d tell you one last thing.”
She leaned toward him on the bed. All her buried anxieties spewed forth to light as she wondered, Was this it? Did her arrival spare James from one fate only to serve him another equally dire? Her heart an ache in her throat, Magda gently touched his cheek with her fingertips.
“Closer,” he rasped.
She leaned closer still, fear for him making her tremble.
James grabbed her suddenly, pulling Magda roughly on top of him, and kissed her hard.
She kissed him back eagerly, inhaling his breath deeply into her own lungs, savoring again the smell of his skin, relief unspooling her muscles in one great shudder. Abruptly, she pulled away and began smoothing her hands over his chest and arms.
“But you’re injured?”
Silent, he studied his calf beneath the blanket, then said, “Och, they’re naught but scratches.” He gestured to his upper arm. “I’d not even realized this one was there ’til the battle was well over.”
“And you let me think . . . James Graham!” She smacked him on the chest. “How dare you? I thought you were dying.”
“Only with love for you, hen.” He grabbed at her again, trying to pull her back to him.
“Dammit, James,” she said, fighting not to laugh. “Don’t do that again. You’ll hurt yourself worse than you already are.”
“Och, they’re nothing. Truly.” He pulled his shirt off to show her a thin bandage wound around his biceps.
“I was on my horse racing back to you before I realized the sting of it.” Magda admired the slide of fabric on his skin, and the sight again of his naked body.
He was leaner, yet the weeks of marching through the mountains had hammered his muscles into even more prominence.
She made to get off the bed. “Magda.” His voice was suddenly earnest. “I need you here with me.” He took her hand to stroke it lightly in his and stared at her in silence for a moment. “I need to see your bonny face instead of these dreadful images filling my mind of late.”
"I’m here—” she began, when he grabbed her hip and put an arm underneath her legs.
“Aye,” he growled, “I need you, Magda.” Her arisaid fell from her shoulders, and he bent down to nip at her breast underneath the wool of her dress.
“And you’ll not move from this place.” James nibbled and kissed his way up her chest to nuzzle at her neck. “Until I say so.”
Desire thickened his voice, and Magda felt the hot rush of her body’s response. All the fear and anxiety and loneliness of the last weeks were submerged by her desire for this man.
Hungry for him, she grabbed and pulled his face to hers.
He moaned in response, a primal sound deep in his throat that reverberated through her.
She couldn’t get close enough to him, felt suffocated by her thick layers of clothing.
James ran his hand down her throat and the creamy expanse of her breastbone.
Her skin pebbled and her nipples tightened in response to the feel of his hands, warm and rough on the cool smoothness of her skin.
She wore a simple tartan dress, with a tight bodice and low, square neck. He dipped his fingers down inside her gown to graze her nipple, and she gasped with the pleasure of it. The urgency to have him subsumed Magda, and she quickly rose to her knees and swung a leg over to straddle him.
Magda felt the hard ridge of him and ground her body into his.
Kissing her deeply, he rubbed his hands up her back and eased his fingers into the ropes of hair gathered at the nape of her neck, loosening and freeing it.
Magda shuddered as she felt the thick weight of it fall onto her back, and bit at his mouth with the joy of it.
James slipped his hand down into her dress again and, cupping her breast, released it from the tight bodice.
The cool air on her skin was quickly replaced by his mouth, hot and sucking on her.
Magda was lost for a moment, then heard the crisp tear of fabric and the popping of buttons as she realized she’d been bared from the waist up.
James hiked the skirts of her dress up and tore the blankets from between them, his movements heated, almost violent, in their intensity.
He slowed and, inhaling deeply, pulled back to hold Magda’s gaze with his own.
“I love you more than life,” he said, and tenderly inched himself into her.
The simple feel of him, filling her, made her eyes tear.
She had to look away then, dropping her head back and closing her eyes, nearly unable to endure such pleasure.
James thrust deeply to the last inch and Magda felt heat tear through her. Breath came in gasps as her body remembered to pull air into its lungs. Her head buzzed as, someplace distant, she felt James pumping fast into her for his own release.
Not more than a quarter hour passed, yet Magda felt like she’d slept for hours, dozing, spent, leaning against his body, her forehead damp against his neck.
“Are you with me, hen?” he whispered.
“Oh yes.” An unintended giggle bubbled up as the relief and realization that James was returned safe finally became real to her.
“Truly, you’d make a man forget his own name.” He kissed her over and over, quick pecks along her face and neck, and Magda giggled in earnest. Her whole body was sensitive, her blood still thrumming just below the surface of her skin.
“But I think we’d best make haste for dinner.” He tucked her hair behind her ears. “I have visions of the Cameron bursting in here to see what’s detained us.”
She rose reluctantly, and a rush of air replaced James’s body, cold on her moist skin.
He flicked back the blanket to reveal bare legs and the wide strip of cloth wrapped around his right calf. James swung his legs over the side of the bed, and a fresh spot of blood appeared, fanning out bright and angry against the white of his bandage.
Magda gasped. “You need to stay in bed.”
“Only with you atop me.”
“Seriously, James.” She studied her torn dress, and not sure what else to do, wadded it into a ball to deal with later.
She opened a trunk at the foot of the bed and retrieved the only other dress in her possession.
She’d been able to successfully avoid dresses in the more extravagant fabrics, and despite the judgmental once-overs of women like Mairi, the warm tartan wool was quickly becoming her favorite.
She clutched the dress to her breast, somehow more capable of argument when she wasn’t completely naked. “You really shouldn’t be up and around on that leg.”
“Och,” he muttered. He stood and shifted his weight from foot to foot, testing his wound. “Not when I hear Tom Sydserf’s come to call.”
Magda gaped at him, aghast at the nonchalance with which he treated his injury.
James looked at her and smiled. “Don’t fash yourself on my account, hen.” He hobbled to Magda. “I’ve had enough potions and salves to last me a lifetime of battles. You’re the only medicine I need.”
“Alright.” She swatted him with her dress, trying to appear impatient. “Enough sweet talk.”
Magda began to dress, watching from the corner of her eye as he flicked out the length of his plaid and slowly wound it round himself.
“Our Tom, reemerged at long last.” James limped to a basin by the bedside and scrubbed water on his face. “Have you seen him then?”
At her nod, he continued, “It remains to be seen under what capacity my friend has decided to present himself. Hogmanay has passed, or I’d have wagered he’d some sort of holiday dramatique planned for us.”
“No.” Magda smiled, amused by the notion of portly Tom in any sort of theatrical endeavor.
She brushed out the length of her hair. There was no way she could ever recreate the elaborate style perpetrated upon her by one of the Cameron maids, so down it would have to be.
“He claims to have some news, though he wouldn’t tell any of us till you returned. ”
“News, eh?” James made his way to the door. “Well, we’d best go down for dinner where we can hear it, aye?” His gaze roved down her body. “I find I’m suddenly quite famished.”
He winked, and she was surprised to find that he was still able to make her cheeks flush red.
“Aye, good man,” Tom bellowed, already well into his third glass of brandy. “March south, I tell you. You’ll receive a hero’s greeting.”
Will Rollo was with them, expansive at the thought of traveling once more. “I’ve heard murmurs that Charles has regained control over Parliament.”
“Och”—Ewen glowered—“whose murmurs?”
Ignoring the young laird, Tom continued, “I’m told the Lowlands want to rally for you, James. You see”—he leaned in conspiratorially—"after chasing you to Oxford and back, I traveled for a fortnight in the border towns.”
“Forsaking your dramatic career for one as a spy, is it?” James laughed.
“And why not?” Tom beamed proudly. “I had the honor of supping at Traquair House, in Peebles, where I met a number of prominent noblemen.” His cheeks flushed crimson with his excitement. “The south is near filled with recruits anxious to take the bit and join you.”
"Aye, James,” MacColla chimed in, emphasizing his point by waving the dinner knife in his hand.
“I expect your men have the right of it. Place your humility elsewhere.” He took a bite of roast venison and spoke as he chewed.
“We’ve trounced the Covenanters up and down these Highlands. No false modesty about it.”
Magda looked down to saw at the hunk of meat on her own plate, biting her lip not to smile. MacColla’s broad personality and manners ranged from startling to amusing. He caught her eye and, gesturing again with his knife, gave her an exaggerated wink.
“’Tis not false modesty, my friend.” James pushed his plate away.
“’Tis merely good sense. I question all intelligence.
” He picked up his drink. The leaded glass was thick with a slight taper to it, and it felt good and solid in his hand.
Swirling his brandy, he eyed the thin ropes of tawny liquid left in its wake.
“Most particularly those reports with such grand estimations of yours truly.”
“And will you ride south with us?” Ewen asked of Tom, still wary of his enthusiasm. “I didn’t see your face when we slept with the snow for a pillow, or ate rabbit tasting of winter’s freeze.”
Tom flushed to be called out so, and sat tall in his seat, inadvertently creating a gap between his breeches and the vest that strained over his belly.
"Easy, Cameron.” MacColla laughed.
“Have another, lad,” James said, reaching over to refill Ewen’s glass. “It will serve you well.”
“I ken you’re like his family,” Ewen told Tom. Then the young laird turned to James and added, “But how can you be certain you’ll be greeted a hero with the word of just one—”
“Och, enough.” James slammed his hand on the table.
“I’ll not scour the country in search of accolades.
But I do see the wisdom of a southern campaign.
And I will continue to rely on Tom for his assistance.
” James looked to his friend. “If you’re willing, aye?
I know you’re no soldier, but I am in want of a trustworthy spy. ”
“It’s high time for another adventure.” Tom raised his glass to James. “I’d not miss the fetes in your honor, my dear Marquis.”
“I remain ever at your side as well,” Rollo said gravely.
"And what of you, MacColla?” Ewen asked. His brandy still sat untouched before him. “Do you still march with us?”
"No,” MacColla replied nonchalantly, picking at the meat in his teeth. “I head west, not south.”
Startled, James put his glass down hard. “This is unexpected, Alasdair.”
"Oho! My Christian name.” MacColla laughed. "I must be in your poor graces.” He pushed back his chair, the wood screeching loud against the stone-flagged floor. “Aye, James, ’tis true.” He kicked his crossed ankles onto the table with a small nod to Magda as if to beg pardon.
“’Twas a fight against the Campbell that I reckoned on, not a fight for the king, and that is the fight I shall continue to wage.
I’ll leave you some number of MacDonald swords, but I take the rest of my men west. To head south with you would be to put Clan Campbell at my back, and I’ll not be sated until the Highland sod is manured with the blood of all Campbells. ”
James was silent for a moment, holding MacColla’s gaze. "So, my friend,” he finally said, “farewell it shall be.” James raised his glass, and with a wistful smile added, “But first we drink together, to the destruction of an old enemy.”
"Aye.” A huge smile split MacColla’s face, and he downed his brandy in one gulp.
“And let’s not forget James,” Tom said. “To James, whose military prowess and superlative leadership dogged the Covenanters hither and yon throughout bonny Scotland.”
“Are you quite done, man?” Ewen glowered, holding his brandy impatiently.
“And may he finally reap the fruits of his battle cunning,” Rollo chimed in, over James’s amused protests.
“And journey safely south,” Tom added, “to hear the first of accolades that will be sung of him for generations to come.”
Even Ewen laughed then, the men suddenly giddy with drink and triumph.
Then James looked to Magda. She’d been sitting silently, turning the glass around and around on the table in front of her. She returned his gaze, anxiety chilling her green eyes, and the smile bled from his face.