Chapter 14 Magellan #2
He waved his arm impatiently. “You show up in costume with a crown of flowers in your hair looking absolutely medieval. Then you say you can’t remember how you got here?
” He had that mocking tone back in his voice.
“So you conveniently settle yourself into the manor as an invited guest to convalesce—”
“I didn’t settle in. And your mother was the one who insisted I convalesce!”
He kept on as if she hadn’t spoken. “All the while you walk around with this bewildered air as if everything is new to you. Then you proceed to enchant us all with music like . . . like some angel.” He stopped for a moment, as if he’d admitted too much. “Tell me, Miss Brighton, who are you?”
Magellan grappled with what to say. His accusation would have been funny if she could find any of this funny. He was accusing her of pretending to be from the sixth century. She wanted to shout, Wrong century, dude.
“You have nothing to say?”
She finally spoke. “I swear on my life I am not pretending. I don’t know how I came to be in your labyrinth. That is the honest truth. But I will tell you everything I remember after you finish translating all of the diary. I really do need to read it.”
He scoffed. “So you admit there is more you could tell me?”
“Yes. But I need to read the diary first.” She added, “While I convalesce,” throwing the word back at him.
He made a growl of frustration. “Do you know how many pages are left?”
With a determined tilt to her chin, she said nothing. She couldn’t tell him the truth. Not yet.
He brought his horse close to hers. “At least tell me this: Was it arranged for you to appear in the labyrinth, the same day I’ve invited ladies I am to consider . . .”
“Consider?” she prompted, not understanding.
“Courting,” he finished, looking embarrassed.
“The purpose behind this whole ridiculous house party. Which I didn’t even want to have to do, but I must because it’s my duty, and now you’ve arrived to distract me, and I’m in the library translating Old English as if I have nothing better to do with my time! ”
As Rhys vented his own confession, she couldn’t decide whether to laugh or be offended.
Suddenly the festive group up ahead made sense, as well as the hostile looks she kept getting from some of the women.
Only Vivianne, Rhys’s sister, was being nice to her.
“So that’s what this gathering is about?
A matchmaking party? And you think I crashed it to ‘be courted’ by you?
” Of all the pompous, convoluted, 1829 ideas. “Dream on, buddy.”
“Buddy? Is that an American term?”
“Yes, it’s kind of like sir but not as polite.”
“Thank you, madam, for the clarification. I will send out inquiries to search for your family posthaste. They may come and collect you at their earliest convenience.”
“Good!” Magellan’s mouth set in a grim line. “Please do, my lord. Then I can be on my way, and you can get back to your courting. I’m sure all the ladies are beside themselves because you’re showering attention on me. Especially when I didn’t ask for it.”
Right now she could happily hate him. He was arrogant, presumptuous, and too damn attractive with his hair all windblown like that.
She did not have a princess complex or need a man on a white horse.
She was a modern-day woman who wore yoga pants and flip-flops and tank tops.
She lived and breathed music, had graduated top of Juilliard, and was starting to compose a truly epic symphony.
But no, now the world might be ending and she was stuck in Jane Austen–land riding sidesaddle with a man who seemed to think she had some covert plan to get him to court her.
Well, Rhys could go jump in a lake and then dry himself off and translate more of the diary.
Because he was the only one who could read it, and that was all she needed from him.
Mudcake must have sensed her upset because she started trotting to get away from their fighting. Magellan wobbled, trying to stay on. “Whoa, Mudcake.” Then they were off.
Rhys called out for her, “Pull on the reins!”
“I’m trying!”
Mudcake raced downhill in a full gallop. The last thing she heard was Rhys yelling her name before Mudcake reared up on its hind legs and threw her.
Magellan went flying and hit the ground hard, rolling downhill until she stopped, face-planted in the grass.
Her entire body hurt. She couldn’t move.
For a moment she was floating and could almost believe this was all a dream.
In a minute she’d open her eyes and wake up in her bed.
Wren would be making coffee while doing her vocal exercises, and Magellan would shuffle out of the bedroom to sit at the piano and chase the symphony she’d started composing on her birthday.
How did it go?
“Magellan! Magellan!” Rhys’s voice wrested her from the dream.
“Not yet, please,” she begged with her eyes still closed. She wasn’t ready to come back.
Rhys pulled the silly feathered hat off her face and was touching her cheek. “Your neck is bleeding,” he gasped. She kept her eyes closed, wanting only to go to sleep, wake up, and have life make sense again.
He was gentle as he tried to move her. “We need to get you home.”
Home.
She opened her eyes and stared into his eyes. They were as blue as an infinite sky, and for a singular moment she wondered if he was the one who had called her here to this time and place.
“I don’t know how to get home. It’s not possible,” she admitted on a whisper, feeling the traitorous slip of tears escape. She closed her eyes to his piercing gaze, not wanting to see the questions in his eyes because she’d already said too much.