My Heart Stood Still

by Lynn Kurland

  She sat back and looked at him. "It is but illusion."

  "It doesn't look like illusion." He reached out his hand to touch a rose petal. He could almost smell it, and he was certain that if he'd tried hard enough, he could have touched it as well. Just the smallest bit more substance, and he could have felt it beneath his fingers. "It's amazing."

  " 'Tis nothing more than you do," she said, reaching out to pluck a flower from a bush. "Do you not create your thoughts in your head before you speak them?"

  He considered. "I suppose so."

  "Your plans for the tower. Were those not created in your head before you drew them?"

  "Definitely."

  She shrugged. "So it is with my garden. I create it in my mind, and thus it takes shape here before me."

  "It's pretty convincing."

  " 'Tis centuries that I've practiced doing it."

  He made himself comfortable next to her. "Did you garden when you were a girl?"

  "Aye, I did."

  She didn't seem inclined to elaborate, but he wasn't one to give up that easily. He was nothing if not persistent, so he pressed on.

  "What kinds of things did you grow?"

  "Herbs."

  "What kind of herbs?"

  "Medicinal ones."

  He pursed his lips. "Are you enjoying yourself?"

  She smiled as she rooted around another plant of indeterminate origin. "Aye."

  "I'm trying to get to know you."

  She sat back on her heels and looked at him then. "Why?"

  "I'm interested."

  "Why?"

  "I can't help myself."

  She looked at him narrowly. " 'Tisn't much of a reason."

  "Would you rather hear that you're the most remarkable woman I've ever seen, and I want to know everything about you?"

  "Fennel," she said promptly.

  "Fennel?" Well, that wasn't so hard. "You grew fennel?"

  "Aye," she said.

  "It sounds useful."

  "You would have no doubt found it quite so."

  He smiled smugly. "A manly herb, then?"

  "Actually, we used it to heal idiocy."

  He blinked, then laughed out loud. "Well, I'll file that away for future use. Now, what else did you grow? And please leave out all the herbs you think I need to heal my flaws."

  " 'Twill be a powerfully short list, then."

  He scowled at her, but she only smiled, then began to tell him of her garden. He noticed that she paused often, as if she judged the depth of his interest. In reality, she could have been talking about the intricacies of defluking sheep, and he wouldn't have cared. It was enough that she was talking to him.

  His heart was satisfied.

  Of course, listening to the contents of her garden was fascinating as well. As was hearing all she didn't tell him. Judging from the time she spent either tending her plants or carrying them down to the village to heal the sick, he gathered she didn't spend all that much time hanging out with her family. She said nothing about her father nor did she mention any siblings, and he assumed she had all of the above.

  "What did you do for fun?" he asked.

  "Fun?"

  "Amusement. Entertainment. Something other than work."

  She looked off into the distance for a moment or two. "I went up into the hills," she said slowly, staring out over the garden, unseeing. "Or down the meadow in front of our keep. Where I could turn my back on the hall."

  Ah. That was something to chew on.

  "I see," he said quietly.

  She brushed her hands off briskly. "It grows late."

  Thomas looked around him and realized that it would have been pitch dark if it hadn't been for the full moon. He laughed uneasily.

  "I think I was distracted."

  "Gardening will do that to a body," she conceded. "You should go back to the inn whilst you can still see to get there."

  He rose, then looked at her still kneeling at the garden's edge. And it struck him how completely wrong it was to leave her behind. Building her a solar was great, and maybe that would solve the problem in the future, but it did nothing to ease his mind for the coming night. Where would she go? Where would she sleep?

  "Iolanthe ..." he began.

  She turned back to her garden. "Off with you, now. 'Tis a fair walk."

  "I really think—"

  "That you should hurry? Aye, I agree. I've work to do here and no need of further distraction."

  This was not what he wanted to do.

  "Will you—" he began.

  "I've work to do," she said, not looking at him. "So do you. Morning comes early."

  Well, it looked like there was no point in arguing with her. Today. But tomorrow was another day.

  He jammed his hands into his pockets. "I'll see you tomorrow, then."

  She nodded, but she didn't look up at him.

  Thomas backed away, then turned and walked in a sideways kind of way that any crab would have proudly claimed. He just couldn't take his eyes from her. And he was quite sure that the sight of her kneeling in the dirt with the moonlight falling all around her would haunt him for the rest of his days. The desperate loneliness of it was almost enough to make him retrieve his sleeping bag from the inn and unroll it near the bench.

  He paused by the garden gate and waited to see if she would look up. And if she had, he would have made good on his plan.

  But she didn't.

  He sighed, turned, and walked out into the bailey. He nodded to Duncan, who stood guard at the garden entrance, ignored the MacDougal and the Victorian Fop, and parted the large cluster of Highlanders loitering at the gate with almost no thought at all. His eyes were too full of what he'd left behind, and he vowed to himself that he wouldn't leave her behind again. It was clear to him that his head was no longer in control of his fate—and maybe that was for the best, because if he listened to logic at the moment, he probably would have returned to the inn, packed up his suitcase, and headed back to the States.

  Instead, he went back to the inn, ate what Mrs. Pruitt had left for him, and went to bed.

  He had the feeling he would need all his wits about him for the battle ahead, because he was just sure that wherever he wanted to lead her, Iolanthe wouldn't go quietly.

  Chapter 12

  Iolanthe watched as Thomas's workers went about their business. They were no less nervous than they had been the day before, nor since they'd come to work several days earlier for that matter. Her men circled about the lads like ravenous wolves harrying a hapless sheep, despite her having warned them off. They wouldn't show themselves, but she couldn't stop them from hanging about. The saints pity the lads should an all-out battle ensue between them and any number of indiscreet Highlanders.

  She walked out into the bailey purposefully and called for Duncan. He dragged himself away from his post near the barbican and came to her.

  "Aye?"

  "Those are lads who need no encouragement to carry tales to the village. I've asked the men not to show themselves, but I'm worried they'll do it just the same."

  "I'll see to it."

  She watched him go and wondered if her word would be enough. She had been at the keep the longest, and apparently that was reason enough for hers to be the final say—at least at times. The MacDougal certainly would have been happier had things been different. She was a woman, after all. She looked over the men and couldn't help but be a little grateful that they respected her as they did. Perhaps it was that she was of their ilk. Why they found themselves at her keep, though, was still something of a mystery to her. Duncan, she understood. He was kin. Several other MacLeods had come south as well, and that she understood, too.

  As far as the others went, perhaps their ancestral homes were too crowded either with the living or with their enemy dead raising a ruckus—like her father howling forever in the Fergusson's dungeon—that a bit of peace wasn't unwelcome. The MacDougal was, as usual, a mystery as far as his motives went, but perhaps he was etern
ally spoiling for a good fight and thought he'd come to the proper place for it.

  Thomas was coming out of the tower, looking very weary. She found herself, quite suddenly, meeting his gaze. He smiled, and she quickly looked down at herself.

  He shouldn't have been able to see her.

  Maybe he had it aright about seeing so clearly. She'd never known another man who had such a gift. Or a curse. She suspected it might be the latter as Thomas clearly saw the MacDougal sharpening his sword. Perhaps even a mortal blind to those things of the spirit wouldn't have missed hearing the insults Connor spewed forth. She had to admire Thomas's ability to ignore the man. She wished she could have done the same.

  She found herself a quiet rock and went to sit upon it. It would have been a lovely thing to sit in the sunshine and be warm, so she pretended she could feel the like. It was a pleasant afternoon at least, with no rain and but a little breeze. It wasn't often that she had the peace to simply sit and look about her. Usually she was mediating some sort of dispute, listening to Roderick babble, or simply brooding her time away. In fact, she couldn't remember the last time she'd merely sat thusly and let her thoughts wander.

  Perhaps she had Thomas to thank for that.

  The night before had been something of a wonder to her. At first, she'd been bewildered by his interest in her garden. She'd thought that perhaps he'd had one of his own and needed suggestions for plants. That he would be interested in what she was doing simply for interest's sake had been a curious thing indeed. At first, she'd found herself rather uncomfortable talking about her past. But with time, she'd found it perhaps not easy, but possible to think on her memories. Indeed, she'd spent the rest of the night simply staring off over her garden, remembering the things about her life that she'd loved.

  Her garden, surely. She'd claimed a little bit for her own and grown what pleased her. She'd tended the whole of it, especially when there was no friar to do the like, but that little patch of her own had been a joy to her.

  As had been walking the hills behind her house. No one had ever missed her, save Duncan. She'd caught him keeping watch over her a time or two and eventually convinced him to teach her how to fend for herself. In time, she'd been able to escape alone for a handful of days at a time. Only during the summers, of course, but the peace had been welcome. Duncan had also taught her how to use a knife to protect herself, so she'd never feared for her safety. Besides, she was nothing at her keep. It hadn't occurred to her that someone might want to harm her simply because of who she was.

  And that, she had decided sometime during the night, was likely why she hadn't taken the English-man seriously when he'd come to the keep. She'd never suspected that he would want her, whatever the reason. And when he'd taken her away, she'd been too surprised to snatch up any kind of weapon to aid her.

  But perhaps the most startling revelation of the night had been that there was a man—albeit a mortal one—who found her interesting enough to ask questions of. She'd given Thomas many opportunities to yawn, stretch, and beg to leave. She'd fully expected him to suddenly announce that he was tired and would be going.

  She hadn't expected him to stay well past moonrise.

  Stranger still was that she was presently finding the sound of hammers and saws soothing. She leaned back against the wall and listened to the work going on inside the tower. Thomas was driving his lads hard, and for what reason, she couldn't imagine. To her mind, the longer it took him, the longer he would stay.

  And that she wanted him to stay was difficult to believe.

  Perhaps she should have been wed when she was young, before she'd grown so old that the passing attentions of a completely unsuitable man were enough to bring her to her knees with gratitude.

  She looked up to find that same man standing in front of her, smiling down at her. And it was without difficulty that she understood why his attentions had undone her so.

  He was, in a word, beautiful.

  "May I sit with you?"

  "Aye," she managed.

  He sat down on a rock next to her and leaned back against the stone wall. "It's a nice day out. Not too hot. Not too cold."

  "How lovely."

  He smiled at her. "Yes. You are."

  She almost wished he wouldn't say things such as that. "I've already given you leave to restore the tower," she said grimly. "You needn't try to flatter me anymore."

  "Is that what you think I'm doing?"

  She had no intention of answering that.

  "Iolanthe," he said quietly, "I never lie, and I don't exaggerate. And I don't flatter to get what I want."

  "Hrmph," she said.

  "You're beautiful, a pleasure to talk to, and I can't get you out of my mind whether I'm here or at the inn. So sue me."

  "Sue you?"

  He smiled briefly. "It's something we say in the States. You would translate it as 'If you don't like it, take me out back and chop off my head.' "

  That seemed a little drastic, even to her.

  "The MacDougal would be more than happy to help, I'm sure," he added dryly.

  "He has a sour disposition," she said. "I wouldn't take much note of him, were I you."

  "I'll keep that in mind." He stood up. "I'm going to go get the lads taken care of, then I'll be back. Will you wait for me?"

  "Ah ..." she stalled.

  "It won't take long."

  She meant to tell him that she had things to do, pressing things that didn't allow her to wait on a man's pleasure. Of course she had things to do. Many things.

  Which was why she said "Aye" as readily as a lovestruck twit and remained where she was. And, even worse, she watched him walk off and suspected that there might have been an almost pleasant expression on her face.

  "I do not like him."

  She looked at Roderick, who had suddenly made himself visible next to her. "Why not?"

  "He's too glib."

  "Perhaps he's in earnest."

  Roderick snorted.

  "He could mean what he says," she said stiffly. "About me."

  He pursed his lips. "It isn't the subject of his praises I disparage. It is the delivery." He looked at her. "When I tell you you're lovely, you call on that devilish protector of yours and I find myself skewered on his sword."

  "Mayhap 'tis because I find you less than sincere."

  He looked so shocked that she began to wonder if she had misjudged him.

  "Me?" he asked, his hand to his breast. "Insincere? My dear Io—"

  She glared at him, and 'twas likely very formidably done, for he shut his mouth immediately and chewed upon his words. When he'd apparently mastered his errant tongue, he cleared his throat.

  "I flatter, to be sure, but that is habit. With you, my lady, rest assured that the flattery is sincere."

  She found that she had absolutely nothing to say to that either. Perhaps it would have been better if she had been accustomed to receiving compliments whilst she was alive. That men, admittedly only Roderick and Thomas, found something about her worthy of flowery words now was quite astonishing.

  "I—" she began.

  He scowled at her, then vanished.

  Well. That was something.

  Then again, sincere though he might have been, Roderick had been a thorn in her side for centuries, and she wasn't about to look on him with any more favor than she had in the past. The saints only knew what sorts of flatteries might result from that. Intended or not.

  She turned her mind back to her day and realized that she actually had something to look forward to. Waiting for Thomas McKinnon should have been a silly thing, but she found that it seemed of great import.

  Daft, she was. Perhaps she was the one in need of the fennel to cure her idiocy.

  Yet even so, she sat in the sun and waited, as she said she would do. It was quite a bit later when Thomas and his lads emerged from the tower. She was surprised to see them come out through the door that led onto the parapet. Perhaps they had finished their upper floor after all.
<
br />   Thomas dismissed his lads, then came to stand next to her. He looked up at the sky. "It's getting late."

  "Aye, I suppose it is."

  He took a deep breath, as if he steeled himself for some kind of battle.

  "I was thinking," he began slowly.

  Always a dangerous pastime, but perhaps he was more successful at it than most.

  "Would you like to come back to the inn with me? The sitting room is usually fairly empty—"

  "Och, and there'll be none of that!" Duncan exclaimed, standing suddenly in front of them. "She'll be well enough here, thank you just the same."

  Iolanthe watched as Thomas very deliberately put his hands behind his back and looked at Duncan unflinchingly. "You are her cousin, and I feel quite sure that you have taken very good care of her over the years—"

  "Aye, I have," Duncan said firmly.

  "But I am a MacLeod as well—"

  "Aye, through your mother," Duncan said, "or so I've heard."

  Thomas blinked. "You heard?"

  "I'm as capable as you of speaking with the laird down the way," Duncan said.

  "Oh, I see," Thomas said, looking rather taken aback. "Well, I am trustworthy."

  Duncan only grunted, sounding less than convinced.

  "I promise I won't let anything happen to her."

  "And how is it you'll protect her, hmmm?" Duncan asked archly. "With what?"

  Thomas looked momentarily baffled, and Iolanthe couldn't blame him. But she also found quite suddenly that she wanted desperately to go with him.

  The saints pity her for being three kinds of fool.

  "Perhaps," Thomas said slowly, "once I've finished a bit of work on the tower, you'd teach me swordplay? I'm quite sure it will come in handy someday."

  Duncan gave him the oddest look, but the look was there and gone so quickly that Iolanthe wondered if she'd imagined it. It had almost looked for a moment as if he'd been waiting for Thomas to ask something such as that.

  Her cousin then cleared his throat and made a few gruff noises of pleasure. Iolanthe snorted silently. Thomas was wise, she'd give him that. Swordplay was Duncan's weakness, and teaching it to a willing pupil even more so. Duncan was, from that moment on, Thomas's man. With only one last piercing look, Duncan said he would go plan Thomas's training, and he went off, counting on his fingers.