My Heart Stood Still

by Lynn Kurland

  "If he has two good eyes in his head he can," she said. "I can make myself quite visible."

  He smiled. "I'm sure there are many who could attest to that fact, though I don't know that they would be quite so calm about it."

  She pursed her lips but said nothing more. It was probably better that he not know how many men she had truly frightened to death.

  "Tell me about the lightbulbs again," she said, trying to distract him.

  "If you want," he said, settling in for what looked to be a very thorough explanation.

  She sat on the edge of the bathing tub and listened as he explained yet again the whole process of electricity. He told her about the lightbulb and its inventor, Thomas Edison; then he went on to tell her how many Scots had invented a great number of things.

  After a time, he looked at her sheepishly. "Sorry. I tend to get carried away by these kinds of conversations. Will you come downstairs with me? I'm sure our preservationists have finished by now and are already up at the castle ready to tell me how much they hate my plans."

  Iolanthe nodded and rose. She looked longingly at the chamber as they passed through it to the passageway.

  "You know," he said, stopping her at the door, "the room is yours for as long as you want it. If you have anything you want to leave here, you can."

  "Things?"

  "Personal things."

  "What personal things could I possibly need?" she asked.

  He paused, then nodded briefly. "You're right. I think maybe I'm better off today just keeping my mouth shut and working."

  She looked down at the comb she still held in her hand. 'Twas naught but illusion, of course, but it would last a very long time if she willed it. She'd kept her garden up for years at a time if she created it carefully enough. Why not a comb and a few trinkets lying about here to give her comfort?

  She crossed the chamber, laid the comb on the little table under the window, then crossed back over to Thomas. He smiled at her, then opened the door for her. She left the chamber first, then followed him down the stairs and to the dining chamber.

  There was no one breaking their fast at the table, but the moment Thomas pulled out a chair for her and then sat down himself, the innkeeper bustled in with food for him. She looked at Iolanthe.

  "Will you ... um ..."

  "I thank ye kindly, good woman," Iolanthe said, "but nay."

  The woman would have looked relieved if her eyes hadn't been bulging so far from her head. Thomas only chuckled into his eggs as the door closed behind the innkeeper.

  "Do you find something amusing?" Iolanthe asked archly.

  He shook his head. "It's just Mrs. Pruitt is probably dying to ask you a thousand questions—mostly about Ambrose— you're sitting there looking as regal as a queen, and she just doesn't dare."

  "Perhaps she isn't comfortable with a ghost at her table."

  "You haven't seen the way she looks at Ambrose."

  She sighed. "She'll have little satisfaction from me, I fear. I can tell her far less about him than she'd like."

  "Well, don't tell her that. I think she thinks she's just found the perfect source for details."

  "Then she should choose a less ignorant woman."

  He sat back in his chair and looked at her solemnly. "Why do you think you're ignorant?"

  "Because I know nothing."

  "What have you been doing the past six hundred years, Iolanthe?"

  'Truthfully?"

  "Yes."

  She couldn't look at him, so she stared at the opposite wall. It was heavily paneled in the style so popular during Elizabeth I's day. That much of history she knew, for she'd been watching events if not with interest, at least with dismay.

  "The first two hundred years, I mostly sat about and raged silently over the injustice of it all." She looked at him briefly. "It was passing unfair, you know."

  "Yes. I know."

  "The next two hundred years, I watched the events unfold around me. I saw men come and go through my gates, listened to their talk at the table, saw the armies going north. Frightening the worst of them seemed within my power, and I did it ruthlessly."

  "To save your kin."

  "Aye." She sighed deeply. "But after Culloden and the slaughter there, I couldn't watch anymore. I couldn't listen anymore. So I made certain than no man stayed more than a few hours inside my gates. The castle became part of a lord's estate, but I never cared to find out who. It fell into disrepair, and that suited me perfectly."

  "But," he began quietly, "what did you do? What did you do each day from the time the sun rose until it set? What did you do each night as you watched the moon cross the sky?"

  She did look at him then, because she could do nothing else.

  "I waited," she said.

  "For what?"

  She paused. "Change."

  He said nothing in return; he simply stared at her. Then he spoke.

  "And has it come?"

  There it was again. She breathed deeply, felt the tang of autumn's chill in the late-summer air. Autumn had always been her favorite season. Free from the long, endless flatness of summer. New colors on the mountains, crisp breezes filling the air, her mind full of thoughts of long winter evenings passed by the fire.

  And dreams of a man to share it all with.

  She looked at Thomas McKinnon, with his dark hair falling into pale blue eyes, with his beautiful face smiling just the slightest bit, with his strong hands resting on the arms of his chair, and she knew that change had come. It had come in the form of a man who wanted to build her a place of her own, who had thought her important enough to care for, who considered her shrewd enough to share the great secrets of modern marvels with.

  With her. Iolanthe MacLeod. Eldest daughter of a man who didn't think enough of her to remember her name.

  "Aye," she said finally. "It has."

  "And is this a good thing?"

  She managed a nod. "Aye. It is."

  "I understand the feeling." He smiled at her. "Are you ready to go?"

  She nodded and rose with him. They left the inn and walked back to the castle. Iolanthe hesitated at the gates. It almost felt as if she no longer belonged. She didn't think she'd spent a single night away from this place in over six hundred years.

  But lest she look the fool for finding that odd, she put one foot in front of the other and continued on her way.

  Over the course of the rest of the day, she learned a great deal about the man she was watching. First was that he wasn't afraid to work. It had to have been cold. A fine rain started up midday and didn't relent until evening, yet still he worked. His helpers had begged off for the day, yet still he didn't shrink from what he had to do.

  And while he worked, he told her stories of his past. She didn't understand half of what he said, but she was loath to admit as much. And she tried not to feel shame when he looked searchingly at her a time or two, then repeated his tales with such simple details that even a child of few wits could have understood him.

  He had received his university laurels for a study of history. He'd studied the law. Then he'd built an enterprise by himself and sold it at great profit. Of course, he didn't miss the opportunity to tell her of the impossibly high mountains he'd climbed. Even though she had seen the photographs, she couldn't even fathom it, so she merely nodded and humored him.

  All of it made her feel that her own life had been very small and insignificant, yet somehow as the day wore on, he pried her own tales out of her.

  And he made her feel that her own life had been very important indeed.

  He was full of questions about how she'd lived, how her days had been passed. His admiration for what poor things she did know made her feel as if perhaps her days hadn't been completely wasted. After all, she did know much about physicking the ill, birthing babies, and tending livestock. She could spin, weave wool, and dye cloth with the herbs she gathered in the fields. She could feed many on little, knew how to count to one hundred, and could sing any
number of lays and ballads while remaining almost completely on key.

  By the time the sun had set, she wondered how it was she had passed the days before Thomas had come.

  And she began to wonder how she would do the like when he left.

  One thing she wasn't was a fool, and she knew that there

  would be little to hold him at the castle once 'twas finished. The man was ambitious—that she recognized well enough. He would grow restive, then fractious, then he would pack up his belongings and be gone.

  "Are you ready to go?"

  She looked away from her contemplation of the courtyard. Thomas stood before her, quite filthy but smiling. Iolanthe took a deep breath.

  "I think perhaps I will remain."

  "Were you unhappy last evening?"

  She shook her head, but she couldn't speak.

  "Change is in the air, Iolanthe," he said gravely.

  It frightens me, was what she wanted to say. Instead, she said, "I've a great deal to do here, what with the men and all."

  "The men will keep."

  "My garden—"

  "That will keep, too." "I—"

  "Iolanthe," he said with a half smile, "come with me."

  "But—"

  "Just come."

  "Why?" she asked him, pained. "What does it matter?"

  "It matters. It matters very much."

  She suspected that if he could have dragged her along by the hand, he would have. She sighed, rose, and walked with him down the road and back to the inn.

  And she prayed she wasn't flinging herself into a battle for her heart that would end only one way.

  Badly for her.

  But as he drew her into the inn after him, smiling in welcome, she found that, foolish or not, her heart was eased. Perhaps it would go badly for her in the end, but for now she was content.

  She steadfastly refused to think about the future.

  Chapter 15

  Thomas stood the next morning in Thorpewold's inner bailey and looked down at his blistered hands. He didn't need to flex his arms to know they were sore enough to fall off. It was a very romantic theory to rebuild the keep with hand tools. In reality, it was a really stupid idea. Though he'd already laid one floor and was well on his way to finishing the second, he knew he couldn't keep this up any longer.

  He looked at his helpers. "Lads, this isn't working."

  They looked so relieved, Thomas almost laughed. He handed them a day's wages.

  "I've got to find a generator and some power tools. Any ideas on where?"

  "Edinburgh," Burt replied promptly.

  "Only place to go," said Charlie just as promptly.

  And then they both promptly turned and fled out the front gates. Thomas supposed he couldn't blame them, even though Iolanthe's men had been on their best behavior. Except Connor, but Thomas suspected that there was a man who couldn't be controlled at any price. Poor Burt had borne the brunt of Connor's irritation because the laird had snarled at the boy every time he'd passed near him. From all appearances, Burt hadn't heard anything, but not even a simpleton could have missed the waves of ill will that flowed like the Force from the MacDougal.

  Thomas turned to find Iolanthe in one of her usual places, sitting on a rock, watching him work. He shoved his hands in his pockets, then immediately regretted it and pulled them out. He walked across the bailey and sat down on a rock next to her.

  "I think I'm going to have to get a generator."

  "A generator?"

  "It's portable power," he said. "I have a few tools that will make the building go much faster, but they need juice to run them." He looked down at his hands. "I could do it myself with what I have, but it doesn't get the tower finished very soon."

  "Have you that much haste?"

  He looked at her, surprised by the question. He wanted very much to believe that she didn't want him to finish because she liked having him around working, but he wasn't sure he could go that far. So he smiled gamely and went with the best thing he could think of short of asking her if she. was afraid he would finish and go.

  Because then she'd tell him she couldn't care less if and/ or when he went, and he didn't want to hear that.

  "The sooner the tower is finished, the sooner we have shelter for the winter."

  "The weather doesn't plague me."

  "But it plagues me to think about you standing out in it. I'd like to have your room finished so you have a comfortable place to be when you're at the castle. But," he added quickly, "you can stay at the inn as long as you like."

  "Mrs. Pruitt is making herself daft trying to dust my things," she said with a glint in her eye.

  Thomas laughed. "I don't think you should be enjoying it that much."

  "She's trying to appease me so I will tell her tales of Ambrose."

  "She wants him."

  "Fiercely," Iolanthe agreed.

  "I'd be scared if I were him."

  Her smile faded abruptly. "Because she is mortal and he is a ghost?"

  "Of course not," he said quickly. Perhaps he should have stopped to consider why she'd asked that, but he didn't dare. "If I were Ambrose, I would be terrified because she's Mrs. Pruitt, and once she gets her hands on him, his life will never be the same."

  "Ah," Iolanthe said with a nod. "I see."

  "Do you?"

  "She is a rather formidable woman," Iolanthe said.

  "She would have made a good field general," he agreed. He leaned back and enjoyed the weak sunlight, hoping that Iolanthe wouldn't notice his rather tangible relief over a land mine successfully negotiated. What had she meant by all that? That a relationship between a ghost and a mortal wasn't a bad thing? Was she concerned he might think it was? Was she actually considering the like between them?

  Had he completely lost his mind?

  "Let's go to Edinburgh," he said, rising abruptly and gingerly dusting off his jeans. He should have stopped sooner. His hands were fried. "I imagine it's the only place I'll find a generator, and it's not too far a drive."

  She shook her head. "Thank you, but nay."

  "Come on, Iolanthe," he said with a smile, "I promise not to run into anything."

  "Thank you kindly, Thomas, but I've things to do here."

  How was it that the sound of your very own name from a woman's lips could leave you wanting to go down on bended knee and promise eternal devotion?

  Losing it?

  No, he'd lost it.

  Right then.

  "What's the real reason?" he managed. "We may as well be honest with each other."

  She glared at him. Silently.

  "Are you embarrassed to be seen with me?" he asked.

  "Of course not."

  "Have you ever been to Edinburgh?"

  "Nay."

  "I hear it's a great city."

  She looked at him in consternation, then panic, then she turned and vanished.

  Damn it, he was going to gape again. He shut his mouth with a snap before his jaw got completely away from him. He looked around the bailey, but Iolanthe was nowhere to be seen, not even with his clear vision.

  "All right," he said, finally. "I don't get it."

  There was no answer.

  "Are you sure you won't come?" he called.

  The Victorian Fop, as Thomas had termed him, appeared before him, dressed to the nines.

  "She said," he said curtly, "that she didn't want to go with you. So begone, and may you meet with a sad accident on your way and not return."

  Thomas studied the other man and ran through his mind a list of uncomplimentary names he could call him. He didn't swear all that much, preferring to use an icy blue stare and a cutting remark to make his point. Because when it came right down to it, a carefully chosen insult just couldn't go wrong.

  He looked down at the Fop's knees. "Your tights are baggy," he said.

  The other man looked down and gasped in horror. "Bloody hell, will you look at that!"

  "I am. Unfortunately."

 
; The other drew his sabre with a flourish. "You'll pay for that insult." He brandished his sword and promptly dropped it point-down into his shoe.

  "I'd learn how to use that before I started promising to do damage with it," Thomas said with a sad shake of his head. "To anyone but yourself, of course."

  A chuckle caught his attention and he looked up to see Iolanthe's cousin, Duncan, standing nearby.

  "He has it aright, Roderick," Duncan said, walking over and shoving the other man out of the way. "Be off with ye, ya frilly bugger, and leave us to our manly business."

  Roderick spluttered and cursed, but when Duncan put his hand on his sword hilt, the other man vanished to parts unknown. Thomas looked at the older man with frank admiration.

  "I'd like to learn to do that."

  "Intimidate?"

  "Wield a sword," Thomas said dryly. "The other I think I can manage on my own."

  "Men of your ilk, perhaps," Duncan conceded. "Scots who're accustomed to battle? I think not."

  "All right, so we'll start swordplay sooner than I planned," Thomas said.

  "It will take time," Duncan said.

  Thomas didn't miss the searching look.

  "I'm not going anywhere."

  "Until the keep is finished."

  Thomas found that he had no good answer for that. His plans hadn't included living in England for the rest of his life.

  Then again, his plans hadn't prepared him for Iolanthe.

  "I have a great deal to think about," Thomas said with a sigh.

  "Have a care with her heart."

  Thomas looked at the older man, and an idea occurred to him suddenly. "Would you like to come to Edinburgh with me?"

  "Weel, aye," Duncan said brightly, his eyes alight. " 'Twould be a pleasure. Last time I was there, they were walling people up in the closes on account of the plague."

  "Closes?"

  "Little streets of sorts," Duncan said. "You'll see." He rubbed his hands together. "Ah, who knows who I'll see thereabouts?"

  "Don't tell me Edinburgh's haunted as well."

  "Are ye daft, man?" Duncan asked, blinking.

  "Um..."

  "A city of that size? With that kind of bloody business done in the streets?" He looked at Thomas as if he'd just lost his mind. "Of course 'tis haunted!"

  "Of course," Thomas agreed, wondering what he'd just gotten himself into. Did he really want to know what went on beyond most men's veil of sight in Edinburgh? A ghost walk was one thing, where you knew they were just telling you stories to give you goose bumps. Actually going on a ghost walk that was, well, a ghost walk with Duncan MacLeod as his guide—now, that was really something.