My Heart Stood Still

by Lynn Kurland

  Well, his hand was already on the plough. No point in turning back now.

  "While we're gone," Thomas said, "I'd like to ask you some questions if you don't—"

  "The Tolbooth," Duncan was muttering to himself. "Aye, there's a fine place to start. The castle, to be sure, but later, after we've been to St. Giles ..."

  He walked off toward the barbican, still making his list. Thomas looked around hopefully for some kind of aid, but there was none to be seen. Iolanthe was nowhere in sight. He found himself torn between waiting for her to reappear and a desire to get on with his business so he would have a place for her to run to—a place he could find, that was.

  Perhaps Duncan would know what had set her off. Maybe he had moved too fast for her. After all, he'd just managed to get her down to the inn a couple of days before. Maybe she'd never been in a car. Maybe she'd never been to a big city before.

  He waited for another few minutes, but he had no sense of her being in the vicinity. With another look around the bailey, he gave up and walked toward the barbican. He wouldn't be gone long. With any luck, he wouldn't find himself thrown into jail for causing a public disturbance by bringing a ghost to town.

  He caught up with Duncan on the paved road back to the inn.

  "And that house of ill repute. Aye, there's the place for a goodly bit of speech with old mates!"

  Heaven help them.

  It was three days before Thomas managed to pry Duncan away from his buddies arid get him back in the car to go back to the inn. He supposed he could have left the older man behind, but it seemed only polite to get him back before he forgot where he was supposed to live. Thomas found the proper road with only a minor amount of side-seat driving from Duncan, which consisted mainly of disparaging remarks about the constricting properties of roads versus the head-across-whatever-field-pleases-you freedom of a horse, and started toward home.

  The trip had been worthwhile, even apart from Duncan's successes. Thomas had found everything he needed to finish the construction. He'd found a computer system he could live with, furniture for an office and a living room, and things for Iolanthe's room.

  It was the last he'd been most concerned about, and he'd spent a fair amount of time dragging Duncan to antique stores in various parts of town. He'd found much of what he wanted, but the rest he'd been forced to settle for in a department store. He hoped it would please her.

  He hadn't pried as much information out of Duncan as he would have liked. The man was very skilled at talking at great length around the subject you were interested in. Pointed questions about Iolanthe's background had been met with blank stares. So Thomas had settled for hearing stories about her half-brothers and half-sister and used them to reconstruct what he thought her life might have been like.

  What he had learned, though, was that her mother and brother had been wounded in a skirmish with a neighboring clan. The brother had died, and her mother had languished for some time before succumbing herself. Apparently, though, Iolanthe's father had been hard at work siring other children on a mistress during the last few years of Iolanthe's mother's life. Iolanthe's subsequent existence had seemed very Cinderellaish with that crop of half-brothers and a half-sister who, after the death of Iolanthe's mother, had seemed to think she was put there just to see to their comfort.

  But the circumstances surrounding Iolanthe's death were ones that Duncan absolutely refused to divulge. Not even a hint as to the details. Thomas had tried a half dozen different approaches, but all had left him still languishing at the bottom of the mountain, as it were. Duncan simply wouldn't budge. Thomas supposed if he ever learned the whole story, it would be from Iolanthe herself.

  He wondered, however, if he would have the choice. Duncan had no idea, or so he professed, why she wouldn't have wanted to come to Edinburgh. Thomas wondered if it had to do with the car. Duncan had taken to it after a couple of involuntary whoops of some strong emotion as they hit the first major road. There was no predicting what Iolanthe would have done in the same place.

  But if it wasn't the traveling that bothered her, then what?

  Well, he'd get back to the inn and see if she'd been there. He'd show her what he'd bought her and describe the wonders of the city. With any luck, the next time he went, she would go with him.

  And do what was the question, but it didn't deserve an answer. He could take her to the theater or the ballet. They could tramp over historic ruins. They could walk in the moonlight.

  Everything else was superfluous.

  Wasn't it?

  Chapter 16

  Iolanthe stood at the inn's back kitchen door and found herself suddenly quite unable to go any farther. She was, surprisingly enough, desperate for some kind of company besides that which she found herself surrounded by at the keep. But why she had come to the inn was a bit of a mystery, even to her. Never mind that she had a chamber there with things of her own lying about. She'd been up at the keep for three days now, ever since Thomas had gone to the city. She hadn't had the stomach to come back to the inn without him.

  Which left her wondering what was possessing her that eve. Companionship, that was it. But what companions would she find at the inn? She'd seen Fulbert de Piaget and Hugh McKinnon walking down the road to the pub, arguing companionably about which was better, Scotch whiskey or British lager. Ambrose she'd already seen wandering off as well to parts unknown. That left no one at the inn she particularly wanted to see.

  Unless Thomas had returned.

  Which she knew by the lack of his automobile in the front he hadn't.

  But that wasn't to say he wouldn't.

  And that would leave her explaining her cowardice in the face of his invitation, which if she'd had any sense should have sent her back up to the keep to hide in her garden. But her cowardly ways she had put behind her once and for all. How better to show it than to go inside and mingle with those of his ilk, such as Mrs. Pruitt? It would keep her occupied until Thomas returned.

  Iolanthe took a deep breath, then walked through the door. The woman in question was cleaning her stove with a fierceness that even Iolanthe had to admire. She pitied any speck of dirt that tried to hide from Mrs. Pruitt's seeking cloth. Indeed, the woman's concentration looked to be such that Iolanthe couldn't bring herself to interrupt her, so she made herself at home on the boot bench near the door and waited.

  She tried not to think about the reasons she hadn't gone with Thomas, which included a fear of automobiles and an even greater fear that he'd get her to a large city and she would embarrass him in some way.

  By being a ghost, for instance.

  "Eeeek!"

  Iolanthe blinked, then realized that Mrs. Pruitt was staring at her, her hand clutched to her throat.

  Iolanthe tried to smile in a friendly fashion. "Good e'en to you."

  "Ah ..." Mrs. Pruitt began, then she got hold of herself. "Ah, well, the same to ye, miss."

  "I've no mind to disturb your work," Iolanthe said, lest the woman think she had an untoward purpose in mind.

  Mrs. Pruitt felt for a chair and sank down into it with apparent gratitude. "Not a'tall," she said weakly. "I was merely startled. I'm finished with me business here."

  Iolanthe nodded and smiled companionably. "You've a fine kitchen here, Mrs. Pruitt."

  "Thank ye, miss."

  "Your guests are put to bed for the night?"

  "Aye," Mrs. Pruitt managed. "All but young Thomas. I expected him to arrive in time to eat me stew, but 'twasn't to be."

  "Will he return tomorrow?" Iolanthe asked, trying to sound as if she couldn't have cared less.

  "I should think so."

  "Hmmm," Iolanthe said.

  A silence fell.

  Iolanthe leaned back against the wall and folded her hands in her lap. She had no doubt Mrs. Pruitt was bursting with questions.

  "Did you come to see your grandsire?" Mrs. Pruitt asked at length.

  "Laird Ambrose?" Iolanthe asked.

  "Aye," Mrs. Pruitt said rev
erently.

  It was almost out of her mouth that the man was her nephew a time or two removed and not her grandsire, but that would have entailed explaining several things she wasn't sure Mrs. Pruitt could stomach, so she merely shook her head and let the misinterpretation stand.

  "I think he's out for the evening," Iolanthe said. "Actually, I was just hungering for a little talk, and I thought perhaps you might be amenable."

  Mrs. Pruitt looked as if St. George himself had come down and asked her to come with him on a quest. Iolanthe had a hard time not feeling ridiculously pleased over Mrs. Pruitt's obvious delight.

  And then she had a hard time keeping up with the woman's conversation.

  Mrs. Pruitt talked the way she cleaned: vigorously and with a thoroughness that left nothing to chance. Iolanthe nodded and agreed and mostly listened while the woman rattled on as if she hadn't had a good talk in years. By the time Iolanthe found herself peppered with questions about Ambrose, she was too overwhelmed to deny Mrs. Pruitt any answers.

  "I think the laird Ambrose's marriage was arranged," Iolanthe managed when an answer to that was required. "I think the girl bore him a son or two, then passed on. I daresay it wasn't a love match."

  "What a pity," Mrs. Pruitt said, sounding as if it wasn't. At all. "And he never wed again?"

  "I daresay he was consumed with leading our clan. 'Tis a heavy responsibility, you know."

  "Oh, aye," Mrs. Pruitt said, nodding vigorously. "I can just imagine. Poor man. I daresay he could do with a bit of pampering, wouldn't ye say?"

  "Oh, aye," Iolanthe agreed, doing her best to hide her smile. "He's had a lonely afterlife."

  Mrs. Pruitt was on her feet and bustling about so quickly, it almost made Iolanthe dizzy.

  "That can be seen to," Mrs. Pruitt said firmly.

  The dining chamber door swung open, and Iolanthe wondered if the reckoning of her enjoyment at Ambrose's expense would come sooner than she expected. But it wasn't Ambrose.

  It was Thomas.

  "Mrs. Pruitt," he said politely. Then he looked to his left.

  And he smiled.

  Iolanthe thought she might perish from the sweetness of his look.

  "My lady," he said.

  She could only swallow in reply.

  "Miss MacLeod has been telling me of the laird," Mrs. Pruitt said, her excitement barely contained. "You'll have to fend for yourself. I'm off to tidy up me hair for when he comes back, the poor, lonely man."

  And with that, she was off.

  Thomas came across the kitchen and sat down next to Iolanthe on the bench.

  "You've been making trouble," he noted.

  "Trouble?" she asked innocently. "I would never make trouble."

  "He won't appreciate it."

  " 'Twill be good for him. He's always making matches for others. Perhaps 'tis time someone made a match for him."

  Thomas leaned back against the wall. "And what matches has he been making of late?"

  "I daren't ask."

  "Hmmm," he said. "Yes, maybe it's better not to know." He pulled a book from under his arm and laid it on his lap. "I brought you something."

  She looked at it and frowned. "What is it?"

  "A book on costumes. Different kinds of dresses worn by different women through the ages. I thought it might help you decide what to wear for your portrait. I'll turn the pages for you, if you like."

  "I can do it," she said, feeling ashamed all of a sudden. She could do it, aye, but 'twould cost her dearly.

  "But if I do it," Thomas said, "then I get to sit with you for as long as it takes to look at all the dresses. Believe me when I tell you it will be my pleasure."

  And what was she to say to that? She tore her gaze from the book, which did indeed look powerfully interesting, and met his eyes.

  She cast about for something to distract him. "How did you find Edinburgh? Was it to your liking?"

  "Yes," he said. "I hope you'll come next time. You would enjoy it."

  "Did you obtain your tools?" she asked, desperate to avoid any prying questions.

  "I did. I'll get to work first thing in the morning. Want to look at your book now?"

  She was on her feet before she knew what she was doing and blurting out the first thing that came to mind.

  "I'm for bed," she said.

  "Are you staying here?"

  "Aye," she said, then she left the kitchen at a dead run.

  She ran all the way to the chamber she hadn't slept in for three days, stood just inside the door, and shook. So there went all her fine resolves to be brave.

  "Coward," she whispered. Aye, that she was indeed. 'Twas nothing but a simple book. Looking at it would give her time to spend with a man she thought she might come to love.

  Come to love?

  She sank down on the floor, put her hands over her eyes, and wished she could weep.

  It was rather late the next morning when she rose. She ignored Thomas's knock. Once she was fairly sure he had left the inn, she left her chamber, avoided those breaking their fasts at the dining table, and refused to answer any of Ambrose's questions about why she looked so poorly. She left him in the competent care of Mrs. Pruitt and escaped the inn. The last thing she wanted was to talk to anyone about why she was doing what she was doing.

  She truly had little idea herself.

  She toyed with the idea of taking herself off to some far-flung corner of the island, but where would she go? And why would she go anywhere else when her heart was inside her castle gates? In Thomas McKinnon's keeping?

  She surrendered and turned toward the castle. She walked up the way and into the courtyard. Thomas and his two village lads were huddled together, having speech. The garrison was clustered around them. Iolanthe parted the gaggle of men and looked into the circle.

  Well, there obviously was the beast Thomas had brought to give life to his tools. 'Twas a handsome shade of red, she would give it that, but it had little else to recommend it.

  "You know how the compressor works, don't you?" Thomas asked Burt and Charlie. "You turn on the generator to get the juice going ..."

  He turned on a black machine, then gave his attentions over to his red one. The noise that made was irritating but not unbearable.

  "And then every now and again, the compressor will kick on and keep our tools going. Right?"

  Burt and Charlie nodded sagely, as if they'd seen it all before. Iolanthe looked at her men all standing in a cluster about Thomas and wondered if they understood as well. They were all nodding just as wisely.

  And then the red beast gave forth a mighty howl.

  The shrieks of the men and the hisses of swords being yanked from their scabbards was deafening. Burt and Charlie apparently had their eyes quite suddenly opened, for they looked about them and began screaming themselves.

  And then they bolted for the gates.

  And Thomas said a very foul word.

  "Weel, ye never said the wee demon would scream thusly!" Connor MacDougal said defensively. "We were taken unawares!"

  "And now I've lost my work crew!" Thomas exclaimed.

  The beast subsided into blessed silence. Iolanthe watched Thomas and the garrison study each other with varying degrees of disgust and distrust.

  "Beg pardon, Thomas," said one of the men humbly.

  "Shut up, Robert," Connor snarled. He resheathed his sword with a mighty thrust, then folded his arms over his chest. "What'll ye do now?"

  "Look for other workers, I suppose," Thomas said with a heavy sigh. "Maybe from farther away."

  "Mayhap this has taught ye a lesson," Connor continued archly. "Mayhap—"

  "Mayhap when I finish the tower, I might start on the great hall and give you somewhere dry to put your feet up," Thomas said shortly. "What do you think about that, Laird MacDougal?"

  The thought obviously was one Connor hadn't considered, if the look of surprise on his face was any indication. Iolanthe watched him turn the idea over in his head, then come to a decision.
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  "I accept your offer," Connor said, bowing formally. "Be about your work, man. I hate standing in the rain."

  Thomas looked at Duncan. "Any ideas?"

  He considered. "The lads could roam about for a bit. A few weeks. Just until you were finished."

  "What a thought," Thomas muttered. "A visit to the seaside, maybe. A long one."

  "London," said one of the men.

  "France!" cried another.

  "Oh, why stop there?" Thomas asked. "Make it Rome. Great place. I've been there several times. Lots to see. Lots of ruins. Lots of really fine looking Italian women."

  "Dead?" Connor asked doubtfully.

  "I'm just sure of it."

  "Ach, weel, then," Connor said, adjusting his plaid. "Come along, lads, and leave the man to his work." He looked at Thomas. "Have me hall finished when I return."

  Thomas grumbled at him, then turned back to his red beast.

  Iolanthe watched as her entire garrison tromped out through the gates—with the unsurprising exception of both Duncan and Roderick, who remained behind. Thomas leaned over to pat his machine, then straightened and looked at the two men.

  "Staying to help?"

  "Oh, aye," Duncan said, nodding.

  'To keep watch," Roderick said ominously.

  Thomas frowned at him, then looked at Iolanthe and smiled. "An interesting morning so far, as you can see."

  "Aye, I noticed."

  "I'd better go down to the village and see if there's anyone left who hasn't heard their stories."

  "Fetch the priest to come up," Duncan said wisely. "It'll make the lads feel better with a man of the cloth to protect them."

  "No doubt." Thomas looked at Iolanthe. "Want to come?"

  She chewed on her answer, trying to make a nay into an aye.

  "Or you could meet me at the inn for dinner."