My Heart Stood Still

by Lynn Kurland

  "In a car? Sure. On horseback? Well, that'll take some doing."

  She couldn't understand the trouble, but perhaps there were several things she wouldn't understand at first.

  Such as what she was going to do with the rest of her life now that she had it to worry about.

  By the saints, she hoped Thomas hadn't made a mistake in rescuing her.

  Chapter 36

  Thomas decided, as he rode up to the inn and dismounted, that he would never again complain about the miracles of modern travel. He'd done probably three hundred miles on horseback over the past month, most of it at a gallop, and all he wanted was to sit on something that didn't move. Sitting for a week at Artane hadn't counted. He wanted to sit in an overstuffed chair in Mrs. Pruitt's sitting room and vegetate until he was sure his backside had recovered from its abuse.

  The good news was, he was now positive he'd made it back to the right century. Mrs. Pruitt's little car was tucked snugly against the house.

  The bad news was, he just wasn't sure what was going on inside Iolanthe's head. He looked up at her still sitting astride her horse. He could hardly believe that she was real. All things considered, getting her home had been a very easy thing.

  Too easy.

  He wondered if this was how men felt walking innocently into a field and subsequently finding out it was full of mines.

  One false move and he was toast.

  "Shall we go in?" he asked.

  She nodded, then started to dismount.

  "Wait—" he began, but she had slid down off her horse before he could help her.

  "I am able," she said.

  He shook his head. "I was just trying to help."

  "But you've done so much already."

  "It wasn't that much."

  She looked up at him but said nothing.

  He could see the misery in her eyes, and the indecision.

  And in that instant, he understood the predicament he'd put her in. He'd considered it before, briefly, but it hadn't been enough to stop his plans. But now he couldn't ignore it.

  There she was, in an alien world with no one to help her but a man who claimed that he loved her and that she had loved him in a different time. A time she had no memory of. Obligated to a man she didn't know.

  Hell, what was he supposed to do now?

  Solve it later. Yes, that's what he'd do. For the moment, though, what he wanted was a hot shower, dinner, and a good night's rest. Preferably in that order.

  "How about a bath, then dinner?" he asked gently.

  She looked so desperately out of her element that he found himself acting without thinking. He reached out and gently tucked an errant strand of hair behind her ear, then smiled gamely.

  "Rough day?"

  "I fear such will be my lot in this Future of yours," she said with a wince.

  "Let's get something to eat and some rest. You'll feel better in the morning."

  She only hesitated a moment before she nodded. "Who will see to our animals?"

  "Good point," he said, looking around hopefully for a stableboy to materialize. Maybe there was something to be said for fourteenth-century living. Finding no servants lingering about for his pleasure, he tethered their horses to a handy Mercedes side-view mirror, then led Iolanthe into the house.

  And who should he see leaning against the sideboard but that proud laird, Ambrose MacLeod.

  Thomas smiled broadly. "How are you, my lord?"

  Ambrose's smile was just as broad. "I could not feel more myself, lad. And look who you have with you. Our lady, in the flesh."

  Thomas looked at Iolanthe to find her staring at him as if he'd lost his mind.

  "Who," she managed in a strangled voice, "are you speaking to?"

  Thomas blinked. "You can't see him?"

  "See who?"

  Thomas looked at Ambrose to find the laird frowning thoughtfully.

  "No one," Thomas said, turning back to Iolanthe. He smiled. "No one at all. Let's go find Mrs. Pruitt. She's the innkeeper. She'll get you settled."

  Iolanthe looked at him skeptically. "More ghosts?"

  "Do you really want the answer to that?" .

  She looked slightly queasy, so he didn't press the issue. He put his hand under her elbow and started toward the reception desk. As if on cue, Mrs. Pruitt appeared. And when she saw Iolanthe, she nodded in her usual fashion, then looked at Thomas.

  "A costume, lad? Rather a fine one, I'd say, but a bit travel-stained. Mayhap ye should get yerself clean before ye dirty up me entryway."

  "I have three horses," Thomas began. "I'm not sure—"

  "Horses, now?" she said, frowning in displeasure. "Yer gear was no trouble, to be sure, for it went in the shed, but horses?"

  "Back garden?" Thomas suggested.

  Mrs. Pruitt drew herself up. "Trampling me rosebushes?"

  "Fertilizing them," Thomas countered.

  Mrs. Pruitt considered, then nodded shortly. "Very well. For the moment, mind ye. I'll ring hereabouts and see if I can find ye a stable for the morrow."

  "I'd appreciate it. Now, if it wouldn't be too much trouble, would you mind seeing to Miss MacLeod?"

  Mrs. Pruitt waved her away. "Up the stairs, me girl. You know where it is."

  Iolanthe looked at her archly. "My good woman, I do not know where anything is in your inn. How would I?"

  Mrs. Pruitt blinked, then peered closely at Iolanthe. She approached, looked at her even more closely, then reached out and poked her in the arm with her finger.

  Iolanthe gasped.

  Mrs. Pruitt gasped.

  And then that stout-hearted woman fainted.

  Ambrose sighed. Thomas was ignoring him and could only try to rouse Mrs. Pruitt without any aid or comment from Mrs. Pruitt's would-be beau.

  "What ails her?" Iolanthe asked.

  "Weak constitution," Thomas muttered. He managed to haul Mrs. Pruitt up into a sitting position, then patted her cheeks gently until she came to with a splutter. She looked at Iolanthe with wide eyes.

  "Why ... ye're ... um..."

  Iolanthe grunted. "Aye, most likely."

  "Laird Ambrose said ... but I never expected ..." She looked at Thomas with wide eyes. "Ye were successful, then."

  "Yes."

  "Ye'll be wantin' a bath," Mrs. Pruitt said, sounding stronger already. She accepted Thomas's help to her feet, then shook her head. "What a disappointment I've been. Falling apart at me post—"

  "Don't give it another thought," Thomas said. "This has been a hard day for everyone. You know, what we'd really like is a bath, then maybe some dinner if that wouldn't be too much trouble."

  "Not at all," Mrs. Pruitt said. She looked at Iolanthe and took a deep breath. "Might I help ye with a bath, miss?"

  "You might," Iolanthe said, rubbing the shoulder where she'd been poked quite enthusiastically. "Though I imagine I can manage to get myself clean enough if water can be fetched."

  Mrs. Pruitt seemed to gather her wits about her. "No need to fetch water, miss," she said. "It comes straight into the bath."

  "How?"

  "Come up, and I'll show ye." She looked Iolanthe over quickly. "No bags? Well, we'll find something for ye. Lady Blythwood is surely yer size. I feel confident she's left things behind that will suit."

  Thomas watched Mrs. Pruitt hustle Iolanthe off up the stairs, receiving only a quick look of panic from Iolanthe and an equally brief look of command from Mrs. Pruitt.

  "Poor girl," Ambrose said. "You were successful, I see."

  "For all the good it will do me. She didn't remember me."

  "It was a slim hope that she would, my lad."

  "Yet you remember her, don't you?"

  "I do indeed."

  "Then how do you remember her, if she was never a ghost?"

  Ambrose stroked his chin thoughtfully. "I daresay, Thomas my lad, that our grasp of time is very flawed. To my mind, she was a ghost for several hundred years. Just because I now see her in the flesh doesn't change the past."
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  "But I changed the future."

  "Did you?"

  Thomas rubbed his hands over his face. "This gives me a headache."

  "You created a new future," Ambrose pressed on. "But that doesn't negate the old one. 'Tis only Iolanthe who cannot find herself in two places at once. But she has already walked the path of a ghost. Walking now as a mortal woman doesn't change that."

  "Then why can't she remember it?"

  Ambrose smiled kindly. "A mortal frame draws something of a veil over the spirit's mind, Thomas. I daresay, were you free of its confines, you would find yourself remembering a number of things you wouldn't believe you'd forgotten. Perhaps when that time comes that she finally and in truth passes over to the other side, she will remember all that has transpired before. In both her lifetimes."

  "She probably won't like me any better then than she does now," Thomas said. "Which isn't much, apparently."

  "Truly?" Ambrose asked, sounding surprised. "She didn't seem opposed to you."

  "She isn't falling into my arms either."

  "By the saints," Ambrose said with a laugh, "you complain of another chance to win your lady? It was done once. You can now do it again with fewer mistakes."

  "I didn't make that many mistakes the first time."

  Ambrose pushed away from the buffet he'd been leaning against. "Give her time, lad. And after she goes to bed, come to me in the sitting chamber. I'll be interested to hear how your adventure went."

  Thomas nodded, then looked at Ambrose. "Why do I feel like the hard part is in front of me?"

  "Because you lost something you loved," Ambrose said gently, "and the thought of losing it forever grieves you."

  "Wouldn't it you?"

  "Och, aye," Ambrose said, with feeling. "But at least in your case, there will likely come a day when you'll hold your love in your arms in truth. Wasn't that why you took this risk?"

  "Yes."

  "Then off with ye, my lad, and soak your head. Perhaps that and a bit of fine supper will restore your wits to you."

  Thomas was tempted to ask Ambrose how his own love life was going, but he thought better of it. Whatever was going on between the laird and Mrs. Pruitt was probably better left private.

  Thomas wasted no time showering and dressing in things he'd left behind in his room. After two months of kilts, threadbare stolen goods, and fine lordly clothes, he was more than ready for a nice, broken-in pair of 501s.

  He left his room only to find Mrs. Pruitt softly closing Iolanthe's door. Thomas looked at her and lifted one eyebrow in question.

  "Asleep, the poor lamb," Mrs. Pruitt said, clucking her tongue. "Worn out, and no mistake."

  "I can't say that I blame her."

  "Dinner's in an hour, me lad," Mrs. Pruitt said, smoothing down her starched apron. "Hie yerself up to the castle if ye like. No doubt thems who're up the way will be wanting to see ye."

  Thomas considered. Maybe a quick walk would clear his head. Besides, he wanted to see the place as a ruin. It would put his nightmares to rest.

  It took him only a few minutes to jog there. He came to a teetering halt at the sight of a very familiar trio adorning his outer gates.

  "What are you guys doing here?" he asked, astonished.

  "Visiting the sight of former glories," Constance said, patting her hair into place.

  "The society gave us the sack," Nigel said, looking defeated. "We annoyed the Queen."

  Gerard only scribbled despondently into his notebook.

  "Oh," Thomas said, feeling unaccountably sorry for them. "Well, surely there's some wreck around here that could use some rescuing."

  "No business titles," Constance said glumly.

  "No business cards," Nigel agreed.

  "No business funds," Gerard said succinctly.

  Thomas opened his mouth to tell them it was too bad when an idea of simply diabolic proportions popped into his mind. He jammed his hands into his pockets and gave it some more thought, finding that as he turned the idea over in his mind, he simply couldn't find a single fault with it.

  Arthur Davidson had in his portfolio a construction division. Thomas distinctly remembered hearing Jake say that Davidson was getting ready to demolish one of the Lower East Side's least appreciated historical landmarks to build himself a trendy little office complex.

  A pity all that history should go down into the Dumpster, unprotested, unheckled, unheralded.

  "I'll fund you," Thomas said. "If you'll go to the States for a rescue project I have in mind."

  The three threw off their gloom and doom like a ratty raincoat.

  "Why don't you head back to the inn until we can figure out the particulars," Thomas said pleasantly. "My treat."

  "Good show!"

  "Well done!"

  "Quick, before he changes his mind."

  Thomas watched them trot off back down the road and smiled pleasantly to himself. Perhaps there was such a thing as just deserts.

  He walked up the way to the castle, but slowed as he did so. The realization of just what had transpired there not two weeks ago was sobering. And miraculous. There were so many things that could have gone wrong. He could have come too late. Indeed, he'd thought he'd come too late. He could have gotten lost. He could have died any number of times.

  He approached the gates and found Duncan waiting for him.

  "Duncan," he said with a smile, reaching out to clasp his hand. And then it came back to him with full force just what had happened the last time he'd seen Duncan. He let his hand slip down to his side.

  "Do you remember?" he asked quietly.

  "Och, aye, lad," Duncan said with a small smile.

  "But did it... I mean, did you die ..."

  "I remember one death."

  Thomas blinked. "Then when you first saw me ..."

  Duncan smiled again. "Aye, I knew."

  "And you didn't want to run me through with your sword?"

  "It wasn't your fault, Tommy lad."

  Thomas suppressed the urge to scratch his head. "I just don't get it. How could you have known me? Before I ever went back through Jamie's gate?"

  "Because, Thomas, me lad, that was the past, and this is the future. And somewhere in between, you were born to the task you took on."

  Thomas had the intense desire to sit down. "Do you know," he said conversationally, "that I really thought I understood how things worked."

  "I think," Duncan said slowly, "that there are certain truths in the world. And out of the world," he added. "And then, lad, there is such a vast amount we don't understand, that if we knew just how much it was, we would go to bed and never arise again."

  Thomas looked at him. "You're a very wise man, Duncan."

  "I've had a long time to think."

  "Thank you," Thomas said simply. "For my life."

  Duncan shrugged. "'Twas a life worth savin', surely. She'll come to feel that way about her own in time."

  "How do you know she doesn't already?"

  Duncan smiled dryly. "I've known her for centuries, Thomas. She was no different as a ghost than she was a woman. And just because you saved her from being murdered doesn't change the lass and who she is."

  "Maybe you're the one I need courting advice from."

  "Me?" Duncan asked with a laugh. He held up his hands in surrender. "Nay, lad, I'm hardly the one to tell you how to woo a lady."

  "She's your daughter."

  "Aye, and that likely makes me the last person you should ask."

  Thomas paused. "But I should be asking you if I can marry her."

  Duncan laughed. "Ah, Tommy lad, wouldn't she laugh at the thought of me saying you yea or nay?" He chuckled a time or two more, then shook his head. " 'Tis the lass's heart you'll have to win."

  Thomas sighed. "I think I've said too much for that to be done easily."

  "What foolish thing did you do?"

  "I told her I loved her. And that she'd been a ghost for six hundred years."

  "And?"

  "
And that she'd loved me, too."

  Duncan clucked his tongue. "Now, laddie, that was perhaps goin' a bit too far, don't ye think? Never," he said, wagging his finger at Thomas, "never tell a woman how she's supposed to feel. There is no surer way to set them off."

  "Thank you," Thomas said with a scowl. "I realize that now."

  "Shoulda realized it then."

  "It's too late, thank you very much," Thomas said, through gritted teeth. "Do you have any useful advice?"

  "Watch your back."

  "Huh?" Thomas said, then turned and ducked just before Connor MacDougal's sword sliced through the air where Thomas's neck had recently been. He straightened and glared at the taller man. "Laird MacDougal."

  "I'd hoped we'd be rid of ye fer guid," the laird growled.

  "Not yet."

  "Then there's still time fer me ta use ye to decorate me gates." He raised his sword and grinned a wicked grin that sent chills down Thomas's spine. "Don't move, little rabbit."

  Thomas pursed his lips. "I'm unimpressed, MacDougal." He paused and a thought struck him. "You're a Highlander. I have a Highland girl to woo and win. Have you got any ideas on how I might go about that?"

  The MacDougal stopped in midswing and blinked in surprise. He lowered his sword. "Weel," he said, looking almost pleased, "weel, laddie, now there's a matter I've quite a bit of experience with."

  "Do you?"

  "Aye, but I do." He made patting motions over Thomas's shoulder. "I'll give it some thought and give ye a list at me earliest opportunity."

  "You do that," Thomas said faintly. He waited until the other man was gone before he turned back to Duncan. "I'm stunned."

  "Wait until he gives you his list," Duncan said with a shudder. "Poor wenches who had to endure him."

  "Maybe I should be scared."

  "I would be, were I you."

  "Well, let's get back to something less terrifying. What's your advice?" Thomas asked.

  "My advice," Duncan said slowly. "Aye, well, here it is."

  Thomas waited. And he waited some more. "Well?"

  Duncan looked at him gravely. "Let her go."

  "What!"

  "Let her go," Duncan said. "Take her back home, and let her go."

  "You're crazy."

  "She knows where you live."