My Heart Stood Still

by Lynn Kurland

  What did he need a sword for?

  To prod Tiffany into the car with it?

  "And just where do you think you're going with that?" Victoria asked, washing up her mug. "Are you going to stab your little girlfriend in apology?"

  Thomas stopped abruptly. "What did you say?"

  "Your girlfriend, Iolanthe. She was just here a few minutes ago. I'm surprised you didn't see her on your way in."

  "Iolanthe was here?" he asked. He could hardly believe how lousy that timing was. "She met Tiffany?"

  "I wouldn't worry about it," Victoria said, turning and leaning back against the sink. "Iolanthe pulled a knife on your former fiancée. She can hold her own."

  "Where did she go?"

  "To take a hike. Literally," Victoria added quickly. "I'm not making that up."

  Thomas grunted at her. "Come back when Tiffany's gone, and I'll give you the whole story. I'm sure it will be quite different from the one you brutalized from your helpless little sister."

  "You'd be surprised ..."

  He left the kitchen and slammed the door shut on the rest of her words. He'd heard more than enough. He could only hope Iolanthe hadn't hiked into his life to hike right back out of it. He stood in Ian's back meadow and wondered where the best place was to start looking for her.

  And then, quite suddenly, Duncan was standing in front of him.

  "She's in the high meadow," he said quickly. "Lord Charles is there as well."

  "What?" Thomas asked incredulously.

  Duncan waved away any more questions. "Just follow me and make haste. She can't see me—or anyone else who's there trying to aid her."

  Thomas sprinted after Duncan, praying he would arrive in time. How had Charles found the time gates? The very thought of it boggled his mind. How could he possibly have stumbled upon them on his own? Had he been spying on them?

  They should have been more cautious. Charles had probably followed them all the way up the road from Artane. Iolanthe had tried to convince him not to go that way. He should have listened.

  How, though, had the man gotten all the way to Scotland? Had he used the gate at Falconberg? Jamie had said that was the only gate in England that would transport a person not only through time, but straight to Jamie's backyard. Thomas couldn't believe that Charles had walked all the way from twenty-first century England to Scotland over the past three weeks.

  Then again, maybe he had.

  Well, the particulars were unimportant. What was important was stopping the man before he finished the job he'd set out to do. Thomas suspected that he wouldn't have another chance to save Iolanthe's life. That was Jamie's other caveat. In all the times he'd used his gates, he'd never once gone to exactly the same spot in time. It was, according to him, a one-time thing.

  Thomas didn't want to test the theory.

  He blessed Ian silently as he ran all the way to the meadow and arrived there unwinded. Maybe all those endless, brutal hours of training had been worth it. He was in better shape than he had been before Everest. He burst through a little grouping of trees and came to a teetering halt twenty paces from where Charles stood waiting.

  With his sword across Iolanthe's throat.

  Thomas looked around to see not only Ambrose, Fulbert, Hugh, and Duncan, but every member of Iolanthe's garrison from Thorpewold there as well. Even Connor MacDougal stood there, a ferocious frown on his face.

  "So," Charles said conversationally, "you decided to come fetch your little wench yet again."

  "So it seems," Thomas agreed. He looked Iolanthe over quickly and decided that she hadn't been harmed.

  Yet.

  "This time," Charles snarled suddenly, "I have the advantage."

  "Do you?" Thomas asked.

  Iolanthe flinched as Charles pressed his blade more firmly against her neck.

  "Yes, I can see that you do," Thomas conceded quickly. "What do you want?"

  "Since I've already discovered the secret of traveling through time, I'll now have the jewels in the fireplace."

  Thomas smiled grimly. "So you heard us."

  "Aye, talking like a pair of babbling fools," Charles said. "Now, get me the cache in the fireplace, and let me be on my way."

  "I will when you let her go. You don't need her now."

  "Don't I?" Charles asked with an ugly smile on his face. "My pride has been mightily wounded. Fetch me the jewels. And while you're at your task, I'll be taking my revenge here."

  Iolanthe made a sound of protest but quickly stifled it at Charles's renewed pressure on her throat.

  "I was too hasty the last time," Charles said. "I could take my pleasure of her and not count myself sullied, I think." He looked at Thomas and shrugged. "If I find the act distasteful, I'll kill her afterward. That should alleviate any affront to my sensibilities she might have caused."

  Thomas stood there and wondered just what in the hell he was supposed to do now. He was trained to fight a man coming at him with a sword. He knew how to climb mountains and negotiate inanimate rocks and ledges. He could survive in the wilderness for weeks at a time with nothing but a knife.

  But he didn't have a clue how to barter for his love's life with a man who obviously thought nothing of killing when he felt like it.

  Thomas grasped his sword and prayed for help.

  It came, amazingly enough, in the form of Connor MacDougal.

  The MacDougal came up behind Charles and clapped him smartly on the shoulder. The man had to have felt it, because Thomas heard it from where he was standing.

  Charles jumped in surprise. Thomas started to call out to Iolanthe, but she wrenched away as Charles spun around to see who he faced.

  Iolanthe bolted clear of him. Thomas grabbed her and jerked her over to him.

  "Are you all right?" he asked, not taking his eyes from a very unsettled Charles.

  "Nicked myself on his damned sword," she groused. "One finger bleeding, but 'tis not a mortal wound. I should have poked him with my dirk. I would have, had he not snuck... up ... on—"

  Thomas felt her freeze at his side.

  Her stillness almost immediately became his stillness. He realized that he hadn't felt that kind of quiet coming from her in quite a long time. For at least a month.

  Since he'd gone back to save her.

  He realized she was groping for his hand. His fingers met hers and she held on to him so tightly it was almost painful. He looked at her to find she was staring at Lord Charles. He suspected, though, that Charles wasn't really what she was looking at

  "Merciful saints above," she breathed.

  She looked around the circle of men, never releasing Thomas's hand. Then she looked up at him.

  "Merciful saints above," she repeated, sounding stunned.

  "See them?"

  "Aye."

  Apparently, so did Lord Charles. He held his sword up, turning himself around a time or two, glaring at one and all.

  "This is unfair," he said. "Are you such women that you must needs pit yourselves two score against one?"

  Duncan cleared his throat. "Ach, but we've no mind to fight ye, ye wee fiend. We'll leave that to the laddie there. He'll see to ye right proper."

  Well, no time like the present to either prove his mettle or get himself killed. He smiled briefly at Iolanthe, then released her hand to get down to his own business. He shrugged out of his coat and tossed it aside. He pulled his sword from its sheath, then felt hands take the leather from him.

  "I'll hold that," Iolanthe said.

  Thomas smiled briefly, then turned back to consider his situation. The men around him weren't heckling him. He looked at Iolanthe. She didn't look uneasy. She hadn't made any derogatory comments about his past displays of sword-play so far. Things were looking up.

  The downside was, of course, that he was going to have to kill the man facing him, and that was enough to give him pause. It was one thing to do in a bunch of thugs in the Middle Ages. Somehow, the century just seemed to demand that kind of thing. But this w
as the twenty-first century, and he knew for certain that murder was severely frowned upon.

  "He would have slain me, Thomas," Iolanthe said quietly. "Indeed, he did once. You've no need to fear that you shed innocent blood."

  She had a point there. This could definitely be called self-defense.

  "She's right, Tommy lad," Ian said from the sidelines. "Do the bastard in. He deserves it."

  Thomas looked to his left to find not only Ian there, but Jamie, Patrick, Zachary, and Jamie's minstrel Joshua as well.

  Great, an audience.

  Well, it wasn't as if he hadn't had one before during his training. But his cousins and Iolanthe's garrison at the same time? At least none of the mortals were making any comments. They were too busy gaping at the ghosts. All except Jamie, who only folded his arms across his chest and put on the frown he usually wore when assessing Thomas's skill. It felt comforting somehow.

  Thomas wondered how he should begin the ... well, duel, for lack of a better word. His contemplation was cut short by Charles bellowing out his rage and rushing toward him.

  Thomas realized, idly, that he had improved since last they'd met. Charles, however, was angrier than he had been the time before, so perhaps they were still unevenly matched, with Thomas still being on the short end.

  He shoved aside any concern for repercussions. It was clear even to him that the man who was angrily hacking at him with a broadsword had every intention of killing him if he could. There were half a dozen mortal witnesses to the fact, should it have come down to an inquest.

  And Iolanthe had a point. Charles had murdered her in cold blood once. If that didn't demand some kind of redress, he wasn't sure what did.

  "Thomas, quit thinking!" Ian yelled. "You've your lady's life to fight for!"

  Thomas nodded curtly, then turned his mind to the task at hand, namely ridding Charles of his sword and using his own to end the other man's life. He emptied his mind of all thought and concentrated on watching the other man's eyes. His sword became a sharp extension of his arm. It sang through the air like faint pipes.

  He frowned, men locked blades with Charles.

  "Are those bagpipes?" he asked.

  "Damned if I know," Charles panted.

  Thomas shoved the other man away with a foot in his belly. He stood there, chest heaving, and listened to what sounded remarkably like Scottish bagpipes.

  "Ach, Duncan, do ye hear?" Iolanthe asked in surprise. "'Tis Robert!"

  "It is, my girl. Come to play for your love."

  Thomas wasn't sure what he was more surprised by: Iolanthe talking to Duncan, or that their clan's bagpiper was serenading him. He had to admit, though, that the music was very stirring. He looked to his right, past the men standing there, and saw a lone piper on the side of the hill, his plaid stirred by the breeze.

  And then he realized that if he didn't let the sound stir him some more, he was going to find himself without his head. He ducked, rolled, and came up on the other side of Charles's flashing blade. He tuned everything else out. Full concentration came readily to him, and he supposed he would have to thank Ian for it later. He fought as if his life depended on it. His and Iolanthe's. His future and hers.

  The battle felt as if it dragged on for an eternity. There came a point where he couldn't feel himself anymore. He was nothing but a lethal blade flashing through the air and the drone of the pipes winding its way through the grass and the descending twilight. He felt a part of the land, a part of his clan, a part of a connection that couldn't be severed. His ancestors stood around him in a circle, and he felt them willing him to fight harder, to stand up against the strain, to be victorious.

  He could tell the precise moment when the tide turned for him. Charles looked just the slightest bit indecisive, then he fell back. Thomas pressed him mercilessly, the song of the piper and the murmuring of the men driving him, giving him strength, reminding him of what he fought for.

  Charles's guard slipped, and Thomas drove his sword into the man's belly. He'd meant to skewer him straight through, but Charles twisted aside at the last possible moment. He watched Charles fall as if in slow motion.

  Charles dropped his sword, then clutched his side. He staggered back, reeling, then slipped to the ground. Thomas pulled his blade free of Charles's side just as the man—

  Disappeared.

  Thomas was so surprised, he almost overbalanced and fell onto the precise spot where Iolanthe's one-time murderer had fallen. Hands grabbed him and pulled him back.

  "Don't," Iolanthe gasped.

  "Aye," Jamie agreed, giving Thomas a sure tug. "You won't want to follow him there."

  Thomas looked at him with wide eyes. "Where is there?"

  "The Inquisition," Jamie said with a twinkle in his eye. "Almost makes you glad you'd just nicked him, aye?"

  "I did more than nick him," Thomas said. "He'll die from that."

  "I suppose he'll survive long enough to wish you'd finished him," Jamie said with a grin.

  Thomas rolled his shoulders. "Well, I wouldn't want to do that every day."

  "No one ever does," Jamie said, clapping Thomas on the shoulder. "But you made a fine showing."

  High praise from his laird. Thomas acknowledged the same with a nod, then found Iolanthe prying his sword from his fingers. She sheathed it, then handed it to Jamie. Thomas noticed absently that one of her fingers was wrapped in some kind of material that looked to have been torn from somebody's T-shirt. It was bloody.

  Then she wrapped her arms around him and hugged him, and he didn't notice anything besides Iolanthe MacLeod in his arms.

  "I hope that finished him," Thomas said with a sigh.

  "Oh, aye," she agreed. "I daresay it did. He'll not trouble us again. Think you?"

  "What I think is it was a helluva way to get you into my arms," he said. "Let's not do that again."

  "I'm for that," she agreed, turning to rest her cheek against his chest.

  He closed his eyes, unable to decide what he was more grateful for: that the battle was over or that Iolanthe was standing willingly in his embrace. At this point, he thought it might just be a toss-up.

  "I thought," he said finally, "I honestly thought I wouldn't get to you in time."

  " 'Twas a close thing."

  "Duncan came and got me. I don't know if I would have found you otherwise."

  "Weren't the pipes lovely?" she asked, her voice muffled against his sweater. "Robert always could play a tune to stir the dead."

  Thomas snorted out a laugh before he could stop himself. He met her eyes as she lifted her head.

  "You've found your sight then, I see," he said with a smile.

  "Apparently so," she said.

  Then she smiled up at him, and it was all he could do not to bend his head and kiss her. The thought had crossed his mind so many times over the past few months, but he'd never been able to do anything about it. Well, there was no time like the present, especially when the lady seemed willing.

  He started to kiss her, then realized they had a very large audience, and likely one that they wouldn't get away from any time soon.

  "We should go fix your finger," he said. That would be enough reason to get her into a bathroom small enough to exclude this cluster of Highlanders.

  "But..." she said, hesitating, looking around her.

  He had no trouble understanding her hesitation. He looked around him as well at all the men who were looking at her with smiles on their faces. He touched her cheek.

  "Greet your kin. And your garrison. I can wait."

  "You're a very patient man, Thomas McKinnon."

  When compared to all the patience she'd had in waiting for him to show up and put into motion things souls had counted on for centuries, he considered himself rather hasty. But he'd tell her that later. For now, it was enough to watch her receive the garrison of Highlanders she had known either in life or death.

  And to watch her weep as, to a man, they knelt before her and again offered her their fealty.


  Well, all except Connor MacDougal, of course, who informed her in no uncertain terms that he had no intentions of giving his fealty to a mere woman.

  Thomas clasped his hands behind his back and smiled to himself. Apparently some things never changed.

  Except the woman who was now turning to him, her cheeks wet with her tears. He held out his arms, then gathered her close.

  And he was grateful to be able to.

  Life was, he decided as he stood with his love in his arms in a meadow surrounded by Highlanders both mortal and not-so-mortal, nothing short of miraculous.

  He closed his eyes and smiled.

  Could things get any better?

  Chapter 43

  Could life get any worse? Iolanthe stood in Jamie's thinking chamber for yet another morning and scowled down at the book in her hands. This wasn't where she wanted to be. It wasn't so much just being at Jamie's hall that disturbed her. It was being at Jamie's hall still unbetrothed.

  She wasn't sure at whose feet to lay that blame. Thomas's? It wasn't as if he hadn't tried to get her alone. But it had been a little difficult when Ian's house had been filled with Highlanders of all sorts, living and dead. Perhaps 'twas at their feet she should lay the blame. She'd managed to sit next to Thomas for the better part of the day on that day he'd saved her life yet again, but that had been the extent of her success. She'd returned to Jamie's keep, accompanied, but unbetrothed.

  Damn all those men, anyway.

  Which left her again that morning in Jamie's thinking chamber, looking for aught to do. She'd pulled her book from Jamie's desk, opened it up, and read a page or two, smiling a bittersweet smile at what was written there. By now, she'd come to terms with the truth of it. She'd also come to think that perhaps it hadn't been an existence completely without merit. She had certainly met many people she wouldn't have any other way.

  But then again, when compared to what her future held, that former existence was certainly best left as something kept between the covers of a book.

  Assuming, of course, that she had a future that held something besides haunting Jamie's keep.

  "Good day to you, granddaughter."

  Iolanthe looked up to see Jamie standing at the doorway. She smiled.