My Heart Stood Still Lynn Kurland (some good books to read TXT) 📖

down next to him on clothing, though she surely didn't need to protect herself from dirt that would never in his lifetime or anyone else's sully her skirts.

She sincerely hoped the MacDougal wasn't laughing himself ill. Then again, perhaps that would be a boon. If he were suffering in some corner of the keep, she wouldn't be forced to listen to him point out in words what a complete horse's arse she was being.

"Are you interested in the details?"

If it would mean more of his smiles, she supposed she was. "If you will."

"All right then. Laying the floorboards will be easy," Thomas said as he pointed to his drawing. "I'm hoping the fireplaces will work—or that we can make them work eventually. Electricity would be nice, but it may be impossible."

"Electricity?"

He looked at her. "You know, power. Current."

She looked at him blankly.

"Lightbulbs?"

She nodded uneasily, though she had no idea what he was talking about. There were those strange lights at the inn that seemingly had no flames, but she'd never thought to inquire as to what powered them. She'd assumed 'twas Ambrose or one of his lads about some mischief.

Thomas put his pencil behind his ear and turned to look at her more fully. "When was the last time anyone lived here?"

She stared at the sky thoughtfully. "Duncan could tell you with more exactness than I—"

"1746," Duncan said, materializing in front of them. "After the slaughter at Culloden."

She watched Thomas look at Duncan and blink a time or two in silence. Then he cleared his throat.

"I don't think we've met," he said, standing up.

"Duncan MacLeod," Duncan said, planting his feet a manly distance apart and putting his hand on the hilt of his sword. "Cousin to my lady. I will defend her to my dying breath."

Well, that was a bit much, but Iolanthe couldn't help but feel warmed by Duncan's loyalty. She looked at Thomas to make certain he was receiving the tidings with the proper amount of respect.

"I see," Thomas said, nodding. "I certainly don't intend to give you any reason to put me to the sword."

Duncan grunted. "See that you don't, lad." He looked at Iolanthe. "I'll be nearby, in case you need me, lady."

Thomas sat, watched Duncan move a goodly distance away, then looked at Iolanthe.

"The MacDougal wants to decorate your gates with my various and sundry severed body parts, and now your cousin is warning me not to hit on you."

She stiffened in surprise. "You would strike me?"

"It's an expression. It means—well, never mind what it means. No, I would never hit a woman. You're safe with me."

And for some reason she could not fathom—though she was certain it had come from the most ridiculous portion of her underused heart—she felt as if he spoke the truth.

Thomas looked around as if he expected another interruption. When none materialized, he looked at her with a smile.

"I was going to tell you about power."

"Aye."

"Well, there once was a man named Benjamin Franklin."

She shook her head. "I'm not familiar with him."

"I can tell you about him, if you like."

She wasn't about to admit the full extent of her ignorance, but perhaps it was so apparent that there was no need. But still it did not sit well with her to be possibly considered less informed than he.

"I know people as well," she said defensively.

"Do you?"

She looked at him closely but could see no mockery in his eyes. She lifted her chin. "Aye. I saw Queen Mary once."

He looked genuinely impressed. "Really?"

"And James I, as well. From a distance, you understand. They never would have come to stay at this hall."

"Fascinating," he said, putting aside his drawings. "I studied history, but I never thought I'd ever be hearing a firsthand account. Will you tell me more?"

How was it—and the saints preserve her, why was it?— that such a simple expression of interest was enough to set her heart to pounding in her chest? By the saints, he was but a man—and a mortal one at that!

But as he looked at her so expectantly, she found that she could do nothing but begin to tell him hesitantly about the people who had come her way over the years. Many were unimportant, but there had been a few before the troubles of '45. And during it all, he sat and watched her with rapt attention.

"Amazing," he said.

His frank regard made her unaccountably nervous. She had to force herself to sit still and not flee. She looked around frantically for some kind of distraction.

"What of that Franklin?" she asked, grasping for the first thing that came to mind. "I suppose he was loitering over in the Colonies?"

"Actually, he loitered quite a few places. He was quite instrumental in getting the Colonies away from George III."

"I imagine His Majesty was none too pleased with him."

"Probably not," Thomas agreed.

Iolanthe frowned. "Was that who was king then? This George you spoke of?"

"Yes," he said kindly, "that's who was king then."

"Then tell me more. About them both," she commanded, hoping she sounded a bit aloof.

And thus proceeded a very long afternoon for her. She heard all manner of tales about this Benjamin Franklin, then there was talk about currents and watts and other things she couldn't for the life of her fathom. Then came the illustrations with arrows and lines going in every direction.

It began to give her a pain between her eyes.

"Sorry," he said, flipping his page back to the one he'd begun at the first. "I get a little carried away with the whole construction business. Feel free to stop me if it gets to be too much."

"Stop."

He laughed as he folded up his book and turned himself to face her. Then his smile faded.

"I owe you another apology."

She wasn't sure what was more distracting: the lightness of his eyes or the darkness of the hair that fell down into those eyes. Or maybe it was that chiseled jawline that she found her fingers itching to touch. She'd never had such a thought in her