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

life, and she could scarce believe she was having one now—especially given the fact that she could do nothing about it.

"... apology?" he was saying.

She blinked. "Apology? For what this time?"

"For yesterday." He looked as penitent as she'd ever seen a man before, which hadn't been all that often, but he did indeed look sorry. "I didn't mean to take your name from you."

The surprise and panic she'd felt the day before came back in a rush. "How did you know it?" she whispered. "I've never told a soul. I vow I haven't."

"I just knew," he said, looking as baffled as she felt. "Sometimes, I just know things."

"You're fey."

That made him smile. "Actually, that's never a word I've applied to myself, but I guess it fits now and then." He tapped his book with his drawing pencil for a moment or two, then looked at her from under his eyelashes. "How did you come by your name?"

She sighed. There was no use in either being angry with him for knowing or refusing to give him any more of the details. He would likely pluck them out of thin air just the same to spite her, "My mother gave it to me. It wasn't as if she was learned," she added quickly, "for she wasn't. But she loved words and how they sounded against her ear."

"But it's a Greek word. Greece is a long way from Scotland."

"My father's hall is not easily reached, true, but it always seemed to attract the odd visitor."

"The secret of the keep and all that?" he asked with a smile.

"Aye, that."

"It must be a good one."

"Most secrets are."

He laughed. "Point taken. I won't ask for the details. Tell me instead of these visitors."

"Minstrels, foreigners, scribblers of tales," she said with a shrug. "My mother learned their words and gathered them up in her heart. 'Twas from one of them that she learned my name, for he said 'twas a word for violet. That was the color of her eyes."

"Which are your eyes."

She nodded.

He was silent for a moment before he spoke. "Will you," he asked slowly, "let me use your name?"

She found, suddenly, that she couldn't answer him. No one had ever used her name, save her mother, and only when they were speaking for each other's ears alone. She hadn't heard her name from the lips of another soul in over six hundred years. Did she want to start now?

With this man?

At least, she decided finally, he had asked permission.

"I won't use it in front of the others," he added. "I'll be discreet."

And that, for some reason, made her feel as if she were making more of it all than she should.

"You think I'm being foolish," she said.

"I don't. It was something you would have given your life for, wasn't it?"

"Aye," she agreed. "Likely so."

"Then it's important to you." He smiled easily. "If you don't want me to use it, I won't."

She found she couldn't speak.

"But if you don't mind me using it, would you give it to me?"

She closed her eyes and prayed for some return of her wits. After a moment, she opened her eyes and looked at the man sitting next to her, fully intending to give him a list of reasons why she couldn't do what he asked.

Then she looked at him truly, saw the strength in his face, the kindness in his eyes, and found her heart softening with a frightening swiftness.

By the saints, she was going to give it to him. She wanted to believe she was powerless to do anything else, but she couldn't even hide behind that weak excuse. She wanted to give it to him.

So she took a deep breath.

"My name," she said clearly, "is Iolanthe."

"Iolanthe," he repeated with a smile. "Thank you."

"You may use it," she added quickly, before she thought better of it. "Discreetly."

"Of course," he agreed. "But I don't think any of the men would use it even if they knew it, if that's what worries you."

She stood before she knew she meant to and wrapped her arms around herself. " 'Tis late. You should go."

He stood more slowly, took up his coat and put it on. He gathered up his book, then paused and looked at her.

"I won't abuse your trust."

"See that you don't," she said with as much haughtiness as she could muster. "It isn't given lightly."

"I'm well aware of that."

She looked at him and wondered what was possessing her to keep her talking to a mortal who had no means of understanding her sorry existence, who would likely hammer in his nails, grow bored, and then leave. She hadn't the time for this kind of foolishness.

"I'm going to Edinburgh for supplies tomorrow," he said quietly. "But I'll be back the day after to start work. If you have no objections."

"Would such serve me?"

"They would."

It was tempting to push him, just to see how far she could.

Then again, if he were there working, she might have a few more of his smiles.

"Daft," she muttered with a shake of her head. She was daft and foolish and likely deserved whatever heartache came her way, for 'twas a certainty she would have brought it on herself. She looked at him. "Off with ye, ye silly man. 'Tis no doubt growing cold out."

"Good night, Iolanthe."

He smiled, then made her a little bow and walked away. She watched him go, then realized the bailey had suddenly become full of others who were watching her watch him.

She swept them all with a glare and most of them suddenly found other things to do. A few hardy souls braved her look and continued to watch her with interest, but she took care of them with her most formidable scowl. Roderick was standing glowering against a wall, but she turned away before she had to listen to any of his babbling.

She walked up the stairs onto the crumbling parapet and looked at the tower where Thomas McKinnon would build her a place of peace. She wished mightily that