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

the deed was already done, for she certainly could have used a bit of privacy at the moment.

She had just given her name to him freely.

After so many centuries, 'twas a noteworthy event indeed.

She stood there long after the garrison had settled in for the night. And once all was quiet, she sought out her accustomed place on the bench in the garden.

It was a very long time before she closed her eyes.

Chapter 11

A week later, Thomas sawed through the last bit of the floor joist he was working on outside, then set the saw aside, straightened, and arched his back in a stretch. He'd gained an entirely new respect over the past couple of days for men who had built things with their bare hands—literally. He was starting to miss his power tools.

Well, he'd made do with less in far more precarious places. At least the ground floor was done. Maybe the bottom floor had originally boasted dirt, but he'd decided on hardwood. The floor had taken him three days to lay, but it looked great. He and his help had since begun work on cutting the second-floor joists. Thomas knew he was pushing his lads probably harder than he should have, but he felt a sense of urgency about getting everything put back into shape as quickly as possible.

It probably had something to do with the look on Iolanthe's face when he'd told her he was building her a room of her own.

He laid down his saw and walked into the tower. The floor beneath him was solid. Now that the groundwork was laid, the scaffolding was going up for the next floor. He stood there and let the significance of it settle into his soul. It was a great deal like building a relationship. Groundwork, then construction of various levels, then the finishing touches.

He shook his head with a smile. Too many comparisons between the restoration of the tower and his relationship with Iolanthe MacLeod would give him nothing more than a headache—and he'd already had one of those that had knocked him flat.

Relationship?

He stepped back out into the open before his thoughts led him down that path of no return. He saw the woman in question immediately, but he didn't do anything past dart a glance at her. It was probably safer that way. Even though she'd been watching him off and on for the whole of the day, he suspected it was more to make sure he didn't demolish anything rather than a desire just to watch him.

He looked up into the sky and decided that perhaps it was time to pack it in. A look at the hired help he'd found in the village revealed two young men who'd probably had just about enough of looking over their shoulder every two minutes to make sure no ghost was about to jump them.

Working on a haunted castle was hell.

"Burt, Charlie," he called, waving them over. "Let's call it a day, okay?"

They looked as if they'd been given a reprieve from the guillotine.

"Be here bright and early tomorrow," Thomas said. "With any luck, the rain will hold off and we'll get the next floor laid. I'd like to be finished before the end of the week."

Burt was looking about him nervously. "As ye will, sir."

Charlie only gulped and nodded, his face a pasty white.

Thomas smiled and clapped them both on the shoulder. 'Take a deep breath, guys."

"But I've heard ..." Burt began.

"Aye, so've I..." Charlie agreed.

Thomas pulled out a fat wad of notes and divided them between the young men. "Listen harder to my money than you do to pub gossip. The scariest thing around here are the protestors outside the gates. They aren't very fierce, are they?"

That seemed to distract the pair because they walked off, discussing whether or not they should have run over the three picketers who had stretched themselves across the entrance to the castle that morning. Thomas had been tempted, but had decided that perhaps protestoricide wouldn't look good on his record. He had to admit to dropping a chunk of wood or two on the men as he carted things over them, but could anyone really blame him for that?

He smiled to himself as he gathered up his tools and stowed them inside the tower. Once that was finished, he stood at the doorway and looked over the courtyard. Iolanthe was gone. Oddly enough, he found himself feeling surprisingly bereft.

And then it struck him just who he was missing.

A woman who was a ghost.

What in the hell was he doing? Looking for a woman who, for all intents and purposes, didn't exist? He leaned against the doorjamb and looked up into the late-afternoon sky. All right, so he could get used to seeing ghosts. He'd seen plenty of wacky things over the course of his life. He could get used to living with a bunch of Highlanders dogging his every step. He'd seen worse. Tiffany's tenacity would have left them in the dust.

But being interested in Iolanthe MacLeod?

The improbability of it all was almost enough to make him walk out through the barbican and go home.

He was a flesh-and-blood man. He needed the same kind of woman. What made sense, at least in his head, was for him to go get in his car, head to Edinburgh, and look up the business associates he knew. Surely there would be potential introductions to datable women as a result. Hell, if worse came to worst, he could think of a dozen women in New York who wouldn't be opposed to flying over for the weekend, or longer.

Get hold of yourself and walk through the front gates.

Yes, that was what his head was telling him. And it wasn't as if his head had often led him astray. He used it for thinking quite often and found it completely satisfactory.

Then again, his heart had led him to Maine and convinced him to build a labor of love there.

Head. Heart. Which was in charge?

He