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

wasn't sure he wanted to find out.

He stepped out into the courtyard and turned himself toward the gate. His head would have the first shot at keeping him sane. It would certainly make the most self-preserving decision.

He was halfway to the gate when he stopped. Maybe he was being a bit hasty. After all, he wasn't committing to a lifetime with the woman. He was just going to be polite and say good-bye. For the evening.

Then again, maybe he should just go and count himself well rid of potential heartache. After all, he'd ended numerous things over the course of his life—climbs and businesses both—and never looked back with regret. Life was all about endings.

But, his heart argued, the house in Maine is all about beginnings.

He stood in the bailey and argued with himself so long over what he should be doing that when he finally gave up in disgust, he found he had an audience. A very large audience. One that was watching him with various expressions of humor, irritation, and pity.

He glared at them. "Got things on my mind," he said in his most manly fashion.

The men were, almost without exception, apparently unimpressed.

Thomas turned abruptly toward the garden. He was just going to be civilized—something Connor MacDougal would probably never understand. The rest of the men could think what they wanted. He would make nice with Iolanthe, then get the hell out of there before he really got in over his head.

He paused at the entrance and looked down the pathway that hugged the wall. The afternoon had waned, but there was plenty of light to see the woman kneeling near the path's edge, weeding. He closed his eyes and swallowed, hard. He wanted to tell himself that he was losing it. What he really wanted was for there to be some reason why he was losing it.

But all he could think of was a woman who tended something she loved and lived an existence that wasn't of her choosing. And if that wasn't enough to break his heart, he was certain he couldn't imagine what would.

He opened his eyes. Heart it would be, then.

He walked along the path, then came to a stop next to her. She looked up at him solemnly.

And he was forever and irrevocably lost.

It wasn't her beauty, because that was something that perhaps could have been argued about. It wasn't even her life status, because many could have made a case for leaving her alone based on that alone. It was the dirt smudged on her cheek. It was the way her hair fell down her back in a fat, heavy braid with little bits of it escaping all over. It was a simple dress that matched the color of her eyes. It was the stillness, her stillness, that drew him in and made him want to be still as well. That was why he climbed, after all. For that brief moment of stillness high up in the air where he could be at peace. That he had found the same with another person was nothing short of miraculous.

He knelt down next to her. "It's beautiful."

"The garden?"

"That, too."

She did smile then, and his heart broke a little at the sight. "It isn't much, but it passes the time." She returned to her digging. "Your lads survived the day."

"Barely. I'm sure they'll have incredible kinks in their necks from swiveling them around to make sure they weren't about to be attacked."

"I warned off the garrison," she said defensively.

"I never doubted it," he said. "Some people are just a little intimidated by what they can't see."

"And you aren't?"

"I am lucky enough to see fairly clearly."

"Is that lucky?"

He considered how it might have been, had he not been able to see her, and his heart gave a lurch.

"Actually," he said, "I think it is."

She looked at him for a moment, then turned back to her work. "You're going now."

"Well, no. I'd like to stay for a while, if you don't mind."

She shrugged and pulled out a particularly nasty weed.

"How do you do this?" he asked. "How do you make the garden?"

She sat back and looked at him. "It is but illusion."

"It doesn't look like illusion." He reached out his hand to touch a rose petal. He could almost smell it, and he was certain that if he'd tried hard enough, he could have touched it as well. Just the smallest bit more substance, and he could have felt it beneath his fingers. "It's amazing."

" 'Tis nothing more than you do," she said, reaching out to pluck a flower from a bush. "Do you not create your thoughts in your head before you speak them?"

He considered. "I suppose so."

"Your plans for the tower. Were those not created in your head before you drew them?"

"Definitely."

She shrugged. "So it is with my garden. I create it in my mind, and thus it takes shape here before me."

"It's pretty convincing."

" 'Tis centuries that I've practiced doing it."

He made himself comfortable next to her. "Did you garden when you were a girl?"

"Aye, I did."

She didn't seem inclined to elaborate, but he wasn't one to give up that easily. He was nothing if not persistent, so he pressed on.

"What kinds of things did you grow?"

"Herbs."

"What kind of herbs?"

"Medicinal ones."

He pursed his lips. "Are you enjoying yourself?"

She smiled as she rooted around another plant of indeterminate origin. "Aye."

"I'm trying to get to know you."

She sat back on her heels and looked at him then. "Why?"

"I'm interested."

"Why?"

"I can't help myself."

She looked at him narrowly. " 'Tisn't much of a reason."

"Would you rather hear that you're the most remarkable woman I've ever seen, and I want to know everything about you?"

"Fennel," she said promptly.

"Fennel?" Well, that wasn't so hard. "You grew fennel?"

"Aye," she said.

"It sounds useful."

"You would have no doubt found it quite so."

He smiled smugly. "A manly herb, then?"

"Actually, we used it to heal idiocy."

He blinked, then laughed out loud. "Well, I'll file that away for future use. Now, what else did you grow?