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

to wait on a man's pleasure. Of course she had things to do. Many things.

Which was why she said "Aye" as readily as a lovestruck twit and remained where she was. And, even worse, she watched him walk off and suspected that there might have been an almost pleasant expression on her face.

"I do not like him."

She looked at Roderick, who had suddenly made himself visible next to her. "Why not?"

"He's too glib."

"Perhaps he's in earnest."

Roderick snorted.

"He could mean what he says," she said stiffly. "About me."

He pursed his lips. "It isn't the subject of his praises I disparage. It is the delivery." He looked at her. "When I tell you you're lovely, you call on that devilish protector of yours and I find myself skewered on his sword."

"Mayhap 'tis because I find you less than sincere."

He looked so shocked that she began to wonder if she had misjudged him.

"Me?" he asked, his hand to his breast. "Insincere? My dear Io—"

She glared at him, and 'twas likely very formidably done, for he shut his mouth immediately and chewed upon his words. When he'd apparently mastered his errant tongue, he cleared his throat.

"I flatter, to be sure, but that is habit. With you, my lady, rest assured that the flattery is sincere."

She found that she had absolutely nothing to say to that either. Perhaps it would have been better if she had been accustomed to receiving compliments whilst she was alive. That men, admittedly only Roderick and Thomas, found something about her worthy of flowery words now was quite astonishing.

"I—" she began.

He scowled at her, then vanished.

Well. That was something.

Then again, sincere though he might have been, Roderick had been a thorn in her side for centuries, and she wasn't about to look on him with any more favor than she had in the past. The saints only knew what sorts of flatteries might result from that. Intended or not.

She turned her mind back to her day and realized that she actually had something to look forward to. Waiting for Thomas McKinnon should have been a silly thing, but she found that it seemed of great import.

Daft, she was. Perhaps she was the one in need of the fennel to cure her idiocy.

Yet even so, she sat in the sun and waited, as she said she would do. It was quite a bit later when Thomas and his lads emerged from the tower. She was surprised to see them come out through the door that led onto the parapet. Perhaps they had finished their upper floor after all.

Thomas dismissed his lads, then came to stand next to her. He looked up at the sky. "It's getting late."

"Aye, I suppose it is."

He took a deep breath, as if he steeled himself for some kind of battle.

"I was thinking," he began slowly.

Always a dangerous pastime, but perhaps he was more successful at it than most.

"Would you like to come back to the inn with me? The sitting room is usually fairly empty—"

"Och, and there'll be none of that!" Duncan exclaimed, standing suddenly in front of them. "She'll be well enough here, thank you just the same."

Iolanthe watched as Thomas very deliberately put his hands behind his back and looked at Duncan unflinchingly. "You are her cousin, and I feel quite sure that you have taken very good care of her over the years—"

"Aye, I have," Duncan said firmly.

"But I am a MacLeod as well—"

"Aye, through your mother," Duncan said, "or so I've heard."

Thomas blinked. "You heard?"

"I'm as capable as you of speaking with the laird down the way," Duncan said.

"Oh, I see," Thomas said, looking rather taken aback. "Well, I am trustworthy."

Duncan only grunted, sounding less than convinced.

"I promise I won't let anything happen to her."

"And how is it you'll protect her, hmmm?" Duncan asked archly. "With what?"

Thomas looked momentarily baffled, and Iolanthe couldn't blame him. But she also found quite suddenly that she wanted desperately to go with him.

The saints pity her for being three kinds of fool.

"Perhaps," Thomas said slowly, "once I've finished a bit of work on the tower, you'd teach me swordplay? I'm quite sure it will come in handy someday."

Duncan gave him the oddest look, but the look was there and gone so quickly that Iolanthe wondered if she'd imagined it. It had almost looked for a moment as if he'd been waiting for Thomas to ask something such as that.

Her cousin then cleared his throat and made a few gruff noises of pleasure. Iolanthe snorted silently. Thomas was wise, she'd give him that. Swordplay was Duncan's weakness, and teaching it to a willing pupil even more so. Duncan was, from that moment on, Thomas's man. With only one last piercing look, Duncan said he would go plan Thomas's training, and he went off, counting on his fingers.

"Where's he going?" Thomas asked.

"He's deciding the number of years it will take him to turn you into something useful on the field," Iolanthe said pleasantly. "He'll likely have to take off his shoes and use his toes soon."

"Thank you for the confidence in my abilities," Thomas said dryly.

"In building? Aye, I have confidence in you. Swordplay?" She looked at him and shook her head. " 'Tis never an easy task, no matter if you're born to it or not."

"I've done lots of impossible things in my life. This will be just one more."

She had to admire his complete arrogance, and she vowed right then to try not to enjoy it overmuch when Duncan ground him into the dust, as he most certainly would. She leaned back against the wall and looked up at him.

"So you have exploits?" she asked politely.

He considered her narrowly. "You sound unconvinced."

"You mortals lead a softer life now than we did then."

He cleared his throat and put his shoulders back. "I climbed the highest mountain in the world. And the steepest as well. And believe me when I tell you, they aren't one and the same."

She shrugged. "We have mountains in Scotland. They never seemed all