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

"The weather doesn't plague me."

"But it plagues me to think about you standing out in it. I'd like to have your room finished so you have a comfortable place to be when you're at the castle. But," he added quickly, "you can stay at the inn as long as you like."

"Mrs. Pruitt is making herself daft trying to dust my things," she said with a glint in her eye.

Thomas laughed. "I don't think you should be enjoying it that much."

"She's trying to appease me so I will tell her tales of Ambrose."

"She wants him."

"Fiercely," Iolanthe agreed.

"I'd be scared if I were him."

Her smile faded abruptly. "Because she is mortal and he is a ghost?"

"Of course not," he said quickly. Perhaps he should have stopped to consider why she'd asked that, but he didn't dare. "If I were Ambrose, I would be terrified because she's Mrs. Pruitt, and once she gets her hands on him, his life will never be the same."

"Ah," Iolanthe said with a nod. "I see."

"Do you?"

"She is a rather formidable woman," Iolanthe said.

"She would have made a good field general," he agreed. He leaned back and enjoyed the weak sunlight, hoping that Iolanthe wouldn't notice his rather tangible relief over a land mine successfully negotiated. What had she meant by all that? That a relationship between a ghost and a mortal wasn't a bad thing? Was she concerned he might think it was? Was she actually considering the like between them?

Had he completely lost his mind?

"Let's go to Edinburgh," he said, rising abruptly and gingerly dusting off his jeans. He should have stopped sooner. His hands were fried. "I imagine it's the only place I'll find a generator, and it's not too far a drive."

She shook her head. "Thank you, but nay."

"Come on, Iolanthe," he said with a smile, "I promise not to run into anything."

"Thank you kindly, Thomas, but I've things to do here."

How was it that the sound of your very own name from a woman's lips could leave you wanting to go down on bended knee and promise eternal devotion?

Losing it?

No, he'd lost it.

Right then.

"What's the real reason?" he managed. "We may as well be honest with each other."

She glared at him. Silently.

"Are you embarrassed to be seen with me?" he asked.

"Of course not."

"Have you ever been to Edinburgh?"

"Nay."

"I hear it's a great city."

She looked at him in consternation, then panic, then she turned and vanished.

Damn it, he was going to gape again. He shut his mouth with a snap before his jaw got completely away from him. He looked around the bailey, but Iolanthe was nowhere to be seen, not even with his clear vision.

"All right," he said, finally. "I don't get it."

There was no answer.

"Are you sure you won't come?" he called.

The Victorian Fop, as Thomas had termed him, appeared before him, dressed to the nines.

"She said," he said curtly, "that she didn't want to go with you. So begone, and may you meet with a sad accident on your way and not return."

Thomas studied the other man and ran through his mind a list of uncomplimentary names he could call him. He didn't swear all that much, preferring to use an icy blue stare and a cutting remark to make his point. Because when it came right down to it, a carefully chosen insult just couldn't go wrong.

He looked down at the Fop's knees. "Your tights are baggy," he said.

The other man looked down and gasped in horror. "Bloody hell, will you look at that!"

"I am. Unfortunately."

The other drew his sabre with a flourish. "You'll pay for that insult." He brandished his sword and promptly dropped it point-down into his shoe.

"I'd learn how to use that before I started promising to do damage with it," Thomas said with a sad shake of his head. "To anyone but yourself, of course."

A chuckle caught his attention and he looked up to see Iolanthe's cousin, Duncan, standing nearby.

"He has it aright, Roderick," Duncan said, walking over and shoving the other man out of the way. "Be off with ye, ya frilly bugger, and leave us to our manly business."

Roderick spluttered and cursed, but when Duncan put his hand on his sword hilt, the other man vanished to parts unknown. Thomas looked at the older man with frank admiration.

"I'd like to learn to do that."

"Intimidate?"

"Wield a sword," Thomas said dryly. "The other I think I can manage on my own."

"Men of your ilk, perhaps," Duncan conceded. "Scots who're accustomed to battle? I think not."

"All right, so we'll start swordplay sooner than I planned," Thomas said.

"It will take time," Duncan said.

Thomas didn't miss the searching look.

"I'm not going anywhere."

"Until the keep is finished."

Thomas found that he had no good answer for that. His plans hadn't included living in England for the rest of his life.

Then again, his plans hadn't prepared him for Iolanthe.

"I have a great deal to think about," Thomas said with a sigh.

"Have a care with her heart."

Thomas looked at the older man, and an idea occurred to him suddenly. "Would you like to come to Edinburgh with me?"

"Weel, aye," Duncan said brightly, his eyes alight. " 'Twould be a pleasure. Last time I was there, they were walling people up in the closes on account of the plague."

"Closes?"

"Little streets of sorts," Duncan said. "You'll see." He rubbed his hands together. "Ah, who knows who I'll see thereabouts?"

"Don't tell me Edinburgh's haunted as well."

"Are ye daft, man?" Duncan asked, blinking.

"Um..."

"A city of that size? With that kind of bloody business done in the streets?" He looked at Thomas as if he'd just lost his mind. "Of course 'tis haunted!"

"Of course," Thomas agreed, wondering what he'd just gotten himself into. Did he really want to know what went on beyond most men's veil of sight in Edinburgh? A ghost walk was one thing, where you knew they were just telling you stories to give you goose bumps. Actually going on a ghost walk that was, well, a ghost walk with Duncan MacLeod as his guide—now,