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

she was not so different from any other woman.

"Um," Iolanthe said, trying to think clearly through the swirl of emotions. "I like that Rach ... um ..."

"Rachmaninoff?" Megan asked, pulling out the CD. "The second piano concerto." She looked at Iolanthe. "Thomas's favorite."

"He's the one who bought it."

The music soon filled the chamber, but Iolanthe found herself less soothed than she usually was by it. The first time she had listened to it, the complicated notes cascading over one another had almost frightened her. Now, she found the passion of it glorious.

Even today, she became caught up in it, despite the fact that Thomas McKinnon's sister was still pacing about her chamber like a restless spirit. Megan finally turned the music down, then sat down in the chair facing Iolanthe. She smiled.

"Are you ready to talk?" she asked.

If Iolanthe had had any breath to lose, she would have lost it. Instead, she could only wheeze and stammer out a few incomprehensible words.

Megan waited patiently. Iolanthe seriously considered simply vanishing and leaving the woman to her own devices. But that would have made her seem an unforgivable coward, so she waved her hand toward the stereo, as if she couldn't bear to talk over the music, which unfortunately finished all too soon for her taste.

Iolanthe looked at the woman facing her and realized they were likely of an age. Perhaps Megan was a pair of years older than she, but the difference was not great. How would it have been to have had a woman to talk to during her lifetime? One of her age, who could have understood her trials?

How would it be to have such a friend now?

"You don't have to tell me anything, if you don't want to," Megan said kindly, "but I think sometimes it helps to have someone to talk to. A woman friend. Men, great as they are, sometimes just don't get it."

"Get it?"

"Truly understand a woman's heart," Megan clarified. "Not that they don't try, but they're men, after all. Now, I didn't used to be much for girl talk. I have sisters, of course, but I didn't talk to them when I was growing up. Too busy fighting, I guess."

"Aye, I can understand that," Iolanthe agreed.

"You have sisters?"

"One. A half-sister."

"Brothers?"

"One elder, who died when I was ten. Six half-brothers, who followed after me."

"Well, I only had Thomas, but he made enough trouble for several more of himself," Megan said. "Did you get along with your sister?"

"She sent me to my death," Iolanthe said. She had always suspected that Grudach had had a hand in the whole scheme, but at first she'd never thought her half-sister had orchestrated the thing. Duncan had told her as much a goodly time after the fact, but only when she'd forced him to. She should have seen it herself. Angus didn't have the wits to imagine up the idea of ridding himself of her by selling her to the English-man. Only Grudach could have been devious enough to see to those details.

"Well," Megan said, sounding as if she wished she hadn't brought it up. "Well," she said again, miserably.

Iolanthe shook her head. " 'Tis in the past. I shouldn't have said anything about it." She smiled weakly. "It doesn't pain me anymore. Not since T—" She closed her mouth abruptly, realizing what she was about to say.

But she saw the look in Megan's eye just the same. There would be no deceiving this one.

"Thomas?" Megan asked. "All right, Iolanthe, you have your listening ear. And I'm incredibly discreet."

" 'Tis nothing, truly—"

"Nothing?" Megan snorted. "I have one gift and one gift alone, and that is smelling out a romance. Now, tell me all the details, and don't leave anything out."

Iolanthe looked at her and for a moment was struck by the similarity   between   Megan McKinnon and her great-grandmother, Megan MacLeod. Though her great-grandmother had been ancient by the time Iolanthe had truly understood her, Megan MacLeod had still had a gleam in her eye when she talked about love. Wasn't she the reason Iolanthe had never gone to the shore?

Share it with your man, her great-grandmother had advised.

"Tell me how you first met him," Megan asked. "Was he charming, or did he make an ass of himself?"

There was no point in avoiding this conversation. Besides, she might learn something useful about the man she loved— such as his being utterly without redeeming qualities.

"Charming?" Iolanthe laughed a little uneasily. "He was senseless and snoring. The garrison had caught him unawares, I think, and he'd dashed his head against a rock."

Megan's eyes twinkled. "When I knew he was coming over here, I wondered what he'd be able to see. My husband couldn't see Ambrose or the others for quite some time. Even now, he still walks through ancestors without noticing them until they complain. So, what happened next? Did Thomas wake up, see you, then pledge undying devotion?"

"Nay, he came back up to the keep and insulted me."

"True to form."

"But then he apologized."

"Well," Megan said modestly, "we did our best to raise him right. Now, when did you fall in love?"

Iolanthe found she had lost all powers of speech. She cast about her for something to say, but all she could do was struggle for words and fail. How, by the saints, was she supposed to answer that? And to the man's sister no less!

"As I was saying before," Megan said conversationally, "having a woman friend is a wonderful thing. Whether it's your sister or someone you met during your life, it's a comfort." She looked at Iolanthe with a smile. "I know we don't know each other yet, but I'd like to be your friend. It seems to me that you need someone to talk to who isn't packing a sword or a hammer."

Iolanthe wanted desperately to believe she was serious. To have someone to pour her heart out to? Someone who might understand her fears of loving a man she could not hold? Of giving her heart where it might