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

woman he loved when he couldn't pull her into his arms and kiss her senseless.

"Off with you," she said, stepping back. "I've books to read, you know. Mrs. Pruitt has generously offered to turn the pages for me whilst you're about your business."

Thomas spared a thought over what Mrs. P. had extorted from Iolanthe for that service, decided it definitely had something to do with Ambrose, then nodded. He could have stood there forever saying good-bye to her, but there was no use in it. If he was going to go, then he needed to go.

Before reason set in and he decided he had lost his mind for real this time.

"I'll see you soon," he said, trying to make it sound as if he was just going to the store. "If you need more books, tell Mrs. P. to use my charge card to pay for them. Spend whatever you like."

She only nodded.

He found he couldn't move.

"Go," she said, shooing him away.

"I'm trying."

"Turn around and walk," she suggested.

He looked at her for a final time, memorizing every detail, then turned and walked from the hall.

He didn't dare look over his shoulder but continued on through the gates, nodding briefly to the guardsmen there. Duncan fell into step with him.

"Laird Jamie will teach you what you must ken," Duncan said.

"I hope so."

"Learn the lessons well."

"My life will depend on it?"

Duncan shot him a look that made Thomas pause.

"Do you know something you're not telling me?" he asked.

"I ken many things," Duncan said simply. "If you'll have my advice, lad, then you'll heed your master and learn what he has to teach. Scotland in my day is a bloody place."

"Any other words of cheer?"

Duncan seemed to consider for a moment, then he spoke. "If you wish to convince me you're in earnest, then I'll tell you something only I know. Something known only to myself and Moira, Iolanthe's mother."

Thomas almost made an offhand remark, when the potential import of Duncan's words struck him. He felt his jaw slide down.

"You didn't."

Duncan looked around as if he was afraid someone might be listening, then glared at Thomas. 'Tell no one."

Thomas frowned. "Maybe I'm not understanding what it is I'm not supposed to be telling."

"What I'm saying," Duncan said through clenched teeth, "is that I loved her ma."

"Then..."

"If you want to catch my attention, tell me that," Duncan said, "and I'll listen."

"If you don't slit my throat first. Are you telling me that you and ... and Iolanthe's mother—"

"Must I give you the particulars?" Duncan asked, pained.

"Is Iolanthe yours?"

"Why else, lad, do you think I am here?" Duncan asked.

Thomas could hardly believe his ears. "If you're Iolanthe's father, then why haven't you told her?"

Duncan's face turned a dull shade of red. "Why would she want me?" he demanded. "Laird's daughter or the bastard daughter of a nameless cousin of her sire?"

"I think," Thomas said slowly, "that you undervalue yourself. I think she would very much want to know." He smiled at Duncan. "I think you should tell her. But I've got go now, so I can't stay and help you out with that. You're on your own."

Duncan looked horribly indecisive.

"Tell her," Thomas said, more gently. "I think she'd want to know. I'm thrilled. She's not my half-aunt anymore." He made Duncan a bow. "I'll see you soon."

And with that he left, before anyone else showed up to make any more revelations he wasn't sure he could take in. He forced himself not to look back at the castle as he made his way down to the main road. It was unsettling enough to think that the next time he'd be on that road, it would be several centuries in the past.

Assuming, of course, that everything worked the way it should. Jamie had said there were no guarantees—something Thomas hadn't wanted to share with Iolanthe.

Well, there was nothing he could do about it now. His foot was to the path; there was no turning back.

He made his way back to his car, took another look at his map, then got under way before he thought any more about anything.

It was safer that way.

 

 

He'd driven very fast on the long, unlovely stretch of road from Edinburgh to Inverness. It was something he thought he'd like to forget as soon as possible. He'd passed too many caravans and trucks that he'd had no business passing, but he'd done it anyway. Haste seemed to be the watchword of the day.

By the time he'd made it up into the Highlands and driven up the little winding roads that led through the forests and glens, he was exhausted. It was very dark before he managed to find his way—after several misturns and U-turns—to Jamie's keep. Maybe the most unsettling thing about it was the feeling that he'd been there before, but with a different landscape. By the time he actually pulled inside the gates and turned off the car, the feeling had become such a constant companion that he had almost accustomed himself to it.

He crawled from the car, stretched, then sighed. One step closer to his goal, and all he wanted to do was beg for a bed and use it.

He walked up the wide, broad steps leading up to James MacLeod's hall and shivered. It was just too familiar.

The door opened suddenly.

"Yeah, what do you want?"

Thomas stared at the young man standing there with a Ding-Dong in one hand and a carton of milk in the other. A huge swig was taken, a mouth wiped with a shirtsleeve, and a look of complete and utter boredom once again descended on the face. If the man hadn't looked so much like a younger version of Alexander Smith, Thomas might have suspected he'd come to the wrong place.

"Thomas McKinnon," Thomas said.

The young man looked him over from head to toe, then nodded a weary nod. "Of course you are. Come on in. I'm Zachary, the doorman."

Thomas walked in and found himself in the middle of an enormous argument over the origins