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

at him. "I am finished having speech with you."

"I've no doubt you are, as I'm quite sure anything I have to say to you, you won't wish to hear."

"No doubt."

Ambrose reached out and put his hand on her shoulder. "You should go home. Have speech with your laird. Ask him if there is aught you can do to aid the man who loves you so much."

Ach, but she could bear no more of this, for every word was a like a knife in her heart. She knew she should have gone with Thomas to the Highlands. That she hadn't only weighed her soul down with each day that passed. He risked his life to save hers. The least she could have done was watch him prepare to do it.

"My dear," Ambrose began.

She clapped her hands over her ears and vanished like the coward she truly was.

 

 

It took her another three weeks to resign herself to the fact that Ambrose was right, and she was wrong. She had spent those weeks counting each hour and damning herself the more as they passed. She hadn't even allowed herself the luxury of her private chamber. She'd lingered in the garden, but without the heart to even create anything.

It occurred to her, midway through that third se'nnight, that she had come full circle. When Thomas had come into her life, she'd been bitter and lonely, passing the hours in misery. And now that he was gone, she had come back to the same place, with the same lack of joy.

Which made that precious time between those points even more painful to think about.

Finally, when she could bear it no more, she sought Ambrose out. He was, as usual, holding court in the inn's kitchen with Hugh and Fulbert. Iolanthe ignored the other two.

"I'm ready," she said to Ambrose.

"For what, little one?"

"To go home."

"Well done," Ambrose said, clapping his hands. He beamed his approval on her. "We'll go on the morrow."

She had several questions to ask, but she surely wasn't going to admit her ignorance before the other two men. So she simply waited, unmoving and silent.

"Lads," Ambrose said, looking at her closely, "I think the lady and I have things to discuss. Seek your ease elsewhere."

The other two left soon enough, after farewells and other such rituals of parting and good night. Iolanthe just wished they'd hurry their bloody business up.

But once they were gone, she found that asking her questions was a much different matter than thinking about asking her questions. She sat slowly.

"On the morrow," Ambrose began without preamble, "we'll just pop ourselves up to the Highlands—"

"Pop?"

He smiled modestly. "You think about where you want to go, then quite suddenly you find yourself there. 'Tis a bit unsettling at first, but I think you'll find it to your liking in the end."

"And then?"

"And then we'll have ourselves a look about and see how young Thomas fares. Once we've sorted that out, we'll talk to James."

She sighed. "And then?"

"And then we'll wait."

She'd done far too much of that, but perhaps she had no choice.

"Will you stay here?" Ambrose asked kindly. "Mrs. Pruitt has your chamber put to rights, no doubt. Or perhaps you would care to come to the sitting room and we'll have speech about nothing in particular."

It may be for the last time.

He hadn't said the words, but she had heard them just the same. So she nodded and followed him into the other chamber.

 

 

They left shortly after sunrise the next morning. It took less than the space of a breath to move herself from Thorpewold to her ancestral home. She came to a teetering halt next to Ambrose, the breath and her wits completely stolen from her.

"Ah," Ambrose said, stretching like a satisfied cat, "that was a proper journey. Would that I could have traveled that stretch in such good time when I was alive."

Iolanthe was too shaken for words, so she merely looked around her and marveled at the things that had changed. And the things that had not.

There was still a forest surrounding her home, though she was certain the trees couldn't be the ones she had walked under in life. The pond was still behind her and the entrance to the garden still before her. And the keep still rose up to the sky in much the same way it had before.

"He's made a few additions," Ambrose said with a nod. "But nothing that you'd notice from the outside. You'll see the inside soon enough." He beckoned for her to follow him as he walked around to the front gates. He entered without hesitation.

Iolanthe followed more slowly. The keep had sported no such wall in her day. The village provided whatever poor buffer they'd had against the outside world. This wall before her was intimidating, to be sure. She followed Ambrose in past the iron gates and through the courtyard to the training yard. The sounds of a mighty battle came from there. That was nothing unusual, for her kin had always trained with much enthusiasm.

But now Thomas was in their midst.

Iolanthe stood in the shadow of the hall and took in the scene before her. None of the men were ones she knew, save Thomas, though she immediately identified the Scots. They fought in strange short trews, but she could tell by their bold and clever fighting that they were kin of hers, for if there was one thing a MacLeod could do, 'twas fight with his wits and his blade alike. Another man wore armor like the English had many centuries before, so she assumed that was his origin.

Then there was their leader. She couldn't call him anything else. He was taller, broader, and more fierce than any of the others. His curses blistered her ears—and the sweetness of hearing Gaelic from a mortal mouth was a joy she hadn't expected—and he laughed as he wielded his great sword.

"The laird, James," Ambrose said.

"Aye, I supposed it was," she murmured.

"But see your man," Ambrose said with