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

a nod. "He doesn't shame himself overmuch, does he?"

She looked at Ambrose narrowly. "Have you been here recently?"

He only smiled pleasantly, but she had no trouble divining the answer to her question.

"Busybody."

"Thomas is my grandson, several times removed. Kin looks after kin, as he strives to look after you, though I doubt he does it for that reason. He seeks to give you another chance at life, and for that you should be grateful. Look you how hard he's trained."

She looked at Thomas critically. She couldn't have in all honesty said that he was Jamie's equal by anyone's measure, but then again, neither was anyone else in that yard. Iolanthe had to admit that, all things considered, Thomas was holding his own rather respectably. She listened in frank amazement as he spewed forth his own selection of curses in her native tongue. She'd listened to him learn a few things from her garrison at Thorpewold, but those curses had been nothing like this. She had to admit that he was not only inventive but thorough.

And, she admitted reluctantly to herself, he was beautiful.

And determined.

The intensity on his face was plain to the eye. Whatever he seemingly fought for, he fought to win.

"He has worked hard," Ambrose repeated. "For you."

The enormity of his sacrifice truly struck her for the first time. 'Twas one thing to speculate about his sincerity, fight with him over the stupidity of the idea, and watch him leave and suppose perhaps that he went on holiday to warm his toes at her ancestral fire.

'Twas another thing entirely to see him with his muscles straining, sweat pouring down his face, his eyes blazing with the light of battle.

She turned and walked away while she still could. She walked out the gates and paused, trying to decide which way to go. The meadow stretched for a goodly distance both north and south of the keep, but it was south she went. Though she had often trudged up the hill behind the keep in life, she had just as often walked down the meadow and sat in the long grass where she didn't have to look at her home.

She sat herself down, and for the first time allowed herself to imagine how it might be to actually sit again thusly and have a body to enjoy the sitting. To smell the heather, to feel the wind in her hair and the sun on her shoulders.

To have a man who loved her hold her in his arms.

My house in Maine is on the shore.

His words came back to her. She could hardly credit him with guile, for she'd never told him of her heart's desire. For all she knew, 'twas something he loved as well.

She sat there the whole of the day, noting the movement of the sun overhead but feeling none of its warmth. She watched the wind move the grasses. She heard the birds in the trees.

And then she realized someone was behind her.

She didn't move as he cast himself down on the earth next to her. He sported a plaid, a finely wrought saffron shirt, and a mighty blade. His hair was dripping wet, as if he'd just bathed to become presentable. She looked at him, and her eyes burned with tears she couldn't bring herself to shed.

"Iolanthe."

She closed her eyes in self-defense, but said nothing.

"I'm glad you came."

She managed a nod.

"I'm leaving tomorrow morning."

She opened her eyes at that. "So soon?"

He shrugged and smiled easily. "I could spend a year here and not learn everything I need to know."

"But—"

"I'll manage. I've been talking to Duncan—"

"Duncan was here as well?" she interrupted incredulously.

"Yes."

"My whole bloody family is thick in this plot!"

He looked at her for several minutes in silence. "A wiser man might begin to believe that you are truly opposed to this."

She turned her face away. What was she to say, that she feared for his life? That the chance he took was more than she could stomach? That she would rather have a part of him than none of him?

Ah, but there was danger in that as well. There was little she could offer him. He would grow weary of their life together, then leave. Then not only would she be left with her miserable existence, she'd have a broken heart as well.

"Or are you worried about me?"

"Of course I'm worried, you fool!" she said, whirling on him. "You might die!"

"Oh," he said, looking enormously pleased. "You are worried."

She jumped to her feet, but he leaped to his just as quickly.

"Please, Iolanthe, don't," he said, holding up his hands in surrender. "I won't tease you. Please sit with me a little longer."

She sat back down grudgingly.

"I'll be okay," he said, sitting down next to her. "I promise."

"You have no idea what you face."

"I'll manage."

She shook her head. "You'll be in my father's pit before you know it. 'Tis an unwholesome place."

"I'll manage."

She sighed. "At least if he kills you, we'll both be ghosts."

"Well," Thomas said thoughtfully, "there is that."

"How can you jest about this?" she asked, pained.

He looked at her with such tenderness that she found she could scarce see him for her tears.

"Iolanthe, I love you," he said quietly, "and there isn't anything I wouldn't do for you. Or give up for you."

"But not your life," she protested.

"Well," he said with half a smile, "I won't answer that. You know, I think sometimes it's just as hard to live for someone than it is to die for them. And believe me when I tell you that I intend to live a very long time. With you."

"Ach, Thomas—"

"It's going to be all right, you'll see."

She paused. "How did you know I was here? Did Ambrose tell you?"

"Of course not," he said with a smile. "I felt you the moment you set foot on Jamie's land."

"You are a fey man," she managed. "Fey and daft."

"But you love me."

She couldn't even manage a decent response to put him off the scent. All she could do was stare at