My Heart Stood Still by Lynn Kurland (best book club books of all time .TXT) 📕

rain before long. But despite that, the walk was pleasant, and she couldn't deny that the company was fine. It was a perfectly lovely way to pass a morning.

Except that she was going back to the place where she'd almost died.

Without warning, a finely packed road veered off to the right. Iolanthe came to a halt. She found, strangely enough, that she could not move. She knew where the road led. Putting her foot to that path was unthinkable.

"Iolanthe?"

She looked up at Thomas. "I cannot," she said helplessly. "I cannot move."

There was profound sympathy in his eyes. "To be honest, I had the same feeling the first time I came here." He shivered. "It was as if I'd been here before, only I never had."

She took a deep breath. "I know 'tis mad, but—"

"It's like walking over your own grave." He smiled briefly. "I understand, believe me."

And then he paused.

"Are you sorry?" he asked.

"About what?"

"That I... that I interrupted your..."

"Death?" she finished. She struggled for several moments with an answer. There was no good one, and that she had none to give him shamed her. "I am ungrateful," she said finally.

He stood there for several moments in silence. Then he cleared his throat.

"I wish I could say that I regretted doing it," he said. "But I can't. I couldn't let it happen when there was a chance to stop it."

She nodded, then looked at him and tried to smile. She found it almost impossible.

"I fear I'm ..."

"Overwhelmed?"

"Aye."

"We don't have to go up there today. Or any day. We can—"

"Nay," she said. "Waiting will not make it any easier. Besides," she said, nodding to herself, "I should do this. It will prove to me that I really have come to your Future."

"Mrs. Pruitt's traditional English breakfast didn't do it for you?" he asked with a smile. Then he sobered. "All right. Let's go."

But still she found she couldn't make herself put a foot onto that cursed path. She found herself groping for something and when she found it, she clung tightly to it.

Thomas's hand.

She didn't dare look at him. She merely clutched his hand and forced herself to put one foot in front of the other. Thomas's hand was warm and secure around hers, and from it she drew strength.

She watched the ground until she realized she had no choice but to look up at the castle or find herself crashing into it. It was almost more than she could do to look up.

Thomas waited with seemingly endless patience.

Iolanthe took a deep breath, then looked up.

"Well," she managed finally. "Crumbling outer walls."

"I haven't gotten around to them yet," Thomas agreed. "It is odd, though, isn't it? To have seen this place in perfect condition two weeks ago and now to see it falling down?"

Odd wasn't the word for it. Iolanthe looked at the outer walls, feeling Thomas rub his thumb over the back of her hand until it was almost distracting.

Then without warning, he gasped and ducked, pulling her down with him.

"Knock it off, MacDougal," he snapped, straightening and glaring at nothing. "She doesn't need this."

Iolanthe straightened as well, wondering if too much time-traveling had left him truly witless. Then she remembered that he could see things she couldn't.

"A ghostie?" she asked.

"Connor MacDougal," Thomas said, tossing a very displeased look to his left.

"You spoke of him at Artane."

"Yeah, and those few days without him were bliss. Let's keep going."

Iolanthe pulled her hand from his, not because she wanted to, but because she found herself suddenly self-conscious. If there were those about watching them, they might find her clutching of Thomas's hand like a child quite silly. Thomas didn't seem to notice her discomfort. Either that, or he pretended not to notice.

Iolanthe walked under the barbican gate and paused in the courtyard. She remembered vividly the last time she'd been in the place. Lord Charles's men had been pinned against the walls by unseen foes; their screams still assaulted her ears.

But now the courtyard was empty except for a pair of tourists.

"Tourists?" she said aloud.

"I can't seem to keep them out," Thomas said with a sigh. "Besides, it gives the gar—" He looked startled, then shut his mouth immediately.

"The what?"

"Nothing," he said promptly. "I'm just babbling."

"It gives the what?" she prodded. "Tell me what you were going to say."

"It gives the garrison something to do," he said quickly. "They like to entertain people from time to time, I think. I didn't want to spoil their fun."

Iolanthe looked around the inner bailey, but could see nothing but the couple standing by the great hall. No ghosties. No bogles. No garrisons of spirits.

She pursed her lips, said hrmph, then studied her surroundings. To her left was the guard tower where she'd been taken. At the far corner of that wall was another, larger tower. The great hall sat in the middle of the bailey. She looked to her right and saw another wall with an arch cut in it. The gates were open, and she could see into a barren field. The lists, no doubt. For a moment she saw the place filled with flowers, but she shook aside the vision. Too many eggs for breakfast, no doubt.

It was the far tower that drew her. She made her way across the bailey, feeling Thomas a step or two behind her. She walked up the flights of steps on the outside of the tower, wooden steps that looked as if they'd just been recently built. She ignored the lower two floors. 'Twas the uppermost that drew her, though she couldn't have said why. She was certain Lord Charles had never shown her this part of his prison.

She put her hand on the door latch. She found that she couldn't move. Soon Thomas's hand swam into view. It was only then that she realized she had tears streaming down her face. She watched his hand fit a key into a lock and turn it. She opened the door herself, then looked into a solar of such