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

stronger than she, notwithstanding their ghostly status. She found that much as she protested, her fingers were still pried away from his flesh and she was still pushed back until he could sit up. She jerked away from him and staggered to her feet. She stood, glaring down at him, her chest heaving.

"Eavesdropper," she accused.

"I wanted," he said, rubbing his throat and straightening his ruffles, "to make certain he did not take liberties."

"With me?" she exclaimed. "You fool, I'm a ghost!"

"Be that as it may," he said, rising gracefully to his feet and brushing off his trousers, "I felt I had a need—"

"To eavesdrop, you despicable worm," she spat. "There is no term low enough to describe you."

"It's Greek, you know," he said calmly. "Your name."

"I know," she said haughtily, but in truth she hadn't. Her mother told her 'twas a special word that meant violet. She had no idea if it was a word for the flower or the color itself. As far as that went, she'd only ever seen heather, so she had been left to imagine another flower of even more brilliant cast.

" 'Tis quite a lovely name. But," he added hastily, "I won't use it, if you forbid me."

"I do forbid you," she snapped.

"But you'll let him use it."

She ignored him.

"You didn't give it to him, you know," he pointed out. "Not freely."

"I am," she said tightly, "finished having speech with you."

"He took it from you."

"I said, I am finished with you!"

"May I call you Violet?" he asked, persisting in that infuriatingly polite way he had, as if he merely asked for a cup of tea and it would have been ungracious of her to refuse him. "Violet is a lovely name as well. I once had a lover named Violet—though she wasn't nearly as beautiful as you are, of course—"

A sword suddenly appeared, protruding from his chest. Roderick vanished with a mighty screech. Iolanthe looked at Duncan as he resheathed his sword and made her a low bow.

"At your service, cousin."

Iolanthe's relief at being rid of Roderick was swallowed up in apprehension that Duncan had heard the conversation. She considered him. "Did you hear what he said?"

He merely looked at her, his expression inscrutable.

"Do you know?" she asked miserably.

Duncan was silent for so long, she began to regret her question. She shifted uncomfortably.

"Lady," he said finally, "I was there at your birth. I was passing fond of your mother. And, unlike your sire Malcolm, I wasn't afeared to try my hand at a name I'd never heard before."

"Oh," Iolanthe said, nonplussed.

"And I remembered it long after he'd forgotten it."

She could hardly speak. "I see," she managed.

"But I've never used it, out of respect for what I knew to be your wishes."

She took a deep breath, moved almost beyond words by his loyalty. She tried a smile, but failed.

"And what of the men?" she asked.

"They know it now," he said with a shrug. "But I daresay none will utter it. Save the MacDougal, of course."

"Of course," she murmured.

"I'll see to whomever dares."

She had no doubts he would. She tried another smile then and was much more successful at that one.

"Thank you, my friend. Your discretion means much. Much more now that I know how long it has lasted."

He only smiled briefly and inclined his head. "By the by, my lady, you'll be interested in what's coming up the way. I believe we've a guest preparing to assault the keep."

"A tourist?"

Duncan pursed his lips. "Nay, lady, not a tourist. I believe this one has come to stay for a bit."

She blinked. "He's come already?"

"This cannot surprise you."

Iolanthe looked back over the garden at the wilting flowers still sitting on the bench where Thomas McKinnon had placed them. Though she couldn't say she'd accepted his apology fully, she couldn't deny that she had given him permission to begin his work. Of course, that had been before that startling bit of business in the chamber of her death. She wondered if that might be reason enough to withdraw her consent.

"He is yet without the gates," Duncan added slowly. "Shall he remain there?"

Iolanthe looked up at the sky, took a deep breath, then shook her head. "Let him do as he wishes." Perhaps if he was concentrating on his work, he would leave her be.

Not that she cared either way. She fully intended to ignore him. He could bang away at all hours for all she cared. She would simply pretend he didn't exist.

"Kinswoman," Duncan said, "this is your home."

"I've given him leave to improve it as he likes," she said.

"Hrmph," Duncan said, sounding unconvinced. "Very well, then. But I'll watch him closely, lest he make a nuisance of himself."

She shrugged, as if she couldn't have cared less, and went back to her gardening. Duncan turned and walked off purposefully. There was a part of her that almost felt sorry for Thomas, what with Duncan and his lads watching his every move. Perhaps he wouldn't even see them. Most mortals didn't. They walked through spirits without realizing what they'd done until they'd gotten a nasty chill.

Then again, Thomas McKinnon wasn't most mortals. He saw very clearly indeed.

She sat staring at the dirt for another half an hour before she found herself getting to her feet, dusting off her dress, and looking about for something else to do. She was restless. Aye, that was it. She needed a bit of a walk to soothe herself. And if that walk took her through the bailey, who could fault her for it? She made her way from the garden, fully intending to continue on her way out the front gates. But the sight in the bailey made her pause.

Thomas was sitting in the dirt a goodly distance away from the tower he'd selected for his work. Roderick stood next to him blathering on about the saints only knew what. How did the man concentrate with all that nonsense being spewed at him? She knew she never could, which was why Roderick so often