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

She looked across the bailey, noting that the entire garrison was there, leaning against various walls and sharpening various bits of their gear. Connor MacDougal stood near the southwest guard tower, glowering. She was surprised neither by his choice of location—no one save him loitered at that place of evil if they could help it—nor by the expression on his face. She supposed Thomas was lucky Connor was a ghost. It would not have gone well for him otherwise.

She intended to walk straight toward the gatehouse without turning either to the right or the left. But instead, she found herself crossing the bailey and stopping behind Thomas. Who knew what sorts of mischief Roderick was stirring up? She felt she had no choice but to see for herself and stop it if need be.

"You're a poor artist," Roderick said with a sniff.

"Yes," Thomas said placidly.

"I could do much better."

"I'm certain you could."

Iolanthe watched Roderick scowl and couldn't help but wonder what he was about. Was he purposely trying to force a confrontation?

"Your manner of dress is highly questionable," Roderick said disdainfully. "I wouldn't be seen in such low clothing."

"I'm sure you wouldn't."

"And I suppose you think your hair is far less unfashionable than it truly is."

Thomas put his pencil down and looked up at Roderick. "Why don't you tell me what it really is you want to say? You're wasting your time trying to insult me."

"Leave her alone," Roderick snapped. "She doesn't want you. She doesn't want you here."

"You know," Thomas said evenly, "out of all the women I've ever known, the lady of this keep strikes me as the least likely of any to mince words. If she doesn't want me here, she'll tell me."

"I'm telling you."

"She can speak for herself."

Roderick drew his saber with a flourish. To Thomas's credit, he didn't flinch. Iolanthe watched Roderick fumble for a moment with the blade, poke himself sharply in the arm with it, then spew forth a torrent of curses at Thomas.

"I haven't finished with you," he vowed.

"You and the rest of the garrison," Thomas said with a sigh. "Take a number."

Iolanthe watched Roderick vanish with another curse. Indeed, the entire garrison seemed to have found other things to do, for she realized that she was alone in the bailey.

Well, other than the man who sat in the dirt, drawing.

The man she had vowed to ignore.

So he thought her more than capable of speaking for herself. Perhaps she would then, especially about the events of the day before. Powerfully cheeky of him to have blurted her name out without warning.

And powerfully unsettling that he'd known it.

Just how had he known it?

She turned that mystery over in her mind for a goodly while as she stood behind him and watched over his shoulder as he drew. Perhaps Roderick was more particular about his renderings than she, for what she saw looked skilled enough. She took a step closer and studied what Thomas had done.

He'd drawn the tower before them, yet it was as if it missed the front of its walls, for she could see inside the chambers. There were three floors, as it had had originally. She watched as he drew various bits of furniture in the lower floors. The top floor, however, soon began to have some changes made to it. More windows were added. Once that was done, things began to appear inside: a chair or two; a tapestry frame; a table for working. It was very luxurious, to her mind.

"Do you like it?"

She jumped when she realized he was looking over his shoulder at her. "How can you see me?" she demanded.

"How could I not?" he asked with a smile.

There was no useful response to that, for she suspected that if she told him that he could have used self-control to his advantage, he would have spouted some sort of nonsense about... well, about something foolish.

So she only grunted at him with what she hoped was a proper amount of disgust.

"Do you like this room?" He gestured to the topmost floor.

There was no point in lying. She suspected that he would know it anyway.

"Aye," she said grudgingly. " 'Tis fine enough, I suppose."

"Anything you would change about it?"

She shook her head. A chamber so luxurious would have been far beyond the reach of her or anyone else she'd ever known in life.

He tapped his pencil against the drawing. "I noticed," he began carefully, "that you didn't show me any place that was yours." He looked up at her. "When you showed me the castle."

She blinked at him. "Mine?"

"A room of your own. Where you go for peace, if you need it."

"Why would I need such a thing?"

"Don't you ever want to have somewhere to go to be alone?"

She almost said, That's what the forest is for, but then she began to wonder why he was asking the question. He was idly drawing odd bits in the topmost chamber, things that would be pleasing to a woman's eye. She could scarce believe that he might set aside a place just for her, something he would build with his own hands for her comfort.

A place of her own.

What an astonishing idea.

"A place for peace," she managed. "Aye, that would be nice enough, I suppose."

His smile was truly the most beautiful thing she'd ever seen. It made her want to smile. It made her want to wrap herself in its warmth. It made her want to do something else to cause him to grace her with it again.

It made her want to check her forehead for fever.

"Then this room will be yours," he said. He took off his coat and spread it out on the dirt next to him. "Will you sit with me?" he asked.

Damn him, even a hint of that smile was going to be her undoing. All her fine resolves to keep him at a distance were somehow lost in the beauty of that smile. She found herself, fool that she was, sitting