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

to have been cold. A fine rain started up midday and didn't relent until evening, yet still he worked. His helpers had begged off for the day, yet still he didn't shrink from what he had to do.

And while he worked, he told her stories of his past. She didn't understand half of what he said, but she was loath to admit as much. And she tried not to feel shame when he looked searchingly at her a time or two, then repeated his tales with such simple details that even a child of few wits could have understood him.

He had received his university laurels for a study of history. He'd studied the law. Then he'd built an enterprise by himself and sold it at great profit. Of course, he didn't miss the opportunity to tell her of the impossibly high mountains he'd climbed. Even though she had seen the photographs, she couldn't even fathom it, so she merely nodded and humored him.

All of it made her feel that her own life had been very small and insignificant, yet somehow as the day wore on, he pried her own tales out of her.

And he made her feel that her own life had been very important indeed.

He was full of questions about how she'd lived, how her days had been passed. His admiration for what poor things she did know made her feel as if perhaps her days hadn't been completely wasted. After all, she did know much about physicking the ill, birthing babies, and tending livestock. She could spin, weave wool, and dye cloth with the herbs she gathered in the fields. She could feed many on little, knew how to count to one hundred, and could sing any number of lays and ballads while remaining almost completely on key.

By the time the sun had set, she wondered how it was she had passed the days before Thomas had come.

And she began to wonder how she would do the like when he left.

One thing she wasn't was a fool, and she knew that there

would be little to hold him at the castle once 'twas finished. The man was ambitious—that she recognized well enough. He would grow restive, then fractious, then he would pack up his belongings and be gone.

"Are you ready to go?"

She looked away from her contemplation of the courtyard. Thomas stood before her, quite filthy but smiling. Iolanthe took a deep breath.

"I think perhaps I will remain."

"Were you unhappy last evening?"

She shook her head, but she couldn't speak.

"Change is in the air, Iolanthe," he said gravely.

It frightens me, was what she wanted to say. Instead, she said, "I've a great deal to do here, what with the men and all."

"The men will keep."

"My garden—"

"That will keep, too." "I—"

"Iolanthe," he said with a half smile, "come with me."

"But—"

"Just come."

"Why?" she asked him, pained. "What does it matter?"

"It matters. It matters very much."

She suspected that if he could have dragged her along by the hand, he would have. She sighed, rose, and walked with him down the road and back to the inn.

And she prayed she wasn't flinging herself into a battle for her heart that would end only one way.

Badly for her.

But as he drew her into the inn after him, smiling in welcome, she found that, foolish or not, her heart was eased. Perhaps it would go badly for her in the end, but for now she was content.

She steadfastly refused to think about the future.

Chapter 15

Thomas stood the next morning in Thorpewold's inner bailey and looked down at his blistered hands. He didn't need to flex his arms to know they were sore enough to fall off. It was a very romantic theory to rebuild the keep with hand tools. In reality, it was a really stupid idea. Though he'd already laid one floor and was well on his way to finishing the second, he knew he couldn't keep this up any longer.

He looked at his helpers. "Lads, this isn't working."

They looked so relieved, Thomas almost laughed. He handed them a day's wages.

"I've got to find a generator and some power tools. Any ideas on where?"

"Edinburgh," Burt replied promptly.

"Only place to go," said Charlie just as promptly.

And then they both promptly turned and fled out the front gates. Thomas supposed he couldn't blame them, even though Iolanthe's men had been on their best behavior. Except Connor, but Thomas suspected that there was a man who couldn't be controlled at any price. Poor Burt had borne the brunt of Connor's irritation because the laird had snarled at the boy every time he'd passed near him. From all appearances, Burt hadn't heard anything, but not even a simpleton could have missed the waves of ill will that flowed like the Force from the MacDougal.

Thomas turned to find Iolanthe in one of her usual places, sitting on a rock, watching him work. He shoved his hands in his pockets, then immediately regretted it and pulled them out. He walked across the bailey and sat down on a rock next to her.

"I think I'm going to have to get a generator."

"A generator?"

"It's portable power," he said. "I have a few tools that will make the building go much faster, but they need juice to run them." He looked down at his hands. "I could do it myself with what I have, but it doesn't get the tower finished very soon."

"Have you that much haste?"

He looked at her, surprised by the question. He wanted very much to believe that she didn't want him to finish because she liked having him around working, but he wasn't sure he could go that far. So he smiled gamely and went with the best thing he could think of short of asking her if she. was afraid he would finish and go.

Because then she'd tell him she couldn't care less if and/ or when he went, and he didn't want to hear that.

"The sooner the tower is finished, the sooner we have shelter for the