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

the way Jamie had taught him. Duncan looked at him carefully as he did so, but said nothing. When they were mounted, Duncan led the way. Thomas followed him, not bothering to ask where they were going or if he'd still have his life by sunrise. It was enough to be free of MacLeod's pit and riding in what he hoped was the right direction. He couldn't see a thing in the dark, and though Iolanthe had given him some landmarks she thought she remembered, he was equally aware that she'd told him not to count on her memory.

She had promised him, however, that Duncan was unparalleled in his tracking skills. Thomas had no choice but to trust the man.

And hope that he didn't unwittingly lead them both into an ambush.

 

 

It was daybreak before they stopped to water the horses. Duncan drank deeply from the stream as well, then looked at Thomas.

"Ye've told me a name known only to myself and two other people," Duncan said without preamble. "Either ye're a demon or ye're possessing Sight more powerful than I've ever seen."

Thomas took a deep breath. "Would you believe me if I told you neither?"

"Yer Gaelic is poor."

"My French is better."

"French it is," Duncan said smoothly. In flawless French.

Thomas stared at him in surprise. Well, this was news. He wondered how many other things Duncan hadn't told him.

"I'll have the tale," Duncan said, folding his arms over his chest. "The entire tale, if you please."

"Um," Thomas stalled.

"But first, I'll know how you know the lady's name."

In for a penny, in for a pound, Thomas supposed.

"You and Moira gave it to her," he said. "A minstrel had come through, one who knew many languages and gave you a word for the color of Moira's eyes, which would be the color of her daughter's eyes. Moira asked you what the girl should be named." He took a deep breath. "And you, as her father, named her."

Duncan stuck his jaw out and considered. "And how, lad," he asked carefully, "would you be knowing any of that?"

"You told me yourself."

"I did not."

"You did, in the year 2001."

Duncan didn't move or give any indication that he thought Thomas's story was madness. He merely nodded slowly, then spoke.

"The entire tale. All of it."

"I'm not a demon," Thomas assured him.

"I'll judge that."

"I love her. I've come to save her."

Duncan folded his arms over his chest. "The tale. Briefly. We need to catch them first, then find a proper place to try to take them. We're two against a dozen, and those are poor odds in any battle."

"I can wield a sword."

"A body can hope. Now, the tale."

Thomas sent a prayer flying heavenward before he plunged in. "Okay," he said, "this is the future—or what will be the future if we don't go soon. The English-man will take Iolanthe to his castle, try to force the secret of the MacLeod keep from her, she'll refuse, and she'll be murdered. I'll come along six hundred years later, buy the castle, and fall in love with her. I'll discover the secret of your keep, travel back in time to try to stop the murder from happening, find myself thrown in Malcolm's pit, you'll rescue me, and we'll end up standing here with me telling you a story that sounds unbelievable."

Duncan stared at him so long in such silence that Thomas wondered if he'd been too blunt. Much too blunt. He found himself easing up on the balls of his feet and wondering if he could get his sword from off his horse before Duncan reached for his.

And then Duncan stirred.

"Her name," he began, then he cleared his throat. "Did she give it to you? In this Future of yours?

"I guessed it," Thomas admitted. "Then she gave me permission to use it."

Duncan considered. "And I told you these things about Moira?"

"Before I left, yes," Thomas said. "You said it would get your attention."

"It did." He paced a ways off, then came back to stand in front of Thomas. "Does Iolanthe know I'm her sire?"

Thomas shook his head. "You never told her. Neither did I. I figured it was your knowledge to share or not, as you would."

"And I knew you then," Duncan said, sounding rather stunned. "But I don't know you now."

"It's complicated."

"How do you expect that the lass will know you?"

"I'm hoping she'll remember the future."

"That, my lad, is daft."

Thomas smiled grimly. "People believe different things about how time passes."

"Slowly or quickly," Duncan said dryly, "depending on the skill of the bard telling the tale."

"Right," Thomas said, acknowledging the barb with a smile. "Anyway, this is what I know. Some people think time goes along in a straight line, like on a string. Some people believe that it has a single starting point, then it goes backward and forward at the same time. Other people say it's like a ring, with no beginning and no end, which leaves it open to all kinds of speculation."

Duncan looked at him with faint consternation.

"It's entirely possible that she will remember me."

Duncan grunted.

"All right," Thomas conceded. "Maybe she won't at first. But it's possible that if I can get to her before she's killed and take her away to the future, that she'll remember the life she lived as a ghost."

"How do I die?"

Thomas blinked, completely blindsided by the question. "Um," he said, not sure how to answer.

"The truth."

"That is one question I never asked you, and believe me when I tell you that I asked you a lot of questions."

Duncan rubbed his hand suddenly over his face and sighed deeply. "Such thoughts are too complicated for my old head. Let us be about our business. That you know her name will startle her enough that she'll listen to you at least. I can't guarantee what she'll do after that." He looked at Thomas critically. "You're a braw lad. She could do worse."

"Thank you," Thomas said dryly.

"I'm here with you. What more display of faith do you want?"

Thomas smiled. "None. Shall we go?"

"Aye."

"Can you