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

man with a vicious swipe across his neck that made Thomas very glad he wasn't standing next in the enemy line.

"Well done," Thomas said with a grin, dragging his arm across his forehead. "Let's get out of here."

And then Duncan turned.

And Thomas saw that his tunic was drenched with blood. Thomas would have believed that it was someone else's but for the way Duncan held his hand to the wound. Thomas met the older man's eyes and found himself so stunned, he couldn't form articulate sounds.

Duncan grimaced, then stepped across a fallen foe to put his hand on Thomas's shoulder. "Go," he wheezed. "Quickly."

"I can't leave," Thomas said, but he knew he would have to.

"Your task is to see to my girl," Duncan said, straightening with an effort. "Else my death is in vain."

"Oh, Duncan," Thomas said, sheathing his sword and putting both of his hands on the other man's shoulders. "I'm so sorry." He blinked back tears he hadn't known were near. "It wasn't supposed to happen this way. You never told me—"

"I was always known for keeping my secrets close," Duncan said with a hint of a smile. "I suppose even as a ghost I did the same."

"But," Thomas said, feeling set adrift, "how am I—"

"You've a plan," Duncan said sharply. "Follow it. Follow her and save her before she loses her life as well." He sank to his knees. "I suppose I'll know if you succeed. You'd best succeed, or you'll find me haunting you for the rest of your days."

Thomas squatted down in front of him. "What can I do to make you more comfortable?"

Duncan looked around, then pointed to a nearby tree. "Help me over there, then go. There's naught you can do."

Thomas helped him hobble over to the tree, quietly appalled by the amount of blood that seemed to be seeping into Duncan's clothes. He wouldn't last long with that kind of blood loss.

"Duncan..."

"Get on that horse, Thomas lad, and let me see you ridin' off to rescue my girl." Duncan pulled a knife free of his belt and handed it to Thomas. 'Take this. Iolanthe will recognize it as mine. You never know but that such a thing might serve you."

Thomas took the knife and rose slowly to his feet. "There aren't words to thank you for this," he said, gesturing behind him. "I never would have managed it on my own."

"Well, you haven't managed the rest of it yet, have you, so cease with your boasting. Be off with you."

Thomas hesitated. "Should I tell her? The truth?"

"Tell her I died aiding you to rescue her."

"That's a great gift."

Duncan looked up at him and smiled faintly. "Ach, but what else is a father to do?"

Thomas would have replied, but there was nothing else to be said. He retrieved his horse, and Duncan's, too, then came back for a final farewell. He realized then that he just didn't have it in him to leave Duncan. Iolanthe had died alone. He couldn't leave Duncan to do that.

He knelt down next to the older man and grasped his hand.

"Shall I tell you of the future?" Thomas asked softly.

"Aye," Duncan breathed. "A ... comfort..."

"Well, in the future that's already passed, you find Iolanthe at the castle which is called Thorpewold. By the time I arrive, you've been there six hundred years with her. She said that when you first came, you went down on your knee and pledged fealty to her, as you would have to your laird. I suppose you can imagine what that meant to her, but I can tell you that she only spoke of it once, and it was with tears in her eyes."

Duncan smiled.

"You were a father to her for centuries. She loved you as such. You gave her the gift of unconditional love and unwavering support. You couldn't have given her more."

He took a breath to continue, then realized there was no point.

He closed Duncan's eyes, took a final look at the man's faint smile, then bowed his head and sighed. There wasn't even time for a decent burial. Every minute he lagged behind was another minute Lord Charles had on him. Duncan would have heartily agreed with the sentiment.

He did, however, spare a moment or two to grieve for the short time he'd had to spend in Duncan's company. He suspected that a lifetime wouldn't have been long enough to discover all the man's secrets. He would have been a wonderful father-in-law and a marvelous grandfather.

Which he still could be, in a sense, but only if Thomas managed to succeed in rescuing Iolanthe. So he unbuckled the brooch that held Duncan's plaid to his shoulder, pulled that material over his face, then pinned it in place. He laid Duncan's sword by his side, then turned and looked around him. It occurred to him that if he and Iolanthe did manage to escape anywhere near the border, they would need something appropriate to wear.

Without emotion, he stripped clothing off a pair of the slain men, clothing with the least amount of blood on it— and that was no mean feat. He bundled it up, stuck it behind his saddle, and mounted.

He left the scene of battle and hoped the small bit of tracking Duncan had been able to teach him would be enough.

It would have to be.

Two days later, Thomas wondered if he would manage to rescue Iolanthe after all. Try as he might, he could never catch the English-man, though he seemed to pause to water his horse only moments behind the small party. He'd barely missed having his life taken more than once, and the only good thing to come of that was that he'd managed to knock off one more of Charles's guardsmen. That left Charles, another man, and Iolanthe.

The odds were getting better all the time.

Or they would have been, had Thomas been able to catch the trio.

He paused, the morning of the third day of travel by himself, to water his horse, Duncan's horse, and his