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

own head. What he wanted desperately was sleep. He would have given anything for a caffeinated beverage of some sort. He'd gone through all his stores of food. He'd even taken to munching on bark, but all that had done was give him a nasty taste in his mouth. Didn't Charles ever sleep? The man was a machine.

A twig snapped behind him and Thomas rolled into the river and came up with his sword in his hands. He swung before he thought, belatedly grateful that he hadn't cut Iolanthe in two.

Charles's remaining guardsman clutched his belly to keep his insides inside, then looked at Thomas with wide eyes.

"Who are you?" he gasped.

There was no use in answering that. The man slid slowly to the earth, then fell onto his back. Thomas waited until his eyes stared lifelessly at nothing, then turned back to his horse and mounted. He could afford no more time to wait. He took up the trail again. Unfortunately, the terrain was beginning to look all too familiar. He was getting within a day's ride of Thorpewold. He'd planned to have Iolanthe safely spirited away long before now.

He kept on his southeasterly course, straining his eyes to see anything in front of him. Had he lost them? Had he taken five minutes too long to let his horse drink? Would he come too late?

And then he saw them, two tiny specks a great distance in front of him.

He kicked his poor horse into a gallop, apologizing out loud as he did so. The gelding gave his all, and Thomas found himself drawing nearer. For the first time, he really believed he might manage what he'd set out to do. In the distance, he could see Thorpewold rising up against the horizon. If he could only catch Charles and Iolanthe. He could take Charles. He couldn't let himself believe anything less. If he could just catch them, which couldn't take more than another half hour. He rode, willing his mount to keep up the grueling pace.

And then his mount stumbled and pulled up lame.

Thomas didn't think. He merely jumped down off his horse, grabbed the spare clothes, and switched to Duncan's. He kicked Duncan's horse into a gallop. The chestnut hadn't had the burden of a man for three days and leaped ahead as if he'd just come from a nice warm stall, fully rested and fed. Thomas pushed the horse as fast as he would go. He felt victory within his grasp and found himself feeling more hopeful than he had in days.

And then from nowhere came a whizzing by Thomas's ear that set his horse to rearing. It was all he could do to stay in the saddle. He heard another twang, felt his horse shudder, and looked down to see an arrow protruding from the beast's neck.

He barely had his sword from its sheath before another man was bearing down on him, swearing in something that sounded remarkably like English. Thomas ducked, then heaved himself off his horse before it went down in a tangle of legs and whinnies. The other man's horse tried to leap over the fallen horse, but it tripped and went down as well, crushing its rider underneath it as it fell. It struggled to its feet, then trotted off toward Thorpewold as if nothing had happened.

Thomas looked down at the fallen guardsman, saw him wearing Charles's colors, and considered his options. Then he noticed the compound fracture of the other man's leg. The kindest thing he could do would probably be to finish ahead of time what rampant infection probably would later.

He took a deep breath, then slit the man's throat. And that, somehow, was just too much for him. He turned aside and lost the remains of tree bark he'd been eating for the past forty-eight hours. He stood, dragged his sleeve across his mouth, then looked up and scanned the countryside around him for any more assaults coming his way.

He saw nothing.

Not even Charles or Iolanthe.

He sheathed his sword, grabbed his gear, and began to jog. Iolanthe said she'd been murdered at sunset. It was just past noon now. He still had time.

 

 

Four hours later, he had the castle in his sights but no plan in mind. It wasn't as if he could just walk up and force his way inside. He found some cover, stripped off his plaid and put on a dead English-man's clothes. He bundled up another outfit and tied it around his waist. He stood, adjusted his sword, then put his shoulders back and faced the road that led to his castle. He stepped onto it without hesitation.

And the déjà vu almost knocked him over.

He had to hunch over with his hands on his thighs and simply gasp for a few moments until the dizzying assault receded. Once he thought he could walk without reeling, he started up the way to the keep as if he had the right to. He looked around him and saw nothing but land stripped of vegetation. Then he blinked.

And saw the way lined with people.

Knights and peasants. Men, women, and children. Old, young. There were probably fifty or sixty people there, lining the road, staring at him. Thomas froze in midstep. A year ago, he would have thought he had just lost his mind. Now he knew better.

He walked up to one of the peasants and tried to make his accent as Chaucer-like as possible.

"What business have you here?" Thomas asked politely.

The man looked at him in surprise. "Can ye see me?"

"Well, of course I can."

He soon found himself completely surrounded by souls that were apparently very surprised they could be seen. Thomas wondered absently if he was going to spend the rest of his life with this gift. One thing he could say for himself: He would never be bored.

One of the knights stepped forward. He spoke in French, which helped greatly.

"What business have you here?" the knight demanded.

Thomas looked at the keep. "Lord Charles has taken