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

She took a deep breath and followed him from the chamber. He let go of her hand, took up his sword, and led the way down the stairs. That she was actually going back down those steps as anything but a corpse was noteworthy. That she was doing so with the man from her most secret dreams was surely a miracle.

They walked out into the freedom of the evening. Iolanthe took a deep breath, grateful for being able to do so. She looked around her, wondering what new tests of their mettle they would face before they escaped the castle.

Then she froze.

The sight in the bailey was something she was quite certain she would never forget. The sun had set, but the twilight gave enough illumination that she saw things quite clearly.

Every man in the bailey stood backed against the walls as if held there by some unseen rope. Some were weeping. Others were begging for mercy. Still others were in the throes of being heartily sick. Iolanthe looked at her rescuer and found him smiling in satisfaction.

Ach, by the saints, what had she done? Had she just traded death for something far worse? She looked at the man who had rescued her and crossed herself against him.

"You're a demon," she breathed.

He looked at her in surprise. "What?"

"You're the devil!" she said, backing away in horror. "Only the devil could make such a work—"

He took her by the arm before she could run. She struggled furiously. In the end, he had to drop his sword to hold her. She kicked him full in his privates. As he was doubled over, gasping for air as all her brothers had done when treated thusly, she snatched his sword. She waited until he had straightened before she looked him full in the face and pronounced his doom.

"You'll die—"

"I'm not the devil!" he said with a mighty bout of coughing.

"A demon, then," she shouted. "You've enspelled the entire keep!"

"Ghosts," he wheezed. "Can't you see the ghosts?"

She looked about her, but all she saw were terrified men. Whatever unseen bogles held them there, she couldn't have said. But she was damned sure that despite whatever the man wanted to name them, they were demons like he was.

"I don't believe in ghosties," she announced.

And that, for some reason, made him stop still. He stood there, hunched over with his hands on his thighs, and stared at her in complete astonishment. Then he bowed his head and laughed.

"Fool," she said, taking a swing at him.

Demon, devil, or madman, he was still quick on his feet. He ducked, then came up under the blade and wrapped his hands around hers that still held the hilt.

"I'm no demon," he said, his eyes alight with a combination of good humor and seriousness. "If I were, why would I need a sword?"

"You don't wield it very well."

"I didn't have much time to learn."

"See?" she said pointedly. "Handling things you aren't accustomed to. Demon's work, I'd say."

"I'm just a man. I came to rescue you. What does that tell you?"

She had no good answer for that. What it told her was that he had risked his life for hers, and she should be grateful. She started to say as much, then something else occurred to her.

"Ha," she said, wagging her finger at him. "How would you know I was here? Unless you were a demon who knows things he shouldn't?"

"I came with Duncan—"

"Duncan?" she asked. She released his sword. "Where is he?" By the saints, this was welcome news indeed. She looked about her for her kinsman, but she couldn't see him.

Then she realized the man wasn't answering her. And she felt something descend, a quiet that could betide only one thing. She looked back at the man. "Duncan?"

He nodded slowly. "I'm sorry—"

"You killed him?" she said, feeling rage sweep over her.

"I didn't," he said quickly. "We came down from Scotland together. He died helping me finish off half a dozen Englishmen so I could come get you."

"Oh," she said quietly. "I see." She looked about the keep again, then closed her eyes and shivered. "I fear to trust you."

"Just because I see things you apparently don't doesn't mean you can't trust me."

She opened her eyes and looked at him. "You're fey."

"I'm sure that won't be the last time you say that."

"Who are you?"

"Thomas McKinnon."

She stared at him for several moments, trying to judge what kind of man he was. He didn't look evil, when she actually looked at him calmly, and 'twas a certainty he had rescued her from a very bad end, Duncan had trusted him, else he wouldn't have come so far from the Highlands with him.

But why had this man come? How had he known to come?

How had she known to dream his beautiful face?

"Come with me," he said, holding out his hand again. "We need to steal a pair of horses and get out of here before any of these lads realize they're being pinned to the wall by spirits and not flesh-and-blood men."

"You're fey. Fey and daft."

"Maybe, but I'm saving your life. Isn't that enough?"

"Why? Why are you doing that?"

"Because it's a life worth saving. Now, just trust me, and come."

Well, despite the fairness of his visage and the fact that he'd rescued her from certain death, she wasn't going to trust him. But she would go with him. 'Twas far easier to escape a single man in the open than it was a keep full of soldiers, so she followed him.

So Duncan had supposedly come with him. Was that true, or had he overtaken Duncan trying to rescue her, wrung the circumstances of her departure from him, then come on his own to try to wrest the secret of her keep from her? How had he come to her home in the first place? He looked powerfully filthy, and she had her suspicions, by the layer of crust on the back of his hair, that he'd spent