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

She followed him.

But warily.

Chapter 32

Two days later, Thomas decided that he might have a tiny bit of a problem. It all stemmed from the fact that he had made the serious mistake of falling asleep sometime during the wee hours of the morning. It hadn't been for long, he was sure of that. But it had apparently been long enough for Iolanthe to have taken his sword and clobbered him on the temple with it. He remembered a blinding flash of light as his brain exploded, then a long, uninterrupted slide into unconsciousness.

Now it was dawn. He'd woken but a moment before and found himself trussed up, as his father would have said, snugger than a Christmas goose.

The cliché was annoying but unfortunately quite accurate. He had a sudden sympathy for any kind of bird destined for the supper table.

He tried to move, but it was futile. He spared a moment for admiration over the security of Iolanthe's knots, then turned his mind to his more immediate problem, namely pacifying the woman who was staring at him while flipping Duncan's knife up in the air, over and over again, and looking at him as if he really shouldn't have had such a thing in his possession.

He tried a smile, but he imagined it came out as more of a grimace than anything. His head was pounding like the drum section of a college halftime band, and his mouth tasted as if the aforementioned band had spent the night marching through it.

"Morning," he said hoarsely.

"Aye," she said shortly. " 'Tis. I suppose even a fiend such as yourself would recognize it as such."

This was just not going very well. He wished he'd done more research on the whole time-traveling business before he'd attempted it. Or maybe just more research on the mindset of the incomprehensible medieval maiden. He certainly should have called his sister for advice on how to quickly gain the trust of a woman who quite obviously didn't know him from Adam.

The upside of the whole thing was, however, that he was facing a very real, very corporeal Iolanthe MacLeod.

Too bad she was mad as hell.

"You know," he said conversationally, "we could have ruffians leaping out of the bushes at any moment to rob us, and here I am all tied up and unable to help."

She pursed her lips. "Your swordplay leaves a bit to be desired."

"It rescued you," he said, the blisters on his hands setting up a renewed clamoring at the slander. All right, so he wasn't Jamie MacLeod—or any of his kinsmen for that matter—but he'd done his best. He'd gained calluses in places he didn't know a man could, and blisters on top of those calluses.

She only snorted and looked away.

Well, this wasn't getting them anywhere fast. He cleared his throat.

"My lady," he began carefully, deciding that using her name was a bad idea. Perhaps he'd try later, when he'd managed to get her back to the twentieth century and she hadn't killed everything in sight.

And speaking of killing, he suspected that even if she did think him a demon, she was harboring a soft spot for him in her heart. Just the night before, after two days of riding like the jaws of Hell themselves were gaping after them, they'd paused to water their horses and drink. Thomas had been leaning over, washing his face, when he'd heard Iolanthe gasp, then felt her push him over. He'd sat up in the middle of the stream and wiped the water from his eyes, prepared to snap at her for being so careless.

Then he'd seen a man lying not five feet from him staring up into the evening sky, pupils fixed and dilated, with a knife hilt buried in his chest.

And Iolanthe standing over him, shaking.

But that had been yesterday. Apparently, she'd had second thoughts about his trustworthiness sometime during the previous night. Which was no doubt why he found himself in his current straits.

"My lady," he said again, "untie me and let us be on our way. Perhaps I am not the equal of your brothers in sword-play, nor any of your kin" —and wasn't that the truth, he thought with a rueful sigh— "but I can guard your back. And I can take you somewhere safe."

"Where?" she asked with a snort. "To your deserted hut where you will do with me what you will?"

"No. I would never do anything you hadn't agreed on."

Besides save your life and apparently wipe out all memories of me you ever had.

She sat down on a stump facing him and looked him over thoroughly. It was all he could do to take in the fact that she was actually there in the flesh. He had held her hand. It had been all he could do not to haul her in his arms and crush her against him.

Heaven only knows what kind of retribution that would have earned him.

"I don't believe in ghosties," she said finally.

"I know."

She studied him. "I think you're lying."

"Well, we could argue the point for quite a while," he said, "but the only way to prove it to you is for you to come with me."

"Where?"

"The future."

Her jaw slipped down. "The what?"

"The future," he said evenly, not taking his eyes from her. "You know, the place that gate in your forest can take a man—with enough luck and skill on his part."

He wondered, then, if he might have said too much. She had jumped to her feet, spluttering. She looked around, then grabbed his sword and turned to him, looking as if she meant business.

"Who told you?" she demanded. "Whom did you kill for that knowledge?"

Thomas tried to look as unmurderous as possible. "Your great-great-grandfather Jamie did, when I asked him. He's still very much alive several hundred years from now. I'll take you to him, if you'll let me."

Now she was looking at him as if he really had sprouted horns.

This was not good.

"Did you