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

could only hope that such gates might serve in getting him and Iolanthe back to the England of his time. They were closer, true, but the real reason was he just wasn't sure he wanted to go to Scotland with her yet. Too much baggage associated with her home. Foolish though it might have been, he wanted her to himself for a while before she found herself surrounded with family. She would need time to gain her footing.

To remember him, if she could.

To get to know him, if she wanted to.

"Are you asleep?" she hissed. "Make haste, you fool!"

All right, so maybe all she needed was time to decide he wasn't a complete jerk.

He made a decision and moved forward on the road. They would head south for a bit, then turn east and go to the coast once they'd outridden their pursuers.

"How fast can you ride?" he asked, looking at her.

She gave him a look of supreme condescension, then kicked her mount into a gallop. Thomas sighed and followed suit. He wished heartily that he'd had more than a month to learn to ride, wield a sword, and swear like a medieval clansman.

All of which would have served him well at the moment.

He followed her and considered their destination as best he could with dirt flying up into his eyes and his mouth. He promised himself a bit of proper enjoyment of the sight of Iolanthe racing ahead of him, barefoot, with her hair streaming down her back. What was it the painter had said?

Bugger, she's a stunner.

Thomas spared a moment to wonder if the painting would still exist and if he should show it to her before he managed to get her to the altar. Assuming she would condescend to come with him to the altar.

A rock clipped him smartly on the ear, and he shook his head free of his speculation. If he wasn't careful, her horse would kick up something that would kill him, and then where would they both be?

East, he decided suddenly. One of the gates was on the coast. It seemed like the most likely suspect. One, it would keep them well out of Lord Charles's way. Two, they might make use of an ally or two. He struggled to remember what William de Piaget had said about the surrounding countryside and who held sway where. Artane, he was sure he could find. Mrs. Pruitt had several travel brochures littering an entryway table, and Thomas had seen the one advertising the castle. It was massive and sat squat on a hill overlooking an impressive beach.

Iolanthe would love it.

But depending on how far south they came, they would have to cross a fair bit of country on their way back up. Thomas considered the castles he knew dotted the coast. Burwyck-on-the-Sea, Blackmour, and then Artane.

Well, however they got there, the important thing was to reach a safe harbor for awhile. Thomas wasn't opposed to laboring with his hands for their support, though he certainly would try to pass himself off as a nobleman if he could. Yes, that was the ticket. A nobleman and his wife who'd been robbed and barely escaped with their lives. They'd had everything stolen, including their clothes, and this was why they found themselves in this kind of shape.

The six-foot broadsword might be a problem, as well as the Gaelic curses Iolanthe tended to spew at him without warning, but he could come up with a story for that. His French was flawless, and he had a wonderful imagination. What more did he need?

He rode hard after his lady and in spite of the direness of their straits, he couldn't help grinning like a fool. He'd done it. Everything else was gravy.

Chapter 33

Iolanthe stood behind Thomas in the dark courtyard of the most enormous castle she'd ever laid eyes on. Not that she was really one to judge these kinds of matters, given how few castles she'd seen over the course of her life, but from what she could tell, the bloody place was immense. Dusk allowed but a miserly light, but 'twas enough to show her that she was standing in a grander place than she'd ever even imagined. Thomas had told her that 'twas called Artane, and that he knew a lad who'd grown to manhood here. He felt certain that the lord would offer them hospitality. He bid her look as if she'd just been robbed of all her jewels, and keep her thoughts to herself.

The last of which wasn't all that hard, given that she couldn't find any words to describe how overwhelmed she felt at the moment.

Or how low.

By the saints, she'd never considered herself to be completely without value, but when faced by the well-dressed, well-groomed folk holding their torches down so they could stare at her bare feet, all she wanted to do was go hide in the stables where she was certain she would feel more comfortable.

Thomas was spinning some tale or other, and apparently he was doing it quite well, for the lord of the keep, his lady, her ladies, and most of his guardsmen were clustered in the courtyard, listening with rapt attention.

When they weren't looking at her filthy feet, that is.

Without warning, the lord clapped his hands, and the assembled group moved in all different directions at once. But the lord remained where he was, then looked at Iolanthe and asked Thomas a question.

"He wants to know if you speak French," Thomas asked in her native tongue.

She had to admit that his Gaelic wasn't all that poor. Mayhap arguing with her over the past three days had improved it. 'Twas certain that riding like demons from Hell had improved his horsemanship. She wondered just what he had done in that unimaginable Future of his that had left him without these skills from childhood.

That she actually believed his tale was enough to set her to shaking her head.

He claimed to know her grandfather's grandfather. He claimed Jamie was