by Lynn Kurland
Weird.
Next to him sat her brother—no, never mind there about the Highland lord thing, though she had heard Iolanthe call him my laird on more than one occasion. That could be chalked up to morning sickness, no doubt. Thomas was tough enough, she supposed, but he had certainly never wielded a sword and she seriously doubted he’d gotten in any more fights than his barracuda lawyer Jake had gotten him out of. Fisticuffs? Victoria snorted. This was her brother and she knew just what a weenie he could be when he ran out of butter and sour cream.
Besides, a good look at him presently was enough to put the last nail in the coffin. He was wearing an apron and trying to convince Iolanthe to eat the oatmeal he’d made her. And given that just the sight of Thomas’s attempt at breakfast made Victoria want to puke, she suspected Thomas’s continued flirtation with domesticity wasn’t going to fly with his wife.
And it certainly disqualified him for lairdship.
But behind the couch, in a little lairdly row, stood Ambrose, Hugh, Fulbert, and Connor. All with their arms folded over their chests, all with thoughtful frowns on their faces, all looking as if a mere command from them would send lesser mortals scurrying to do their bidding.
Well, Fulbert looked as though he would have preferred to be sitting rather than standing, but he was doing his part.
“’Tis most interesting,” Jamie MacLeod was saying. “She simply vanished without a trace.”
“Leaving behind things she normally wouldn’t have,” Thomas said, with a look that spoke volumes.
Victoria wished she knew what books he was referencing. She revisited her plan containing ants and stakes. Iolanthe would survive it if he were in the hospital for a day or two, recovering from his interrogation session. There was something spooky going on.
And it had nothing to do with ghosts.
Jamie stroked his chin thoughtfully. “Well, I canna say for sure until I see the area—”
“Just a minute, if you don’t mind,” she heard herself say. “I’m a little confused here. Are you some sort of private investigator?”
Jamie smiled at her. “Nay, I’m not. I’m merely kin of Iolanthe’s. But I have some experience with the strange happenings in Scotland.”
Victoria could believe it. And since he seemed less than interested in telling her what those strange happenings might be, she could see that she would just have to tail him until she found out for herself.
Jamie rose. “Now, if Thomas would humor me—”
“Sure,” Thomas said. He turned to Iolanthe, who was curled up in an overstuffed chair, looking as though she’d much rather be in bed. “Will you be okay? I can leave the oatmeal here . . .”
She waved him away. “Take it, I beg you. I canna bear the smell of it.”
Thomas hesitated, then gave in. “All right. I’ll take this back to the kitchen and meet you guys outside.”
Victoria crawled to her feet. “Should I go get Mom and Dad?”
“No,” Thomas said quickly, shooting Jamie a look full of meaning. “I mean, let’s let them rest for the morning, shall we?” He smiled at Victoria. “Don’t you think?”
“I think a lot of things,” she began, “and one of them is—”
Thomas held up his hand suddenly. “Quiet,” he said urgently.
Victoria frowned. Was he having second thoughts about the oatmeal? Poor Iolanthe. “Thomas,” she said with a gusty sigh, “let’s just get—”
“Wait. I think I hear something.”
“That’s your wife moaning. Let’s leave her in peace.”
He tiptoed, oatmeal in hand, over to the door. He put his ear to it, then jerked it open suddenly.
Michael Fellini came sprawling into the sitting room.
Thomas reached down and helped Michael to his feet.
“Why, Michael,” he said in a friendly voice, “what a pleasant surprise.”
Michael brushed himself off stiffly. “I’m here because I was concerned that Victoria might be troubled over her grandmother’s loss.”
“How kind of you. Were you just going to knock?”
“Yes, that’s it,” Michael said quickly. “I was just about to knock.”
“Well,” Thomas said, putting his hand on Michael’s shoulder, “I’m sorry I opened the door so fast. That must have been a little embarrassing—you know, leaning on the door so hard before knocking that you fell right into the room.”
Michael huffed and puffed and came close to passing out from lack of oxygen. He looked at Victoria. “I was just concerned about you.”
“I’m fine,” she said, frowning. What in the world was he up to? “I appreciate the concern. Maybe you should just go practice your lines.”
“I know my lines,” Michael said.
“Then get your stuff together.”
“Why?”
“Mr. MacLeod needs a place to stay. We’re going to have to find another place for you and Denmark.”
Michael opened his mouth to protest, but Jamie stepped forward and extended his hand. Michael’s jaw continued on its downward course, rendering him, thankfully, quite speechless.
“Good of you,” Jamie said, shaking his hand firmly as he towered over Michael. “I’m James MacLeod. I’m here to help out with the search for Victoria’s grandmother.”
“Mr. Fellini is a very famous drama pedagogue,” Thomas said, “as well as a very accommodating human being. He’s already given up one room for me.”
“Kind of him to make yet another sacrifice,” Jamie said. “You didn’t hurt yourself falling into the sitting chamber, did you, Master Fellini?”
Michael apparently was incapable of shutting his mouth. Victoria watched, deeply suspicious, as he finally managed to get hold of himself long enough to leave the room and head back up the stairs, ostensibly to inform the King of Denmark that they were being kicked out yet again.
He did cast one last quite furious look back down the stairs, which he didn’t realize would be seen until he connected gazes with her.
He wiped all expression of his face.
She realized that she was very grateful he had been with her when her granny had disappeared. She would have suspected him of foul play otherwise. She wasn’t sure she didn’t suspect him of it anyway.
She watched him disappear upstairs and cursed herself under her breath. When would she cease to be bamboozled by people? She was a hard-boiled, hard-bitten, steely-eyed New Yorker. She was not taken in by shysters.
Handsome, talented, big-agent-card-carrying actors aside, apparently.
“All right,” Thomas said in a low voice, “I’ll make my kitchen run and meet you all out in the garden. Try to keep Dad out of this, Vic, would you?”
“Why?”
“It would be too much for him.”
And with that cryptic statement, he made tracks for the dining room. Victoria couldn’t imagine why they might find something her father couldn’t handle, but maybe Thomas knew more than she did.
An alarming trend, to be sure.
She waited outside with Jamie until Thomas rejoined them, then followed the group out the front door—mortal men in front, lairdly ghosts striding behind. She walked behind them all, speculating furiously. There was something fishy going on between Thomas and Jamie, and it was more than a little chitchat over memories of Thomas’s wedding.
But before she could really get herself worked up, Ambrose caught up with her. “Granddaughter,” he said in a friendly fashion.
Victoria pursed her lips. “Who is James MacLeod?”
“Kin of Iolanthe’s,” Ambrose said. “He was at Thomas’s wedding. Don’t you remember him?”
“Sure,” Victoria fibbed. Actually, she remembered very little of Thomas’s wedding. She’d flown back and forth from Scotland to New York twice in less than a month and that during a rather taxing run of The Tempest. She remembered thinking that the MacLeod castle was quite medieval-looking and that Jamie must have had buckets of money to keep it up. But other than that, she’d jus
t been too wrapped up in thinking about how the production couldn’t possibly run without her, and worrying about planning productions to come, to really pay attention to anything else.
She paused.
She considered.
Was she too caught up in the theater?
The very thought was almost too shocking to contemplate.
She took a deep breath and let it out. She was no more caught up in her life than anyone else was. She had just managed to overlook Jamie, the very essence of Highland lairdliness, due to jet lag, no doubt.
That Jamie had such a, well, medieval aura about him was something to be investigated another day. Maybe when Iolanthe had stopped spending all her time in the bathroom and was capable of prolonged speech regarding her relatives.
Victoria trailed along after the living as they made their way to the scene of the alleged crime, then found herself standing a little ways off, accompanied by ancestors and, well, Connor.
“Foul deeds afoot,” Fulbert said gloomily. “I’ve little liking for the feel of this place.”
“You’ve little liking for anything that doesn’t resemble a pub,” Connor snapped. “Be silent and let the lads who know their business be about that business.”
Victoria looked at Fulbert, who was fingering the hilt of his sword purposefully. Hugh had backed well out of the way. Ambrose stood next to her, wearing the same sort of easy smile her mother was wont to wear. Victoria frowned at him.
“Is it a MacLeod trait never to panic?” she demanded.
“’Tis a MacLeod trait to possess an abundance of patience,” he said. “All will be well.”
“Do you know something I don’t?”
“Aye, that you should move, lest Connor cut you in two by mistake.”
Victoria whirled around to see Connor with his sword drawn, glaring at Fulbert. “Oh, please,” she hissed, “save it for later, would you?”
He turned his glare on her. “He irritated me.”
“And you’re irritating me. Stay on task, would you?”
She turned back to the little tableau in front of her. It was only when Ambrose’s soft chuckles became too distracting that she looked at him.
“What?” she demanded.
He nodded toward Connor. Victoria turned to see that Connor had put up his sword and folded his arms over his chest. He shot her a look of disgust before he turned his face forward.
“I’ve never seen him back away from a fight,” Ambrose said conversationally.
“I did not back away,” Connor said curtly. “I’m humoring the wench here. She’s distraught and not thinking clearly, else she never would have spoken to me in that tone of voice.”
“Of course not,” Ambrose said, sounding as if he’d swallowed something very large and was having a hard time breathing because of it.
Victoria ignored them all and watched the goings on in front of her. Jamie walked here and there, bent now and then to study the grass, then walked some more.
At length, he talked to Thomas, who nodded, then walked toward Victoria.
“I think you can wait for us back at the inn.”
“Wait for you?” Victoria echoed. “Are you telling me I’m being dismissed?”
“Something like that,” Thomas said easily.
Victoria hesitated, looked at Thomas to judge his level of stubbornness, then shrugged. “All right.”
Thomas blinked. “You’ll go?”
“Didn’t you just ask me to?”
“I didn’t think you’d do it.”
Victoria shrugged. “I’ll go. We’ll all go. All of us,” she said pointedly.
The Boar’s Head Trio seemed willing enough and started back toward the inn. Even Connor stomped off with a curse or two.
Victoria nodded in a friendly fashion to her brother, then trudged along obediently after her ancestors for quite a distance. Then she let out her most artistic expression of dismay.
“My watch!” she exclaimed. “I must have dropped it along the path. You all go along ahead. I’ll catch up.”
Ambrose frowned. “We can help—”
“I wouldn’t dream of it. You should check on Iolanthe.”
Ambrose nodded. “Aye, there is that. Come on, lads. Let’s be about our business.”
The men started back toward the inn. Connor followed them.
“Not you,” Victoria whispered fiercely.
Connor looked back over his shoulder at her, then frowned. “Not you, who? Me?”
“Of course, you.” She nodded back toward the rise of the hill where on the other side Thomas and Jamie were investigating. “You don’t think I’m going to let Thomas be in charge, do you?”
“I knew there was a reason I hadn’t terrified you to death already,” he said pleasantly as he turned back toward her.
“Well, keep it to yourself and be discreet about this.”
“Discreet?”
“Don’t let them see you. Thomas is my mother’s son, you know. Though I’m not quite sure where Jamie fits in; he’s a suspicious character. Now, if I only knew how to sneak up on them—”
“Follow me,” Connor said, leading off into the grass.
It was only slightly disconcerting to see none of the local flora and fauna show any trace of his passing. Victoria shivered, then plunged into the field after him.
It seemed an inordinate way out of the way, but she realized he knew what he was doing when they made their way through the trees and wound up within eavesdropping distance of the pair of lunatics standing there stroking their chins and discussing flowers in the grass.
“’Tis a proper fairy ring,” Jamie was saying.
“Well, you would know.”
Victoria looked at Connor with wide eyes. He was smirking unpleasantly.
“Prissy MacLeod woman,” Connor said with a soft snort. “No offense to present company.”
“Maybe his wife likes flowers,” she offered.
“Perhaps he has plucked too many and the scent has gone to his head and ruined whatever wits he might have once possessed.”
Victoria took that under advisement and leaned around the tree to better hear what was being said.
“Do you think it’s possible?” Thomas was asking.
“’Tis always possible with these sorts of suspicious bloomings,” Jamie said, stroking his chin thoughtfully. “And we are in Scotland, never mind that ’tis so close to the English border that the wind blows unpleasantly foul.”
Thomas laughed. “Jamie, you’re not very tolerant of your southern neighbors.”
“I’d spend more time being tolerant if the Inland Revenue spent less time dipping into my coffers.”
“Coffers,” Victoria echoed. “What a quaint term for it.”
Connor grunted. “His speech is passing medieval, if you ask me.”
Victoria nodded to herself. She would certainly have some questions for Iolanthe when the time was right.
“So, my laird,” Thomas said, jamming his hands into his pockets, “what’s your opinion?”
“There is only one way to know for sure,” Jamie said.
And with that, he stepped quite deliberately into the fairy ring.
And vanished.
Victoria gasped.
Connor gasped as well.
She sat down hard. Connor jumped aside to avoid her and went sprawling. She was almost speechless. Fortunately, it was a condition that never troubled her for long.
“Did you see what I just saw?” she asked Connor.
“He’s a demon,” Connor breathed. He crossed himself for good measure.
“Either that, or a damned good magician.” Victoria heaved herself to her feet. “Come with me while I torture some answers from my brother.”
“Gladly,” he replied, leaping with alacrity to his feet. “Pray allow me to inflict some kind of damage upon him, as well.”
“Wait your turn.”
Thomas turned as they approached. He didn’t look all that surprised, either that she
was there or that Jamie had disappeared. Victoria stopped in front of him, folded her arms across her chest, and glared at him.
“All right, spill it,” she demanded.
“Spill what?”
“Don’t be dumb,” she snapped. “Jamie was here and now he’s not. Where did he go?”
Thomas shrugged. “I have no idea.”
“Thomas!”
He put his hand on her shoulder. Connor growled.
“Down, Laird MacDougal,” Thomas said. He looked at Victoria with twinkling eyes. “He’s quite possessive.”
“I’m robbing him of tourists to scare. He’s just marking time until the castle is back in his possession. Now, cough up the details before he really does you some damage.”
Possessive? Victoria tried not to let that word rattle around in her head. Connor MacDougal had all the time in the world and he was killing it by hanging out with her.
Surely.
Thomas put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her away. “Let’s walk. I’ll tell you what you want to know. Well, at least most of what you want to know.” He looked at Connor. “You should come as well, MacDougal. You’ve seen enough weird things in your time not to be surprised by any of this. Besides, I’m counting on you to keep my sister in line. You know,” he said, leaning over Victoria’s head conspiratorially, “she can really come unhinged when it suits her. Has she let you have it yet?”
Victoria elbowed her brother quite forcefully in the ribs.
“I’ve managed to avoid most of her ire,” Connor said easily, “but her cast and crew lives in fear.”
“Hey!” Victoria said, glaring up at him. “You’re supposed to be on my side.”
He almost smiled. She could have sworn he had.
He looked at Thomas and shrugged. “Provoke her at your own risk. I daresay I would have to hold you accountable for her suffering.”
“How gallant of you,” Thomas said, with an unwholesome snort of laughter.
“Shut up,” Victoria suggested.
Thomas gave her shoulders a squeeze. “Cut me some slack, sis. Didn’t I get you a great castle for your play?”
“Yeah, full of ghosts dying to do me in.”
“Laird MacDougal doesn’t want to do you in any longer. At least not until after the play’s over. Isn’t that right, MacDougal?”