by Lynn Kurland
Connor only muttered under his breath.
Victoria found herself walking back to the inn with her brother on one side and Connor MacDougal on the other.
And it felt perfectly normal.
“I think I’m sleep deprived,” she announced.
Connor grunted. “Now you see the effects of not heeding my advice.”
“She never listens,” Thomas said. “Don’t waste your energy.”
“Aye, I have become accustomed to it. How is it you have dealt with this stubbornness? You managed her quite poorly in the keep yesterday and I wondered if you had been at all successful at the task in times past.”
“Well, generally I just let her grind herself into the dust. She’ll wear out eventually.”
“Can’t you two find anything else to talk about?” Victoria said briskly. “You know, like where my grandmother went and why James MacLeod just vanished into thin air?”
“We’ll get to all that in good time,” Thomas assured her.
Victoria wondered if this kind of surreality was what you felt after you’d flown around the world three or four times and could no longer tell what time zone you were in. She looked at her brother blearily. “I think my life is unraveling.”
“I think it started a while ago,” Thomas suggested.
She felt her eyes narrow. “I think you might have started it all.”
“Me?” he asked innocently. “I had nothing to do with it. But aren’t you glad anyway?”
Well, she was, but she’d be damned if she would admit it. “You have some answering to do,” she said, wagging her finger at him. “You wiggled out of quite a few explanations after you and Iolanthe got married, but that won’t happen this time.”
“Sure,” Thomas said with a smile. “But first, let’s go call Jamie’s wife. She’ll want to know he’s off on a little business trip for a while.”
“How can you be so cavalier about this!” she exclaimed.
“I know Jamie. He’ll be all right.”
Victoria looked at Connor. “Are you this relaxed about it?”
Connor lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “I cannot bring James MacLeod back. As I said, there is something different about him.” He looked at Thomas pointedly. “Something unsettlingly, medievally different.”
“He’s a Highlander,” Thomas said negligently. “You’re all sort of a fierce lot anyway, aren’t you?”
“True,” Connor agreed, “but that doesn’t explain several peculiar things about the man.”
“Answers,” Victoria demanded. “I want answers.”
“And you’ll have them,” Thomas answered.
“When?”
“Oh, look, there’s the inn,” Thomas said, quickening his pace. “I’d better see how Iolanthe’s doing.”
Victoria watched him turn his pace into a flat-out sprint. She looked at Connor.
“He’s hiding something.”
“Aye.”
“I wonder what it is?”
“There’s only one way to find out.”
“Torture?”
He smiled.
Victoria gasped in spite of herself. “That’s a very unpleasant smile.”
“I’ve worked for centuries to perfect it.”
“Yeah, well, don’t ever look at me like that. But use it on my brother as often as possible. If we’re lucky, he might even pee his pants.”
“One can dream.”
She smiled up at him. “I like you.”
His eyes widened in surprise and she realized what she’d said. She quickly ran through all the things she could say that would clarify or downgrade or trivialize what she’d said.
But she couldn’t come up with a thing.
“Let’s go,” she said quickly. “Before he escapes our foul clutches.”
Connor nodded. “Aye.”
Victoria walked with him the rest of the way to the inn. She vowed to keep a better grip on her tongue, just so she didn’t make any more uncomfortable gaffes.
She looked at Connor out of the corner of her eye. He didn’t look to be too upset. He looked thoughtful.
He was probably wondering what in the world he was going to do with a woman who was obviously losing her mind.
She wondered the same thing.
Chapter 13
Michael Fellini crouched behind the little stone fence and peered over just far enough to watch Victoria McKinnon and her brother walk down the road in the direction of the inn. Once they were gone, he sat down with a thump on the ground, Mrs. Pruitt’s poached binoculars hanging heavily around his neck.
He had just seen a man disappear.
Hadn’t he?
He would have thought it was just a nifty special effect, but he was, unfortunately, not starring in a supernatural thriller. He was stuck in rural England with nothing to do but make trouble and let his imagination run away with him.
He crawled unsteadily to his feet and made his way to where he’d last seen that MacLeod character. He approached carefully, though; there was no sense in getting himself into trouble unnecessarily. A cursory look showed him nothing but farmland. Well, except for those flowers in the grass, growing in a circle. What was the deal with that?
No trap door, though. No way to disappear easily and leave the audience fooled.
Well, obviously he was going to have to do more eavesdropping. He hadn’t heard nearly enough with his ear to the door that morning. Maybe Mrs. Pruitt had something he could use to turn up the volume. She certainly had quite a stash of investigative paraphernalia. He couldn’t have cared less for the paranormal chicanery, but the listening devices and night-vision goggles could certainly come in handy. Now, if she just didn’t keep most of her stash under her pillow, it would be a damned sight easier to steal it.
Then he paused.
Pruitt did paranormal investigating. Did that mean there were ghosts in the inn? Did that mean there were some sort of paranormal shenanigans going on out here in the field?
He considered.
Nah, it was impossible. The old bat had more time on her hands than was good for her. He could certainly give her a few things to do. His room was completely inadequate. Her time would be better spent worrying about the comfort of her guests than looking out for ghosts.
Or disappearing men.
He turned and marched doggedly down the road. He wasn’t certain why he was so fixated on the events of the day before. He couldn’t have cared less what had happened to Victoria’s grandma. She’d probably been abducted, though why anyone would have bothered, he didn’t know. But there was something about the way she’d gone and the subsequent activity that had intrigued him. Finding Mrs. Pruitt’s gear had only increased his curiosity.
He was certain he could use it somehow to further his own ambitions.
Maybe he would find the old woman, rescue her, then present her to Thomas and collect his fee by taking Victoria’s job.
He rubbed his hands together and smiled pleasantly.
Chivalry most certainly wasn’t dead.
He was living proof of that.
Chapter 14
Connor leaned back against the wall in the sitting room and watched the goings on with a frown. The chamber was full of McKinnons, MacLeods, and a lone de Piaget. Rehearsals were over for the day, lunch had been consumed, and now Victoria’s family and sundry were gathered to enjoy lively conversation. Victoria’s kin occupied the couch and a pair of comfortable chairs. The sundry, which included the Boar’s Head ghosties, had gathered themselves to the side, though they were listening intently and commenting amongst themselves.
Connor watched the mortals gathered there and thought wistfully of his own family’s pleasant conversings involving swords and the effective use of them on enemies. Though the McKinnons only discussed actors and their foibles, Connor enjoyed it greatly.
He wondered how Victoria could keep herself from joining in. He looked at her, sitting apart from the group, poring over lists of costumes and lighting dire
ctions and columns of numbers marching down the page. She had been driving herself since dawn, plowing through her rehearsals with ruthless determination. Connor had shadowed her for most of the day already, simply because he feared she would drive herself into a collapse if he did not keep an eye on her.
Well, his reasons for following her might be slightly more complicated than that.
But those reasons aside, he did harbor a goodly amount of concern for her. Though she’d happily whispered threats to her brother the night before, today she had ceased even with that pleasant bit of amusement. She had listened earlier that morning as Thomas had called James MacLeod’s wife to give her the tidings of Jamie’s disappearance. Lady Elizabeth had been unsurprised, and that had surprised Connor greatly. Though he generally spared no more thought for a MacLeod than to want to be free of them, he had found himself fearing that Jamie’s wife might have a collapse. That she apparently expected her husband to return safely boded well not only for him, but for Victoria’s grandmother, as well.
Assuming she had disappeared through the flowery ring in like manner.
Victoria had listened to Thomas’s recounting of the conversation, then thrown herself back into her work. Not even the distraction of her younger sister Jennifer had brought her out from behind her papers, even though he understood from Thomas that Jennifer was Victoria’s especial favorite.
It was not encouraging.
Connor watched as Jennifer rose and went to sit down next to Victoria. He moved closer as casually as he could. He didn’t escape the watchful eye and approving smile of Helen MacLeod, but then again, he suspected little escaped her notice.
“Vic, let me have that.”
Victoria looked up at her sister. Connor frowned at the sight of the darkened circles under her eyes. All was not well indeed.
“I’m fine,” she said.
She was lying, obviously. Perhaps Jamie’s journey into the fairy ring had been more distressing to her than she dared admit.
“You’re not,” Jennifer said.
“I am.”
Jennifer pursed her lips in a very fair imitation of Victoria. “Let me at least look over the costume lists.”
“I am more than capable—”
“I never said you weren’t capable—”
“Victoria, you should let your sister look at them,” Connor said, finding that his sidling had left him standing quite near the pair.
Jennifer turned around in her chair with a gasp. She gaped at him with wide eyes.
Connor attempted a smile.
Apparently, it hadn’t come out quite as pleasantly as he might have hoped.
Jennifer stood up and shrieked—quite nicely to his mind—then her eyes rolled back in her head and she slumped to the floor. Connor did his best to catch her, but he couldn’t even slow her descent.
“Good heavens!” Victoria’s father exclaimed. “Are there rats in this place?”
Connor stood over Victoria’s sister with his hands outstretched uselessly, then met Victoria’s eyes.
That she didn’t chastise him was worrisome indeed.
“Thomas, come help,” she said wearily. “It was probably jet lag. Or too much time surrounded by baby clothes. Mom, when is she going to get a real job? She has a degree in music, for heaven’s sake. She should be playing with an orchestra. Or she should have kept up her acting. Did you see the way she fainted? You can’t teach that.”
“I know, dear,” Helen said.
Connor backed away as Thomas roused his youngest sister. She came to, babbling.
“Good grief, Jenner, cease the gibberish,” Victoria commanded.
“It’s Gaelic,” Thomas said, flashing Connor half a smile.
“And how would you know?” Victoria demanded. “As if you can understand it!”
Thomas only smiled, unperturbed. “Io is a Highlander, you know. Doesn’t it occur to you that I might have wanted to understand her if she felt the need to swear at me in her mother tongue?”
“It occurs to me that you must be very adept at it, as I’m certain she does that quite often,” Victoria said with a snort. She looked at Jennifer. “You’re hallucinating. Come sit back down and don’t scream anymore.”
Jennifer allowed Thomas to help her to her feet. Connor found himself being regarded with wide eyes.
“Do you see what I’m seeing?” Jennifer whispered to Thomas.
“Connor MacDougal,” Thomas murmured. “He’s the wannabe laird of the castle up the way.”
Connor couldn’t stop himself. He had his sword half drawn from its scabbard before he realized that Jennifer was on the verge of swooning again.
“He’s harmless,” Thomas whispered.
“He doesn’t look harmless,” Jennifer said weakly. “He’s got a sword.”
Thomas turned her around and sat her down in the chair. “I don’t think he’ll use it on you, but let’s talk about that later. Dad wouldn’t be able to handle this conversation.”
Thomas made loud conversation with his father as he returned to his seat. Jennifer sat uneasily, stared up at Connor just as uneasily, and groped for her sister’s hand.
“He has a sword,” she whispered frantically.
“Yeah, well, he wasn’t waving his sword at you,” Victoria said shortly. “He was preparing to do damage to your brother with it.”
Connor attempted a smile, but apparently that only made matters worse, because Jennifer now clutched Victoria’s hand so tightly Victoria squeaked.
Victoria pulled her hand away. “Get a hold of yourself, Jenner. If you’re determined to be useful, check those costume lists. I want to make sure everything’s still where it’s supposed to be.”
Connor considered leaving the chamber. Indeed, he started toward the door.
Victoria cleared her throat pointedly.
He took that to mean she did not wish him to go. He resumed his place against the wall.
Jennifer leaned closer to her sister. “I didn’t imagine him, did I? Not really.”
“Nope,” Victoria said, chewing on a pencil.
“Do you see him, too?”
“We’ll talk later.”
“Vikki, he’s a ghost.”
“That, too,” Victoria said.
Jennifer put her head between her knees. Victoria looked at Connor.
She smiled.
He had to brace himself against the wall.
Jennifer sat up, wheezing. “Aren’t you afraid?”
“Terrified,” Victoria said solemnly. “I’ll introduce you to him later when Dad’s gone up to bed.”
Jennifer’s head went between her knees again. Victoria smiled to herself, then bent back to her work.
Connor watched for another hour or so as Victoria and Jennifer worked on their papers and the rest of the group talked about nothing in particular. It was truly a day made for easy conversing among family and acquaintances. Thomas, especially, seemed to be in a jovial mood.
Connor studied the man and wondered what it was he knew that none of the rest of them did.
In time, Victoria’s parents left the parlor to go for a stroll through the inn’s gardens. Iolanthe departed for her bedchamber, no doubt to shore up her strength for the taxing proposition of being Thomas McKinnon’s wife.
“You know what,” Thomas said, putting his feet up on the coffee table and his hands behind his head, “since all of us, except Vic, of course, speak Gaelic, maybe it would pass the time pleasantly if we had ourselves a day in the native tongue.” He smiled at Ambrose. “What say you, my laird?”
“I always find a bit of Gaelic to be quite useful,” Ambrose agreed. “But perhaps we should introduce ourselves to your other fair sister first, before we begin this happy exercise.”
Connor watched as Jennifer clutched the edges of the table so fiercely her knuckles went white. But she seemed to have quite a bit of her sister’s spine, for she did not flee.
“Breathe, Jen,” Victoria said dryly, “and prepare to meet your a
ncestors.”
“This is genealogy taken too far,” Jennifer said in a low voice.
Ambrose stood and made Jennifer a bow. “I am Ambrose MacLeod, your grandfather from olden times.” He gestured to Hugh and Fulbert. “Hugh McKinnon and Fulbert de Piaget. Fulbert is Megan’s husband’s uncle.”
Jennifer’s eyes were very wide. “But not all that recently, I’d imagine.”
“No indeed, missy,” Fulbert said.
“Several generations removed?” Jennifer asked uneasily.
“Several, at least,” Fulbert agreed.
Ambrose nodded toward Connor. “And that is Connor MacDougal. He was laird of his own clan during his day, and now watches over Thomas’s keep, up the way.”
Connor didn’t bother to correct anything Ambrose said, which made him wonder how far he had slipped in defending his claims and wreaking havoc. Obviously, he needed a few hours out on the field, hacking at an opponent almost equal to him in skill so that he might remember that he was a warrior and not a ladies’ maid.
But there was no sense in terrorizing Victoria’s sister, so Connor kept his arguments to himself and tried not to scowl.
“All right,” Thomas said, putting his feet on the floor and rubbing his hands together in anticipation, “now that everyone’s been introduced, let’s get on with this. Vic, you don’t have any Gaelic, do you?”
“You know I don’t,” Victoria said stiffly. “I regret it now, but at the time I had more pressing things on my mind than letting Granny teach me, such as clawing my way through Juilliard’s hallowed halls. Just go on without me. I’ll suffer the price of my folly.”
“No, indeed,” Thomas said in mock horror. “I think I have the perfect translator for you. Laird MacDougal, will you do the honors?”
“Of course,” Connor said quickly. Too quickly, if the satisfied look on Ambrose’s face was any indication. Thomas was wearing the same look.
Connor revisited his suspicions of the day before. Was Thomas colluding with Ambrose on these matchmaking ventures? And the next question that begged a definitive answer was: Was the matchmaking for him or for Victoria? Or were they, as he had wondered the day before, matchmaking for him and Victoria?