Much Ado In the Moonlight

by Lynn Kurland

  “What a failure I am as a shade.”

  “But a success as a fr—”

  “By the saints, Victoria McKinnon, if you call me friend one more time, I will produce frown enough to leave you screaming for days.”

  Then he realized what he’d said.

  His mouth fell open.

  Oddly enough, so did hers.

  “Ah,” he scrambled.

  “Um,” she attempted.

  “Breakfast?” came a cheery voice from the other side of the suddenly quite small chamber. “Wonderful!”

  Connor had never been so happy to see anyone as he was to see Jennifer McKinnon, who looked enough like her sister that she should have given him pause. He vacated his chair for another flame-haired beauty who smiled in a most pleasant, nay, sisterly manner at him, and commented quite complimentarily on his conduct the morning previous.

  “So, what are we up to today?” Jennifer asked brightly. “Do we dare venture out? Are we French lads on a lark, or Scots looking for action? Do we actually have any idea where we’re supposed to be going? Victoria, eat. It looks good.”

  Connor looked at Victoria, who was most definitely not looking at him. He conjured up a chair only because he thought he needed something useful beneath his backside. He sat and listened to Jennifer carry on enough conversation for the three of them, acutely aware of Victoria McKinnon sitting next to him, pretending to break her fast.

  “Victoria,” Jennifer said sharply, “eat.”

  Victoria ate.

  Connor plucked a mug of ale out of invisibility and applied himself diligently to emptying its contents.

  Time passed.

  Eventually, Jennifer informed them that she had an engagement with the chamber pot and asked if they would be so good as to give her a bit of privacy. Victoria went with him to stand outside the bedchamber, though Connor supposed there had been no need for her to leave. But he wasn’t displeased with the chance to speak with her.

  “Victoria,” he began.

  She looked up at him quickly. “I won’t use that word again.”

  He opened his mouth to speak, but found there was nothing to say, short of blurting out sentiments that likely would leave her fleeing the other way. He settled for looking at her with the friendliest expression he could muster.

  Friendliest. Was there no end to the indignities he would suffer for this wench?

  “Connor?”

  He shook his head. “I am well.”

  “Well . . . good.”

  He nodded.

  Time passed.

  Not soon enough, the door opened behind them.

  “Your turn,” Jennifer said to her sister. “I’ll wait outside with Connor.”

  Victoria nodded and went inside. Connor sighed and looked down at Victoria’s sister. Why had no man managed to capture the heart of either of them? Both women were beautiful, both spirited, both possessed that flame-colored hair and porcelain skin. Jennifer’s eyes were green, not blue, but she looked to have quite a bit of Victoria’s fire. Connor had to admit he couldn’t understand why she chose to make clothing for bairns, either. Surely she should have been making music somewhere, or making some man’s life a bit of heaven. Perhaps Victoria wouldn’t be remiss in having speech with her about that.

  “How are you doing?” Jennifer asked sympathetically.

  He blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

  “You know, that thing between you and Vikki. How are you doing with that?”

  A denial was on the tip of his tongue, but he couldn’t seem to get it to come off. He blew out his breath. “I have had better centuries,” he said finally.

  She smiled gravely. “I’m really sorry it has to be this way.”

  To his horror, he felt his eyes begin to burn. Bloody dusty inn . . .

  “I’m certain it was accidental on your granny’s part to step into that fairy ring,” Connor said, desperate to change the subject. By the saints, that was all he needed—to weep in front of not one, but two McKinnon wenches!

  Jennifer was obviously far too observant for her own good. “Right,” she said slowly. “Okay, we can move on to Granny and her whereabouts. Where do you think she could be?”

  “I’ve no idea,” he said quickly. “All we can do, I suppose, is take up our quest. We have gold enough to keep on with a lengthy search.”

  “Let’s hope it isn’t too lengthy. My repertoire of Renaissance music isn’t what it should be.” She smiled. “I just hope this whole adventure works out in the end. You know, the thing with Granny.”

  “Hmmm,” he said, swallowing with difficulty.

  She only looked at him as if she pitied the hell out of him.

  He felt the same way. By the saints, ’twas an impossible tangle and he became more enmeshed in it with each passing day. Rescuing Mary MacLeod Davidson seemed a simple thing when compared to rescuing his poor heart—

  “Oh, hey, Vikki. Are you ready to go?”

  Connor heaved a great sigh of relief. Now they could march forward and concentrate on a task he could manage.

  Victoria shut the door behind her. “I’m as ready as I’m going to be,” she said. She looked up at Connor. “Shall we go for a little explore?”

  Well, that was what they were there for. Connor put his shoulders back. “Aye, let us see what the day has lying in wait for us. Have you any thoughts on where to begin the search?”

  “I say we start with the theater district. If nothing else, we’ll probably find Michael there.” She paused for a moment or two. “I don’t have any good ideas on where to look for Granny.”

  “Near yarn,” Jennifer suggested. “Let’s track Michael down, then head to wherever knitters go. Granny would have needed a way to feed herself.”

  Connor nodded. “To the Globe, then, then onward. With any luck, we’ll find Mary quickly and be on our way just as quickly.”

  Victoria smiled faintly. “We can hope. Let’s go.”

  Connor followed her sister down the stairs and through the great room of the inn, trying to look as servantlike as possible. No one troubled them and Connor managed to not walk through anyone and set them to screaming.

  It was an auspicious sign.

  Victoria stopped and had a conversation with the innkeeper, using hand signs and very accented English to inquire about where Master Shakespeare did his plays. She joined them at the door with a sigh.

  “This is going to be interesting.”

  “Did he tell you where to go?” Jennifer asked.

  “Sort of,” Victoria said ruefully. “I think I know the general direction. We’ll just have to ask for specifics the closer we get.” She looked at Connor. “Ready?”

  He put his hand on his sword. “Aye.”

  She blinked. “That’s not your usual sword.”

  “I conjured up a more modest, Elizabethan edition for our current circumstances.”

  She smiled at him. “You’re very prepared.”

  “A good warrior always is.”

  “Well, let’s hope you won’t need to do any more warrior stuff any time soon. Let’s find Granny and get out of here. Among other things, I’m just not all that sure about the quality of the water.”

  “It’s probably better not to think about that,” Jennifer agreed with a smile.

  Connor followed after the two of them with their hair stuffed up under caps and wondered how in the hell anyone would see them as anything but what they were. Thomas had been right. They were far too beautiful to be mistaken for lads.

  And he was far too uncorporeal to be of much use. He spent most of his time glaring at men who took second looks at the sisters. If he could intimidate by his sheer presence alone—which he was certain he could and had done on many occasions in the past—then he would do so and be content with that. He didn’t want to think about what might happen otherwise—especially given that he’d found that out firsthand in their first moments back in time. But he’d conquered that test in his usual fashion.

  Th
e saints preserve him should he have to, with his feeble, ghostly strength, keep Victoria and her sister safe.

  He turned his mind away from those unproductive thoughts and set himself to watching for danger. He would at least be able to warn the sisters about coming trouble.

  A pity he hadn’t been able to do so for his own heart.

  Chapter 19

  Victoria swaggered down the street with her sister and her... well, her not-friend, and wondered at the strangeness of her life. The sights, sounds, and most definitely the smells of Elizabethan London assailed her from every direction. Oddly enough, it didn’t smell all that different from some parts of Manhattan, especially in the height of summer. The sights, however, were another thing entirely. It was like a Renaissance Faire, only this was real.

  And she was taking part in it with a medieval Highlander.

  She was tempted to cue Twilight Zone music, but she forbore. For one thing, she didn’t want to draw any attention to herself. For another, she didn’t think her poor heart could take any teasing about her situation.

  Having feelings for a man who was real but not?

  Ridiculous.

  But as she walked next to him and listened to him banter with her sister in Gaelic, it didn’t seem quite so ridiculous.

  Her father would have had a fit if he’d known. Her mother would have quietly suggested that even though it was most likely Fate putting in its oar, she was probably better off resigning herself to the fact that she’d lost her mind. Her grandmother would only have looked on with raised eyebrows, then suggested a trip to some trendy Manhattan boutique for a funky wedding dress. Thomas would have laughed his bloody head off. She wondered, absently, what James MacLeod—he of the not-so-casual acquaintance with time-traveling gates—would have said.

  One thing she did know: Mrs. Pruitt would want to get whatever happened with Connor all on tape.

  “Are you picking up any of this?” Jennifer asked.

  Victoria looked at her. “Picking up what?”

  “Our Gaelic.”

  “No,” Victoria said shortly. “I’m concentrating.”

  “She’s distracted,” Jennifer said to Connor.

  “I’m trying to keep us from getting lost. When was the last time you got directions in pre-King-James-Bible English?” She scowled at her sister. “Go back to your chatting in the native tongue and let me keep us from getting lost.”

  “You know,” Jennifer said pleasantly, “you really should be paying attention. We could be talking about you.”

  “Heaven help me,” Victoria muttered. But she looked up at Connor and smiled faintly.

  He looked at her with something akin to friendliness. Then his expression changed to one of panic. “Duck!” he shouted.

  Victoria ducked, but apparently not quite far enough. She straightened up and looked down at her sleeve.

  “Well,” she said finally, “now I’ll at least smell like the locals.”

  Jennifer wrinkled her nose. “You should wash that off. Eau de chamberpot is highly unpleasant.”

  “Jenner, it isn’t as if the water is any better,” Victoria pointed out. “Did you see the washing water this morning? I think I would have been better off washing in beer.”

  “You would have smelled better than you do now—”

  “Duck!”

  Victoria shoved her sister over toward the wall of the closest building. Connor leaped aside agilely and avoided the recent drenching Victoria had received. Not that it would have done him any damage. Victoria looked at him and could not believe how real he looked. If she hadn’t known better . . .

  She took a deep breath and nodded in a forward direction. It was all that would save her from really losing it. “Down by the Thames,” she instructed. “The Globe is supposedly across the water from St. Paul’s. We’ll make it there if we can keep from getting mugged.”

  “Connor will protect us,” Jennifer said confidently. She smiled easily at him. “You’re really intimidating.”

  “Aye,” he agreed with a modest smile.

  Victoria wondered how it was he could smile so easily at her sister and not at her.

  Life was complicated.

  The fact that she was a twenty-first century kind of gal traipsing around in Elizabethan England with her equally modern sister and a medieval ghost was proof enough of that.

  She was torn between savoring the delights of a Renaissance Faire on steroids and worrying that someone would figure out she didn’t belong and boot her out the front gates. Here, though, it wouldn’t be just an ejection from the festival, it would be a little Elizabethan justice. Time in the stocks? A burning at the stake? A beheading?

  Or maybe she would get lucky and just spend the rest of her life in the Tower of London. Were there any time gates in the Tower of London?

  She suspected there weren’t.

  She happily contemplated that for quite some time as she threaded her way through the crowds and did her best to follow the directions she’d been given. And then, quite suddenly, she found that she didn’t have to follow directions anymore.

  “Oh,” Jennifer whispered. “Vikki, is that—”

  “Yes,” Victoria said breathlessly. “The Globe.”

  She walked forward in a daze. It was yet another in a long line of things that were just too unreal to get a handle on. The Globe Theater. Where Shakespeare had produced a great portion of his plays. Where he had starred himself in numerous productions.

  Amazing.

  “Victoria?”

  She looked at Connor. “Yes?”

  “You weren’t moving.”

  “I’m absorbing.”

  “Aye, well, perhaps you should absorb later. It looks as if a play is about to begin. Do you care to go watch?”

  Victoria was horribly torn. What she needed to be doing was looking for her grandmother. Yet there, right in front of her, was the Globe Theater. She might even see Shakespeare on stage.

  She chewed on her bottom lip for quite some time.

  “I say we go inside,” Jennifer said suddenly. “Who knows who we might see? Maybe Michael got a part. That would at least solve one problem.”

  Victoria exchanged a brief glance with Connor, then nodded. “All right, let’s go. It can’t hurt.”

  “It can’t,” Jennifer agreed. “Come on.”

  Victoria walked with her sister and her . . . friend across to the theater. But as she became part of the crowd, she found she could no longer ignore the reality of her situation. She was looking for her granny in a city of tens of thousands. It was exactly like looking for a needle in a haystack. She found that she could no longer ignore her very real doubts that they would be successful.

  “Victoria?”

  Victoria dragged her sleeve across her eyes. “What?”

  “Crumble later. Buck up now.”

  “Why did I bring you?” Victoria asked, blinking furiously. “I could have been happily having a nervous breakdown right about now if you weren’t here interrupting me.”

  “Let’s go catch the play,” Jennifer said. “I have a good feeling about this.”

  “You don’t smell like chamber pot.”

  “I don’t, but I’m assuming everyone in the cheap seats will, so you’ll fit right in. Should I go sit up in the boxes with the somewhat-washed?”

  “No, you should come stand with us,” Victoria said. “And you can walk on the outside on the way back to the inn and maybe you’ll be treated to the initiation rite.”

  “Can’t wait,” Jennifer said cheerfully. “Let’s go.”

  Victoria led the way. She paid, watching her hand as it handed over the coins and wondering why she felt as if she’d never seen it before. So she was hanging out with a ghost. That was one thing. Time-traveling was another thing entirely. Her hand shook as she pulled it back. She clenched it into a fist and tried to give the usher a manly smile as she led her little crew into the theater. She was sure she would get it together very soon—

  Bu
t not today. She stood at the very back of the crowd standing on the floor of the Globe Theater and couldn’t help a brief, hysterical gasp of laughter.

  Good heavens, she was in the Globe.

  It was truly theater in the round. The stage jutted out into the crowd that was gathered on the floor in the cheap, standing-room-only area. Up above and behind her were boxes in which she could see men and women showing off their Elizabethan finery. But as fine as these accommodations were, they weren’t the ones for the super rich. Those folks were sitting behind the stage. Victoria knew that such was the case, but it was one thing to read about it in a dry historical treatise; it was another thing entirely to look back behind the stage and see lords and ladies wearing clothing that cost probably the equivalent of a year’s wages for all the plebeians standing on the floor.

  They were certainly on display and, given that Shakespeare could be enjoyed just as much by the words alone, without any complicated scenery, Victoria supposed they were happy enough in their location.

  It beat the floor. In the area for the huddled masses, there were no bathrooms, no garbage cans, and no in-between-the-movie workers to give the place a little tidy-up. Did the stench bother the actors? Victoria vowed to give her cast a serious lecture on the ease of their lives the next chance she had.

  “What is this play?” Connor asked from behind her.

  Victoria realized she had completely forgotten about him. She’d forgotten about Jennifer, too, so she suffered no pangs of guilt. She looked over her shoulder at him.

  “I don’t know yet. How are you doing?”

  “No one is screaming yet,” Connor answered grimly. “But the press is rather too close in here. We may yet find ourselves in a delicate situation if someone steps through me.”

  “Let’s hope not.” She turned back to the stage. “Oh, here comes someone. Three someones.” She caught her breath. “It’s the Scottish play.”

  “What?” Connor said.

  “The Scottish play,” Victoria whispered over her shoulder. “Can’t say the name; can’t quote it unless you’re acting in it. It’s bad luck.”

  “It’s MacBeth,” Jennifer said dryly. “I’m not an actor, so the dictum does not apply to me.”