by Lynn Kurland
Iolanthe took a deep breathe, groaned, then rolled over to look at Victoria. “I was born during the fourteenth century. Jamie is my great-great grandfather. He first discovered the time gates because his brother had traveled to the future through them. It was something of a family secret and ’twas for the refusal to tell that secret that I was murdered. Your brother risked all to come and rescue me before that murder took place.”
Victoria had to take a few minutes to digest that. She was looking at an honest-to-goodness medieval gal who had obviously lost her mind while going through a time gate. It was surely the only way she’d managed to convince herself to marry Thomas.
“You couldn’t have liked him,” Victoria said with a frown. “Did you?”
“I thought he was a demon,” Iolanthe volunteered. “When I met him back in time.”
Victoria nodded in satisfaction. “I would have been surprised by anything else.”
“Thank you so much,” Thomas said with a laugh. “It’s all true, though. Even though I’d known Iolanthe—and loved her—as a ghost, she didn’t recognize me when I first found her. And she didn’t like me after she got to know me.” He reached over and put his hand on her head. “But eventually, she remembered all those years of her other life and we worked things out.”
“Poor woman,” Victoria muttered, then she fell silent.
Not because she didn’t have anything to say, but because the import of what she had heard had finally sunk in.
Iolanthe MacLeod McKinnon had been a ghost in that castle up the way. Thomas McKinnon had gone back in time, rescued her from an untimely death, and brought her back to the future. Brought her to the future as a living, corporeal being. And if Iolanthe could be rescued, so could Connor. He could be brought back to the twenty-first century. If it were possible, there would be only one person able to do it.
And that person was her.
She felt her mouth hanging opening very unattractively. She shut it with a snap and looked at Connor.
He returned her look for a very long moment before he stood and made Thomas a small bow.
“My thanks for the tale. Any more personal details will not be necessary.”
“Wait a minute,” Victoria said, standing, as well. “The personal details will too be necessary.”
“Nay, they will not.”
“Yes, they will! How else am I going to pull this off without knowing what Thomas did?”
“I’ve no intention of you ‘pulling this off,’ ” Connor said firmly.
“But—”
“Are you daft, woman? You, traipsing through the centuries back to a time where you cannot speak the language, defend yourself, or throw yourself into my arms and have me welcome you there? ’Tis absolute madness!”
“I can do it,” she said, feeling a rush of stubbornness flow through her. “I went back and got Granny, didn’t I? I can do this, too.”
“You cannot and you will not.”
Victoria felt a frown begin. “Excuse me?”
Connor leaned forward and looked at her with a matching frown. “I forbid it.”
Thomas whistled softly and rose. “Io, I think we should be moseying along now. Before the fireworks start.”
Victoria didn’t see them go. She supposed it was for the best. Iolanthe was probably not up to listening to what would no doubt be a watershed moment in ghost/ mortal relationships. She glared at Connor. “You cannot stop me.”
“Oh, can I not?” he asked in a very soft, very dangerous tone.
She looked at him for a moment or two, then took an unsteady step backward. “It’s lunchtime. I’m starved.”
He folded his arms over his chest. “You will not do this thing,” he said flatly.
She started to retort, then shut her mouth and looked at him for several moments in silence. She stared up into his beautiful face and marveled that this man, who had had centuries to find someone to love, had picked her.
Well, sort of.
He stared at her, his jaw set, silent and unmoving. Then he let his hands drop down by his sides and took a step backward. He unclenched his jaw. Then he looked at her pleasantly.
Or what he obviously thought might pass for pleasantly.
“I do not want you to do this,” he said.
“Connor—”
He turned away. “Nay, Victoria.”
She stared at his broad back for several minutes in silence, then sighed. “I’m going to go get lunch. And then I’m going to start my Gaelic lessons, because I love you.”
He didn’t move, didn’t speak, didn’t give any indication he had heard her.
But he had to know he not changed her mind.
Victoria left the sitting room and headed for the kitchen. The Boar’s Head Trio was sitting there, partaking of a healthy repast. Thomas was there, cooking something for someone—no doubt poor Iolanthe—and all of them chatting quite happily together.
In Gaelic, as fate would have it.
Victoria greeted the four men with a smile, fetched herself something she would no doubt not manage to eat, then sat down at the table with the Trio.
“I’m going to go rescue Connor,” she announced.
They looked at her blankly.
“You know,” she said impatiently. “Like Thomas did Iolanthe.”
Fulbert gasped. Hugh’s mouth dropped open and he made inarticulate sounds of horror. Ambrose looked unsurprised. Thomas turned around from the stove and smiled.
“Well,” he said, drawing the word out quite a bit, “you are a seasoned time-traveler, I suppose.”
“Damn straight,” she said.
But she quaked a little as she said it. It was one thing to go back to a place where she could almost speak the language, with her sister for company and a big, strapping six-foot-four Highland ghost as protection. It was another thing entirely to go on her own. To a time she knew nothing of. To a place where she wouldn’t be able to understand anything. To rescue a man who, if Thomas’s experience was any indication, wouldn’t know her from Adam. Or Eve.
And he probably wouldn’t like her, in either case.
“It is impossible,” she whispered. She looked at her brother. “It is impossible, isn’t it?”
“Impossible is a powerful word,” Thomas said, setting a plate down on the table. “I wouldn’t use it lightly.”
She blew her hair out of her face and looked up at the ceiling. It was a futile effort to try to keep the tears in her eyes. She looked at Thomas and let them slide down her cheeks.
“I can’t imagine my future without him,” she said finally.
“Now, that, my dear, is a better sentiment,” Ambrose said approvingly. “You know, Connor has grown on me of late, as well. I find many things to recommend his character.”
“Me, too,” she said, dragging her sleeve across her eyes. She looked at Thomas. “Will you help me? Or are you headed back home soon?”
“We can stay for another couple of months,” Thomas said. “You’ll want to head to Scotland soon, I imagine. Jamie can give you a crash course in medieval survival skills. His brother and cousin live nearby. You’ll need them, as well.”
“A veritable colony of reenactment whackos, hmmm?” she asked.
“Oddly enough,” Thomas said with a smile.
“Or are they all of the same vintage?”
“Might be,” Thomas conceded.
“All right,” she said, rubbing her hands together briskly. “I’ll make a more complete to-do list later, but for now, what do you suggest?”
“Gaelic,” Ambrose said without hesitation. “Perhaps a bit of knifework, lest you meet a lad or two short on chivalry.”
Fulbert snorted. “Knife work, to be sure. History, customs, local politics—if you can stomach them.”
“And you’ll want to know Connor’s particulars,” Thomas added, “though I suspect he may be unwilling to give them.”
Victoria sighed. “He won’t remember me, will he? Since I would be preventing him fr
om being a ghost for eight hundred years—”
“Well,” Thomas said with a smile, “that is a matter of opinion. We’ll have a very long discussion about remembering the future on our way to Jamie’s.”
“I can hardly wait.”
“You can talk to Iolanthe about it later. For now, I’ll give Jamie a call and see if he can help you. He’s generally willing to make time for this kind of thing. How soon do you want to leave?”
“Fred’s overseeing the storing of our gear. If Mrs. Pruitt lets me keep the costumes in the shed, I won’t have to deal with that until right before I go back to the States.” She considered. “I suppose I could leave day after tomorrow. Monday,” she clarified. “Maybe Tuesday.”
“Tuesday it is,” Thomas said.
Victoria nodded, struggling to swallow past the lump in her throat.
She would do this and hope that Connor would change his mind.
She couldn’t bear to think about the alternative.
Several hours later, she staggered to the library, wondering if she might not quite be equal to the task before her.
She had passed the morning in Gaelic-land, learning the depth and breadth of her lack. Even Thomas sounded like a native—an annoying fact in and of itself. She’d begged, after a couple of hours, to go deal with the post-production details she normally detested.
Unfortunately, those had been wrapped up far too soon for her taste, and without a Connor sighting for the whole of the afternoon.
She’d discussed defenses with Ambrose and Thomas over dinner, with a few mutterings from Fulbert thrown in for good measure. By bedtime, she was past being tired. And far past being overwhelmed.
She was numb.
She entered the library and closed the door behind her. She was surprised to see a fire in the hearth. She was even more surprised to see Connor sitting in his accustomed chair. He rose at once and waited until she had taken the seat across from him before he sat.
And then he merely stared at her for an eternity in silence.
She had nothing to say. What was there to say? How could she convince him to agree with her? And what was the point if he didn’t want her to go and get him?
Connor closed his eyes and bowed his head for several minutes. Then he lifted his head and opened his eyes to look at her.
His eyes were moist.
“I love you,” he said quietly.
She started to cry. She didn’t mean to, but when it came right down to it, she simply couldn’t help herself.
“Please,” he pleaded, leaning forward and looking at her with tears in his eyes. “Please do not do this thing.”
She would have taken his hands if she could have. Instead, all she could do was look at him with tears streaming down her face.
“Please don’t ask me not to.”
“Victoria, you cannot fathom the danger.”
“You’re right,” she said. “But I can fathom the misery if I don’t try.”
He bowed his head for several minutes, then he sighed deeply. “Can you imagine how this galls me? The only way I can have you is to allow you to risk your life for mine. How can I tell you that I agree with this? By the saints, Victoria, how can I help you find your way to hell?”
“Is medieval Scotland that bad?” she asked lightly.
“I was talking about myself.”
“Are you telling me I’m going back in time to rescue a jerk?”
“I was . . . difficult.”
“You’re difficult now. Big deal. I’m a pain, too.”
He smiled briefly, then sobered. “Nay, my love, you are all that I could wish for and more. Should I spend the rest of my days simply loving you from afar, I would be content.”
She snorted. “You wouldn’t be and neither would I. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have more Gaelic lessons in the morning and I don’t want to be bleary-eyed.”
He looked heavenward for a moment, then met her eyes. “I do not like this.”
She waited.
“My pride will suffer.”
She waited a bit more.
“I want you to understand that when we succeed, and when we return to your day, I will be the one seeing to you.”
“Head of the house? Breadwinner? Presiding officer?” she said with a smile.
“I am in earnest.”
“And I’m just thrilled you want to come back to my day.”
“Indoor plumbing,” he said succinctly. “French wines, French cooking, French chocolate.” He paused. “I’ve heard rumors.”
She rose and smiled down at him. “Good night, my laird. Are you going to bed?”
“I’ll keep watch over you, if it doesn’t trouble you.”
She felt a moment of awkwardness when she would have preferred to kiss him senseless, but considering that she couldn’t even shake his hand politely, she settled for a smile and a hasty retreat to her bed.
“A tale?” he asked when she was comfortably ensconced under her covers.
“A song, instead.”
“All right.”
It was a love song. She only recognized a few words, but battle and death weren’t among them.
Love and forever certainly were.
She would have to have him translate the whole thing in the morning.
She fell asleep smiling.
Chapter 26
Three weeks later, Connor stood on the edge of James MacLeod’s garden and considered several things.
First, there was the complete improbability of standing on MacLeod soil without a sword in his hand and death on his mind. It never would have happened during his lifetime. He supposed he shouldn’t have been surprised that it happened during his death.
Second was the somewhat surreal experience of being back in the Highlands. It had been, literally, centuries since he had walked over his native land. That he should be there seven hundred years after his death was almost too much to be believed.
Victoria had come with Thomas and Iolanthe in Thomas’s car; Connor had made his way at a more leisurely pace with the Boar’s Head Trio. Even Fulbert had been rendered mute by some of the scenes they had viewed on the way. There was nothing quite like Scotland during high summer to leave a man sorry that he had to return any time soon to anywhere south of Hadrian’s Wall.
Last on his list of things that consumed his attention was the consummate dread he felt watching Victoria try to make herself over into some sort of medieval Highland warrior lass.
By the saints, she would never manage it.
That wasn’t because Jamie’s facilities were lacking. The MacLeod castle was nothing short of spectacular and the surrounding environs were just as lovely. The keep itself lacked nothing in the way of modern conveniences, which made for a good rest after a hard day of training. There was ample room near the garden for training and large expanses of countryside for the mastery of horsemanship. Jamie seemed to have all manner of family with medievalness clinging to them like perfume, who seemed to be more than happy to provide any sort of training a body might desire.
Unfortunately, in spite of her enthusiasm, Victoria hadn’t been very successful at learning what her masters had endeavored to teach her. Though she had made some progress in her speech and now knew what end of the dirk to point away from herself, her ability to reduce a man to tears with anything but her sharp tongue was indeed lacking.
“Well?”
Connor jumped slightly and turned to find Thomas McKinnon standing next to him. “Well, what?”
“I imagine I know what you’re thinking,” Thomas said.
And he said it in Gaelic. Connor wondered about that. “How is it that you speak my mother tongue so well?”
“It’s a gift,” Thomas said modestly.
“Why can’t your sister do the same?”
“She’s only been at it a month. Give her some time.”
“She doesn’t have time,” Connor said grimly.
Thomas smiled suddenly. “I have an idea. Why doesn’t Vic ta
ke Jennifer along as a translator?”
“The saints preserve me,” Connor said with horror. “You wish to have the blood of two of your sisters on my hands?”
Thomas laughed. “No, I think Vic’s will be quite enough for the time being.” He looked at his sister, who was trying to stab Ian MacLeod with a dirk and failing gloriously. “I think we’re in trouble.”
Connor could only grunt in agreement.
“Maybe she just needs a bigger sword. I’m sure she had fencing lessons somewhere along the way.” He looked at Connor. “Would anyone notice a woman with a very long sword, do you think?”
“Anyone with eyes will notice your sister. Her beauty alone will be a beacon which will call any and all males in the area to her, all with no doubt less-than-noble designs upon her person. If she lives to see my hall, it will be a miracle. If she survives an encounter with me, she will have accomplished what few other souls have—be they wenches or men.”
“It doesn’t sound promising.”
“Did you ever consider that it did?” Connor exclaimed. “Did I not say it was folly? Did I not endeavor to convince her it was madness?”
“She doesn’t listen very well.”
“She does not listen at all!”
Thomas shook his head. “She really must like you, to be doing this.”
“Daft wench,” Connor muttered.
“Well, she’s also a determined one, so since you can’t do anything about the former, maybe you should do something about the latter.”
Connor folded his arms across his chest and donned his fiercest frown. If he offered Victoria aid, that meant he agreed with her decision.
But if he didn’t offer her aid, he would quite possibly be condemning her to a horrible fate of some unthinkable kind in the wilds of medieval Scotland, with him being the only one capable of rescuing her, but likely—as much as it galled him to admit it—too stupid to do so.
He sighed deeply. It was the kind of sigh that came straight from a man’s toes when he resigned himself to the fact that, in the matter at hand, he was not going to be master of his own fate.
“Very well,” he said. “I will aid her.”
Thomas was too wise to smile. “I imagine she will appreciate it.”