Much Ado In the Moonlight

by Lynn Kurland

He found, as he walked up to the castle with Victoria McKinnon’s hand in his, that he had grown quite accustomed to touching her.

  Today, he reminded himself. But not tomorrow. Tomorrow was for his future, which was firmly placed in the Past.

  He rubbed his forehead with his free hand. It gave him pains in the head to think on, truth be told.

  He stopped in the bailey of the castle. It was a derelict place, with walls crumbling and no roof for the great hall. But there was a stage there and that seemed to be well built. He supposed there were worse places to linger.

  “Why are we here?” Victoria asked.

  Connor released her hand and looked down at her. “I thought perhaps you would do something onstage for me. A bit of a play or some other such rot.”

  “Rot?” she echoed weakly.

  “’Tis a manly term for a frolic. I can’t appear too bloody eager to waste my time watching when I should be training, can I?”

  She looked at him for a moment or two in complete silence, then she smiled faintly. “I suppose you can’t. What would you like to see?”

  “What can you do?”

  “Lots of Shakespeare.”

  “Well, the Bard did have a lot to say.” He paused and looked at her. “The Bard?”

  “Another name for Shakespeare.”

  “Hmmm,” Connor said uneasily.

  It was tempting to sit down in the dirt and bawl like a bairn, but he did not weep. Well, not unless he was bleeding from a gaping wound, but under those circumstances, he always claimed any errant tear to be nothing more than a single drop of sweat. It was the only way to leave his ferocious reputation intact.

  He gestured to the stage. “Up on the boards with you, woman,” he said, anxious to move onto something less unsettling, “and entertain me.”

  He watched her climb up onto the stage. He supposed he should have looked for a chair, but he suspected he was equal to the task of standing there and watching her perform. After all, how overwhelming could it be to watch a single wench be about her business?

  “I’ll do, well, there is a nice soliloquy Gertrude has.”

  “The queen?”

  “Yes.”

  “After Ophelia dies?”

  She stared at him for the space of several heartbeats, as if she had just seen a ghost. She nodded finally. “Yes. That one.”

  He waved her on. “One of my favorites.”

  Then he realized that he was either going to have to sit down or fall there. Gertrude? Ophelia? Who were they and why did he know them?

  “Connor?”

  “I am well,” he said, planting his feet a manly distance apart and folding his arms over his chest.

  “There’s a chair behind the stage.”

  That would work, as well. He fetched it according to her directions, then placed himself in the middle of the bailey, where he could see Victoria best.

  And then he wondered at his own foolishness.

  She stood in the middle of the stage and began to weave a spell around him with her words, a spell he was certain he could not break and almost as certain he did not wish to.

  There is a willow grows aslant a brook,

  That shows his hoar leaves in the glassy stream;

  There with fantastic garlands did she come

  Of crow-flowers, nettles, daisies, and long purples,

  That liberal shepherds give a grosser name,

  But our cold maids do dead men’s fingers call them:

  She stopped. Connor could not speak, either. It was as if he had never heard words before. These sank into his soul and left him not so much bemused as silent and heartbroken. Dead men’s fingers, indeed.

  Connor knew she had begun speaking again, but he could no longer hear the words. The sadness of the tale made his eyes burn with tears. He continued to listen, open-mouthed, as Victoria painted a picture before his mind’s eye that left him desperate to stop what he knew had already happened. Ophelia had drowned; Hamlet was soon to be lost as well.

  Hamlet?

  Connor blinked. Who in the bloody hell was Hamlet?

  He dragged his sleeve across his eyes and glared at Victoria. “We’ll have no more of that death and mayhem. Do something more cheering. Something that will make me feel anything but a desire to drawn my sword and fall upon it!”

  She smiled.

  It was as if the sun had shone for the very first time in his life. He caught his breath, then found himself laughing. He knew not what she quoted, but she was having a conversation with herself, playing two parts, blathering on about someone named Bottom and a wench named Titania, and fairies and other amusing creatures.

  Fairies? He stroked his chin. He’d known they would have to make an appearance sooner or later.

  He sat for the better part of the morning, by turns laughing, contemplating, and forcing himself not to weep. He could scarce believe Victoria preferred telling her players what to do, rather than capering about the stage herself. Well, there was no making sense of what a wench would do without a man to aid her.

  And then she began something entirely new.

  O thou, my lovely boy, who in thy power

  Dost hold Time’s fickle glass his fickle hour . . .

  May time disgrace and wretched minutes kill . . .

  She may detain, but not still keep her treasure

  He listened as she leaped from thought to thought, now about time, now about love, now about the vagaries of life.

  He wondered about the last. Was he in the Future merely as a matter of Time’s caprice, or had there been a more solemn purpose? His grandmother’s words came back to him and he wondered if this might have been the path she had foreseen him treading.

  He wondered if he shouldn’t make an immediate return to the Past, where he had obviously left his good sense.

  “Anyone up for a drive?”

  The masculine voice behind him giving vent to an invitation for one of his preferred Future activities was enough to have Connor on his feet. He looked behind him to find Thomas there.

  “Where?” Connor asked, equally as happy for an outing as he was for the chance to escape his troubling thoughts.

  “Edinburgh?” Thomas suggested.

  “I’ll come,” Connor said immediately.

  “I have tickets to a play.” Thomas looked around Connor at his sister. “I thought you might be interested in this one.”

  “What’s playing?” she asked.

  “It’s a surprise.”

  “I don’t have anything to wear.”

  “The Pretty Woman shopping spree is on me,” Thomas said with a smile.

  Victoria hopped off the stage. “I’m there.”

  Connor smiled down at her. “You rob the world of your talent when you merely command the forces from below,” he said frankly. “Why is that?”

  “It’s a very long story,” she said. “I’ll tell you on the way to Edinburgh.”

  Connor took her hand and pulled her from the keep. “I’m anxious to see how the city has changed since my day. Coming, Thomas?”

  “I suppose, since I have to drive,” Thomas said with a chuckle.

  Connor started to offer his services, but before he could open his mouth, Victoria had sent him a warning look.

  “Don’t think it.”

  He drew himself up. “I could manage it.”

  “Not to Edinburgh. There are lots of cars. But I’ll bet Thomas would let you another day.”

  “But I must return home tomorrow,” he said, with sincere regret.

  “Oh,” she said quietly.

  They walked along in silence for several minutes. Connor found, to his surprise, that she had pulled her hand from his at some point. She had her hands stuck into her pockets, as if she feared what they might do if she left them to themselves.

  He supposed she might be tempted to cuff him. He couldn’t blame her. He had powerfully fond feelings for her. Was it beyond the pale to suppose she might suffer the like for him?

  “I
do not want to go,” he said defensively, before he thought better of it. He looked down at her. “But I must.”

  She met his eyes. Hers were very red. “I know.”

  “Allergies?”

  She smiled. “The excuse is wearing thin, I suppose.”

  He wanted to ask her what she meant by that, but found that he did not have the will. She was, he dared hope, grieved that he would go. Would she be willing to come with him?

  He considered that for a moment or two. To leave behind the Future and all its marvels? Cars, collapsible swords, fried tomatoes, pink garderobes . . . nay, he could see why she might not want to.

  Yet, what was there for him in the Past? He would have been dead were it not for her. But given that he had survived that dodgy bit of business, what would it mean for him to remain in his own time? He would have spent the rest of his days wondering if he was doing something someone else should have been seeing to. He might have wed again, possibly stealing a woman from another who would have had her, had he been slain as he ought to have been.

  His head began to pound.

  He decided finally that perhaps there was reason to suppose that he might live out his life in a Past where he was destined not to be. But did that mean he was permitted to stay in the Future?

  That he could not answer.

  If he had some confirmation, some compelling reason, some sign beyond all doubt that he was meant to remain where he was . . .

  But nay, the world did not work thusly. He belonged in his time and Victoria in hers. The specters he had seen were flights of fancy. Indeed, he began to wonder if his entire trip away from home had been one great, long dream.

  He shrugged aside his doubts and his fears. It would all come clear to him when he was home.

  For now, he had the remainder of the day to spend with Victoria.

  That was enough.

  It would have to be.

  Chapter 35

  Victoria sat in the backseat of Thomas’s rental car and listened to her brother and the man she loved discuss the gadgets that adorned the dashboard. Connor would have poked and prodded those gadgets with his knife, but Thomas told him not to. It was all so very normal, traveling in the backseat of a car with her sister-in-law, who threatened to toss her cookies every few minutes, while a medieval clansman sat in the front arguing with her brother over whether or not a knife thrust into the CD player would really bring results that he wouldn’t care for.

  Was she losing her mind?

  She didn’t dare speculate.

  Iolanthe began to moan in a very unsettling manner. Victoria shoved a plastic bag at her. “Here,” she said briskly, “puke in here. I checked; there aren’t any holes in the bottom.”

  Iolanthe clutched the plastic sack like a lifesaver. Victoria looked out the window and watched the scenery rush by. It was beautiful country. She supposed that there wasn’t a square foot of earth that hadn’t been tromped on by some Brit at one point or another. It would have been something to have been witness to that history over the centuries.

  As Connor was.

  She sighed deeply. Things were not going as she had planned, even given her new hands-off-the-destinies-of-those-around-her policy. All right, so when she’d come back to the present time, she’d despaired of ever seeing Connor again. Once he’d come to the Future, she’d hoped against hope that someday he would actually regain the memories he couldn’t possibly have had unless Thomas’s remember-the-future business was true.

  But the time for that kind of thing was running out and for more than one reason. Connor said he was going home tomorrow, but he’d been saying that for almost a week. It was entirely possible that he could change his mind for another week.

  Unfortunately, she was also feeling the pressure of time. It was the end of August already and her rehearsals were starting the middle of September for a November show that she hadn’t even begun to advertise. She needed to find a venue and round up a few actors. Michael had probably taken with him half the cast of her first show and Mr. Yoga had definitely taken her rehearsal and performance place, yet still the show had to go on.

  She rubbed her hands over her face and sighed deeply.

  “Victoria?”

  She looked at Iolanthe. “Yes?”

  “You are unwell?”

  She shook her head. “Stress.”

  “Speaking of stress,” Thomas said, “have you thought about what you’re going to do for the fall? You know, after you go back to Manhattan?”

  “Why do I ever tell you anything?” Victoria asked, not really wanting an answer because she already knew the answer. She was a masochist.

  “What is amiss?” Connor asked.

  “Victoria has a group of players,” Thomas began, “and unfortunately, they have lost the space where they’ve been accustomed to performing their shows. She will return to Manhattan with people lining up to want to see her shows and no place to perform.”

  “Manhattan? The Apple you told me about?”

  “The very one.”

  “What will she do, do you think? Could she not use your castle for her productions?”

  “She could,” Thomas said, “but I think she wants to get back to the city. In fact, I imagine she just can’t wait to get back to Manhattan. Isn’t that true, Vic?”

  Victoria wanted to hit her brother, but that might have been dangerous, given that he was driving. Could he make matters any worse? First, he’d broken the news to Connor about his ghostly status in that completely unfeeling manner and now he was making it sound as if she couldn’t wait to get on the plane and leave Connor behind.

  “Connor?” she said.

  “Aye?”

  “Kill him for me later.”

  Connor made a noise, something like a purr. “If I must. If it would please you.”

  “It would please me.”

  “Mayhap you would inherit his castle if he died,” Connor offered.

  Victoria smiled in spite of herself. “I knew there was a reason I liked you.”

  Thomas only laughed. “If I die by foul means, I’m giving the castle to Mom and Jennifer to use for a baby-clothes shop.”

  Victoria shivered. “You would, too, wouldn’t you?”

  He looked back over his shoulder at her. “Of course not. But seriously, Vic. What are you going to do? Don’t you have season tickets already sold?”

  She shook her head. “I never sent anything out. I had it all printed, but when I found out Moonbat was ripping the stage out from under me, I cancelled the company who does my tickets.”

  “People will wonder what happened to you.”

  “I’ll send out notices when we find a new space.” She sighed. “But I suppose I do need to get back and see if I can resurrect my company.”

  At least that’s what she thought she needed to do. What she feared was that she would get back to Manhattan, find that her troupe was still intact, and not want to do a damned thing with them.

  What she wanted to do was act.

  Truly, she had lost her mind.

  She sighed. “Some of it depends on what’s left of my troupe once Michael Fellini’s agent gets ahold of my actors.”

  “Fellini,” Connor grumbled. “What a pompous, overacting buffoon.”

  Everyone in the car went still. Victoria shared a startled glance with Iolanthe, then held her breath until Connor reached up and scratched his head.

  “Too many chocolates after lunch,” he said. “I have these dreams.”

  “I’ll just bet you do,” Thomas said easily. “All right, let me find a parking place, then we’ll go shop and meet back here. Then I say we go have a nice dinner and see the show.”

  Victoria let her breath out slowly. So close, but yet so incredibly far from anything useful. Well, at least he was having dreams. That was something.

  She was distracted suddenly by the sight of Connor leaping out of the car to study the traffic. At least he wasn’t leaping out into the traffic, but she supposed that couldn
’t be far behind. Fortunately, Thomas managed to convince him to use the sidewalk for its intended purpose.

  “Clothes, first,” Thomas said. “Io, why don’t you and Vic take the keys and meet us back here in an hour.”

  “An hour?” Victoria echoed. “I’m sure we’ll be done long before then.”

  “I know. That’s why I’m giving you the keys.”

  Victoria was pleased to find that Iolanthe had just as little patience as she did for lingering over clothes, but perhaps that came from being morning sick. She knew her own impatience came from dissatisfaction over how her vow not to control people anymore had panned out. She suspected that she might be happier telling everyone what to do.

  She sighed as she and Iolanthe walked back down the street to the car to dump their casual clothes into the trunk. It would either all work out in the end or it wouldn’t. Really, when it came to medieval Highlanders, there was not much to be done.

  She had just shut the trunk when her sister-in-law caught her breath.

  “Oh, my,” Iolanthe said in surprise.

  “What?”

  “Look behind you.”

  Victoria hesitated. “Is it Connor and Thomas?”

  “Aye. Dressed in their finery.”

  Victoria closed her eyes briefly. Let him not be wearing Victorian ruffles mismatched with a tricorn hat. She turned.

  She caught her breath, as well.

  All right, so the man looked fine in jeans. In a suit, he was absolutely breathtaking. Impressive and powerful and so put together that she wondered if she would ever take another money man in a suit seriously. He stopped in front of her and smiled.

  “What do you think?”

  “I think wow.”

  Connor made her a low bow. “Thanks must go to your brother.”

  “Thanks, Thomas,” Victoria said weakly.

  “Let’s go,” Thomas said with a laugh, “before my sister falls in a pool of drool of her own making. Dinner, anyone?”

  “Always,” Connor said promptly.

  “Sure,” Victoria said, looking forward to a place to sit.

  “If we must,” Iolanthe said, not sounding at all enthusiastic about the idea.

  Dinner was as lengthy an affair as Iolanthe could stand, which wasn’t all that long. Connor seemed rather sad to leave anything behind, but she managed to stop him before he finished off everyone’s leavings. She watched him as they left the restaurant and made their way down the sidewalk. He wasn’t saying anything; that might have come from being so busy gawking at everything around him.