by Lynn Kurland
He rubbed his hands over his face and suppressed a groan. “Hot pins.” He looked at her. “Red hot.”
She smiled. “We’ll be watching from the floor.”
He shook his head. “I can’t believe I’m agreeing to this.”
“I think you already agreed to it. Besides, you’ll have rave reviews. Think how green your brother will be.”
He laughed a little, because there was nothing else to do. He looked at Samantha’s great-aunt. “Well, Madame Torturer, can you get me backstage?”
“Already seen to.”
That’s what he was afraid of.
“Go on, Sam, and put him to bed for a couple of hours,” Mary said. “I’ll see the gossip spread properly about Sir Richard’s miraculous liberation from the Tower, then we’ll get Derrick to the theater.” She rubbed her hands together enthusiastically. “I love a good play.”
Derrick watched her go, then looked at Samantha. “And you? What do you love?”
She leaned up and kissed him quickly. “Tell you later. You look like you need a nap.”
“What I need is a stiff drink.”
She laughed and pulled him back toward the house. He went, because she was surprisingly strong and because he was exhausted. He nodded to Oliver and Peter on his way, then allowed Samantha to get him all the way to their bedroom and put him to bed. She took off his boots, then leaned over and kissed him softly. He frowned as she straightened.
“That’s it?”
“That’s it, sport. You need your beauty rest.”
But she did do him the favor of lying down on the other side of the bolster.
“Set your alarm and I’ll check it,” she said.
He sighed, then did as she bid, because he had the feeling there was no getting out of what he was scheduled to do in a few hours. He put his arm around her and the bolster both, then propped his head up on his hand where he could watch her.
“I think I like you,” she said with a sleepy smile. “Break a leg later this afternoon.”
“Will you come?”
“Wouldn’t miss it.”
He lay down, closed his eyes, and tried to sleep, though he had the feeling he wouldn’t come close to managing it.
The Globe.
Hamlet.
He could almost not bear to think about it.
Chapter 27
Samantha stood on the floor of the Globe, at the back where she could lean against the wall and have drinks spilled down the back of her simple lower-class-gal dress, and contemplated the quirks of Fate.
For all the time she had spent in the theater, she had to admit that she had spent very little of that time in front of the stage. She had mostly stayed behind the curtains, fixing costumes, reassuring her father that he was the most amazing thing to hit the stage since Sir Laurence himself. That she should find herself standing in the cheap seats, in the original Globe, waiting for a production of Hamlet in which she knew the star . . . well, it was memorable. She might have to make a list.
First on that list would be waking up to find herself alone in bed with the bolster. She’d sat up quickly, fearing that she’d been left behind, only to find Derrick sitting in front of the fire. He’d been as motionless as a statue, staring out the window as if he contemplated dire things. She’d crawled out of bed—again being quite grateful they hadn’t had to come to Elizabethan England in the winter—and gone to kneel in front of him.
He’d studied her for so long that she wondered if he’d forgotten who she was. Then he’d simply smiled that charming, half-crooked smile she had come to love and leaned over and kissed her very softly.
She’d known he would survive.
She had called her maid to help her dress, then insisted that they leave Lord Derrick alone, no reasons given. She’d seen him fed, watered, then ferried off to the theater.
Second on her list would be cleaning up evidence of their stay with help from Granny Mary. She had given Lord Walter’s gift back to her great-aunt and asked that she find a particularly unique yet believable way to get them back to him. She had been given a rucksack of things Granny hadn’t let her sort through, things she was sure James MacLeod wouldn’t have approved of. But when it came to that feisty, amazing woman who was seventy-five years young, there was just no arguing with some things.
She’d rolled her dress up far enough to have it fit in Oliver’s pack and set off for the theater with Derrick’s lads in just ordinary middle-class women’s wear. Sir Thomas had been faintly horrified, but seemingly been willing to accept Mary’s excuse that Samantha just wanted to mingle with the common people whilst in London.
The lines to get into the Globe had been appallingly long, but she’d waited, then taken up her current spot at the back of the crowd. She supposed she would have been able to see more if they’d bought seats a level up instead of standing on the floor, but Oliver had insisted it was better where they were.
In case they needed to make a hasty getaway, of course.
If she were going to be honest with herself, that wasn’t what worried her. It was one thing for Derrick to have the guts to get up on stage. It was still that one thing for him to have the sheer audacity to get up on a stage that found itself in Elizabethan England.
But it was another thing entirely to hope he remembered lines from a play he’d auditioned for over a decade ago.
“Not to worry.”
She looked at Oliver who stood on her left. “Worry?” she said, her mouth horribly dry. “Why would I worry?”
Oliver smiled faintly. “He has a photographic memory. Leaves the rest of us at a disadvantage.”
Peter snorted. “And you can pick any lock ever created. Nothing is safe.”
Samantha looked at him and smiled. “And you could probably bring down the world’s banking system with a few clicks.”
“Well,” Peter said modestly, “probably.”
She took a deep breath, then took another handful of them. All right, if Derrick knew his lines, that was at least one thing she didn’t have to worry about. And she had read his college reviews. If he was only half as good presently as he had been in the past, well . . .
The guards suddenly took their place on stage and she realized the time for fretting was over.
The play was the thing.
She forced herself to remember not to lock her knees and made a conscious effort not to wring her hands. She thought perhaps she didn’t breathe at all during the scene with the guards and ghost, and she was certain she hadn’t swallowed as the bulk of the court took their place and Claudius started pontificating. She closed her eyes, because she just couldn’t watch.
“A little more than kin, and less than kind.”
She opened her eyes and found Derrick there, on stage, at the original Globe.
And she realized in that moment that that was where he belonged.
Well, not in 1602, but on stage. It was hard to deny his beauty, but that was just the start of it. As the play wound on, as far as she was concerned, he was Hamlet. If there had ever been anyone born to keep his head while everyone around him was losing their minds and trying to make him look like the crazy one, it was Derrick Cameron.
She wasn’t even sure she had noticed whether or not they’d taken an intermission. She was fairly sure she hadn’t taken a decent breath until the final scene when Hamlet was fighting with Laertes. The swordplay was terribly real and she couldn’t help but notice the maniacal grin on Laertes’s face as he and Derrick sparred.
And then Hamlet fell.
And the rest was silence.
Well, it was for the space of approximately five seconds before the crowd erupted in thunderous cheers and clapping. She looked first at Oliver, who was making a tremendous noise, then at Peter, who was watching her.
“He’s good,” was his only comment.
She supposed that was the understatement of the year.
And then Oliver swore. “Bedamned guards. Pete, get her to the gate. I’ll fetch Derr
ick.”
Samantha wasn’t sure that was such a great idea, but Peter was apparently utterly uninterested in her input. She wasn’t sure how he managed it, but he got them both out of that crazy crowd. He ran with her, keeping hold of her hand until he found a place for them to stand near the ring of mushrooms. She heard all kinds of commotion coming from inside the Globe, which alarmed her greatly. She looked at Peter.
“Is he okay?”
He held up a finger. “Out yet?” He frowned, then looked at her. “They’re working on it. Oliver says to go ahead.”
“No.”
He hesitated, then nodded. “As you will.” He paused. “I think he’s having a hard time getting past his adoring fans.”
She didn’t doubt it. She waited with Peter for what felt somewhat like an eternity, then finally saw Derrick and Oliver trotting toward them with a purpose. She hardly had time to say anything before Derrick had grabbed her by the hand and hauled her with him toward the gate. They clasped hands, the four of them, then stepped inside the circle.
A woman screamed.
Samantha looked over her shoulder and saw the Eye, then the Globe behind them. The cluster of people they’d simply appeared in the midst of were backing away, as suspicious as medieval Londoners.
“Magic show!” Derrick called loudly.
“Paging Rufus,” Peter said.
“Walk quickly,” Oliver suggested.
Samantha supposed there was wisdom in that, though at least a couple of teenagers were calling for more tricks. She clasped hands with Derrick and they hurried for the street. She was enormously grateful when that sleek black Mercedes appeared by magic at just the right spot at the curb. She didn’t even hesitate; she simply flung herself into the backseat, not complaining when Derrick piled in on top of her and she almost gave herself a black eye against the door.
“Sorry,” he gasped. “Oliver, move. And shut the door.”
The car pulled away before Oliver managed that, but apparently the three crazies she was with weren’t unaccustomed to taking off with the doors open. Samantha managed to get herself upright, then switch seats with Derrick so his head wasn’t crushed against the roof. He buckled her in, buckled himself in, then sat back with a sigh.
“Clear?” he asked.
“Fully,” Peter said. “Thanks, Rufus.”
“My pleasure, and no, I wasn’t in the loo, you little—”
Oliver laughed and peeled off his headset. “Now, that was a proper adventure.” He looked around her at Derrick. “Where do we go next?”
“Go ask James MacLeod,” Derrick wheezed.
“Where to, Master Derrick?” Rufus asked.
Samantha found Derrick looking at her. She held up her hands. “I don’t care.”
“I do,” Peter said pointedly. “I want a decent shower.”
“What the hell,” Derrick managed. “The Ritz, Rufus, if you please.”
Samantha found her hand taken. She looked at him and realized he was watching her closely. She simply returned his look, thinking that perhaps he might enjoy what he was fishing for if he had to wait a bit longer for it.
“Well?” he asked, finally.
“Brilliant.”
“Tolerable.”
“How’re those hot pins looking?”
He laughed a little. “Don’t ask me right now. I might give an answer I’d regret later.”
She squeezed his hand, hard. “I’ll give you a full review when we’ve eaten something I recognize.”
“I’ll do better than that,” Oliver said. “I recorded the entire thing.”
Derrick laughed a little. “You didn’t.”
“Had to stay awake somehow, mate.”
Samantha laughed at Derrick’s curse, then leaned her head back against the seat and closed her eyes. She had started a list earlier that morning, but realized she hadn’t finished it. She wasn’t quite sure what it would contain, but she knew what the last entry would be.
All’s well that ends well.
Or maybe all good things ended at the Ritz. She didn’t know, but she was happy to have the chance to decide.
• • •
She stood in the bathroom the next morning, looking at herself in the mirror. Did it show, that place she’d been? She didn’t feel any different physically, but she was definitely different mentally. She had stood in the midst of history and watched it roll on around her.
She was changed.
She considered braiding her hair, then put the brush down and walked out of the bathroom. No braid, no polyester, no quarter.
Derrick was sitting on the couch simply staring off into space. He looked at her immediately, then blinked in surprise.
“No braid?”
“Elizabethan England.”
He stood up, then walked over to pull her into his arms. He looked down at her seriously. “My turn today.”
“Is it?”
He bent his head and kissed her, so apparently it was.
“You know,” she managed a few minutes later, “you’ve got to stop that. It’s distracting you from stuff I’m sure you should be doing, like deciding what to have for breakfast.”
He smiled, kissed her once more, then put his arm around her and led her over to the couch. “Order whatever you like. I’ll trust you.”
“Well, it can’t be any worse than what we ate on our little trip to the past.”
“Please,” he said with a shiver. “Let’s not think about it.”
“And I think that was the good stuff.” She looked over the menu, ordered something hearty for him and less hearty for herself, then set the phone aside and looked at him. “Well?”
He took a deep breath, then reached over and handed her a manila envelope.
“What’s this?”
“Something Cameron sent over this morning. Faxes from Jamie.”
“Did we change history—” She stopped, then smiled. “No, I don’t imagine we did. Are these reviews?”
“I can’t bring myself to look.”
“If it makes you feel any better, you were astonishing.”
He blew out his breath. “I shouldn’t care.”
She reached for his hand. “You know, it’s a little frightening to think about failing at something you love. But you didn’t fail. You were riveting.”
“You just like me.”
“Yes, and I told you how absolutely amazing you were at least a dozen times last night.”
“I thought that was just to impress the lads.”
She smiled, because she didn’t believe that for a minute. “Where are they, by the way?”
“Off doing what they do. Wreaking havoc, making hay, causing a ruckus. Fetching reviews from Cameron and delivering them to me here with a smirk.”
She smiled and reached for the envelope. She pulled faxed copies of photocopies of what looked to be originals of some kind of seventeenth-century Variety magazine. She found what she was looking for, then handed it to him.
“You left women swooning and men wishing they could wield a sword like you.”
He smiled briefly, read, then slid the pages back into the envelope.
“Nice.”
She laughed a little. “That’s all you can say?”
“It’s what I did, not who I am.”
She smiled. “I said that first.”
“Well, aye, lass, I think you did.” He leaned toward her, then stopped. “If I start that up again, we’ll never get out of here.”
“Are we going somewhere?” she asked.
“I thought we might take a little trip north to Stratford. You should see Anne Hathaway’s house whilst we’re there. Not to be missed.”
“Is there an ulterior motive to this trip?”
“Come along and find out.” He nodded toward her room. “What’d Granny give you?”
“I didn’t want to look yet, because I was afraid of what Jamie would think. But I’ll go get it.”
She retrieved the pack from the dresser an
d carried it back in to find that Derrick had her bag sitting on the table. He looked up.
“Cameron brought this as well from its hiding place in his safe. I’m curious as to what it contains.”
“Which first?”
“Gems.”
She watched him pull the clear zippered bag out of her purse and lay it on the table. He opened the bag, spilled the gems out, then blinked in surprise. “There are forty-eight.”
She took a deep breath. “I know.”
He considered, then looked at her quite seriously. “I’m not sure, Miss Drummond, that I have told you adequately just how I feel about you.”
She shifted uncomfortably. “Do I want to hear it?”
He took her face in his hands, then kissed her, a whisper of a kiss she barely felt. He pulled back and looked at her. “If I tell you now, I’ll unman myself by a display of unseemly emotion.”
“Then you aren’t furious with me for having Granny give the others back to Lord Walter in 1602?”
“Nay, lass,” he said quietly, “precisely the opposite.”
“Would you have been disappointed if I’d kept them?”
He looked at her, then smiled. “Do you want me the hopefully decent man to answer that or me the pirate to answer that?”
She laughed, then kissed him that time, because she thought she just might love both incarnations. “I already know the answer.”
He smiled. “You made the right choice, one I’m not sure I would have had the courage to make. I’m impressed. I’m assuming that both the linen and the handkerchief are still in the past?”
“I thought it wise.”
“Jamie will be impressed.” He nodded at her pack. “What’d Granny give you?”
“We need gloves.”
“What’s wrong with our grubby hands?”
She shot him a look. “Your archival preservation technique needs some work, but I’ll let that slide just this once. Just try to keep this stuff out of the butter during breakfast.”
Her pack produced a length of lace that would have made a very lovely bridal veil. It made Lord Epworth’s piece of lace look like a placemat. Samantha shook her head.
“I’m not sure she should have sent this home with us.”