Much Ado In the Moonlight

  “Vic, you should have been a lawyer.”

  “Thomas!”

  “We’ll be there as soon as we can get a flight out.”

  “Really?” she asked, surprised. “You will?”

  “Of course. What else would I do?”

  “I don’t know,” she said with a deep sigh. “But if you’re going to come, hurry.”

  “Get off the phone so I can.”

  Victoria slammed the phone down. She glared at Connor. “He’s a jerk.”

  Connor rubbed his fingers over his mouth, as if he fought an expression that begged to come out.

  “Are you smiling?” she asked suspiciously.

  He shook his head. “Nay. It merely warms my heart to hear you give your brother the drubbing he so richly deserves.”

  “He’s coming right away.”

  “If the straits were not so dire, I would be happy to welcome him with a few shriek-inducing antics.” Connor pursed his lips. “The saints only know what runs through his mind.” “Mindless babble,” Victoria said. She was relieved, though. It should have galled her. She was certainly as capable as her brother of handling all kinds of crises. And it wasn’t as if Thomas had spent the whole of their youth bailing her out of scrapes. More often than not, he’d been at the bottom of her troubles.

  But he had once or twice been there for her when she really needed someone—unasked and without undue I-told-you-so activity afterward. Maybe this would be another thing to add to that very short list.

  She sighed. “Well, I guess I have no choice but to call my mom and dad now. I’m not looking forward to this.” She looked at him. “My mother will be devastated.”

  “If your dam is anything like her dam, she will bear it well enough,” Connor said. “A right fearsome wench is your granny.”

  The phone rang. Victoria picked it up out of habit, then wondered if she should have let Mrs. Pruitt do it. Too late now.

  “Hello?” she said hesitantly.

  “Have you called Mom and Dad?”

  She sighed. “No. Do you want to?”

  “Sure,” Thomas said. “I’ll call you right back.”

  Victoria hung up and looked at Connor. “Thomas is calling my parents. We’ll see how they hold up.” She paused. “You don’t suppose that my granny—”

  “I do not,” he said sharply. “And neither should you. She is well and sound and counting on you to come fetch her. I daresay the authorities are skilled enough, but they have not our inducement to find her.”

  Victoria nodded her head and stared at the phone. That didn’t keep her from jumping again when it rang. She looked at Connor, then picked up the phone.

  “Yes?”

  “Mom and Dad are okay.”

  Victoria let out her breath slowly. “Are they really?”

  Thomas laughed a bit. “Mom said not to worry. Dad said, and I quote, ‘The woman never goes anywhere without a bag full of steel needles. She even terrorized me a time or two with them. She’ll be fine.’”

  Victoria managed a wan smile. “I can see Granny taking Dad to task.”

  “Well, I’m sure she’ll show back up to do it again.”

  “I hope so.”

  “Dad’s booking their flights right now and I’ll do the same. Why don’t you go get some sleep. We’ll all be there, probably the day after tomorrow, and straighten everything out.”

  Victoria nodded, said her good-byes, and hung up the phone, somehow quite relieved to have Thomas’s help. She looked at Connor. “They’re all coming.”

  “As well they should,” Connor said gravely.

  “I think my mom is okay.”

  “It must be the MacLeod blood,” Connor said, “and that compliment does not come without cost.”

  She smiled briefly as she pushed the phone away. “She’s completely caught up in that Scottish woo-woo-business. Second sight and all that. I’m sure she and Ambrose will get along very well.”

  “No doubt.”

  “At least I can guarantee Thomas doesn’t know anything about the paranormal.” She paused. “Well, outside of you, I suppose.”

  Connor began to cough, but he managed to gain control of himself eventually. Victoria looked at him suspiciously.

  “What is it?”

  “An intense desire to do your brother in came over me suddenly,” he said, with a minor squirm.

  “You probably shouldn’t. He’s bringing his wife, Iolanthe.”

  “I imagined he would.”

  “Have you met her?”

  “A time or two,” he said evasively.

  She wondered at his tone, but didn’t have the energy to wonder too hard. There was no doubt some kind of something going on and she would find out about it later.

  Maybe when she’d staked Thomas out over a red-ant hill and was using a mirror to shine the sunlight in his eyes. Did they have red ants in England and what would her actors think when she clunked her brother over the head so she could more easily tie his unconscious hands and feet to little tent stakes she would happily spend quite a while securing into the ground?

  Probably better not to know.

  “Satisfying thoughts?” Connor inquired.

  “I’m thinking of ways to torture my brother.”

  “I have some ideas.”

  She laughed, then put her hand over her mouth quickly. Laughing wasn’t something she could do at present. She sighed and leaned back in the chair. “We’ll compare notes later, when my granny’s here to listen.”

  “Aye.”

  Victoria closed her eyes. “I think I’ll be okay if you want to go.”

  He was silent.

  In fact, he was so silent that she finally forced herself to get her eyes back open so she could peer at him blearily.

  “Really,” she said.

  He smiled grimly. “If you want me to be off, I will.”

  “I don’t want to impose.”

  “You imposed from the first time I saw you. ’Tis a little late for an apology now.”

  She would have endeavored to unravel that, but she was just too fuzzy around the edges. “So you’ll stay?”

  “Unless you snore.”

  Victoria made herself comfortable in that overstuffed chair, the kind you sink into with little hope of getting out of without undignified exertions.

  “Wake me if I do,” she managed.

  It was still dark when she woke. She knew that she’d been asleep only because the arm of the chair was wet. Sleep was probably the only place she could weep.

  She opened her eyes and looked around the sitting room, expecting to find herself alone.

  Connor was still there, sitting across from her in a hard chair, his arms folded over his chest, his eyes open and watching her.

  His expression might have been a gentle one.

  It also might have been a trick played on her by the firelight.

  “You stayed,” she whispered.

  “I told you I would.”

  She closed her eyes and slipped back into peaceful, if not dry-eyed, slumber.

  Chapter 11

  Connor worried. It wasn’t in his nature to fash himself over anything that wasn’t directly related to keeping meat on his supper table or keeping enemies out of his herd of cattle, but drastic times called for drastic measures—and the sight before him was drastic indeed.

  Victoria was working.

  He suspected that if she worked any harder, or worked her actors any harder, the whole lot of them would have a collapse.

  “Again,” she barked at Fellini and Mistress Blankenship.

  “But Victoria,” Cressida complained, “we’ve done the scene three times already.”

  “And it stank three times already,” Victoria said crisply. “Do you want lousy reviews, Cressida? Your purpose in this scene is to draw the audience into your madness, not shove it down their throats.”

  Connor looked at Fellini, who had told Cressida more than once that she was not violent enough in her actions. The man st
ood on the stage with his arms over his chest, watching with angry, glittering eyes.

  Cressida, on the other hand, looked as if she might descend into madness truly—likely from trying to decide whose advice she should heed.

  Connor could scarce wait to find out whose it would be.

  “All right,” Cressida whimpered. “I can do it one more time.”

  “Of course you can,” Victoria said. “Just check the ridiculous dramatics at the castle gate, would you?”

  Half the cast and most of the crew gasped. Connor pushed away from where he leaned against the wall, certain there would be bloodshed. But Cressida only bowed her head, nodded humbly, and took her place on the stage for the beginning of the scene. Fellini stood at the side of the stage, silent and watchful. Connor went to stand nearby, lest the man mutter something useful under his breath. That put him close to Victoria, on the off chance that she might have a breakdown.

  Not that she would.

  And that was what worried him the most.

  She had woken the previous morning, thanked him most politely for his companionship, then marched briskly from the sitting chamber and on to the business of her Sunday—which fortunately for her actors had not included any rehearsals.

  But she had pounded through her own business of production checks with a relentlessness that bespoke heavy suffering. Connor understood that. There was nothing like getting on with doing to keep uncomfortable and unpleasant emotions at bay. He wondered how she managed it, though. She was so slender and lovely; it seemed that the weight of her burden should have simply crushed her asunder.

  Not like her brother, who had apparently just arrived from the Colonies. Connor watched Thomas McKinnon walk through Thorpewold’s gates as if he owned the place, damn him, with shoulders broad enough to carry any variety of burden. Thomas was alone and Connor wondered where his wife was. Surely Iolanthe MacLeod couldn’t have resisted a chance to come and crow about her state of wedded bliss whilst Connor remained quite thoroughly cuckolded and unalive.

  Life was, he decided, very strange indeed.

  Thomas approached his sister. “Vic?”

  Victoria didn’t bother to look at him. “Talk to me after.”

  “After?” Thomas echoed. “I just flew in and all you can say is ‘after’?”

  “Nice to see you,” she amended. “Now, get lost and let me finish here.”

  Connor snorted out a half laugh. By the saints, ’twas pleasing to see Victoria turn her sharp tongue on someone besides him. And who deserved it more than that arrogant and irritating brother of hers?

  Thomas looked at her, then shook his head and sighed. Connor had to admit he understood that, as well. When Victoria was in the heat of battle, there was no conversing with her. He watched Thomas walk across the bailey to join him at the wall.

  “MacDougal,” Thomas said.

  “McKinnon,” Connor replied.

  “I see my sister is still in full possession of herself and her sanity. I can only assume you haven’t begun to terrify her.”

  Connor grunted. “She promised me a full month of screams if I left her and her company alone for the duration of her play.”

  Thomas’s mouth fell open. “She did?”

  “Aye.”

  “And you agreed?”

  “The wench is a canny bargainer.”

  Thomas looked at him in astonishment. “I can’t believe it. I think you’re actually getting along with her.”

  “She is—outside of your fair grandmother and our good Lady Blythwood—the exception in your family. It must be, and this galls me to say as much, the MacLeod blood in her veins.”

  Thomas’s mouth fell open for a moment or two, then he began to grin. “Interesting.”

  “Interesting would be watching your head leave your shoulders.”

  “But then who would entertain you?” Thomas asked. “Victoria? She’s too busy running her rehearsals. You’ll have to settle for me.” He paused and looked at his sister. “I can’t believe she’s at it today.”

  “What else is she to do? She grieves.”

  “She doesn’t look particularly overwrought.”

  “Fool,” Connor said succinctly. “If she stops moving, she will break her own heart with weeping.”

  Thomas’s mouth fell open again.

  Connor glared at him. The man would begin to catch all manner of bug life in that trap if he did not close it soon. Connor felt somewhat compelled to say as much.

  Thomas shut his mouth. He managed to maintain a neutral expression, but there was the hint of a twinkle in his eye. “You seem to have a good handle on what she’s feeling.”

  “Go to hell, McKinnon,” Connor said. “And leave the keys to my keep behind before you set off. I weary of your kin disturbing my peace.”

  “Do you?” Thomas asked, beginning to smile. “You don’t seem all that tired.”

  Connor blustered a bit. He examined several lies he could have told, lies about his irritation at having Victoria McKinnon underfoot all day and his weariness over having to look after her at night. But prevarication was not in his nature.

  So he settled for a glare.

  Thomas laughed. “I’m sure you’re just being nice to Vic so you can really give her a good scare later.”

  There was no good response for that, either.

  Thomas laughed. He continued to chuckle until he saw Michael Fellini coming his way. He frowned. “Is that her star?”

  “Aye.”

  “I don’t like the look of him.”

  “I daresay your opinion will not improve upon meeting him.”

  Thomas seemed to consider Fellini as he walked toward them. Fellini looked about him suspiciously, as if he searched for something he could not see. But by the time he reached them, he had put on a smooth smile. He extended a hand to Thomas.

  “You must be Victoria’s brother.”

  “Thomas McKinnon,” Thomas said, shaking the man’s hand. “You must be Michael Fellini. Victoria sang your praises the last time we talked.”

  Fellini preened. It was all Connor could do to keep his thoughts, and his sword, to himself.

  “Your sister is too kind. But,” he said, lowering his voice as if he wished to draw Thomas in, “I have to admit to being worried about her.”

  Thomas leaned in and put on a greatly exaggerated look of interest. “Really? Why?”

  “She’s working herself to exhaustion. I’m afraid it’s going to damage her health.”

  Thomas nodded solemnly. “She really gets involved in productions and it’s impossible to pry her away from them. Do you have any suggestions?”

  “Well, as you probably know, I am a fabulous director,” Fellini said helpfully. “I make my living teaching, but I can do, as well. If you think it would be helpful, I could offer to take some pressure off Victoria. But only if you think it would help. I certainly wouldn’t want to intrude.”

  “The hell you wouldn’t,” Connor said distinctly.

  Michael blinked, then looked at Thomas in surprise. “Did you say something?”

  “It was the wind,” Thomas said. “A foul, unpleasant east wind, no doubt. You know, I appreciate the offer and I’ll see what I can talk Vic into. She’s pretty stubborn.”

  Fellini smiled pleasantly. “Yes, I’ve noticed. Just keep in mind that I’ll be happy to help if you need it. By directing.”

  Thomas nodded. Connor stroked the hilt of his sword fondly as he watched Fellini walk off.

  “You don’t like him, do you?” Thomas asked quietly.

  “I do not. I don’t trust him, either.”

  Thomas raised an eyebrow. “This is novel. We two on the same side of a fight.”

  “When the enemy is a turncoat of that water, what else can we do? But do not expect this happy collaboration to last,” Connor warned.

  “I wouldn’t,” Thomas said sincerely. “Oh, look, the crew is packing up. Gotta run.”

  Connor allowed him to go without offering any post-co
llaboration threats. If he chose to bedevil Thomas McKinnon, it would be at a later time. Perhaps he would save such misery as something to be savored after the play was finished. For now, ’twas enough to give it a bit of thought whilst the company went about the business of securing the stage for the night.

  Thomas badgered Victoria until she shouted at him to go back to the inn and wait for her to finish. He threw up his hands and walked away. Connor pursed his lips. By the saints, the man had lived with Victoria for years; had he no idea how to manage her?

  Connor waited, quite wisely to his mind, until all the work was finished, the crew had departed, and Victoria had given Fred his final instructions for the day before he dared even contemplate leaving his place against the wall. Then he waited for several long moments as she made herself at home on the bench set against the side of the great hall. It was only then that he dared walk over and sit down next to her. But he didn’t speak. She was no doubt reviewing her actors’ performances in her head and wouldn’t wish to be interrupted.

  Finally, she lifted her head and looked at him. “Long day,” she said wearily.

  “Mistress Blankenship is improving,” he offered.

  “I was too hard on her.”

  Connor shook his head. “She was overacting. Best to pluck the desire from her before it takes full root. You did no more than you had to.”

  “Thank you,” she said quietly. “For everything.”

  “A courageous man makes the best of his situation,” he said lightly. “And your actors are more interesting than the tourists who usually drive me to madness during the summer months.”

  “No, not for letting us inside the castle,” she said slowly. “Thank you for last night. And yesterday. And today.” She looked down at the dirt between her feet. “I needed a show of support.”

  “Of course you didn’t,” he said promptly. “I’ve never seen a wench soldier on as you do. You didn’t need me.”

  She smiled fleetingly. “Thomas wants to see where we were on Saturday, when I was off yakking with Michael while my granny was going heaven knows where.”

  “The fault is equally mine. I should have stayed with her,” Connor said grimly.

  “Thomas wants to go back to the picnic site.” She paused. “I wonder if there might be clues we missed.”