Much Ado In the Moonlight (19 page)

“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-collaboration 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.”

“’Tis possible,” Connor conceded.

She sighed and rose. “I imagine my parents will be here soon. I should go figure out where they’re going to sleep.”

“No doubt Mrs. Pruitt has matters well in hand.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of. Let’s go.”

Connor walked back to the inn with her. The way seemed shorter than ever. Perhaps he had passed too many decades of his undeath denying himself the company of other goodly souls. He was not unhappy to be remedying that. There was much to be said for amiable company and the inn certainly seemed to provide it.

He hadn’t put foot to the inn’s garden path, however, before he heard quite unwholesome and less-than-friendly sounds coming from inside.

“Trouble,” Victoria said with a sigh.

“Fellini,” Connor identified.

“Heaven help me.”

Connor suspected even heaven couldn’t do anything with that miserable excuse for a man, but he followed her to the inn just the same. He passed through the entryway after her and frowned fiercely at the goings on there.

“I will
not
give up my room!” Fellini bellowed. “I don’t care who’s here!”

“In a time of crisis,” Mrs. Pruitt said crisply, “we are all called upon to make sacrifices. Whilst Mistress Victoria’s kin are under
me
care, they’ll have suitable chambers. There is ample room in the King of Denmark’s room for a cot. You and His Majesty may come to blows over who takes it, but do
not
do so in me entryway!”

Fellini was in midscreech as Thomas walked out of the dining room.

Fellini shut his mouth with a snap.

Thomas threw Connor a look before he walked over to the treacherous viper. “Are there problems with the rooms?” he asked in an easy voice.

“No, no, of course not,” Fellini said.

Mrs. Pruitt scowled, but said nothing.

“I’m sorry to displace you,” Thomas continued, “but Mrs. Pruitt was kind enough to rearrange things so my wife and I could stay here in the inn. You know, this being the site of the tragedy and all.”

Fellini nodded, but to Connor’s eye seemed to be having a hard time swallowing his rage.

“Let me take you out to dinner tonight in return for your flexibility,” Thomas continued with a smile. “I’m interested in how you think the play is going. And I understand from Victoria that you’ve had an amazing career. If you have the time, I’d like to hear all about it.”

Brave man,
Connor thought to himself. That would have been a duty far beyond his own capacity to endure.

“I’ll go move my stuff, of course,” Fellini said, suddenly all smiles and friendliness. “I didn’t realize you were the one, um, who would be, you know—”

“Kicking you out?” Thomas said with a conspiratorial smile. “Sorry about it, but I appreciate your understanding.”

“Of course. Shall we do an early dinner?”

“That would be great. It’ll give us plenty of time to talk. I don’t want to rush any of your stories.”

And with that, Thomas clapped a companionable hand on Fellini’s shoulder and sent him scurrying up the stairs.

“I’ll need someone to move my bags,” Fellini tossed back down over his shoulder.

Thomas caught Victoria by the elbow before she headed for the staircase. “Don’t you dare,” he said in a low voice. “He can move them himself.” He paused, then smiled at his sister. “Besides, it sounds like Mom and Dad are here. Can’t you hear Dad griping already?”

Connor leaned back against the sideboard and waited for the onslaught of the rest of Victoria’s family. She looked uneasy, as if she would rather have been anywhere but where she was. Connor caught her eye and nodded for her to join him. She did, looking somewhat relieved.

“Prepare to be outnumbered,” she said with a wan smile.

“So many McKinnons, so little time to do them all in,” Connor began, but then the door opened, Victoria’s parents swept inside, and there was no more time for pleasantries.

Connor looked first at her sire, who enveloped Victoria in a fatherly embrace. He was a large, powerfully built man, not unlike Thomas in stature. He scanned the entryway with a wary eye, though, as if he expected to be assaulted at any moment. Connor stroked his chin thoughtfully. Perhaps the man had had his own experiences with the Boar’s Head lads.

Lord McKinnon then turned to Thomas and pulled his son into a brief, manly embrace, taking the opportunity to slap him on the back several times. Connor nodded in approval. He had, once or twice, received the same sort of affection from his own father. It said much about Victoria’s sire that he was free with his admiration.

He would have considered that further, but he caught sight of Victoria’s mother and found her far more pleasing to look upon than her husband. She was all that a wench of Scottish descent should be: strong, capable, and quite beautiful. ’Twas little wonder Victoria and Megan both were so lovely to look upon.

Though Connor had to admit, he had a preference for the former.

He would have clapped his hand to his forehead to hopefully dislodge a bit of sense, but he was interrupted by the sight of yet another McKinnon wench coming into the inn.

“Jenner!” Victoria said in surprise. “What are you doing here?”

“Offering an extra pair of hands,” the young woman said, throwing her arms around Victoria. “You look terrible.”

Victoria pulled back and scowled at her. “I open in four days. I always look like this four days before I open.”

“That is Victoria’s sister, you know. Jennifer.”

Connor jumped, then glared at Ambrose, who had appeared next to him. “Would you cease with that business? Announce yourself next time!”

Ambrose only smiled. “She is a brilliant musician, from all accounts, and a very fine actress.”

“Why is she not in Victoria’s play?”

“She neither acts nor wields her fiddle, but I can’t say why not,” Ambrose said. “She works with her mother, fashioning clothing for wee ones.” He paused. “She is unwed.”

Connor looked at Ambrose suspiciously. “The poor wench isn’t on your list, is she?”

“Lad, they’re
all
on my list.”

Connor considered that for quite some time. So, all the McKinnon siblings were on Ambrose’s list? Connor could see that Megan had wed quite happily to that de Piaget lad with vats full of funds. He supposed that Thomas was happy enough with Iolanthe MacLeod. Jennifer, that youngest of Thomas’s sisters who was so beautiful, had obviously, and no doubt happily, remained beyond Ambrose’s clutches—at least up until now.

He paused.

What of Victoria?

He chewed on that thought until he could spew out the question that burned in his mouth like a live coal. “Have you a match in mind for Victoria?” he blurted out.

Ambrose stretched, cracked his knuckles, took an inordinate amount of time examining his fingernails, then smoothed a hand over his silver locks. It was only after he’d settled them to his satisfaction that he turned to Connor.

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” he said with a wink.

And with that, he disappeared.

Connor was so surprised he found himself quite unable to speak. Damnation, but aye, he would most certainly like to know! And then once he knew the name of the whoreson, he would immediately set about making his life a living hell.

Then he found that his jaw had slid south as if it were unhinged. Why, by all the saints, did he care who Victoria McKinnon wed?

Before he had the chance to truly convince himself of the truth of that disinterest, he was joined by Victoria on one side of him and Thomas on the other. He recaptured his favorite frown, on the off chance that they might read his thoughts in his expression.

“Jen can take the cot in Mom and Dad’s room,” Victoria said. “You and Iolanthe take Ambrose’s bedroom. I’m sure he won’t mind.”

“We’ll be better guests than Fellini,” Thomas agreed. “But what about you?”

“Mrs. Pruitt has one more cot. I’ll put it in the library. No one goes in there much, anyway. Or at least they won’t now.” She looked at Connor. “Meet my family.”

“A fine group,” he managed.

Thomas began to cough. Victoria looked at Connor.

“Excuse me.”

She went around and pounded on her brother’s back until he held up his hands in surrender.

“I’m all right. I just want to know why this madman here is so nice to you when and he spent half a year trying to chop my head off.”

“He’s mellowed,” Victoria said. “I think Dad wants to go right up to the picnic site. I’ll tell you all about Connor’s metamorphosis later.” She looked at Connor. “Do you want to come?”

“Ah . . .” He still had not recaptured his balance from his conversation with Ambrose. Who was that man who found himself on Ambrose’s list for Victoria? Not Fellini. Surely not even Ambrose could be that feeble-minded. But if not Fellini, then who? There were not eligible men within Victoria’s cast or crew who were worthy of her. Indeed, Connor was hard pressed to name a man within miles who was not only unwed, but man enough to handle a flame-haired, acid-tongued wench of Victoria’s stature.

He paused.

Well, save himself.

“Connor? Are you okay?”

Connor looked at her in shock. Was
he
the man Ambrose and his undead cohorts had chosen?

“Victoria, who are you talking to?”

She looked at her father. “The inn’s haunted, Dad, didn’t you know? Let’s get right on our little walk, shall we?”

Her father looked around frantically. “Where? Where are they?”

“Dad, she’s teasing.” Thomas tugged his father toward the door. “Let’s go. Vic’s just hallucinating from lack of sleep. A little fresh air will do her good.”

“You said the idyllic countryside would do her good and look at her now,” their father said. “Victoria, come along. I’m worried about you . . .”

Victoria threw Connor a look of mild panic before she walked off with her father.

Connor waited until they had all left the inn before he followed at a discreet distance. Indeed, he hung back purposefully, but soon found himself walking next to Victoria’s mother. He would have thought it coincidence, but two things convinced him otherwise. One, the woman matched his pace, no matter what that pace was; and two, she could see him.

“Um,” he said in consternation.

“I’m Helen McKinnon,” she said, with a smile. “You are Laird MacDougal, I assume?”

He cleared his throat uncomfortably. “How did you know?”

“My mother knows how to use the phone.”

“She told you of me?” he squeaked. He felt a blush flood his cheeks. By the saints, he never squeaked. Perhaps it hadn’t been a squeak, but rather a manly exclamation of surprise and pleasure all rolled into one. After all, he did have quite fond feelings for Mary.