Much Ado In the Moonlight (29 page)

“Connor,” she said uneasily, “what happened? Was it the knife in the man’s back? Did he hurt you?”

Connor shook his head. “He couldn’t. But for me to wound him . . . took all my strength.” He closed his eyes. “I’ll need to rest. Wielding things . . . from the mortal world . . . very taxing.”

“Take the bed,” Victoria said promptly.

He grunted weakly. “Won’t know the . . . difference.”

And with that, he closed his eyes firmly and fell asleep.

Victoria knew this because he began to snore.

“Well,” Jennifer said, “at least we’ll know when he’s awake.”

Victoria looked up at her from where she knelt next to him. “I think we should wait for him to . . . um . . . recover.”

“I think so, too. We can get some details of where we are from the servants, I imagine. Too bad we don’t have a map.”

“We can probably get that, too, for a price.” She looked at her sister. “I think I need a nap, but we should sleep in shifts. You go first.”

“No—”

“Yes. I didn’t just get popped in the mouth. Go to bed.”

“All right,” Jennifer said slowly. “Maybe we should practice your Gaelic this afternoon when I wake up. You really should put some more effort into it.”

“I’m sure it will be incredibly useful here,” Victoria replied.

Jennifer smiled gingerly. “I wasn’t thinking about here. I can’t imagine any Highland laird resisting being wooed in his native tongue.”

Victoria only half heard the last. But when she realized what her sister had said, protestations rose and fell off her lips.

Jennifer had a point.

Victoria looked at her sister, who was playing possum, then looked at her laird, who was definitely not, and decided that perhaps her time could be used well that afternoon.

She went to sit back at the table, then looked around the room and started naming all the things she could under her breath.

In Connor’s native tongue.

On the off chance it would make a difference to him someday.

Connor
sat up with a groan. He felt much more himself, but he supposed that was nothing to rejoice over. He looked around the chamber and found himself somewhat surprised he was where he was. There had been a part of him that feared the time gates would not work for him.

They had worked in transporting him to another age.

They had not restored him to life.

He hadn’t expected that they would. Not truly.

He looked around the very sixteenth-century chamber and marveled at the construction. It looked somewhat like the Boar’s Head Inn, though ’twas obvious to him that this chamber was far newer.

It was currently being used not only by him but by Victoria and Jennifer, both of whom were unconscious on the bed. Connor would have feared for their safety, but Jennifer was talking in her sleep and Victoria was reaching over to give her a shove. Obviously, they lived still.

Connor had to admit to being somewhat fascinated by the interaction between the two sisters. He’d had little to do with women as he grew to manhood, having no sisters and a mother who had died in his youth. Victoria and Jennifer were a revelation to him. Neither was shy about expressing opinions on the other’s conduct or business. Connor had learned quite quickly that Victoria thought Jennifer should be earning her bread playing music and Jennifer thought Victoria should be finding herself a husband and settling down.

Connor wondered, absently, why Victoria hadn’t.

He found it not an unhappy state of affairs, though he certainly couldn’t have said why. It wasn’t as if he could do a bloody thing about it save dance at her wedding to some lad from her time.

He got to his feet, swayed, then steadied himself as best he could. He wished grimly that he had brought someone else along. How he was going to protect these two women with naught but his wits was beyond him. Then again, hadn’t he done as much the night before?

But had it been the night before, or had he been senseless for days?

He would have given that more thought, but a knock sounded on the door, interrupting him.

Victoria sat up with a start, caught sight of him, then relaxed and smiled. “You look better.”

“Did I look so ill before?” he asked.

“Well, yes, you did.” She rose and went to answer the door. Food arrived and Connor looked at the window to see what the time might be. Daylight again. Well, perhaps he had only slept through the night.

Victoria gestured to the table. “There, if you please,” she said with a decidedly French accent.

The maidservant obeyed, bobbed a curtsey, and left with alacrity. Connor looked at Victoria.

“French?”

She shrugged. “I thought Scottish, but I wasn’t sure how that would play here.”

“And what, pray, am I to do, mistress?” he asked archly. “I cannot be what I am not.”

“You just be quiet,” she said easily, “and let me do the talking. Jennifer speaks quite a bit of French, so if things really go south, we’ll let her see what she can do. But I’m hoping we won’t run into any more problems.”

“Aye,” he said, with feeling. He sat down across the table from her. “Are you recovered?”

“From the sight of you without your head, or the feeling of that now-dead Londoner groping me?”

He couldn’t smile. “The latter, surely.”

“I’ll survive. You can’t imagine how I appreciated the rescue, though.”

“I daresay I can.”

She smiled and began to study breakfast. Connor watched her with her hair loose about her shoulders and her features not overwrought with anything but choosing from the offerings before her. How he wished he could have pulled that hair back from her face, brushed it for her, braided it if she pleased.

By the saints, the sight of that whoreson attacking her had made his heart stop.

If he’d had a heart to behave in such a fashion.

The rage that had rushed through him had surprised him, but not rendered him useless. It had given him strength beyond what he should have had, strength enough to raise a sword and plunge it into the man’s back. He supposed he was fortunate he hadn’t impaled Victoria, as well.

“Connor, are you all right?”

He rubbed his hands over his face and gave her a weak smile. “I am well enough.”

“I would comment on that pleasant expression you’re wearing, but I’m trying to be discreet.”

“Does it make me look less fierce?” he inquired politely.

“Definitely.”

“Then you see why I do not wear it often.”

She smiled at him and a dimple appeared in her cheek.

Connor fought not to wheeze.

“Aren’t you past trying to intimidate me?” she asked. “I think I’m immune.”

“What a failure I am as a shade.”

“But a success as a fr—”

“By the saints, Victoria McKinnon, if you call me friend one more time, I will produce frown enough to leave you screaming for days.”

Then he realized what he’d said.

His mouth fell open.

Oddly enough, so did hers.

“Ah,” he scrambled.

“Um,” she attempted.

“Breakfast?” came a cheery voice from the other side of the suddenly quite small chamber. “Wonderful!”

Connor had never been so happy to see anyone as he was to see Jennifer McKinnon, who looked enough like her sister that she should have given him pause. He vacated his chair for another flame-haired beauty who smiled in a most pleasant, nay, sisterly manner at him, and commented quite complimentarily on his conduct the morning previous.

“So, what are we up to today?” Jennifer asked brightly. “Do we dare venture out? Are we French lads on a lark, or Scots looking for action? Do we actually have any idea where we’re supposed to be going? Victoria, eat. It looks good.”

Connor looked at Victoria, who was most definitely not looking at him. He conjured up a chair only because he thought he needed something useful beneath his backside. He sat and listened to Jennifer carry on enough conversation for the three of them, acutely aware of Victoria McKinnon sitting next to him, pretending to break her fast.

“Victoria,” Jennifer said sharply, “eat.”

Victoria ate.

Connor plucked a mug of ale out of invisibility and applied himself diligently to emptying its contents.

Time passed.

Eventually, Jennifer informed them that she had an engagement with the chamber pot and asked if they would be so good as to give her a bit of privacy. Victoria went with him to stand outside the bedchamber, though Connor supposed there had been no need for her to leave. But he wasn’t displeased with the chance to speak with her.

“Victoria,” he began.

She looked up at him quickly. “I won’t use that word again.”

He opened his mouth to speak, but found there was nothing to say, short of blurting out sentiments that likely would leave her fleeing the other way. He settled for looking at her with the friendliest expression he could muster.

Friendliest. Was there no end to the indignities he would suffer for this wench?

“Connor?”

He shook his head. “I am well.”

“Well . . . good.”

He nodded.

Time passed.

Not soon enough, the door opened behind them.

“Your turn,” Jennifer said to her sister. “I’ll wait outside with Connor.”

Victoria nodded and went inside. Connor sighed and looked down at Victoria’s sister. Why had no man managed to capture the heart of either of them? Both women were beautiful, both spirited, both possessed that flame-colored hair and porcelain skin. Jennifer’s eyes were green, not blue, but she looked to have quite a bit of Victoria’s fire. Connor had to admit he couldn’t understand why she chose to make clothing for bairns, either. Surely she should have been making music somewhere, or making some man’s life a bit of heaven. Perhaps Victoria wouldn’t be remiss in having speech with her about that.

“How are you doing?” Jennifer asked sympathetically.

He blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

“You know, that thing between you and Vikki. How are you doing with that?”

A denial was on the tip of his tongue, but he couldn’t seem to get it to come off. He blew out his breath. “I have had better centuries,” he said finally.

She smiled gravely. “I’m really sorry it has to be this way.”

To his horror, he felt his eyes begin to burn. Bloody dusty inn . . .

“I’m certain it was accidental on your granny’s part to step into that fairy ring,” Connor said, desperate to change the subject. By the saints, that was all he needed—to weep in front of not one, but
two
McKinnon wenches!

Jennifer was obviously far too observant for her own good. “Right,” she said slowly. “Okay, we can move on to Granny and her whereabouts. Where do you think she could be?”

“I’ve no idea,” he said quickly. “All we can do, I suppose, is take up our quest. We have gold enough to keep on with a lengthy search.”

“Let’s hope it isn’t too lengthy. My repertoire of Renaissance music isn’t what it should be.” She smiled. “I just hope this whole adventure works out in the end. You know, the thing with Granny.”

“Hmmm,” he said, swallowing with difficulty.

She only looked at him as if she pitied the hell out of him.

He felt the same way. By the saints, ’twas an impossible tangle and he became more enmeshed in it with each passing day. Rescuing Mary MacLeod Davidson seemed a simple thing when compared to rescuing his poor heart—

“Oh, hey, Vikki. Are you ready to go?”

Connor heaved a great sigh of relief. Now they could march forward and concentrate on a task he could manage.

Victoria shut the door behind her. “I’m as ready as I’m going to be,” she said. She looked up at Connor. “Shall we go for a little explore?”

Well, that was what they were there for. Connor put his shoulders back. “Aye, let us see what the day has lying in wait for us. Have you any thoughts on where to begin the search?”

“I say we start with the theater district. If nothing else, we’ll probably find Michael there.” She paused for a moment or two. “I don’t have any good ideas on where to look for Granny.”

“Near yarn,” Jennifer suggested. “Let’s track Michael down, then head to wherever knitters go. Granny would have needed a way to feed herself.”

Connor nodded. “To the Globe, then, then onward. With any luck, we’ll find Mary quickly and be on our way just as quickly.”

Victoria smiled faintly. “We can hope. Let’s go.”

Connor followed her sister down the stairs and through the great room of the inn, trying to look as servantlike as possible. No one troubled them and Connor managed to not walk through anyone and set them to screaming.

It was an auspicious sign.

Victoria stopped and had a conversation with the innkeeper, using hand signs and very accented English to inquire about where Master Shakespeare did his plays. She joined them at the door with a sigh.

“This is going to be interesting.”

“Did he tell you where to go?” Jennifer asked.

“Sort of,” Victoria said ruefully. “I think I know the general direction. We’ll just have to ask for specifics the closer we get.” She looked at Connor. “Ready?”

He put his hand on his sword. “Aye.”

She blinked. “That’s not your usual sword.”

“I conjured up a more modest, Elizabethan edition for our current circumstances.”

She smiled at him. “You’re very prepared.”

“A good warrior always is.”

“Well, let’s hope you won’t need to do any more warrior stuff any time soon. Let’s find Granny and get out of here. Among other things, I’m just not all that sure about the quality of the water.”

“It’s probably better not to think about that,” Jennifer agreed with a smile.

Connor followed after the two of them with their hair stuffed up under caps and wondered how in the hell anyone would see them as anything but what they were. Thomas had been right. They were far too beautiful to be mistaken for lads.