Authors: Lynn Kurland

Much Ado In the Moonlight (56 page)

BOOK: Much Ado In the Moonlight

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“Try not to enjoy it so much,” Stuart said dryly.

“Can’t help it.”

“Try harder. And listen to this: The word is Fellini’s going to be directing it at Tempest in a Teapot.”

Victoria looked at Connor. “Michael’s doing
Twelfth Night
at Tempest in a Teapot? How interesting.”

Connor stopped in midmunch of his sandwich and looked at her with one raised eyebrow. “Ha,” he said in a garbled tone.

“I never thought you’d let go of the reins of that stage,” Stuart continued.

“I didn’t. It was leased out from under me.”

“Yes, I heard that, as well. I wonder how Fellini got ahold of it?”

“His ultracharming personality,” Victoria said sourly. “How else?”

“Either that, or he’s really brushed up on his yoga poses.”

She laughed out loud in spite of herself. “I suppose so.”

“Anyway, this is the thing,” Stuart continued. “I need a queen for my show.”

“Good luck.”

He paused. “I heard you acted, once upon a time.”

Victoria looked at Connor. “You heard I acted?”

He put his sandwich down and brought a chair over for her. She felt her way down into it.

“I also heard that Cressida walked out on your
Hamlet
in England and you filled in.”

Victoria closed her eyes briefly. “That’s true.”

“I also heard you were terrific.”

She looked around frantically for a paper bag. Damn. Not a one in sight. She forced herself to take three slow, even breaths. “Ah,” she began, “you heard I was terrific.”

“Victoria, stop repeating everything I say. You’re driving me nuts.”

Victoria took three more slow, even breaths. “Who’d you hear all that from, Stu?”

“Marv Jones.”

She had to put her head between her knees. She took the phone with her, though. No sense in missing out on any of this conversation. “The
New York Pillar
’s theater critic?”

“Yeah. Apparently he went in disguise to your closing night. He talked the
Pillar
into footing his travel because he promised he would write something really nasty about you.”

“Unsurprising,” Victoria mumbled.

“I agree. He’s been gunning for me for years. But didn’t you read his column? It came out a couple of weeks later.”

Victoria sat up slowly and waited until the stars swimming in front of her eyes dissipated. “Um,” she said faintly, “I was a little busy after the run.” Busy grinding herself into the ground at Jamie’s boot camp, then subsequently popping in and out of medieval Scotland.

She was somewhat relieved she hadn’t known the potential for career damage she was running afoul of.

“His column,” she said weakly. “How bad was it?”

“Bad? Victoria, aren’t you listening to me? The man said you were terrific. He gushed. He couldn’t find enough positive adjectives to describe your performance. I think he even used
luminous
and you know he never uses that word unless it’s describing his own prose.”

“He said I was luminous,” she repeated, stunned.

“Yeah, I couldn’t believe it, either. So, are you interested?”

“Am I interested in what?”

He made a sound of impatience. “Aren’t you over your jet lag yet? I need a queen!”

Victoria looked at Connor. “You need a queen? For the Scottish play?”

Connor began to smile.

“Victoria,” Stu said sternly, “you’re worrying me.”

“I’ll be better tomorrow,” Victoria said promptly. “Sure, I’d love to play the queen.”

“There’s something else.”

She could hardly wait. “What?”

“Marv said your Hamlet was, damn, what was his word . . .”

Victoria’s hands felt very clammy. “I wouldn’t presume to guess what he called my Hamlet.”

“Perfect. He said he was perfect.”

“Perfect?” Victoria echoed. “He said the actor playing Hamlet was perfect?”

“I told you, he was gushy.”

Victoria looked at Connor. “He said Hamlet was perfect.”

Connor, who had been sitting with his ankle propped up on his opposite knee and his hands casually clasped behind his head, dropped both feet to the ground, and leaned forward to gape at her.

She understood completely.

She cleared her throat. “That’s interesting, Stu. And I have to admit, I thought the same thing.”

“Well, I’ve been trying to find the guy, but there aren’t any Connor MacDougals in Scotland. Well, there are, but they don’t act.”

Victoria looked at Connor. “You’ve been trying to find this Connor MacDougal.”

“Desperately.”

“Desperately?”

“Victoria, if you can’t carry on a coherent conversation, I’m going to fire you. What’s with you?”

Victoria felt a smile coming on. She could hardly stop herself from bursting into it. “Well, I know where to find that Connor MacDougal you’re looking for, but first I want to know what you want with him.”

“To do the role Fellini contracted for. The lead.”

“Jus a sec, Stu.”

“Just a sec? What does that mean?”

“Connor’s right here. I’ll ask him if he’s interested.”

“He’s right
there
? How the hell did you manage that?”

“I married him a month ago, that’s how.”

“Do I get you both at a package price?”

“Forget that. Connor’s
very
expensive.”

“I’ll pay it.”

“You’re very trusting of Marv Jones’s opinion.”

“Wouldn’t you be?”

Victoria smiled. “I’ve seen Connor perform, so I’d have to say yes. Hold on.” She put her hand over the phone. “Interested in a little theater?”

He looked a little green. “You’re going to do Lady Mac—”

“Sshh!”

He rolled his eyes. “Very well, you’ve been offered the part of that hand-washing Scottish queen, aye?”

“Yep. And Stu would like you to do the part of that dastardly Scottish lord.”

Connor swallowed with some difficulty.

“It’s battle, my laird, only on a different stage.”

“With mock swords.”

“No, the swords will be real, just dull.”

He smiled. “Well, I suppose if the part is offered me . . .”

Victoria laughed. “All right, Stu, we’re in.”

“Good.”

“Ask him if he needs a witch,” Connor said.

“Why?”

“Your granny made a fabulous one.”

Victoria nodded. “Hey, Stu, need a witch?”

“Well, now that you mention it, I am looking for one. What are you, a full casting service now as well?”

“My family has suddenly developed stage fever,” Victoria said.

“Yeah, well, don’t let it take over.”

Victoria blinked. “Why do you say that?”

“Because something’s in the water. You wouldn’t believe what Fellini’s up to.”

“Enlighten me,” she said, feeling a little knot form in the pit of her stomach.

“Fellini’s having delusions of grandeur. He claims that—and I can hardly believe I’m saying this—that he went back in time and saw the Globe for himself. That he met Shakespeare and the Bard told him to come back to the present and direct his plays as only Fellini can.”

“He met Shakespeare,” Victoria repeated, looking at Connor with wide eyes. “What do you think about that?”

“He’s a nutcase,” Stu said succinctly. “Rehearsals start Monday.”

“We’ll be there.”

“Victoria, you are a dream.”

“Why, Stu, I think I’ll blush.”

He laughed and hung up the phone. Victoria hung up her end and looked at Connor. “Well, it looks like your New York debut looms large.”

“The Scottish play?”

“It seems particularly appropriate, don’t you think?”

“Am I allowed to use my own sword?”

Victoria laughed and went to throw herself into his arms. “No,” she said, kissing him thoroughly, “you are most definitely
not
allowed to use your own sword. You do want this gig to last more than one night, don’t you?”

“I want this gig to last forever,” he murmured against her mouth. “We’ll worry about the play later.”

Victoria laughed and couldn’t have agreed more.

I t
was quite a bit later that she paced about her small apartment, coming with every pass to stand at the foot of her very small bed and look down at the man who had changed everything; her life, her career, her heart.

Hamlet.

Perfect.

She smiled and paced yet another round. She would have quite a few things to say to her brother the next time she saw him.

Thank you
would be the first thing out of her mouth.

“Victoria?”

She turned and smiled at her laird. “Aye?”

“I love you.”

Yes, a very big thank you. Maybe even no complaints about Brussels sprouts.

She went back to bed with a smile on her face.

Epilogue

Ambrose
MacLeod sat in front of the stove in the kitchen of the Boar’s Head Inn and enjoyed a well-deserved mug of ale with a pleasant evening stretching out before him. Victoria was well settled and his work was done.

For the moment, at least.

The door behind him blew open and Fulbert stomped in, followed directly by Hugh. They grumbled about the weather—it was wet out—before they took up their own cups and settled themselves for their own well-deserved rests.

“That was a difficult case,” Fulbert noted, after an appropriately long drink of ale. “I never thought he would come to his senses.”

“But he did,” Hugh allowed. “To my surprise, him being a MacDougal and all.”

“Did you know him in life, Hugh?” Ambrose asked mildly.

“He was well after my time,” Hugh said, “but I haunted his cousin, Cormac, for a bit. A sensible lad was that one, despite his propensity to attempt to steal McKinnon cattle.” Hugh smiled pleasantly. “He didn’t make off with many. I imagine Connor wouldn’t be pleased to know that.”

“Well, for pity’s sake, don’t tell him,” Fulbert said with a snort. “For all we know, he’ll attempt a return to the past to right the wrong.”

“Nay,” Ambrose said thoughtfully, “I daresay not. He and Victoria are perfectly suited. I cannot imagine anything with enough power over him to pull him away.” He shook his head. “They will live out their lives in bliss, treading the boards where they can, raising their bairns, loving fiercely all the while.” He smiled. “Their passion is enviable.”

The door behind them squeaked open just the slightest bit. Fulbert leaned over to Ambrose.

“You could have that kind of passion,” he said pointedly, with a nod toward the door. “There she is, bedecked in her finest wooing gear. I would take advantage of it, were I you.”

“You aren’t me,” Ambrose said, tossing his cup into the open stove door and preparing to flee.

“Coward,” Fulbert said with a glint in his eye.

Ambrose leaped to his feet. “You will pay for that remark!” He drew his sword with a flourish.

Mrs. Pruitt leaped into the kitchen. “Nay, Laird MacLeod, do not! Do not put yourself in danger!”

Ambrose wasn’t the laird of a wily and ferocious clan without reason. He looked at Mrs. Pruitt, then made her a low bow.

“Dear lady,” he said, straightening and putting his hand over his heart, “I must deal with this ruffian here. When I have put him to shame as he so richly deserves, I will return and we will have speech together.”

Mrs. Pruitt’s eyelids fluttered.

Hugh squeaked and fled.

“Oh,” she said, fanning herself surreptitiously. “Oh, well, my laird, of course. Will ye be long at yer labors?”

Ambrose stroked his chin thoughtfully. “He is a particularly difficult case. It might take me quite some time. A se’nnight at least.”

“I’ll wait.”

Fulbert snorted. “I daresay she will.”

Ambrose pointed toward the door. “Outside with you,” he thundered. “I’ll teach you respect, if it is the last thing I do!”

Fulbert tromped out the back door. Ambrose made Mrs. Pruitt another low bow, then exited the kitchen with a flourish. He resheathed his sword with a great thrust.

Fulbert looked at him, open-mouthed. “Are we not going to do battle?”

“Are you daft, man? I’m for the Highlands!”

“But, you promised!”

“Aye, but I never said when! It will take me years to cow you properly. I daresay I should have a rest before that labor begins.”

Fulbert folded his arms over his chest. “I’m disappointed in you. I thought you had more spine than this.”

“I have an abundance of spine. I also have an abundance of aversion toward women who flutter their eyelashes in that manner.”

“You gave your word.”

Ambrose opened his mouth to protest again, but found that there was no defense for his actions. Aye, he had promised. ’Twas also true that he had never said exactly when he would parley with the woman.

And it was unfortunately too true that she might sit up for nights, waiting for him to have a simple mug of ale with her.

Ambrose sighed. “Very well. You have it aright. I will have my parley with her.”

Fulbert smirked.

“Next week.”

“Ambrose—”

“I said it would take me a bloody se’nnight and a bloody se’nnight it will take! Besides, I need rest from our recently accomplished labors before I think about anything else.”

“Weenie,” Fulbert said, with another smirk.

“What?” Ambrose thundered.

“Lily-livered, weak-kneed, white-knuckled woman.” He snorted. “There. Now you have a se’nnight’s worth of insults to repay me for and I have saved your honor.”

Ambrose pursed his lips. “Perhaps you were not so unworthy of my dear sister as I suppose.”

“Too much time making matches,” Fulbert said, clucking his tongue. “You’ve gone altogether soft.”

BOOK: Much Ado In the Moonlight

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