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 Wearily.

"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 stood 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