"You're not," Jennifer said.

"I am."

Jennifer pursed her lips in a very fair imitation of Victoria. "Let me at least look over the costume lists."

"I am more than capable-"

"I never said you weren't capable-"

"Victoria, you should let your sister look at them," Connor said, finding that his sidling had left him standing quite near the pair.

Jennifer turned around in her chair with a gasp. She gaped at him with wide eyes.

Connor attempted a smile.

Apparently, it hadn't come out quite as pleasantly as he might have hoped.

Jennifer stood up and shrieked-quite nicely to his mind-then her eyes rolled back in her head and she slumped to the floor. Connor did his best to catch her, but he couldn't even slow her descent.

"Good heavens!" Victoria's father exclaimed. "Are there rats in this place?"

Connor stood over Victoria's sister with his hands outstretched uselessly, then met Victoria's eyes.

That she didn't chastise him was worrisome indeed.

"Thomas, come help," she said wearily. "It was probably jet lag. Or too much time surrounded by baby clothes. Mom, when is she going to get a real job? She has a degree in music, for heaven's sake. She should be playing with an orchestra. Or she should have kept up her acting. Did you see the way she fainted? You can't teach that."

"I know, dear," Helen said.

Connor backed away as Thomas roused his youngest sister. She came to, babbling.

"Good grief, Jenner, cease the gibberish," Victoria commanded.

"It's Gaelic," Thomas said, flashing Connor half a smile.

"And how would you know?" Victoria demanded. "As if you can understand it!"

Thomas only smiled, unperturbed. "Io is a Highlander, you know. Doesn't it occur to you that I might

have wanted to understand her if she felt the need to swear at me in her mother tongue?" "It occurs to me that you must be very adept at it, as I'm certain she does that quite often," Victoria said with a snort. She looked at Jennifer. "You're hallucinating. Come sit back down and don't scream anymore." Jennifer allowed Thomas to help her to her feet. Connor found himself being regarded with wide eyes. "Do you see what I'm seeing?" Jennifer whispered to Thomas. "Connor MacDougal," Thomas murmured. "He's the wannabe laird of the castle up the way." Connor couldn't stop himself. He had his sword half drawn from its scabbard before he realized that Jennifer was on the verge of swooning again. "He's harmless," Thomas whispered. "He doesn't look harmless," Jennifer said weakly. "He's got a sword." Thomas turned her around and sat her down in the chair. "I don't think he'll use it on you, but let's talk about that later. Dad wouldn't be able to handle this conversation."

Thomas made loud conversation with his father as he returned to his seat. Jennifer sat uneasily, stared up at Connor just as uneasily, and groped for her sister's hand. "He has a sword," she whispered frantically. "Yeah, well, he wasn't waving his sword at you," Victoria said shortly. "He was preparing to do damage to your brother with it." Connor attempted a smile, but apparently that only made matters worse, because Jennifer now clutched Victoria's hand so tightly Victoria squeaked. Victoria pulled her hand away. "Get a hold of yourself, Jenner. If you're determined to be useful, check those costume lists. I want to make sure everything's still where it's supposed to be." Connor considered leaving the chamber. Indeed, he started toward the door. Victoria cleared her throat pointedly. He took that to mean she did not wish him to go. He resumed his place against the wall. Jennifer leaned closer to her sister. "I didn't imagine him, did I? Not really."

"Nope," Victoria said, chewing on a pencil.

"Do you see him, too?"

"We'll talk later."

"Vikki, he's a ghost."

"That, too," Victoria said.

Jennifer put her head between her knees. Victoria looked at Connor.

She smiled.

He had to brace himself against the wall.

Jennifer sat up, wheezing. "Aren't you afraid?"

"Terrified," Victoria said solemnly. "I'll introduce you to him later when Dad's gone up to bed."

Jennifer's head went between her knees again. Victoria smiled to herself, then bent back to her work.

Connor watched for another hour or so as Victoria and Jennifer worked on their papers and the rest of

the group talked about nothing in particular. It was truly a day made for easy conversing among family and acquaintances. Thomas, especially, seemed to be in a jovial mood.

Connor studied the man and wondered what it was he knew that none of the rest of them did.

In time, Victoria's parents left the parlor to go for a stroll through the inn's gardens. Iolanthe departed for her bedchamber, no doubt to shore up her strength for the taxing proposition of being Thomas McKinnon's wife.

"You know what," Thomas said, putting his feet up on the coffee table and his hands behind his head, "since all of us, except Vic, of course, speak Gaelic, maybe it would pass the time pleasantly if we had ourselves a day in the native tongue." He smiled at Ambrose. "What say you, my laird?"

"I always find a bit of Gaelic to be quite useful," Ambrose agreed. "But perhaps we should introduce ourselves to your other fair sister first, before we begin this happy exercise." Connor watched as Jennifer clutched the edges of the table so fiercely her knuckles went white. But she seemed to have quite a bit of her sister's spine, for she did not flee.

"Breathe, Jen," Victoria said dryly, "and prepare to meet your ancestors."

"This is genealogy taken too far," Jennifer said in a low voice.

Ambrose stood and made Jennifer a bow. "I am Ambrose MacLeod, your grandfather from olden

times." He gestured to Hugh and Fulbert. "Hugh McKinnon and Fulbert de Piaget. Fulbert is Megan's husband's uncle."

Jennifer's eyes were very wide. "But not all that recently, I'd imagine."

"No indeed, missy,'" Fulbert said.

"Several generations removed?" Jennifer asked uneasily.

"Several, at least," Fulbert agreed.

Ambrose nodded toward Connor. "And that is Connor MacDougal. He was laird of his own clan during

his day, and now watches over Thomas's keep, up the way." Connor didn't bother to correct anything Ambrose said, which made him wonder how far he had slipped in defending his claims and wreaking havoc. Obviously, he needed a few hours out on the field, hacking at an opponent almost equal to him in skill so that he might remember that he was a warrior and not a ladies' maid.

But there was no sense in terrorizing Victoria's sister, so Connor kept his arguments to himself and tried not to scowl. "All right," Thomas said, putting his feet on the floor and rubbing his hands together in anticipation, "now that everyone's been introduced, let's get on with this. Vic, you don't have any Gaelic, do you?" "You know I don't," Victoria said stiffly. "I regret it now, but at the time I had more pressing things on my mind than letting Granny teach me, such as clawing my way through Juilliard's hallowed halls. Just go on without me. I'll suffer the price of my folly." "No, indeed," Thomas said in mock horror. "I think I have the perfect translator for you. Laird MacDougal, will you do the honors?"

"Of course," Connor said quickly. Too quickly, if the satisfied look on Ambrose's face was any indication. Thomas was wearing the same look. Connor revisited his suspicions of the day before. Was Thomas colluding with Ambrose on these matchmaking ventures? And the next question that begged a definitive answer was: Was the matchmaking for him or for Victoria? Or were they, as he had wondered the day before, matchmaking for him and Victoria?

"Connor?" Thomas prompted. "I do," he said, then realized what he had said. "I mean, I'll do it if I must." Thomas burst out laughing. Connor looked at Victoria to find her looking at him with pursed lips. "I'm happy to do it," he assured her. "To translate for you, that is. In truth, I am." "I know I should have taken advantage of my granny, but I didn't." "There's always today," Thomas said, wiping his eyes and letting out a final chuckle. "And think about all the tutors you have around you. Ambrose, Hugh, Connor, Jenner. Why, I imagine even Fulbert knows a word or two."

"Mostly insults," Fulbert admitted readily. "Though I could be called on to render a pleasing sentiment or two, if necessary."

"Well, then, let's get to it," Thomas said. He smiled at Victoria. "You'll be clueless for a little while, but you'll catch on. Maybe Connor will give you private lessons later."

Connor watched Victoria fling one of her writing instruments at her brother. It brushed his ear and stuck itself in a blanket draped over a chair several feet behind the man.

"Well done," he said in admiration. "You would be quite dangerous with a knife."

"My brother should live in fear," she said.

"I do," Thomas said with a laugh.

And then he was off in the mother tongue. Connor listened to him in surprise. Then again, he supposed he shouldn't have been surprised. Thomas was, his offensive self aside, a shrewd man and not one lacking in intelligence. That he should have learned his lady wife's native tongue was no surprise. What did come as a surprise, though, was how well he spoke it. It was as if he'd spent his entire life in the Highlands.

Connor leaned back against the wall and listened with pleasure to the conversation going on around him. Even Jennifer added her part now and again, and quite satisfactorily. As he listened to the talk leap from battle to beautiful locales to visit, to modern things that seemed to be geared to make one daft, he realized that he had, in some unforeseen way, become a part of this group of very fine souls. He added his part when he felt it appropriate and found that his comments were welcome.

Then he realized he was shirking his primary duty. He looked quickly at Victoria to find that she was watching him, resting her chin on her fists with her elbows on the table. She was smiling slightly, as if she found him not unpleasant to look at.

And the saints pity him, he couldn't even muster up a frown in return.

He would have smiled, but that was apparently beyond him. He conjured up a chair and sat down next to her-not because he needed to sit and not because his knees had gone quite unsteady beneath him, but because he desired to save her the kink in her neck looking up at him would induce.

"Where to start?" he asked.

"I'm overwhelmed," she said honestly. "Tell me your favorite words. I'll learn those first."

So he considered, then translated for her a handful of his favorite things: brook, stand of trees, rain, fire, stew, beautiful woman.

She turned her chair so she was sitting next to him instead of facing him. "What are they talking about? And is Thomas holding his own, or is he making a fool of himself?"

"It amazes me to say it," Connor said, feeling quite amazed, "but he speaks perfectly. I don't wonder about it, though. Iolanthe likely has driven him to it."

"Either that, or he did it because he loves her and it's his gift to her."

Connor looked at her in surprise. Victoria appeared to be equally as surprised.

"I haven't slept enough," she said, sounding stunned. "I'm saying nice things about my brother."

"You'll feel more yourself tomorrow," Connor assured her. "Now, do you care to learn more single

words or would you rather have things to say?"

She stared thoughtfully at the hearth for a moment or two, then she looked at him. "I wonder if we both

could learn to read it and you could teach me to speak on the side. Would Ambrose help us, do you think?"

"You ask," Connor said promptly. "I might be tempted to do him damage if he says nay."

She smiled faintly. "I'll ask him. But later. Now, I think I'll be happy just to listen for a bit."

He looked at her and felt himself falling into her sparkling blue eyes. It was all he could do not to reach

out and trail a finger along that perfect cheek, smooth a hand over her riotous hair, slide his hand underneath it, and pull her forward to- "MacDougal?"

He blinked. "Aye?"

Then he realized it hadn't been Victoria saying his name. She was looking at him with an expression of something that he couldn't quite term lust, but that-he flattered himself to say-he couldn't relegate to disinterest.

"Laird MacDougal?"

Connor tore his gaze away and focused on the little group before the hearth. He realized that it was Thomas McKinnon who called his name.

"A battle story?"

"Aye," Connor managed. "Which one?"

"Any one," Thomas said, without a trace of a smirk on his face. "We're interested in something really

gory."