Connor looked at Victoria briefly before he obliged the rest of the company, but in truth, he couldn't have said for certain just what he'd recounted for them.

His eyes were too full of the woman beside him who had wished she'd learned his language whilst she'd

had the chance. For what reason, he did not know and he dared not speculate.

Several hours later, Connor took up his post outside the library door. The afternoon had been passed most agreeably, with tales of victory and glory, and he'd done his best to dutifully translate for Victoria everything that had been said.

Such dutifulness had kept him too busy to really look at her again.

The saints preserve him, that would have been a disaster.

Now, evening had fallen and Victoria had retired, leaving him standing outside her door, determined to make certain that she had peace for sleeping.

And, unsurprisingly, who should arrive to disturb that peace but Michael Fellini, slithering down the steps and across the entryway like the snake he was. Connor wouldn't have moved aside for Fellini to knock on Victoria's door, but he couldn't bear the thought of the whoreson knocking through him. He stood aside and put his hand on his sword.

Victoria opened the door and looked at Fellini in surprise. "Michael," she said. "It's late; what do you need?"

Fellini bowed his head. "I have been appallingly unsympathetic about your grandmother. I came to apologize."

"Well," Victoria said, clearly taken aback. "I appreciate that."

Fellini lifted his head and looked at Victoria with an expression of such contrition that Connor almost believed him to be genuine.

If he hadn't been such an accurate diviner of men's characters, that is.

"I also think we got off on the wrong foot," Fellini continued. "What with Bernie and all his rules." He smiled conspiratorially. "You know agents. He's just doing his job."

"Sure," Victoria said. She smiled in a friendly manner. "I understand."

Connor felt his jaw sliding down of its own accord. She was smiling at that liar? And it wasn't just a normal, polite smile she was giving him. It was a welcoming smile. He thought it almost could have been called an intimate smile.

He simply could not believe his eyes.

"I'd like to start over," Fellini said. "Tomorrow, perhaps? It would be an honor to maybe share breakfast and take a walk up to the castle. Or perhaps we could borrow your sister's car and do some sightseeing."

Victoria simpered. Connor watched her do it and felt his astonishment increase at an unpleasant rate. What was the wench thinking? Damn her to hell, she was being taken in by this charlatan all over again!

Connor folded his arms over his chest and reconsidered his vow never to put a woman to the sword.

"Oh," Victoria said with a smile that said she was pleased, flattered, and perfectly happy to agree to anything Fellini suggested, "that would be just wonderful!"

"Good," Fellini said. "I'll pick you up at eight. In the morning," he added with a terribly familiar chuckle.

Victoria almost swooned.

Connor almost retched.

"Go inside," Fellini said, making shooing motions with his hand and smiling. "Get your beauty sleep. Not

that you need it."

"Oh," Victoria said again, a little breathlessly. "All right." She put her hand over her heart, as if the bloody thing was about to beat so hard it stood to fling itself out of her chest. She fluttered her eyelashes and gave him a flirtatious smile as if she simply couldn't believe her good fortune in having Michael Fellini appear at her door and request her presence for the next bloody day. "Good night."

And then she closed the door.

Connor watched Fellini slink back across the entryway and slither back up the stairs. He said nothing and cast no looks of triumph to anyone who might be watching. Connor turned and scowled at the library door. Why, the silly wench was under the impostor's spell yet again! He was terribly disappointed and it took him several moments to discover why. Then he felt an expression descend upon his features that wasn't his normal scowl.

It was an expression of disillusionment.

The door creaked open suddenly. Victoria peered out.

"Is he gone?"

"Do you pine for him already?"

Damn the wench if she didn't look at him as if he'd lost his mind. Connor felt his expression of disillusionment turn to irritation.

"Aye, he is gone," Connor said flatly.

"What's wrong with you?" she asked.

He folded his arms over his chest and glared at her. "If you cannot divine it, then my disappointment in you has reached a new low indeed!"

"Disappointment?"

"Aye, and if you cannot divine the why of that-"

She blinked, then looked at him in surprise. "What? That bit with Michael?"

"Aye, that bit with Michael!"

She looked at him in surprise, then rolled her eyes and opened the door. "Come in."

"I have lost much respect for you-"

"Get in here, would you?"

He got in, only because he suspected she might try to pull him in otherwise, and since that would lead to

failure and potential swearing on her part, it was best that he capitulate and allow the rest of the house to remain safely and happily asleep. But as he allowed her to shut the door behind him and take up a place where she could see him, he folded his arms over his chest again and prepared to tell her how he found her lacking in spine.

"Victoria-"

"Spill it," she interrupted.

He scowled at her. "It isn't as if this is any of my affair," he said shortly, "but it is quite a shock to my

system to watch you fawn over that... that..." "Fawn?" "You've fallen for him again!" "But, Connor, I wasn't serious!" He blinked. "I beg your pardon?" "That was acting," she said, suddenly finding a scowl of her own. "Surely you don't think I am that vapid." "Well..." "I am, and I say this quite modestly, a damned good actress." He paused and considered. "Well, aye, I suppose so." "I can't believe you think so little of me." "Well," he said finally, "you were very convincing." She smiled. "Maybe I've missed my calling in life. But that uncomfortable subject aside, I have the feeling Michael's up to something and I decided this was the best way to find out what."

"You aren't going to spend the day with him tomorrow, in truth," Connor said in disbelief. "Are you?"

"How else am I to find out anything? Though it's going to take all my self control to make nice." She

turned and walked across the room to sit down in front of the hearth.

"I suppose I'll have to at least hang out with him during the morning."

"What will you do to escape his clutches after that?"

"Bore him with production minutiae until he goes away of his own accord."

"I could run him through," Connor offered. "There would be no permanent damage."

"Except to his ego, when he ran screaming the other way." She paused, then shook her head. "I was hoodwinked. And for the longest time, that's the kind of man I thought was the epitome of masculinity." "Hmmm," he said, stroking his chin as if he were truly surprised that such a man might not be her ideal.

"And now?"

The words came out of his mouth and he found that it was, unfortunately, much too late to call them back. She smiled. "My tastes have changed." Damn the woman, would she give him no hint as to her thinking? "Have they? Not that I'm really interested," he added quickly, to save his pride, in case she had someone in mind besides him. "I'm just being polite."

She blinked as if she'd been slapped briskly. "Oh. I see." He wondered if it would disturb her if he cut off his own head. He considered blurting out that he thought her a right fearsome wench and one he would have been honored to guard day and night for the rest of her life. He considered telling her that the foregoing was a load of tripe and that he bloody well had fond feelings for her, and that if she took another serious look in Fellini's direction he bloody well would take his blade to her. He even considered telling her that if she didn't think him all that a man should be, he would walk out of the inn and find another part of England to haunt- "Connor?"

"Aye?" he snarled.

"I think you need a nap."

"I most certainly do not need a nap!"

She sat back in her chair and studied him. He almost drew his sword in self-defense. At least then she

would have been distracted by the glint of steel and ceased with her staring at him. He started a fire in the

hearth with a flick of his wrist. Blades were better admired by firelight, he decided. And damn it, so were red-haired, porcelain-complected women of the kind to steal his breath in spite of his iron self-control.

"Connor?" she asked quietly.

"Hmmm?" He put away his unreasonable and impossible thoughts. He was spirit; she was flesh. There

was no circumnavigating that small inconvenience.

Would that he could.

"Thank you," she said.

In Gaelic.

The saints pity him, he thought he just might love her.

"For what?" he asked gruffly.

"For today," she said. "For keeping me company and wanting to avenge my bruised honor."

"A shade's work is never done," he managed.

Her smile faded, but didn't disappear.

"No," she said softly, "I suppose it isn't." She looked at him for several minutes, then rose slowly. "You

don't have to stay."

"I ken that well enough, woman," he said gruffly. "Go to bed. I'll make certain Fellini doesn't slip

something foul into your tea on the morrow."

She crawled into bed and closed her eyes. "Good night, Connor."

He was a very long time in answering, mostly because he wanted her to be asleep before he did.

"And to you, my lady," he whispered.

Damnation, he was past any hope of reason.