Victoria managed to get to her feet and trail after her sister and her grandmother. She looked up at Connor.

"Well," she said.

He shrugged with half a smile. "As I said, a most canny wench. I am unsurprised."

"But Connor, she met Shakespeare."

"Maybe he was impressed by her knitting needles."

He wouldn't have been the first person, Victoria supposed. Mary seemed to know the proprietor of the pub, who subsequently offered them fine seats near a window. Victoria waited until everyone was seated before she turned to her granny and began the grilling.

"All right, now spill the details," Victoria said.

"Are you feeling better, dear?" Mary asked.

"Much, and don't hedge. How in the world did you get that gig? In the Scottish play, no less!"

Mary smiled. "It's a rather long story, but since I assume you found yourselves here in the same way I did, I'll spare you the details of my trip. I should probably also spare you the details of my encounter with a ne'er-do-well or two who felt the bite of my needles."

"How did they serve you, those needles?" Connor asked politely.

"You would have been impressed, Connor," Mary said, her eyes twinkling. "Since I did not have a strapping, braw Highland lord at my disposal, I did what an old woman has to do to get along. Now, as you might imagine, I was slightly disconcerted to find myself so far out of my normal routine, but-"

"Being Granny, you made do," Jennifer finished with a smile.

Mary smiled modestly. "I do what I can."

"But, Granny," Victoria said impatiently, "how did you meet Shakespeare?"

"Apparently, he was off on a little walk to meet a new actor when he saw me and felt compelled to

approach."

"How fortunate," Connor offered.

"He needed a new witch," Mary continued, "and liked the look of my needles."

"But, Granny," Victoria said again, "you're a woman. They didn't let women act during Elizabeth's day."

"It's 1606, love, and James is king. William saw that I was perfect for the role and decided that what the

Master of the Revels didn't know wouldn't hurt him. Besides, it's only for another week. He's staging something else then and I'll be free to do whatever suits me."

"But we came to take you home," Victoria pointed out.

Mary smiled. "In a week, love?"

Victoria sighed. "I suppose if you're safe, we can spend a week looking for Michael. Who knows, it may take us that long to find him. I hope not longer," she added darkly.

Mary leaned forward. "I might be able to help you there, as well."

Victoria caught her breath. "Can you?"

"Finish your lunch, love, and then we'll see what appears in the little square across the road."

"Granny, what's across the road is the Globe," Victoria said. "If Michael Fellini has gotten a gig there,

I'm going to kill myself."

"Hold that thought, love, until after you've eaten."

Victoria found that she just couldn't bear even that long a wait. "Are you telling me that Michael's acting

at the Globe?"

Mary laughed. "In his dreams, dear." She waited until lunch had been served before she continued. "He's

holding court every couple of days on the steps of those hallowed boards, trying to get people to pay attention to him."

Jennifer sniffed suspiciously at her cup. "And are they? Paying attention, I mean. By the way, what do

you think this stuff is?"

"Wine," Mary said. "Safest thing on the menu. And, no, the people aren't really paying attention. He's

trying to pass off Othello as his own. What he can apparently remember of it, which according to mymemory, is not very much." "But Othello was written in 1605," Victoria said. "And you said it is 1606." "Exactly," Mary said. Then she shrugged. "He's staying at The Gander's Goose. It's not a particularly nice inn, but it's what he can afford." She paused. "He doesn't sound well. I wonder if the shock has done

him in or if it's something else."

"Let's figure it out right away," Victoria said. "Let's get him right now and be on our way."

"My run," Mary reminded her. "I can't disappoint the Bard."

Victoria was horribly torn. Jennifer and Connor, she could tell, would have happily stayed for quite some

time, but she did have her play at home to be taking care of. Then again, this was Elizabethan London

and her granny had a part as one of the witches in a genuine Shakespearean production.

"All right," Victoria said. "You finish your run and we'll keep tabs on Michael and make sure he doesn't get into any trouble."

"I want to sightsee," Jennifer said.

"Might as well," Victoria said, resigning herself to really not being in control of her life. "Granny, are you safe?"

Mary patted her knitting bag. "Perfectly. Besides, one of Will's most lethal actors has been assigned as

my bodyguard. He's hanging around outside, waiting to escort me wherever I want to go." She smiled modestly. "I finished the Fair Isle sweater for him."

"A fortunate lad, indeed," Connor said, sounding just a little bit envious.

"He apparently thought so," Mary agreed. She dabbed at her mouth with her napkin. "I'm sorry to dash,

but I'm expected at Lord Mountjoy's. A witch's work is never done, I suppose."

Jennifer laughed. "Granny, I can't believe you. You'd think you had lived in this century forever!"

"I'm flexible, love. 'Bloom where you're planted' is my motto."

Jennifer shook her head. "I could never live without modern conveniences."

"Never say never, love," Mary said, patting Jennifer's hand. She looked at Victoria. "You'll be all right?

Can you amuse yourselves for a few days?"

Victoria blinked. "You mean, you're ditching us until your run is over? I don't get to meet the man?"

"Yes, I'm ditching you, and yes, I'll see what I can arrange with William." Mary paused. "I can't exactly

tell him that you've been producing his plays for years, can I? I suppose I can tell him that you're a huge fan and want his autograph."

Victoria felt a little faint. "I suppose you could."

"I could," Mary agreed. "All right, today's Saturday. Meet me after the show on Tuesday and hopefully I'll have a famous playwright in tow."

Victoria was very glad she was sitting down. "And Michael?" Mary asked.

"Mayhap we will be forced to resort to violence," Connor said, not looking unhappy at the thought of that possibility.

Victoria gave her grandmother a kiss and watched her sashay out of the darkened pub. She sat back and looked at her companions. "Can you believe it?"

"I believe anything of your grandmere," Connor said. "A formidable woman, that one."

"Hobnobbing with William Shakespeare," Victoria squeaked. "How did she manage that?"

"Like you said, she's Granny," Jennifer said. "Well, at least we know where she is. We probably should go find Diva Fellini and see about damage control." "Heaven help us," Victoria muttered as she rose, left money on the table, and headed out of the pub with her companions.

They hadn't walked ten feet out of the door before she heard Connor swear.

She ducked, just on principle.

"There he is, the rat," Jennifer said.

Victoria folded her arms over her chest and looked at Michael Fellini standing across the muddy street, arms flung out wide, reciting lines from Othello as if he stood on the Drury Lane stage.

Reciting them badly, truth be told.

Victoria looked at him more closely. "Well," she said finally, "I think he could have benefitted from a trip or two to a Renaissance Faire. Look at his clothes."

"Sneakers with tights," Jennifer said in disgust. "I mean, really. I could have done better than that."

"Of course you could have," Victoria said crisply. "You're a fabulous actress, something we will discuss when we return home." She looked up at Connor. "What do you think?"

"What I think isn't fit for a lady's ear."

She smiled. There were just so many things to like about Connor MacDougal. "Well, we could just sit here and watch until he gets tired and goes home so we're sure of where he's staying, or we could go sightseeing."

"I vote for sightseeing," Jennifer said.

Connor stroked his chin thoughtfully. "And if he flees? 'Twill be a hard thing indeed to find him again."

"Flee?" Victoria said doubtfully. "I don't think he will. He's standing ten feet from the Globe Theater. He's probably having delusions of grandeur even as we speak. If I were Shakespeare, I'd be watching my back."