"Victoria?" he asked, finally.

She looked at him. "Yes?"

"Who will play Ophelia?"

Silence descended.

"Oh," Jennifer said quietly. "That is a problem."

Victoria stared at him in mute distress.

Connor felt, after a moment or two, that there were none others there but he himself and Victoria, staring

at each other, as if time had ceased to be.

"You know the part," he said quietly. "Don't you?"

She closed her eyes briefly and swallowed convulsively. "Yes."

"Then that solves that," Jennifer said brightly. "Let's all go raid the costume shed. Well, except for those

of you who can conjure up your own."

Connor continued to look at Victoria as the others set off for the gates. He smiled encouragingly. "You will be wonderful," he said confidently.

"I think I might be sick," she replied.

"Retch later. Go choose a costume now. You will do the role justice as Mistress Blankenship never

could have."

Victoria nodded and turned toward the gate. She stopped, though, after a pace or two, and turned back to look at him.

"Thank you."

"For what?"

She smiled, albeit a little weakly. "For all your work on the part." She paused. "I couldn't put on the

show without you tonight."

"I will do my best not to disappoint."

She looked at him for so long in silence that he began to fear that she thought him unequal to the task

and was afraid to say as much. Then she shook her head.

"Connor MacDougal, I don't think you could disappoint." Then she smiled briefly. "But I will, if I don't find a costume that fits. Cressida probably has sucker goo spilled all down the front of hers. I swear, if I'd seen that girl with one more Tootsie Pop in her mouth, I would have hosed her down."

And with that, she was gone.

Connor looked heavenward briefly, then turned toward the stage to concentrate on what he had to do that night.

The evening passed for him as if it had been a dream. Shakespeare's words came from his mouth as if they had been created for just that moment in time, to be whispered or shouted or crisply spoken as if they'd been swords meant to cut through the webs of deceit woven around him.

He remembered wordplay with Victoria as Ophelia. He sparred verbally with Hugh, listened raptly to Ambrose tell the sorry tale of the late king's murder, tried to reason with Jennifer as Gertrude. He let Hamlet's words become his own and speculated aloud as to the meaning of life and death.

Then he stood in the wings and watched Victoria descend into madness as if she'd done it every day of her life and found the journey too exquisite not to be shared with anyone who would pay her heed.

She was, in a word, breathtaking.

He found himself, finally, crossing swords with Roderick, who seemed to dredge up from some hidden well-spring of skill enough ability to actually seem as if he might be Connor's equal.

In the end, there was death, as usual.

But this time, death was followed by a curtain call and thunderous applause.

Connor took his own bow as he'd seen Fellini do numerous times. He found himself a little startled and

not just a little surprised by the applause he received.

He understood why Fellini liked performing so much.

But when the curtain pulled together and he stood in a huddle with his fellow actors, watching tears of

relief course down Victoria's cheeks, he found that he was almost tempted to do the same. Victoria turned to look at him.

"Amazing," she breathed.

He laughed. He simply couldn't help himself.

"Heaven help me," she said with a laugh of her own, "Connor MacDougal just laughed. I think it's time for a swoon."

"After everyone's gone," Jennifer said, throwing an arm around her sister. "You were brilliant. Connor was, well, there are no words to describe it. I've never seen Hamlet done better."

Connor would have thought she was exaggerating, but she was equally quick to point out that Thomas

had flubbed several of his lines but that she loved him anyway, so Connor found himself with no choice but to take her words as she spoke them. "Vikki? Gideon's dad wants to come backstage." Megan was peeking under the curtain. "He especially wants to meet Hamlet." She smiled at Connor. "Hi, Laird MacDougal. You were wonderful, by the way."

Connor would have nodded in thanks, but he was too startled. He looked at Victoria. "What now, Captain McKinnon?" "Well, you certainly can't shake his hand. Say hello from a distance. Claim a cold, or strep, or the plague."

Connor grunted. "Not amusing."

"Yes, but necessary." She slipped through the curtain and soon was calling his name.

Connor looked at Thomas. "Your aid, McKinnon?"

"For the man who drove my sister to madness? Anything." Thomas pulled the curtain back and waited.

Connor found himself looking at the Earl of Artane, a rather unassuming man as earls went, but then

again, the man likely wasn't training with a broadsword every day.

"Megan told me that there was a bit of a muddle with some of the cast having transportation difficulties,"

the earl said, all smiles, "but I daresay that was fortuitous. A fabulous performance, sir, I must say!"

Connor bowed low. "I thank you for that, my lord. But it is Mistress McKinnon who deserves the credit. There is not a better director in all of the Apple."

"The Big Apple," Thomas whispered from behind him.

"Manhattan," Connor clarified, remembering suddenly what Victoria had called it more than once. "And

I daresay England has never seen her like."

"My dear," the earl said to Victoria, "you are truly a treasure. I don't suppose there might be time in your

schedule tonight to discuss what you've done in the past. We didn't have nearly enough time this afternoon."

"I would love to discuss it," Victoria said. "If you would give me half an hour to close up the set?"

"Of course." Artane looked up at Connor. "Truly a pleasure, sir. I don't think I've enjoyed a

performance more."

Connor bowed again, unable to think of a single reply that would have done the compliment justice. He retreated back behind the curtain and kept himself out of the way as the crew arranged scenery and

weatherproofed it. Sound and lights were put away, along with the accompanying gear. Once that was all finished to Victoria's satisfaction, she came to stand near him.

"Well, that's over," she said with a sigh.

"Are you content?"

She smiled. "I can't talk about it tonight. Let me humor Megan's father-in-law, have something to eat now I'm certain I won't immediately throw it back up, and then get a good night's sleep. I'll know tomorrow what I thought."

"Shall I wait for you?" he asked. "In the library?"

"Do," she said. "I won't be long. Well," she amended, "that may not be true. It depends on the earl.

Thomas said he might be looking for a theater company to fund and I can never say no to conversations of those sorts."

"I'll wait," he said.

"I'll be there eventually."

He watched her walk off with her brother and sister and stood on the edge of the stage, continuing to

watch them as they left through the gate. Victoria turned back once to wave, then went on her way.

"I think that performance definitely could be considered wooing verse."

Connor looked at Roderick, who had come to stand next to him. "Think you?"