"Flowers make me sneeze."

"Well, then do not sniff any more of them." That problem solved, he took the opportunity to gesture

toward the stairs. "Breakfast, if you please. Then we will take the day and investigate your wonders. I'll need to go home tonight."

"Of course."

"I want my other clothes as soon as may be. These are a little small."

"My brother isn't as tall as you are. But since your other choice was something of mine, I thought these would do."

"They are a great improvement on the pink towel-which I left upon the bed." He fetched it, then returned to Victoria. "Food?"

"Always."

He followed her down to the kitchen, handed Mrs. Pruitt the towel, and sat down to a hearty meal. He enjoyed it as much as he had the day before. Victoria ate today and only sniffed suspiciously in his direction once.

He made a solemn vow: No more fruity soaps.

Once he was finished, he sat back and looked at Victoria. "I wish to see the castle."

"Of course."

But as he followed her out from the inn, he wondered why she was being so accommodating. He

remembered her as being quite a bit more stubborn.

The thought caught him halfway down the path to the road. He stopped, shook his head, and looked at Victoria. "I fear if I stay here overlong, I will lose my wits." "Go when you need to," she said quietly. "But you'll remain with me until that time?" "If you wish it." "I wish it." He found himself with his arm quite suddenly outstretched and bent, in the attitude of escorting a fine lady at an even finer occasion. He gaped at his arm, wondering how it was that even his limbs seemed to now be acting independently of his will and his better sense.

By the saints, he was on the verge of madness.

The saints preserve him if there was no point in trying to rein in any part of his traitorous form. The next thing he knew, his tongue would be spouting flowery compliments to her goodness and singing lays to her beauty.

She put her hand on his arm. He caught his breath.

In a manly fashion, of course.

She looked up at him. Tears were standing in her eyes. He winced.

"By the saints, Victoria McKinnon," he said, shaking his head, "if it pains you to touch me, you may

decline my offer."

"It doesn't pain me."

He grunted. "Then cease with that weeping. I vow you'll have me unsure of my own appeal soon, and

then the angels will be weeping with you."

She smiled up at him. "I'll try to stop."

He nodded and walked with her down the path. They came to the road and turned to go up to the

castle. He realized as he was walking along that road that it felt as if he had done it hundreds of times.

That wasn't possible, so he began to look for other explanations. Bad food? Poison? Too little sleep?

Future magic?

By the time he reached the castle gates, he found that he was having trouble breathing.

"Connor, are you all right?"

He looked at Victoria. She was swimming before his eyes, and he realized with horror that he was on the verge of swooning like a weak-kneed woman.

"Come with me," Victoria commanded. "Connor!"

He snapped to himself and obeyed out of habit. He forced himself to keep up with her as she marched across the inner bailey. He plopped gratefully down onto a stone bench, then leaned his head back against the castle wall.

But when he opened his eyes, it was no better. He could have sworn he saw men gathered in front of him, peering at him with their mouths all agape.

"By the saints!" he thundered. "Begone with you all!"

The lads scattered. Most of them scattered into thin air. Connor stared at a lone straggler, who looked at him, crossed himself, then disappeared. Connor turned to look at Victoria. She was watching him with worry in her eyes.

"What spell is this?" he asked hoarsely. "What devilish work is this I see before me?"

"The stage?"

"Do not jest," he said roughly. He pointed to where he'd seen the men. Highlanders they had been, for

the most part. He was almost certain he recognized Morag's brother amongst them. "Those men. Who were they?"

Victoria took a deep breath. "Ghosts."

"Ghosts," he repeated. He looked at her, then found that his fine form had not deserted him after all. He gave vent to a mighty snort of derision. "I do not believe in ghosts."

She looked at him in surprise, then smiled wryly. "I didn't, either. Before."

"Do you now?"

She shrugged. "We're in Scotland."

"The Lowlands," he reminded her.

"Well, it's still Scotland and Scotland is a magical place." She tilted her head to look at him. "Remember

the fairy ring?"

He pursed his lips. "Aye, there is that."

"I don't think that's the only gate between the Past and the Future here in Scotland."

"Don't you?"

She shook her head slowly. "I don't believe easily in things I can't see," she said. "But I've seen those

ghosts before. And I told you the inn is haunted, didn't I?"

"I haven't seen any ghosts there," he blustered.

"I think they're on holiday."

"Foolishness."

"Whatever you say," she said with a smile.

He studied her for a moment. "Your Gaelic has improved."

"I was nervous there at your hall." She shrugged and looked down at her feet.

"Why did you bother?"

"So I could warn you."

"Indeed?" He looked at her in surprise. "No other reason?"

"No other reason."

He pondered that for a moment or two, then rose and made her a low bow. "Then I thank you, Victoria

McKinnon, for my life. Now, let us be away from here. This quarterdeck here makes me uneasy. It tugs

at me in a way I do not care for."

"Then what about supper?"

"A wonderful idea," he agreed. Then he paused. "Is it too soon?"

"It's never too soon for a meal. Especially when you compliment Mrs. Pruitt on her cooking."

"Then I will endeavor to dredge up a nice word or two." He offered her his arm again, but this time it did

not feel strange. Indeed, it seemed as if it was something he had wanted to do for a very long time. He

looked at her. "I will go home," he said, realizing that he sounded a bit desperate. "Soon." "I know," she said softly. "I think I will be sorry not to see you anymore." She looked up at him. He frowned. "You're weeping again." "Allergies." "Hmmm," he said, nodding. He walked with her away from the castle, not giving in to the impulse to look back and see if he could see the ghosts again. The path to the inn was shorter this time and he knew what to expect when he got there. Except there was a shiny box with wheels sitting before the inn now. Perhaps it had been there the last time and he hadn't noticed it. He was halfway up the path when the door to the inn opened and a dark-haired man stepped out. Connor came to a standstill so quickly that he almost jerked Victoria off her feet. He reached out to steady her, then realized he had forgotten his sword.