Connor seemed to digest that for quite some time. Then he took a deep breath. "The other shade? Who

was it?"

Thomas looked at Connor. Victoria wondered if she would ever forget the moment, frozen in time, when her brother looked at her love and said the one word that would change everything.

"You," he said finally.

Connor looked at him in shock. Then he looked at Victoria. He looked at Iolanthe. Then he looked at

Thomas again, in horror this time.

Victoria would have said something, but the warning look on Thomas's face stopped her.

Connor took his sword in his hands. Victoria wasn't sure if he was going to stab Thomas, stab Iolanthe,

or just fling it at her to make himself feel better. Instead, he jammed it into the gravel and strode away.

The sword quivered for quite a long time before the motion stopped.

Iolanthe leaped up suddenly and bolted for the house. Victoria assumed that she knew where all the

bathrooms were and felt no compunction about not helping her, nor about swiping her chair. She sat and looked at her brother.

"Thanks," she said sarcastically.

He put his sword up on his shoulder like a rifle and walked over to her. "You will. Later."

"Did you have to?" she asked plaintively. "Couldn't you have just zipped your lips and thrown away the key?"

Thomas squatted down in front of her. "Your eyes are leaking."

"Damn it, it's allergies!"

He smiled. "Vic, he had to know."

"He would have figured it out in time."

"Yeah, eventually. But I thought you might want a fall wedding."

She dragged her sleeve across her eyes. "He's probably gone home."

"Without his sword? Sis, you don't know anything about Highlanders if you think that." He rose and

pulled her up with him. "Let's go in. He'll come back eventually, when he's come to terms with it all."

"He'll probably never come to terms with it all."

"Then he'll go back to his miserable life and you'll go back to yours. Did I tell you what a great Ophelia

you were? Think of all the misery and madness you'll be able to put into your characters, thanks to Connor dumping you and heading home. I'd thank me if I were you." "Thomas?" "Yes?" "You suck." He laughed and slung his arm around her. "Ah, that's music to my ears. You'll be fine." "But will he be?" she muttered. "I doubt it."

And she did. She doubted it even more when she looked out the front door at one point during the afternoon and found that Connor's sword was no longer in the driveway. She glared at Thomas. "Theft or Return to Neverland; you decide." "Patience." "I have none." "You'll have some after this is over."

She went back to brooding in the library.

By the time the afternoon, and her fledgling patience, had worn very thin, she put herself out of everyones misery and went for a walk. She was going to go to the castle, but she found herself continuing on past it. The sun was setting and the air was still.

Well, except for that dry rain that cropped up, but she was in England; she expected no less.

By the time she had cursed her way to Granny's picnic spot and farther, she realized she was not alone.

Connor stood on the edge of the fairy ring.

She came to a teetering halt, then turned and prepared to tiptoe away.

"Victoria."

She took a deep breath, then turned back around to face him. "Yes?"

"Does your brother speak the truth?"

There was no denying it now. She took another deep breath. She was going to be hyperventilating soon

if this kind of thing didn't stop. "Yes."

He looked at the fairy ring for a very long time, then looked at her.

She wondered if she would forget that moment, either.

There stood a proud, undeniably gorgeous Highland laird, in clothes that were just a little too small, holding his enormous sword like a walking stick, looking at her as if he thought looking long enough would reveal all her secrets, making a decision that would affect them both forever.

And then he took his own deep breath and stepped away from the ring in the grass.

He came to a halt in front of her. "I have dreams," he said quietly.

"Do you?"

"Dreams of another life."

She nodded, shaking. "Interesting."

He considered. "They may be of my life as a ghost."

"It's possible."

He looked at her searchingly. "Did I know you?"

"You did."

"Did I love you?"

She had to gather courage to answer that. "You said you did."

"Did I ask you to rescue me from death?"

Ah, there was the rub. "Your forbade me."

He looked at her in surprise, then his expression lightened. "Aye, that sounds like me."

"If it makes you feel any better, I think you wanted to kill me at first, too," she offered. "You know, when you were a..."

"Did I?" he mused. "I daresay, not." He put his sword over his shoulder and took her hand. "I must walk," he said easily. "If I do not walk, I will drop to my knees and weep."

"Oh," she managed.

"I will not go home now," he announced. He looked at her briefly. "But I will later."

"Of course," she said gamely.

He walked with her back to the inn, then paused at the front door. "There are several people I wish to question about this whole ghostly business, which I most definitely do not believe."

"Sure," she said with a nod. "Make a list. I'll see they show up." He looked at her searchingly for quite some time before he spoke. "Do you believe, Victoria?" She took an equal amount of time to answer. "I lived a little of it with you, my laird. I can't not believe." He was silent for several minutes, then he grunted. "I want the lads from the castle first." "Do you want to interview them down here or terrorize them up there?" He frowned at her. "Jesting in this matter is not appreciated." Well, it beat the hell out of weeping. Victoria put on a businesslike look. "You might have more success getting them to show up if you made the concession of setting up your audience chamber in the bailey.

Then you could come down here and question the inn's ghosts."

"The inn is haunted, as well?"

"Haven't I told you that already?"

"I dismissed it as the ramblings of a madwoman, but now I see I was too hasty. Very well. Tomorrow at first light we will away to the castle, then return here for supper and more questions for these lads at the inn. Three of them, are there?"

"There are."

He paused. "Did you tell me that?"

Poor man. Victoria smiled sadly. "I didn't."

He took a deep breath. "Supper. I daresay I'm losing my wits due to lack of strength. I will be fully

myself afterward, I assure you."

"I wouldn't expect anything less."

But as she led him into the inn, she wondered if she dared expect anything more.

Chapter 32.

Connor sat in the inner bailey of Thorpewold castle and thought that if this had been the state of his reputed afterlife, 'twas no wonder he'd been so foul. He looked at Victoria, who sat on the stage and swung her legs back and forth. She yawned hugely, realized he was observing her, then smiled weakly.

He frowned. So, he was not the only one having trouble listening to these goings on with any seriousness.

Aye, my laird, I did ken ye from centuries past. From before the 45, actually.

The '45? Connor had little liking for those numbers, but he hadn't pressed the man on what they meant. He would ask Victoria about them later.

Laird MacDougal, I aided ye in muting out those pesky Brits when that Tudor wench sat the English throne. What a day that was, with us havin' our heads tucked beneath our arms!

Routing out and pesky in the same breath were always good, but Connor had been afforded little time to truly enjoy them. Instead, he'd listened, open-mouthed, to the horrors he had perpetrated, apparently, upon hapless mortals whilst he was, reputedly, a disembodied spirit.

Horrors, he had to admit, that were masterfully executed. Even if he did say so himself. Sword fights, loud boos, ghostly wails, headlessness, armlessness, blood spurting, goo oozing, entrails trailing... aye, the tales he had listened to that morn were indeed something.