"Do you hear it?" she asked. "That medieval stuff?"

Ambrose listened, then smiled. "I hear many things, lass. Come and let us be about your inspection. I imagine the construction has begun. I can hear the generators from here. I assume you'll run them from one of the tower chambers during the shows."

"Yes," Victoria said, distracted by the sounds layering themselves on top of each other. "I don't think the audience will hear them and there's certainly no other way to get power inside the castle without them.

Granny, do you hear those medieval sorts of noises?"

Mary patted her hand. "Inspect your workers, love, then we'll go back to the inn and you can have a

nap."

She didn't need a nap; she needed a specter-free castle in which to do her play. She walked into the bailey and looked at the place where the stage would be built. Workers were setting up their gear and the area seemed to be quite free of all paranormal activity.

She couldn't help breathe a faint sigh of relief. "They've worked hard," Victoria said, gratefully. "Like as not, they have cause," Fulbert said. "I wouldn't want to stay here longer than I needed to." "Why not?" she asked. Ambrose cleared his throat. "Well, there are a few unsavory lads loitering about the keep. Those kind of lads," he added knowingly.

Damn. So, her worst fears were going to materialize. "Ghosts?" Victoria asked.

"Aye, but no one of consequence," Ambrose said. "Certainly no one whom I would give a second

thought to-"

"Aye, but your head might, as it left your womanly shoulders," a voice growled from behind Victoria.

"Draw your sword, MacLeod!"

Victoria whirled around.

That unsettling prop-room numbness started again at the top of her head, but she clamped down on her

self-control with all her strength and gave that tingling the old heave-ho. She would not faint. There were probably several things one could say about her that might be uncomplimentary, but it could not be said that she had ever swooned. Not once.

Well, that prop room debacle aside, of course.

Oh, and also the first time she'd seen Michael Fellini, but there had been a handy couch nearby and she'd managed to fall gracefully upon it in a lounging posture. That had been less of a swoon and more of a dignified slump.

But this time she wasn't sure she would manage anything so dignified. First off, there was no couch nearby. Secondly, this wasn't a sleek, suave New Yorker wowing her with his good looks and easy charm. This was a Highlander standing not two feet from her, his enormous sword in his hands, and a look of death in his eyes.

"Let's move out of the way, shall we?" Mary said easily, taking Victoria by the arm and tugging.

Victoria back peddled until she was well out of the way of that very large sword. She came to a stop next to her grandmother, wishing desperately that she'd brought along a chair so she could sit while she grappled with the reality she was facing.

She was used to handsome men on stage, but they were generally not very tall and more of their muscles came from dance than hefting very big swords and swinging them around like thin, lightweight rapiers. She was also used to powerful men whose money she had no trouble trying to solicit for her productions, but their power came from their bank accounts and their ability to control destinies with those bank accounts.

She was not used to men who intimidated by their mete physical presence alone.

She was tall, but that ghost towered over her. He towered over Ambrose, as well. She frowned. That didn't seem quite fair. Who did he think he was, going after her grandfather-the accustomed number of generations removed-with such lack of care for Ambrose's age or the measure of respect that should have been accorded him due to that age?

"That's Connor MacDougal," Fulbert said from beside her. "He was laird of his clan in life. He thinks he's laird of this castle in death-"

"I am laird of this keep," Connor MacDougal snarled, "and I'll thank ye to keep yer bloody English nose out of my affairs!"

Fulbert grunted. "He's a miserable wretch, as you can hear, but handy enough with a blade."

"And I'll show you just how handy, once I'm finished with this mewling babe here," Connor promised.

Victoria watched, open-mouthed, as he attempted to do just that.

She took stock of her rapidly unraveling situation. She had ghosts down at the inn. She now had ghosts up at the castle. Apparently, she had a very feisty, very fierce, very handsome lairdlike ghost who would probably take every opportunity to make her life hell. He would probably also scare away the paying customers. It was for certain he would terrify her actors if they could see him.

Well, she conceded, he might not terrify the women. If he would just put down that sword and smile, he might actually bring in some business.

"He's quite handsome, isn't he?" Mary whispered.

Victoria managed a nod. Handsome really didn't quite cover it. Gorgeous, dangerous, breathtaking, partake-at-your-own-risk; those were better descriptions of the man.

Er, ghost.

Victoria could hardly believe he wasn't real. He had dark hair that hung down to his shoulders and moved with him when he wielded that enormous broadsword. His muscles strained under his shirt and could occasionally be glimpsed doing the same thing under his kilt.

His face, too, was a marvel of creation. Chiseled cheekbones, a patrician nose, a strong, determined jaw. Victoria had no idea what color his eyes were, but she could say that they blazed with an intensity that made her feel a little weak in the knees.

If she'd been prone to that kind of thing, which she wasn't.

He carried on an animated conversation with Ambrose in what she could only assume was Gaelic. He did not smile, but that didn't matter. His sword was enormous, but that didn't matter, either. There was something about him that was so relentlessly commanding, so unforgiving, so ruthless, that she could only stand and gape at him as if she'd never seen a man before.

Which, after seeing this one, she had to suspect might be the case.

A vicious thrust made Ambrose suddenly jump aside and that startled her into jumping as well.

"Vikki, look at your crew," Mary said in a low voice.

Victoria collected what was remaining of her wits and turned to find all her workers staring at her uncomfortably. Well, some were staring at her uncomfortably. Others were counting it as a break and apparently looking for either drinks or somewhere to pee.

"Can they hear this, do you think?" Victoria whispered behind her hand.

"I don't know, but I don't think we want to find out."

Victoria made a snap decision. It was of paramount importance that her crew not pull a Gerard and bolt for the front gates, never to return. Obviously, she would have to take matters into her own hands.

She turned quickly to her workers. "Nothing to see here," she said in her best director's voice. "There is a rehearsal going on outside the gates. Swords and that kind of thing. It's echoing in here."

Those who were not searching for drinks or the bathroom shrugged and turned back to their work.

Victoria turned back to the combatants and clapped her hands together briskly. "All right," she said, "let's be finished here."

Connor MacDougal almost dropped his sword. Unfortunately, he managed to hold onto it long enough to point it at her. "And who are you to tell me what to do?" he demanded fiercely. "You're frightening my workers." He jammed his sword into the dirt and strode over to stand toe-to-toe with her. "I haven't begun to frighten them," he growled. "Who said you could?" she returned. "I am lord of this keep and I will say what goes on inside it!" She forced herself not to gulp. She was fairly certain that his sword was fake and that his only weapon was verbal intimidation. Heaven help her if she was wrong. "You can say all you want," she said, dredging up all the courage she had to hand. "Just don't say it to my crew." "And if it pleases me to hear them scream?" he asked smoothly. "I'll alert the paranormal investigators to your presence," she threatened. "Ha!" he said with a derisive snort. "I've no fear of them." "I'd rethink that, MacDougal," Ambrose said with a shiver. "The last thing you want is a gaggle of ghost-hunters keeping you awake at all hours." Connor appeared unconvinced and continued to look as if his fondest wish was to do someone in. Victoria thought quickly. She was accustomed to dealing with men for whom money talked. Could it be all that different with a ghost? All she had to do was determine what his currency was. She suspected he dealt in screams. "I'll make a deal with you," she said. "If you leave my crew alone, I promise to let you haunt me for the same number of days we're here in your castle."

He paused and considered. "After the play is over," she qualified. "And it will be worth the wait, I assure you." "Show me." Victoria let out a bloodcurdling scream. Hugh and Fulbert hit the ground. Half her workers screamed in sympathy. She looked up at Connor and raised one eyebrow.

"Well?"

"I'll give it some thought."

"No, I need a firm commitment."

"I am accustomed to screams from more than one person," he said with a frown. "Not to belittle your skill with a shriek, of course."

Good grief, would the indignities never end? She sighed gustily. "All right, how about we sweeten the deal. Leave my workers and my actors alone and not only will I let you haunt me for an equal amount of time, I'll see if I can't find a place in my play for you."

Hugh and Fulbert protested vociferously. Victoria silenced them with a glare. She turned back to Connor. He was blinking as if he hadn't quite understood her. Maybe he was surprised. Maybe he was insulted. Maybe she'd had so little experience in dealing with disembodied spirits that she was mistaking his reaction for what was really just a bit of ghostly indigestion.

Connor retrieved his sword and sheathed it thoughtfully. "A place in your play? As a player?"

She could hardly believe she was doing it. "Yes," she said heavily. "I'll get back to you on what role."

"I will give it some-"

"No," she said shortly, "I need a commitment and I need it now." She sighed in frustration. "Look, I'm sure that with a face like yours, you're accustomed to getting what you want-"

"A face like mine?" he interrupted. "What meaning is there in that?"

She frowned up at him. "Well, you're very handsome, but that doesn't mean you can always have what you want."

He blinked. "Handsome?"

"Yes, and handsome is as handsome does, so commit to behaving yourself."

"Handsome?" he repeated, blinking some more.

"Commit!" she exclaimed. "Don't scare my crew. Don't terrify the actors."

"Handsome," he mused, stroking his chin.

He turned and walked through the gates.

He vanished.

Victoria turned to look at her granny. "Can you believe him?"

Her grandmother said with a laugh, "I think you distracted him. My, my, Vikki, that was a big scream."

"He had a big sword."

"And he knows how to use it," Ambrose admitted. "He's unpleasant, unfriendly, and unabashedly angry."

"He sounds like trouble," Mary said happily.

"He could be," Ambrose agreed. " 'Tis a pity Victoria doesn't have a part for him in truth. Of course," he said, resheathing his own sword and smoothing down his plaid, "he hasn't my gift for drama. If you need an understudy for any of the roles, my dear Victoria, I hope you'll consider me. For Hamlet's father, perhaps. I think I could do that justice."

"I'm certain you could," Victoria said. "Though I think it might be beneath you. If you have time, you could look at Hamlet's uncle, or Polonius. You know, the more substantial roles."

"I'll make a search for a script."

And with that, he was gone.

Mary looked at her, her eyes twinkling. "You're good."

"Years of practice."

"Are you really going to give them parts in your play?"

"Granny, to keep the peace, I'd almost be tempted to let them direct the play."

"That handsome young Highlander is a different sort of problem," Mary said, "but that is the kind of problem a woman could look at happily for quite some time."

Victoria shivered in spite of herself. "Yes, he is."

Mary gave her a quick hug. "I'm going to head for the inn. Be careful."

"Granny, he's a ghost."

"He's a big ghost."

"I cannot believe we're having this conversation."

Her grandmother laughed and walked through the barbican gate. Hugh and Fulbert bid Victoria a good day and followed her. Ambrose reappeared and jostled his companions for the preferred spot on Mary's right hand. Victoria watched them go.

Life was weird.

She turned around and looked at the castle. So, it was haunted. She shouldn't have been surprised. She highly doubted Thomas would be surprised by the news. She would kill him at her earliest opportunity. For now, she just had to get through the next four weeks. After all, how much more annoying could ghosts be than venture capitalists? Her actors had survived the latter; they could survive the former.

Then again, venture capitalists didn't pack six-foot broadswords they were wont to draw at the slightest opportunity and use on whomever had displeased them. Who knew if she would be able to keep that damned Connor MacDougal and his very big sword out of the way-despite her appeasement offers?