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 cheek-bones, 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
“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 cheek-bones, 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
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