By the saints, if that wasn't indication of his pitiful state, he didn't know what would be.

"Fetch me my sword," he hissed. "Go 'round to the kitchen. I'll distract this one with my bare hands."

"Connor-"

"Go!"

She sighed and went.

"Run!" he bellowed.

She ran, but without enthusiasm. Connor stood there tapping his foot, swearing, and wondering if he

should just do in the man facing him with the knife in his boot. It took far too long, but finally Victoria came back out the front door, damn her for a silly wench, and brushed past the man, who stood there with his arms folded, watching Connor with no expression on his face. Victoria handed him his sword.

"There. Now what?"

Connor shrugged. "I know not. I feel this overwhelming desire to kill that man."

"You're wearing his clothes."

"They're too small. That must be part of it."

"That's my brother, Thomas."

"That could be adding to it."

Her brother, Thomas, pushed away from the door. "Vic, get my sword, will you?" he said in a friendly

voice. "It's propped up against the reception desk. I just had the feeling I might need it."

"Are you out of your mind?" she demanded, turning to look at him.

Connor admired the way she put her hands on her hips and bellowed. She was a formidable wench. But

now she was standing in the way of his swordplay, so he nudged her forward with a gentle push.

"Fetch his sword. Let us see if it is sharp."

She looked at him, looked back at her brother, then threw up her hands and went into the house.

Connor grinned.

The other man grinned in return.

Connor reconsidered. Maybe his time in the Future would be more worthwhile and exciting than he

dared hope. Victoria McKinnon and her beauty, Thomas McKinnon and his sword. Connor flexed his

fingers and chortled happily. If nothing else, he would have a pleasant afternoon. He would think about returning home later.

Chapter 31.

Victoria spotted Thomas's sword leaning against Mrs. Pruitt's reception desk. She picked it up and admired it. It looked to have seen a bit of action, probably when he'd gone back to rescue Iolanthe. She should have grilled him more about his escapades in the past while she'd had the chance at Camp Medieval. Unfortunately, she'd been too busy trying to develop her own skill set so that she didn't get her throat slit ten minutes into the Past to ask him too many questions about the mileage on his blade. She would take him to task later-maybe after Connor went back home and she was wallowing in despair. It would take her mind off her misery.

She marched out the front door and threw her brother's sword at him, hoping it would plunk him between the eyes and knock him out, thereby avoiding what she was certain would be a bloodbath.

She retreated to the safety of a side path to watch. She wasn't sure what she worried about more-that Thomas would kill Connor or that Connor would kill Thomas. She was pretty sure she knew what Connor was capable of.

Of course, she'd also watched her brother train with Jamie, Patrick, and Ian, and noticed impassively that he wasn't far behind any of them in skill. Well, except Jamie. Jamie lacked nothing and augmented his skill with sheer presence.

Sort of like Connor.

She came to the conclusion that the battle due to begin any moment might just be a draw.

They crossed swords. There was a shriek from one of the upper windows. Their blows rang out again.

"By the saints, will ye move yerself ?" a weak, feminine voice demanded crossly.

"Oh, sorry, love," Thomas said, standing aside so Iolanthe could come outside. "The best seats are over there."

Iolanthe had brought a little folding camp stool, which she immediately made use of behind a clutch of lavender. Then she put her hand over her nose.

"Och, the smell," she moaned.

"Maybe you should go back inside," Victoria suggested.

"And miss this? I'll puke my guts out into the delphiniums, thank ye just the same, just for the pleasure."

Victoria laughed, then she caught wind of what the combatants were saying and stopped laughing abruptly.

"I feel I have much to repay you for," Connor said, pausing to scratch his head. "But damn me if I can remember what."

"Do you want to know?" Thomas asked. Victoria pursed her lips. His Gaelic was very good. Perhaps that came from living with a medieval Scot. It could also have come from his time-traveling. Or it might have had something to do with hanging out with medieval ghosts. Good heavens, they were popping up like mushrooms. She wondered if the Inland Revenue would have to develop a new department soon just to track down those pesky time-travelers. Would a former ghost have the same status?

Then she found she had no more time for thinking of implausible scenarios, because the battle raging through Mrs. Pruitt's garden demanded her full attention. Apparently, it demanded Mrs. Pruitt's attention, as well.

"Me petunias!" the innkeeper bellowed from the door. "Me violas! Damn ye both to hell, be off to trample some other garden!" Both men looked at her, made profuse apologies, and then walked off down the path, chatting companionably.

"Come on," Victoria said, pulling Iolanthe's seat from underneath her. "Let's go. We can't miss this."

Iolanthe groaned and stumbled after her stool.

Victoria set Iolanthe up in the car park and stood next to her as the men fought. Nothing much was

sacred, including a black Sterling that soon acquired dusty footprints as it was used for a launching pad.

More shrieks, of the male kind, ensued from the inn for that outrage.

"I've wanted to kill you for quite some time," Connor said, his chest heaving. "The opportunity to do so

is very pleasing, even if I can't remember what you've done." He paused. "I don't suppose you have any idea."

"You didn't like me changing the castle up the way," Thomas said pleasantly.

"Why would I have cared?"

"Thomas..." Victoria warned.

Connor pointed briefly at Iolanthe with his sword before he used it for more immediate business. "You know, I've a wealth of irritation for that wench there, as well. I wonder why."

"You can ask her later, but be careful. She's my wife."

"Your wife. She wasn't always your wife, though, was she?" Connor paused in midswing and looked at Thomas. "I knew her before you wed her, didn't I?"

Thomas nodded seriously. "You did."

"But 'tis impossible. I just arrived in the Future yester-morn."

"Iolanthe lived in the castle up the way for quite some time," Thomas said carefully.

"Thomas," Victoria warned, more loudly this time.

Connor stared off into the distance for a moment or two, then looked at Thomas. "How can I know these things?"

"It's a bit of a tale."

"Tell me."

"Here?"

"Here."

"Thomas!" Victoria exclaimed.

Thomas ignored her. Connor was ignoring her, as well. She was tempted to take both their swords away and clout them over the head with them. Thomas went to lean against the hood of the Sterling, propping his sword up against his hip. Connor did the same.

Protests ensued from inside the inn, but the two men ignored those as well.

"Would you rather sit down?" Thomas asked politely.

"Will I wish to at some future point?"

"Probably."

Connor waved the idea away. "I'll content myself with this beast, for now. If I find myself truly irritated, I'll move on with trying to kill you again. You may proceed."

"Well, this is the story." Thomas smiled easily. "I bought Thorpewold castle a few years ago. I came over last summer to repair it, but found out that it was haunted."

Connor's eyes widened. "Then you saw them, too? The men up the way?"

"Yes."

"Just those lads?"

"No."

Connor paused. "Who else, then?"

"Two others."

Connor became very still. Victoria watched him clutch his sword. His knuckles were white.

"Two others?" he asked carefully. "Who?"

Thomas nodded toward Iolanthe. "That lovely woman there."

"But she is a spirit no longer."

"No, she isn't, is she?"