Besides, he had a poem to read by his favorite poetess, and perhaps Hamish needed a lullaby sung to him.
He’d, indeed, made a hash of matters with Juliet.
But now she knew he had.
And somehow that was better—though it was also worse.
He would see her tomorrow night.
It was the brittle twig upon which all his hopes hung.
Chapter Fifteen
Next evening
Juliet leaned against the back wall of the receiving hall and gave the tambourine in her hand a gentle shake, just enough to give a sense of wind whispering through trees.
Ambience, that was her role for the night—since she’d confessed to Delilah that she hadn’t memorized her lines for Celia. Delilah had let out a tiny cry of frustration and thrown her hands into the air before marching off to find the youngest Dalhousie boy, Juliet’s double.
Juliet gave the audience a quick once-over. Mostly villagers, who made for boisterous theatergoers. This would be no quiet and respectful Shakespeare production. Mr. and Mrs. Dalhousie sat in the front row, watching with differing levels of interest. It was only the first scene and Mr. Dalhousie had already nodded off twice, much to the chagrin of his wife, who jabbed a sharp, pointed elbow into his ribs every tenth line or so.
In truth, the play had gotten off to a decent start. At ten years of age, the youngest Dalhousie lad made a more than passable Celia. Although Juliet did feel a slight bit of guilt that her confession that she didn’t know the lines for Celia was less confession than outright lie.
Of course she knew all the lines. Her mind had been stewing in Shakespeare since Delilah could read. Juliet knew them all from love-crossed Romeo to perfidious Goneril to loyal Miranda.
And watching the stage now, Juliet knew the lie for the correctdecision. Otherwise, she’d be presently treading the boards with Rory, and she wasn’t yet ready for close proximity to the man.
She hadn’t even looked at him directly yet.
Which wasn’t to say the edge of her vision wasn’t tracking his every movement.
Frustrating peripheral vision.
A figure brushed past Juliet, snapping her to. James Dalhousie—or Orlando, as he’d insisted on being called for the last three days so he could stay in character—was making straight for a younger brother. Stealthily, he approached the boy from behind and wrapped an arm around his neck. The smaller boy put up a fight, but wasn’t much of a match for his older brother who immediately wrestled him to the ground.
Even so, the younger brother didn’t seem all that surprised at his fate. “Ah, James, leave off,” his complaint a rasped murmur.
“It’sOrlando,” said James through gritted teeth.
Alarmed, Juliet rushed over and pulled at James’ chartreuse velvet doublet that retained a whiff of ancient attic must. “What are you on about?” she hissed, so as not to alert the audience.
The lad shot her an annoyed glare over his shoulder. “Getting ready for my scene with Kilmuir.”
“Ah,” said Juliet. He was taking the challenge of wrestling Rory quite seriously. Did he not understand the concept of acting? She released his jacket and retreated a step. “Well, then, carry on.”
And good luck to the lad when the time came. While he did possess the fire, he yet lacked the size to take on Rory. She only hoped Rory went easy on him.
Of course, he would. He was Rory.
He wasn’t the sort with a burning need to prove his manhood.
An irritatingly attractive quality.
Juliet resumed her place at the back wall and picked up the wind chime, letting the hollow tubes knock lightly together.Ambience.
Her eye immediately caught on Rory as he strode across the stage, wearing a…kilt.
She swallowed, her mouth gone suddenly dry.
