Page 2 of A Dark and Stormy Knight (A Knight’s Tale #3)

Scotland. Present day. Outside Stirling Castle.

I t was a dark and stormy night.

Or it had been anyway.

She did love a good storm.

Cara Jones stepped out of the trailer she shared with three other girls, and walked across grass and mud to the movie set, glad the day was only a bit gloomy after last night’s violent weather.

She huddled into her pink jacket, buried hands in her pockets, and dodged mud puddles as the sun rose behind Stirling Castle, up on the cliff, filling the sky with pink and orange.

Wow. She had to say, Scotland didn’t disappoint. The view was worth it.

She strolled past the pop-up tent that doubled as a guard shack and gave Gavin, a blond Englishman with a pretty face, a wave.

“Cara,” he thrust his chin, his gaze appreciative. “Lookin’ pert today, as usual, my dove.”

His cockney accent made her giggle. “Thank you, kind sir,” she nodded, and continued on her way. Whoever hired that fabulous-looking man deserved a great Christmas bonus at the end of the year. What a way to start her day.

She turned right and walked through rows of trailers, each with a sign on the door proclaiming the name of a famous, infamous, or to be optimistic, not yet famous actor.

As if they needed signs. In Hollywood, the bigger and nicer the trailer, the more you were paid.

Once she was out in the open, she headed over to a long table laid with a buffet-style breakfast of fruit, donuts, tortilla chips, fresh coffee, cheeses and chocolate.

She gave the croissants and pastries a longing look before helping herself to a paper bowl, and holding it out with a long-suffering sigh to Dalton.

The middle-aged flirt totally rocked his chef’s hat, pristine white outfit, and plastic glove ensemble. He stood in front of a grouping of make-shift stoves, ready to feed the masses.

He gave her an amused smile and a ladle full of oatmeal. “Still on the diet, I see?” Only it came out as stee oon thee diet, ouy sae.

She smiled at his (also-fabulous) Scottish accent. “I’m not sure how much longer I can hold out.”

“Well, ye doonae need to shed so much as a pound, but would it help ifin I told ye each pastry has a minimum of 300 calories?”

She glanced at the sweets again. “How could that possibly help?”

“It’d assist ye in makin’ a proper-like decision.”

She picked up a spoon. “How do you know about the calories anyway?”

He pressed a hand to his heart. “Ye wound me. Two years at the Culinary Academy in London taught me a thin’ or two.”

Cara arched a brow and pointed her spoon. “You looked it up on the Internet, didn’t you?”

Dalton laughed, showing sharp incisors on his upper teeth. “I did. Princess Pat wanted tae know, and when I told her, she looked at me like I was a monster and asked for a glass o’ lemon water.”

Cara stilled. “She skipped breakfast this morning?”

Dalton winked at her. “She did. And I thought ye might appreciate the warnin’.”

“Oh, believe me, I do.” Cara snagged a bag of sliced apples, another of nuts, and a box of skim milk. “Thanks, Dalton. I owe you. Hopefully, I’ll see you at lunch time.”

“Chicken enchiladas. Ye doonae want tae miss out.” He was already turning away to help the next person in a rapidly forming line.

Cara grabbed a bottled water, scanned the white plastic tables and chairs on the grass, saw one of her cohorts-in-crime sitting alone, and headed in that direction.

Nate, a skinny, thirty-year-old with dark spiked hair was looking at a script while he chowed down on what looked like Raisin Bran. Cara placed her breakfast in the spot next to him, and dragged a plastic chair across the damp grass.

“Hey,” she said, and sat down.

“Hey, yourself,” Nate responded, before eating another scoop of cereal.

Her phone buzzed. Cara pulled it out of her pocket to see the name Lissa Stuart lighting it up. Lissa MacGregor, now that she’d married. She needed to change the name in her phone.

She sent a quick text.

No time to talk. Later tonight, heart-to heart. I need to hear the latest on your handsome Highlander! (xoxo)

Lissa, very much in love, told the most hilarious stories about her new husband.

She put her phone away. “Are you reading the script?”

“Mm-hmm. Trying to get a feel for costumes in the upcoming scenes.” He threw the script on the table. “They need a new title. Rupert the Brave, Wallace the Traitor is just lame. But the hanging is going to be gruesome, so there’s that. Anyway, what’s new?”

She gave him an arch look. “Princess Pat didn’t eat breakfast this morning.”

Nate straightened, swallowed, scowled. “That’s just great, isn’t it?”

Cara laughed, opened the nuts and dumped them on her oatmeal, followed by the apples. She poured a little milk on the concoction and stirred. “Maybe she had something to eat in her trailer before she came out here?”

“Doubtful,” Nate took another bite and spoke with his mouth full. “The day she arrived, she had her assistant remove her goodie basket. Said she couldn’t afford to gain any weight after losing five pounds at that spa in Switzerland.”

“Oh, boy,” Cara dug into her oatmeal. If she was going to be dealing with a hungry actress for the next couple of hours, she, at least, needed her strength.

After a moment, she asked, “Are they still filming the ballroom scene today?”

“Yes, I checked the schedule. I’m going to need some more extras. Are you in?”

“Sure, if I can.”

“All right. After you finish with Patrice, go by the tent and get in costume.”

“Will do.”

“Luckily the jewelry I need was overnighted from London.” He suddenly turned his entire body toward her. “You’re not going to believe this, but one of the pieces is real. We got it from Stan Myers on Bond Street. They had a guy drive it out, and he watched me put it in the safe. He’s waiting around for us to finish with it, and then he’s taking it back. Crazy, right? It came with a piece of paper authenticating it, with a short history.”

“What did it say?”

“I don’t know, it has something to do with the characters in the film.”

“What do you mean? Like it was owned by the Dinsdales or Wolfsbanes?”

Nate snapped his fingers and pointed at her. “Something like that. I asked the guy why they were letting us use it when we could just as easily use costume jewelry. He said with the movie coming out, and especially if it was featured, they’d be able to sell it for more money than they could get for it now.”

“Huh. Well, I can’t wait to see it.”

They finished up breakfast, threw the trash in a nearby garbage can, and both headed toward the rows of tents set up with the tricks of their trade.

They arrived at the makeup trailer first. “Wish me luck,” Cara whispered.

“Good luck. As soon as you have her hair and makeup done, send her my way.”

“Will do.”

Cara walked up the three steps and opened the door to the trailer. Patrice was lying back in the salon chair, getting a few stray eyebrows plucked by Harper, Cara’s assistant.

“Good morning!” Cara said, as she carefully shut the trailer door behind her.

“Is it?” Patrice responded, not even bothering to open her eyes. Since Cara was used to the terrible attitude, she just smiled.

“It’s a sunny day. That means you’ll be able to get a lot of filming done. I’m just glad the rain has passed.”

Patrice snorted.

Cara went to the sink and washed and dried her hands. “Nate says we’re on for the ballroom scene. The dress is gorgeous, and we’re going with long crimped hair and evening makeup. You’ll look like a princess when it’s all said and done.”

Harper shot her a quick glance, and Cara almost flinched after saying “princess”, but it didn’t seem to rattle Patrice, so she supposed she hadn’t heard the nickname yet. Cara would have to be more careful.

Or, maybe Patrice had heard the moniker and accepted the title as her due. Who knew with her?

“All done,” Harper said before moving her rolling chair backward and helping Patrice sit up.

The woman was gorgeous, Cara had to give her that. Long dark hair surrounded a tiny pixie face which featured large blue eyes with naturally thick lashes. She was only of medium height, but so slender, she seemed taller.

“Where is Jackson?”

“I haven’t seen him yet.”

“He’s probably out stuffing his face.”

Cara doubted that. Most everyone in this crowd watched their weight, including the men. But Patrice was probably hostile toward her co-star because he’d turned her down flat yesterday when she’d invited the man to dine.

Everyone had heard about it.

Cara made a noncommittal noise, opened a makeup box and settled herself on a stool across from Patrice.

Accustomed to the set-up, Patrice turned her face toward the light.

“Your skin is glowing.”

Patrice suddenly looked vulnerable, her gaze meeting Cara’s and in a flash, Cara saw something more there, an awareness and intelligence she hadn’t associated with the actress before.

Clutching the moisturizer, pausing mid-air, Cara shot the other woman a questioning look, and the mirage vanished, like a mask slipping back into place.

“Just make sure I look better than Olivia and Emily,” her tone was caustic.

Cara grinned, chalking the moment up to her imagination, and concentrated on her task, confident in her skills. “No need to worry about that. No one on this set has your bone structure or skin.”

Again, it was the right thing to say, and Patrice eased back in her chair and relaxed.

Cara met Harper’s amused gaze over the top of Patrice’s head and, biting her lip, quickly turned to set out the cosmetics she wanted for the upcoming scene.

Patrice might not be her favorite person, but she’d make her look beautiful. Stunning even.

It was her own reputation on the line after all.