Well Met(33)

“Yes, but the handfasting is next. And they don’t have enough people, so . . .”

I stumbled over a root and barely managed to recover before I fell on my ass. “Handfasting?” I yanked my skirt up so I wouldn’t trip over it. “I don’t know anything about the handfasting ceremony. I didn’t rehearse it.” How could we be short on people? Everyone was at the morning briefing in the Hollow.

The handfasting was a cute little ceremony for the patrons, which took place after the joust. Couples signed up ahead of time to pledge themselves to each other for a year and a day. Flowery words were spoken, and a golden cord bound their hands together. I was told it was a popular attraction, especially for older couples who wanted to feel young again. But my place was at the tavern, on the other side of the grounds. This was something for the ladies-in-waiting, and other people in the prettier costumes. Not a tavern wench who probably smelled like beer.

We arrived at the clearing to the left of the jousting field. The joust had just ended, and patrons filtered out around us. As we got closer to where the handfasting took place I realized I’d misunderstood Caitlin. We weren’t short on cast members to perform the ceremony. We were short on actual participants. Two couples, in shorts and T-shirts, stood among the cast, looking as awkward as they probably felt, wondering what they had gotten themselves into.

“Aye.” Now that we were among others, Cait slid into her accent again. But she pitched her voice low. “It’s only the first day, they said, so we have very few takers for the ceremony. But we could use the practice, so I was sent to get you, and some others are coming too.”

“For what, an arranged handfasting? Who am I being married off to, then?” I cast my eyes around the field, trying to see who my intended was going to be. Mitch was there—I spotted his kilt right away—but one of the maids to the Queen was already giggling on his arm, so I guessed he wasn’t for me. Dammit. So then who . . .

Then Chris the Queen and her gigantic dress moved about three feet to the left, and I stopped in my tracks.

“No.”

Cait rolled her eyes. So much for staying in character. “God, I knew you’d react this way. Come on.” She pulled on my arm, but I wasn’t moving.

“You couldn’t have said this from the start?” I yanked out of her grasp and crossed my arms across my chest.

She made a disgusted noise in the back of her throat and tugged at my elbow, and I allowed myself to be pulled forward. It was either that or make a scene, and as annoyed as I was, I wasn’t going to do that.

Then a voice called out. A merry, jovial voice I wasn’t used to, because I was used to nothing but criticism from him.

“Is this the wench you have brought me?”

Oh, Jesus Christ.





Eight




There stood Simon in full pirate regalia. But I couldn’t call him Simon, of course. No one took this Faire more seriously than he did, so God forbid I fuck it up for him. Captain Ian Blackthorne. Pirate.

I was still getting used to this abrupt shift in Simon’s character. He wasn’t giving me his usual glare, or waiting to pounce and criticize me for something I’d done wrong. Instead he wore his Hot Pirate smile, which both dazzled me and propelled me forward. I remembered my etiquette just in time; pirates were roughly the same place in the hierarchy as tavern wenches, but women still gave deference. So I stopped in front of him and dropped into a practiced curtsy. I kept my eyes aimed at the ground, and the silver buckles on his boots winked at me as he stepped closer.

His outstretched hand appeared before my downcast eyes, and I looked up as he bowed slightly before me, as if we were in a dance. I rested my hand in his as I rose back to my feet. But he didn’t let go. Instead, he held my gaze and brushed his lips across the back of my hand. I felt the contact as a jolt through my entire body, and every instinct told me to snatch my hand back. But I kept my composure; I hadn’t taken three semesters of theatre courses for nothing. I could stay in character, even when noticing that this close, Simon’s brown eyes were actually hazel; there were flecks of gold and green in them I had never noticed before.

“Captain Blackthorne.” I quirked my lips in a smile that told him I’d play along, but I wouldn’t make this easy on him. “I was told you sent for me? What is your will?”

Simon—no, in my mind now he was Captain Blackthorne, because Simon never looked this cheerful or laughed this easily—let my hand fall from his grasp and chucked me under the chin. If he’d tried that move at a bar, he would have earned a slap in about two seconds. But out here, with the sunlight filtering through the trees, I wasn’t looking at the guy who had been a pain in my ass since the middle of May. Out here, I was looking at a pirate, all black leather and open shirt, with kohl smeared around his eyes, giving them a hooded bedroom look. Out here, the sun threw those glints of red in his brown hair, which matched the closely trimmed beard. To my utter shock, that same sun glanced off a silver hoop dangling from one ear.

This pirate was doing things to me I didn’t want to admit to anyone. Least of all him. Or me.

At that point the Queen spoke, and we all fell in line. Ladies-in-waiting bustled around those of us who were being handfasted. With the two sets of patrons, Mitch and his girl, and Simon and me, we made four couples. I could see now it looked better to have cast members playing along, so the patrons wouldn’t feel awkward or singled out. We made a comfortable crowd this way.