Well Met(35)

My gaze flew up to his, and seriously, when did he get those flecks of green in his eyes? His bound hand tightened on mine a little before he pulled me closer, his other hand coming up to cup my cheek. He barely touched my skin, but I repressed a shiver anyway. One eyebrow arched in a challenge as he bent toward me. Daring me to deny him, to break character and not let him kiss me.

Well, screw that. I made my eyes as limpid as I could while I gazed up at him, imagining how a tavern wench would feel bound to a pirate who looked like this. Pretty damn good, I’d imagine. I put some extra flutter in my eyelashes as I let my eyes fall closed a moment before his mouth touched mine. His kiss was firm but gentle; he didn’t try to sneak in some tongue or force a passionate response. It was a brush of lips, followed by a settling of his mouth on mine. A perfect staged kiss.

So there was absolutely no reason for my heart to be thudding in my chest like that. There was no call for my senses to be filled with him, with the scent of leather and warm skin, the gentle rasp of his beard against my cheek and his fingertips skimming my jaw.

The kiss ended sooner than I wanted it to, though I’d never admit it out loud. My eyes slowly opened as his lips left mine, and for a moment nothing existed but his eyes gazing down into mine, brown and green and gold and what was happening here? For a split second he looked as rattled as I felt, but then he slid into character again, and his easy grin was back. With one last squeeze on my hand he disengaged; as we pulled our hands apart, the golden cord loosened and allowed the separation. I caught the cord before it could fall to the ground and wound it between my fingers. I already missed the heat of Simon’s skin and cursed myself for it.

He turned to the people around us and acknowledged their cheers with another grin. I managed a shaky smile while I told my heart to stop pounding. I was also acutely aware of how long I’d been gone. I needed to get back to the tavern. I never should have left it in the first place.

I cut across the empty chess field on the way back, since the first match wasn’t for another half hour. I was about halfway across when I got a good look. I couldn’t even see Jamie in the throng of people under our little tent. Shit. I grabbed the front of my skirts and sprinted the rest of the way.

“Sorry, I’m so sorry!” As flustered as I was, I remembered to slip back into my accent and jump right into serving people, instead of my first instinct, to start swearing a blue streak.

“Hand me the chardonnay. Where were you?” To her credit, Stacey’s question was just that; there wasn’t a hint of accusation for me abandoning my post for what had to have been a good fifteen or twenty minutes.

I plucked the cold bottle of white wine from its bed of ice to my left and handed it down the bar to her. “Sorry.” Ugh, that was three times now I’d apologized in the space of about thirty seconds. “I’ll tell you later, I promise.” It was far too busy for any kind of storytelling, and this one was a doozy. I could catch her up when the crowd thinned out.

Except it never did. The afternoon passed in a blur of serving drinks and counting cash and keeping a smile plastered on my face. Whenever we thought there was a break in the action, another show would let out and more people would stream over to the tavern. When I had a spare moment I scooped up my glass water bottle and took a good swig, wishing the clear liquid were vodka instead. I marked the passage of time by the show on the stage behind us, the hand drums thudding through my consciousness. At one point, I glanced across to where the human chess match was going on. I saw Simon in a flash of black and red, Mitch in a blur of green tartan. I heard the cheers of huzzah! from my vantage point.

Eventually, the crowd of drinking patrons slowed to a trickle, and I had never been so glad to see the end of a day in my life. I waved an exhausted goodbye, scooped up my basket, and stumbled back across the grounds and down the hill to the Hollow, searching for Caitlin. By the time I got there she had struggled halfway out of her outer dress, and I helped her peel the rest of it off. She unlaced my bodice and I took my first good deep breath since sunrise. Too tired to speak, we trudged to the parking lot and practically fell into the Jeep.

“Only five and a half weekends to go!” I forced cheer into my voice as I turned onto the road and toward home. Caitlin groaned a response from the back seat, and I couldn’t blame her. How much was it going to hurt to walk when we got home? Were foot transplants an option?

After a long shower—amazing how much dirt was accumulated after a day spent outside, not to mention all the weird places you found said dirt—and a huge dinner, I dumped my basket out on the bed to set out my costume and accessories for the next morning. A long golden cord tumbled out with April’s tartan scarf, and I wound the cord around my fingers. My mind was full of the memory of Simon’s hand warm around mine, and how surprisingly soft his lips had been. I pushed those thoughts away, but then I remembered I had never told Stacey about my adventures in handfasting. Maybe she’d forget to ask about it.





Nine




I should have known better. Stacey didn’t forget a thing.

“So what happened yesterday?” She glanced over at me as she opened a new bottle of white wine.

“Pardon?” I brushed my hands on my overskirt, which looked a little grubby on its second day of wear. I had a clean chemise for each day, but the outer parts of my costume had to last the weekend.

“Yesterday,” she said patiently. “When you ran off, remember? Where did you go?”