Well Met(43)

“Your Majesty.” I met her eyes for a brief moment, then cast them back down again. Pretty sure wenches weren’t supposed to make eye contact with royalty, much less make conversation, but speak when spoken to, right?

“I am glad to see you are out from behind the bar and enjoying this glorious day. Are you enjoying yourself, my girl?”

“Oh, yes, Your Majesty. Thank you.” I chanced another look up at her. “Thank you,” I said again, with a little more emphasis. I couldn’t break character and thank her directly for getting those other volunteers to our tavern, but I did my best to get the message across. I think it worked. It was hard to tell; with another smile she was on her way, and Stacey and I headed back to the tavern. Extra volunteers or not, we still had drinks to serve.

The rest of the afternoon passed uneventfully, or at least as uneventfully as an afternoon spent in the woods at a Renaissance faire could pass. Patrons in various stages of costuming came through, and at one point I found myself kneeling in the dirt, marveling at a miniature knight wearing plastic chain-mail armor. He wielded a wood-and-foam sword with a lot of enthusiasm, if not skill.

“What’s this?”

I heard Captain Blackthorne before I saw him. While Simon was pretty reserved in general, my pirate (oh, no, had he become my pirate?) easily made his presence known. Especially in a space like our smallish tavern.

I looked up from where I knelt, letting my eyes travel up from his silver-buckled boots, lingering on black-leather-encased thighs, wide belt wrapped around slim hips, and finally up to the billowy, loosely laced black shirt. I was in character; I was allowed to ogle. Once I reached his face, I took in his amused smile that said he knew exactly what I was doing. I should have felt embarrassed, but I didn’t. Then I remembered he had asked me a question.

“This?” I rose to my feet as the small child in not-so-shining armor ran back to find his parents. “This good sir knight here was showing me his most impressive weapon.”

“Oh?” His eyebrow arched, and I tried to ignore the way it sent heat speeding down my spine. “Are you seeking out others, then? Does my weapon no longer interest you?”

I had to bite down hard on my bottom lip to keep from laughing. We were blowing right past subtle innuendo today.

“Oh, Captain.” I fluttered my eyelashes dramatically. “I believe you are quite aware that I have no complaints with your . . . weapon.”

He choked for a split second, but covered it with a small cough before he leaned a casual elbow against the bar. “I hope not, love.” His smile was as broad as ever. “I would hate to think I would have to duel with another for your affections.”

“I hope not, as well, for your sake.” I rounded my eyes in feigned horror. “I’ve seen you fight, sir. It typically ends on your knees in the dirt with a knife at your throat, does it not?” I shook my head, clucking my tongue. “Not a good ending.” A nearby patron snorted, and it was all I could do to not turn my head. Great. Simon and I had turned into a show all on our own. Come for the beer, stay for the bad comedy.

“Odd.” He tilted his head and considered me, his eyes doing the same slow travel mine had done on him. It took everything I had not to fidget under his gaze. “Typically women don’t mind when I’m on my knees in front of them.”

My gasp was drowned out by the laughter from a handful of patrons around us, and I dropped character enough to glance around to make sure there weren’t any children who may have heard him. While I was thus flustered he stepped closer, reaching one hand up to catch a lock of my hair that had come loose from its twist.

“Besides . . .” He studied the way my hair curled around his fingers as though it was the most fascinating thing he’d ever seen. “This would be different.”

“Would it?” I tried to maintain my air of nonchalance, but it was harder than usual to take a breath over the pounding of my heart.

“Aye.” He leaned in closer, his eyes searching mine. What was it about that eyeliner that made his eyes look bolder, sexier?

“How so?” We had long since stopped performing for any kind of audience. My voice was little more than a whisper, and I was fascinated with the shape of his mouth, now a scant few inches from mine. I licked my suddenly dry lips and his breath stuttered for a split second.

“Well, love. I’d be fighting for you.” His mouth was so, so close to mine, and his voice was low, almost gravelly, like he was telling me a reluctant secret. “That would be a fight worth winning.”

Then he dropped my hair and straightened up, and with a tip of his hat he was gone.

I blew out a long, slow breath. Yeah. Quite an uneventful afternoon.





Eleven




As the end of the day approached, the crowd thinned out and we let the extra volunteers leave to help close up the ticket office. Stacey grinned at me as we cleared off tables. “Looks like we can make it to pub sing today!”

“Thank God for that.”

My attitude must have shone through in my tone of voice, because Stacey rolled her eyes in response. “I know I won’t shut up about it, but it really is a good time. You’ll see.”

“I’m sure I will.” I was prejudiced against pub sing not because of Stacey’s enthusiasm but because being there would make Simon happy, and apparently we all existed to make Simon happy. All memory of Simon-as-hot-pirate dissolved away as I remembered his diatribe at us the week before, when we’d missed both days. It made me want to skip it for the rest of the summer just to spite him.