Well Met(55)

“But not this weekend. We should make our way there later today, what d’you think?”

Somehow the accent made it worse. Stacey’s eyes were pleading, like I was some kind of fun police that never let us leave the bar. Like I was turning into Simon.

Well, screw that. “All right, then. The next match is at half past two, aye?” I picked up my towel and finished wiping down the bar. “We can go then.”

Mitch and Stacey weren’t wrong. I hadn’t been by to see the chess match all weekend. I didn’t want to see Simon any more than I had to. Since our talk in front of his brother’s memorial the day before, things had been . . . weird. At the time, I’d thought something was happening between us, something that had sparked the previous week when he’d kissed me at the tavern. Our talk had been so frank, so open, more open than I’d been with anyone in a long time, and I’d thought that spark had been kindled into something more. Something I wanted to explore.

But it turned out to be nothing. Worse than nothing, Simon seemed to go out of his way to not see me. This Faire wasn’t that big; it was hard to avoid someone around here. But since he’d walked me to the tavern on Saturday morning I hadn’t seen him the rest of the day. He’d stayed on the other side of the stage as the group got ready this morning, and I hadn’t seen him all day today, either. He was definitely avoiding me.

Emma the Tavern Wench missed Captain Blackthorne greatly. She wanted him to come by the tavern he’d been neglecting lately, because she thrilled to see him and lived for those moments where his attention was like the sun. But Emily the Regular Person wanted to give Simon a good shake and ask him what his problem was.

A little before two thirty Stacey and I left the tavern in the more-than-capable hands of our volunteers and trooped across the field to the chess match. Mitch greeted us with a large grin and a wave of his ridiculously large sword, and I couldn’t help but smile back. The man was infectious.

“You’re here!”

In response I dropped into a low curtsy, reflecting that even his Scottish brogue didn’t do it for me as much as a pirate’s quiet innuendo. What was wrong with me? “As requested,” I said through my smile as I straightened back up.

He threw his head back and laughed. “I canna believe that worked! I should have plied you lasses with guilt long before this!”

Stacey giggled, and I joined in because why not? He bowed over each of our hands in turn, and it would be an absolute lie to say I didn’t enjoy the attention. We needed to get out of our tavern more often; this was the fun part of Faire. I spied Simon on the other end of the chessboard, but he didn’t come over to say hello or even look in my direction. Fine. Whatever.

The match was the same as it ever was. We’d seen it several times by now, but we cheered and reacted as though it was brand-new to us. At several points during the match my attention wandered to Simon, who always looked away when our eyes met. Finally it was down to him and Mitch, like always, and before he moved to the center of the board he circled the edge, coming toward us until he was in front of Stacey and me.

“A kiss for luck, darling?” He held out a hand toward me. I narrowed my eyes at him a little, but Emma the Wench missed her pirate, and I felt that side of me taking over. So my frown melted into a knowing smile and I slipped my hand into his. Instead of bowing and bestowing the kiss I expected, though, he grasped it tight and pulled, tugging me forward and stepping closer. Before I knew what was happening he was kissing me, not hard, not passionately, but a sweet brush of his mouth on mine. He took my startled gasp into his mouth like a prize he could claim and as the cast and audience whooped around us he grinned against my lips.

Two could play at that. As he started to lean away I reached for him, threading my other hand through his hair and pulling his head back down to mine for a better kiss. A real kiss. Talk to me, my kiss said. I’m tired of playing. Is this real? How can we make this real?

The whoops continued around us, and when the kiss reached its natural conclusion he pulled away and I let him go, looking up at him with searching eyes. I was breaking character in front of a crowd of people, but I didn’t care. He looked back at me with a shaken expression, and I felt a jolt of guilt. He had to fight, a highly complex, choreographed routine with weapons. Maybe telegraphing my confusion at our relationship via a kiss in front of a crowd wasn’t the best plan at that exact moment.

“You ready, then, Blackthorne?” Mitch’s easygoing demeanor had vanished into his warrior persona again, and his question was loaded with foreboding.

Simon cleared his throat and turned an easy smile in Mitch’s direction. “Of course. Had to get a good-luck kiss from my girl first, you know.”

“Your girl? Is that what she is?” Mitch raised an eyebrow. “You sure about that?”

Simon looked over his shoulder back at me, and his smile slipped a fraction. But he forced it on again for the performance. “Of course. You were there when we were bound, remember?”

Mitch shrugged. “And yet she came to watch the fighting at my request. Not yours.” He twirled the claymore in his hand, the broad steel flashing in the sunlight, and Simon scoffed in response.

“That matters not, she came to see me.”

Mitch pointed his sword directly at Simon. “I could take her from you without a thought.”

Simon drew his own sword and slapped it against the claymore. “You are welcome to try.”