Well Met(91)

“You’ve had a busy summer. And this is clear on the other side of the grounds. I’d be surprised if you came over here much at all.”

She had a point, and I was about to tell her so when knights on horseback cantered into the ring. It was late summer and pretty damn hot, and these men were in chain mail with tunics on top of that. The horses they rode were massive, almost Clydesdale in size, probably to support the weight of all that armor. They came thundering through the jousting field, and the pounding of their hooves resonated in my chest. I leaned forward with my elbows on my knees and watched, enraptured. The knights and horses worked together in breathtaking concert. Dirt flew under hooves. Lances crashed against one another and against shields. I knew this was all rehearsed—these guys did the show twice a day, like the human chess match actors—but those were still real horses hurtling toward each other at real speeds, and those lances looked like they’d hurt a lot if they struck someone by accident.

By the time it ended I sucked in a deep breath, as though I’d been afraid to breathe throughout half the show. I turned to April, who looked equally bowled over.

“Damn,” she said. “Just . . . damn.” She took a deep breath like I had, and turned to me with wide eyes. “This shit goes on every year, and I never knew. Huh.”

“Not bad for a small town, huh?” I stood up to leave, and she followed.

“I guess.” Her skepticism sounded a little forced, and I rolled my eyes. But she caught my eye and grinned, and I threw an arm around her shoulders in a quick hug.

“C’mon,” I said. “Let’s get out of here.”

As I started to scoot down the row to the end of the bench and the exit, April caught my arm. “Let’s go that way, it’s closer.”

I looked where she pointed, the other way down the row to the secondary exit. She was right; for some reason fewer people were heading in that direction. So I reversed course and followed her instead, around the ring of the jousting field and through the gate. We came out on the left side of the jousting field, near a small clearing, and my breathing stalled when I saw where we were.

April was right, I hadn’t been on this side of the grounds much at all. Except for the first day of Faire. The handfasting. That day had been the beginning of everything between Simon and me. The first time he’d kissed me, even though it was staged. The first time I’d felt his hand around mine and felt safe. Protected. Like he was the one I was meant to be with. It had all been fake emotion, brought on by being in character and fancy words spoken while our hands had been bound together with a golden cord. But it had felt real, and more importantly, it had led to something real.

Something real that was now over. I cleared my throat hard and geared myself up to walk past the handfasting that was obviously getting ready to start now. I had no desire to be anywhere near it, so I kept my head down and my feet moving.

“What are those people doing there?” Of course April had to notice and ask me about it. I sighed inwardly. It wasn’t her fault; I’d never told her about this part of my time at Faire. So I forced a smile and a casual tone of voice.

“Oh, it’s this mushy thing, it’s for couples, no big deal.”

“It looks cute. Let’s go see.”

“April, no.” But she would not be deterred. She hooked a hand around my elbow and practically dragged me over there. “No,” I said again, squirming in a pathetic attempt to get away. “Why do you want to see happy couples? I’m still in the ice cream and brownies and booze phase of my breakup, you know. This could set me back weeks.”

“Ah, the holy trinity of heartache.” She grinned at me over her shoulder. “Shut up and come on.”

There was a small crowd gathered for the handfasting, but it didn’t look right. There were hardly any patrons. Two or three milled around on the fringes, but everyone who was actually in the clearing was a cast member in costume. But there weren’t very many cast members, either. A scant handful, and I realized with a jolt I knew all of them. The Queen was there, of course, since she performed the ceremony. Every time I saw Chris in costume, it was hard to remember she was the same woman who wore her hair in a long braid and made killer lemon squares. Caitlin was next to her, like a good little lady-in-waiting; my niece caught my eye and grinned at me. Now I was suspicious. She looked like she was up to something.

“Ach, it’s about time, lassie.” And there was Mitch, with his exaggerated Scottish accent, bowing to April and me like we were in royal garb ourselves.

“About time?” I looked from him to April and back again. “What’s he talking about?” But neither one of them answered. Instead, April propelled me forward with her hand on my arm, and when Mitch took my hand I followed along, a habit born of weeks of men reaching for my hand while in costume and me giving it freely. He dropped my hand as we reached the center of the clearing, and I stopped walking, barely noticing when Mitch stepped back.

There, in the center of the clearing, was Simon.

Not Captain Blackthorne.

Simon.

He wore jeans, a crisp light green cotton shirt open at the throat, and a sheepish expression. His hair was cut short like the first day we’d met, so he no longer had the shock of hair that hung over his brow, and those red burnishes the sun brought out were almost invisible in that closer crop. The face-framing beard was gone too, not to mention the smudges of eyeliner he had sported most of the summer. No leather. No hat. No earring. All traces of the pirate had gone. All that was left was . . .