“The what?”
“The post-revel,” Viking Hulk Hogan says, rubbing his mutton chops. “It’s at this house out on Route 43. I hear it’s got two waterbeds an’ a big stereo. I’m lookin’ fer somebody I can take along, and uhhhh—well, you know, revel with.”
I don’t know what a post-revel is yet, but I do know that I wouldn’t want to attend one with this guy. “Um, I don’t think so, uhhhh, sir—“
“Name’s Paladar. Paladar the Passionate.”
I pull my hand out of Paladar’s sweaty deathgrip. “I’m spoken for,” I say. “Perhaps you’d like to discuss your interest in me with Syr Phillip Reginald of Blackstar? He’s the Middle Kingdom Champion, you know. Quite good with a sword.”
Paladar the Passionate gets the message. He holds up his hands in a surrender gesture and silently backs away.
I glance back at the line and notice with dread that the next seven women waiting to greet me all lost to me in the favor-granting contest this morning. For a split second I wonder if maybe they’re all lining up to bitch-slap me. Confirming that fear, I notice that Lady Ramona of North Fields is at the head of the line. At least she’s keeping her stinky menthol cigarettes safely between her boobs this time.
Lady Ramona walks up to me, but doesn’t shake my hand or curtsey like some of the other gawkers have. “I see you’ve managed to get your dress all rusty,” she seethes.
“Well—“
“Those stains will never come out, you know. You might as well just throw that gown out and start over.”
“I’m sure my dress will be fine.”
“Well, maybe your dress will be fine, but—” Lady Ramona gives me a menacing stare.
As if on cue, Syr Phillip finally arrives. I shoot him a “help me” look, and in typical knightly fashion, he rushes right over and rescues me.
“Greetings, Lady Ramona. I must say that your lord fought very well today. Funny, I didn’t know you had granted Master Melphus your favor. In fact, I seem to remember that you were vying for my attentions just this morning.”
“Master Melphus and I are old friends,” Lady Ramona shoots back. “It was my honor to grant him my favor today. Once I knew you weren’t interested.”
“And I’m sure Master Melphus knows the extent of your honor and faith,” Syr Phillip retorts, never once letting go of his gracious manners. “Ladies and gentlemen, I know all of you are anxious to meet and greet my lady fair, but if you will just excuse us for a moment, I need to speak with the lady Lisa of Winged Hills privately.” To my relief, Syr Phillip guides me to the rear of the feast hall.
“Thank you,” I breathe, throwing my arms around his neck. “I couldn’t take much more of that.”
“You’re welcome. I’m afraid that as long as you’re my chosen lady, though, you’ll have to go through a lot more of this sort of thing. You’ve become a bit of a celebrity as far as SCA newbies go.”
“I’ve discovered that. There’s already a lot of rumors circulating about me, too. I just found out that I used to live someplace called Calontir.”
“Really? Calontir is a kingdom to the southwest of here. Missouri, mostly, and Arkansas. Nice place—they hold good feasts down there. Very beautiful ladies in that kingdom, too.”
“Uh huh,” I say. Somehow I get the feeling that Syr Phillip probably knows where all the beautiful ladies in the SCA are.
“You look radiant, by the way. And all that rust on your hem really brings out the color in your cheeks.”
I blush. “Thanks. But I’m pretty sure the dress might be ruined.”
“I can introduce you to a good dry cleaner,” Syr Phillip says, squeezing my hand. “Anyway, do you know when the feast is getting underway? I’m starved.”
“I think the food will be done soon. Baroness Barlonda is helping out in the kitchen.”
Syr Phillip grins. “Knowing Barlonda, she’s probably only doing that so she can have first dibs on the wine.” His expression changes from its usual manly graciousness to grim. “Lisa, there’s something I need to tell you.”
“What?”
“I’ve been active in the Society for Creative Anachronism for a long time. Since I was a teenager, in fact. And in that time, I’ve had a fair number of romantic relationships with SCA ladies. Some of them were serious, some were not. But suffice to say, if you decide to hang around in the SCA for any length of time, you may hear some things said about me that might not seem very flattering. Some people may say things to you that aren’t very flattering. I just want to tell you, up front, that this is going to happen. Things will happen to you that you might find a little embarrassing, or even strange. And I’m not saying if, mind you. It will happen. And when it does, I want you to know that you can always count on me to help you through it.”
This is the last thing I expected Syr Phillip to say. All day he has struck me as the pillar of gentlemanly courtesy—I never would have expected him to drop a bombshell about his ex-girlfriends, least of all five minutes before we’re supposed to sit down and eat. Suddenly Lady Ramona’s hissing comments seem to make more sense. I blink a few times, but say nothing.
“Lisa? Lisa, are you all right?”
I look at the floor. “Fine,” I lie in a tiny voice.
Syr Phillip pats me lightly on the back. “Good.” He motions for me to take his arm, and I do.
“Now, we’ll go face the receiving line together,” he says. “Watch and learn. I’ve gotten pretty good at deflecting the most obnoxious ones. Most of the time, anyway.”
We walk down the center aisle of the feast hall towards a gaggle of starstruck SCA folk who didn’t have a chance to shake my hand before. We sashay along, turning heads right and left as we go, but I notice that Syr Phillip’s palm gets cold and clammy as he squeezes my forearm. The slightest edge of doubt creeps up the back of my neck. Even as I’m drawn to Syr Phillip’s charm, tenderness, knightly achievement, and supercool physique—not to mention the celebrity he has among the local SCA folk—something tells me I might be getting a little more than I bargained for now that I’m the Champion’s lady.
Chapter 9
Syr Phillip and I will be formally introduced to all the feast attendees just before the first course is slated to come out of the kitchen. Once we’re introduced, we can officially declare the feast “open and honored by the Kingdom Champion and his most favored lady.”
Or something like that. I’m having a lot of trouble keeping up with all this knight-champion-and-his-lady protocol, which just seems to get more and more complicated as I go along. Whatever is supposed to happen, we can’t be formally introduced—and the feast can’t begin—until Baron Grizzly the Herald officially presents us to all the hungry SCA folk and declares in his booming herald’s drawl that the Head Table is served and satisfied.
And Baron Grizzly is nowhere to be seen.
To make matters worse, these SCA folk are getting stranger by the minute. I don’t know whether it’s the homebrewed beer and wine they’re all drinking from their wooden feastgear mugs, the chill underground cave air, or a combination of both.
Take the couple standing in front of us now, for instance. On our left is Lord Woadsbane, and on our right is his wife, Lady Ragamuffylan. Lord Woadsbane is wearing nothing but a dyed-black cotton Fruit of the Loom jockstrap and a bunch of blue paint. Lady Ragamuffylan is wearing nothing but a tiny burlap skirt, an even tinier burlap bra, and a bunch of blue paint. They both smell strongly of something that resembles chocolate mixed with cat pee.
Lady Ragamuffylan curtsies to me and her bra slips partway off, revealing that her left breast is also covered entirely in foul-smelling blue paint. Lord Woadsbane offers us a blue-painted hand to shake. Syr Phillip bows and shakes it bravely, but I just smile and nod.
“We represent the local Pictish chapter of the Great Dark Horde,” Lord Woadsbane says, grinning to reveal a mouthful of pointy, crooked teeth. “The Great Dark Horde is at your service, Syr Phillip.”
Syr Phillip clea
rs his throat awkwardly. “I thought the Great Dark Horde was planning to fight for the East at Pennsic this year.”
“That remains to be seen,” Lord Woadsbane says. “The KaKhan still hasn’t decided which side we’ll fight on this year. We’ll probably just side with the Tuchux, and whoever the Tuchux fight for, the Horde will join.”
“That’s right,” Lady Ragamuffylan says, giving Syr Phillip a strange, twisted expression that might even be a type of wink.
“Well, please tell your KaKhan that Syr Phillip Reginald of Blackstar wishes him and the Great Dark Horde luck, whoever they end up serving in mercenary fealty at Pennsic.”
“I will do so, milord,” Lord Woadsbane says with a deep bow. I notice that he makes the same weird, twisting face at Syr Phillip as his seminaked blue wife did. The two blue-painted freaks back away from us slowly, bowing and grinning and leaving behind a cloud of chocolate-cat-piss stench.
“What is that awful smell?” I whisper to Syr Phillip.
“Woad,” he whispers back. “That dye they use to paint themselves is made from the juice of a plant that’s been mixed with sheep’s urine.” Syr Phillip coughs. “Well, traditionally it is, anyway. But most SCA-folk don’t have access to sheep, so they tend to use cat piss instead.”
“Ugh,” I grunt, feeling my stomach turn. “Why would they cover themselves with something like that?”
Syr Phillip shrugs. “They’re Picts. That’s what Picts do. Although I’ve never understood what Ragamuffylan and Woadsbane are doing in the Great Dark Horde. The Horde is supposed to be for Mongols and the occasional Viking, not Picts,” Syr Phillip explains, fidgety. “It may surprise you, but Ragamuffylan and Woadsbane are very successful in the mundane world. Highly reputable cardiac surgeons, both of them. They just do the Great Dark Horde painted-barbarian act on weekends to blow off steam.”
“What’s the Great Dark Horde, anyway?” I ask. I get the feeling that it’s something bad.
Syr Phillip adjusts his golden knights’ spurs with one foot and starts fidgeting some more. “Like a lot of things in the SCA, it’s—well, complicated. I’ll explain another time. We need to get this feast started.” He makes waving motions to the rest of the receiving line. “I do believe my Lady is growing tired and hungry,” he calls out. “Therefore, we shall not receive any more of you good gentles until after the Feast. By my troth, does anyone know when they will begin serving?”
This sends a low rumbling through the feast hall. “No one seems to know, milord!” says a young man clad in a leather jerkin standing just behind us. “Mayhaps you and your Lady can make them start, milord! We’re hungry!”
Mayhaps? I don’t think I’ve ever heard anyone use that word in public before.
I turn and give Syr Phillip an expectant look, but he just shrugs. The feast hall is now in an uproar. A group of shaggy-haired men in Viking dress, including Paladar the Passionate, begin banging their wooden goblets against the rough-hewn tables. “FOOD AND DRINK! FOOD AND DRINK!” they chant, beating their dishes in time to the words. Soon, nearly the entire underground feast hall has joined in, banging pewter bowls, wooden goblets, and booted feet on wooden tables and the limestone floor. The noise reverberates on the rust-coated limestone walls into deafening echoes.
Syr Phillip waves his arms. “Oyez, lords and ladies! Oyez!” he shouts over the din. “Paladar! You and your Dark Horde brothers, call off your chant! This is not a chivalrous way to behave, milords!”
“Get ‘em to bring the food then!” Paladar grunts back. “Then we’ll be quiet!” Paladar and his friends guffaw and pound the table even harder.
Syr Phillip waves his arms again, more emphatically this time. The crowd quiets somewhat. “Good gentles, my lady and I shall make inquiries with the Feastocrat. Excuse us for a moment.” Syr Phillip takes me by the arm and very nearly drags me towards the kitchen.
“Likely someone just needs to pry Barlonda and Grizzly away from the wine vats,” Syr Phillip whispers. “Then we’ll get this feast going.”
Chapter 10
“Oyez! Oyez! Oyez! The Blood and Roses Feast is now open!”
A slightly staggering Baron Grizzly, wine goblet in hand, has finally opened the Feast. An even more intoxicated Barlonda teeters at Grizzly’s side, barely able to hold onto a tray heaped with fresh bread and honey butter.
“It’s lucky we found them when we did,” Syr Phillip whispers. “Otherwise, they’d have both passed out, burned the food, and nobody’d be eating anything tonight.”
“You think so?” I whisper back.
“Definitely. I probably should have warned the Baron and Baroness that Master Davyyd’s homemade strawberry-rose wine is way too strong to be drunk by the gallon.”
Baron Grizzly pounds his staff on the limestone floor. “Gentles, please give three shouts in honor of the Lord and Lady of the Blood and Roses Feast—the Blood and Roses Tourney Champion and Middle Kingdom Champion Syr Phillip Reginald of Blackstar, and his beautiful Lady, Lisa of Winged Hills!”
The crowd applauds wildly. A few people shout “Poohbah,” but most of the waiting diners seem a lot more interested in the food than they do in the Champion and his lady.
As it turns out, the food is pretty good for something cooked on a campstove in a damp underground cave. The bread is freshly baked and very tasty, especially when spread with the fresh honey butter that someone has molded into little crossed-sword shapes. The first course, a dish of boiled field greens and leeks in herbed vinegar, tastes slightly bitter but still interesting. The first meat course is roast chicken coated in melted butter, rosemary, and tarragon—and it’s delicious.
Syr Phillip and I and the others sitting at the Head Table are served first, with each course announced as it is presented to us. Supposedly there are three more courses to go, but I’m already so stuffed I can barely swallow another bite.
Before the next course can appear, though, Baron Grizzly makes an unexpected announcement. A woman in street clothes enters the feast hall, hands Baron Grizzly a note on wrinkled yellow paper, and leaves just as quickly. As she passes the Head Table on her way out, I notice that she’s wearing an Ohio Caverns staff polo shirt. Baron Grizzly reads the note and frowns before he begins banging his staff on the cavern floor with frenzied urgency.
“Oyez! Oyez! Good gentles, kindly give me your attention. Seems I got some bad news here, folks.” Baron Grizzly’s face has turned almost gray.
“Grizz, the only bad news is you holdin’ up the food!” Paladar the Passionate catcalls from his table of beer-guzzling Hordesmen. “Quit gabbin’, herald, an’ bring out the roast beef and venison!” Paladar high-fives one of his tablemates, spears a loaf of bread with his dagger, and then shoves the entire loaf into his mouth.
“Folks, I’m afraid there won’t be any roast beef and venison tonight,” Baron Grizzly says with a sigh. “I just got handed a note sayin’ that we all have to vacate the premises immediately.”
An angry murmur rumbles through the cavern. Paladar the Passionate jams his eating dagger into the rough wood of his dining table. “But it ain’t a real feast until we have the roast beef and venison!” Paladar’s rough, fur-and-leather-clad Dark Horde companions begin to roar and grunt like something out of a bad WWE match.
Baron Grizzly sighs. “I’m sorry, good gentles, but apparently the Ohio Caverns people didn’t keep their permits up to date on their little feast hall here, and the mundane fire marshal has ordered us all to vacate the premises immediately. Immediately.”
Pegeen and Barlonda stumble out of the kitchen, both of them balancing huge trays of roast beef on their shoulders. “Immediately, as in now?” Pegeen asks.
“’Fraid so,” Baron Grizzly replies.
“But why?” Barlonda cries
“City fire marshal says we have to, Barlonda,” Baron Grizzly sighs. “An’ the SCA don’t have enough liability insurance to go against the word of a mundane fire marshal. Looks like we ain’t got a choice.”
“Oh d
ear,” Barlonda says. “Pegonia, round up the rest of the servers and tell them we have to start packing up the food.”
Baron Grizzly starts pounding his staff again. “Oyez! Oyez! Oyez! The Blood and Roses Feast has officially ended! Good gentles, kindly gather your things and return to the surface! Any available lords and ladies, please help the kitchen staff carry leftover food up to the parking lot! Directions to the post-revel will be distributed in the parking lot!”
Syr Phillip shakes his head and sighs. “What a mess. But it’s hardly surprising. Who ever heard of having a feast in a cave, anyway?”
“So SCA feasts usually aren’t in caves, I take it,” I say naively.
“Uhh, no.”
“Where are they generally held, then?”
“Church basements and Knights of Columbus halls, mostly. Occasionally a bona fide banquet hall, but that’s only for big events like Coronation. Here, why don’t you and I make ourselves useful go help Barlonda carry up the stockpots?”
“I’ll get my gown dirty,” I protest.
“You already look like you took a bath in Rust-Oleum,” Syr Phillip says, patting my shoulder. “We all do. At least we’re getting our recommended daily allowance of iron down here. Let’s go.”
Syr Phillip and I head for the limestone kitchen nook and grab a stockpot and cloved apple each before we abandon the cave for the open air.
Chapter 11
Syr Phillip, Pegeen, Arundel the Black, Duchess Danyel, Grizzly, Barlonda and I are all out in the damp, oily Ohio Caverns parking lot having a picnic dinner of leftover chicken, cold roast venison, barley bread, and cloved apples. I’ve never had venison before—it has a strong, gamey flavor that is perfectly balanced by a spiced-raspberry gravy. And the cloved baked apples are a delicious, light dessert that aren’t too sweet or heavy for the hot spring weather. I finish my portion and smack my lips. “Pretty good, Barlonda,” I say, licking grease off my fingers.
Knights and Kink Romance Boxed Set Page 60