Beth plopped down on the couch, eyes wide and mouth agape. “No. Way.”
Meg grinned. “It’s true. Our grandmother, rest her soul, was a real honest to goodness witch, a cailleach in the Irish. She used to read the cards, do herb cures and whatnot for the people of the wee village she lived in, not too far from where we grew up. Ian spent weeks and months at a stretch with her. I’d imagine he learned quite a bit.”
“Is he a witch too?” Beth asked in amazement.
“It’s never come up, but were I to guess, I’d say probably. He’s spooky sometimes with the stuff he knows but shouldn’t know. It’s hard to keep secrets from him. Makes him a right pain around his birthday and Christmastime.” She laughed.
Beth stood again. “Well, I’m off, and it might be better if you didn’t mention our little talk to anyone.”
“Right,” Meg said with a conspiratorial wink. “Tell your friend he’s a good man. He just needs a good woman to help him sort himself out.”
Unable to sit and wait patiently until evening, Beth sent Lily a midmorning text begging a lunchtime rendezvous for humanitarian reasons. Seeing the glowing expression on her friend’s face over slices of pizza at the food court, she decided to keep her visit with Meg a secret for the time being. “It all sounds so romantic,” she said with a heartfelt sigh, chewing her crust thoughtfully.
“It was,” Lily agreed, “all that and more.”
Resigned to secrecy but completely powerless to resist the urge to stir the pot just a little, Beth asked, “Remember the reading you did for Ian at the Castle? What were the cards you pulled again?”
“The Queen of Cups, the Ace of Cups and the Eight of Wands. Why?”
“What did he say about it? The reading, I mean,” Beth urged.
Lily thought for a moment. “He pointed to the Queen and said he went to the tent to find out who I was but the woman in his dream was a blonde, not black haired like me,” she recalled, smiling shyly. “During dinner he confessed he saw me on that first day walking with you, so he already knew I was blond. Remember the hot painter up on the scaffold? He–”
“Yes, but I have one burning question for you, dearie. How did he know the Queen of Cups was a blonde?”
“Well, I’m sure…he…maybe he…” Lily’s voice trailed off, but after a minute she admitted she had no logical explanation.
Beth gave her a big Cheshire cat grin. “My work here is done,” she said.
* * * *
When Lily returned to the office, she was greeted with smiles Janice and Irena. “Something came for you while you were out,” Janice sang in a happy voice. Lily walked to her desk where a beautiful bouquet of Sorbonne lilies stood waiting.
“There’s a card,” Irena said, leaning forward to see who they were from. Lily plucked the card from the envelope and read it.
Thank you for a most enchanting evening–Ian
“Who are they from?” asked Janice.
“A friend,” Lily said, tucking the card away in her pocket before anyone could see. To avoid further questions, she picked up the glass vase. “I think they need more water,” she remarked then turned and scampered to the break area in the back. She ran a little water from the faucet and finished filling the vase. Pulling the card from her pocket, she read the inscription again and smiled with fond remembrance.
The office was busy as usual for a Friday afternoon, and Lily waited a bit before asking where Lucas was.
“He left when you were at lunch,” Irena said, biting her lip. “I told him about your beautiful flowers arriving. I thought for sure they were from him. I hope I didn’t mess anything up…”
Lily struggled to keep her face impassive while mentally berating herself about what she had done. What on earth was she going to tell Lucas? Of course he was going to ask. Truly though it wasn’t any of his business and she knew it. Lucas never once sent her flowers in all the years she’d known him, but Ian sent one after the first date. She updated the mental scoreboard. Ian Two, Lucas Zero.
She leaned in to sniff the fragrant blossoms. How sweet, she thought. She wanted to call and say thank you for the thoughtful gesture but decided there were too many ears about. Maybe he’ll be at the Castle tonight, and I can tell him in person. The lady sitting in front of her had to ask her three times about making a payment before Lily snapped out of her daydream with a “…hmm? Payment? I can help you with that…”
Lily completed the transaction then endeavored to keep her mind off the excitement of the coming evening, failing miserably in the attempt.
* * * *
Late in the evening, Ian was hard at work mixing colors in his home studio. He was contemplating a short break when the voice on the answering machine gave him the needed excuse. “Ian–are you there? Pick up your damn phone,” Dan growled good-naturedly.
Ian briskly wiped the turpentine from his hands before grabbing the handset. “Hey, I’m here.”
“Screening your calls?” Dan asked with a laugh.
“No. The ringer’s off. I’m actually working for a change. Shocking, I know,” he joked. “What’s up?”
Ian walked to the kitchen and poured himself a glass of merlot as Dan explained his plight. “Need your help, my brother. I’ve had a call off for the fencing show Saturday night. Can you do it? You already know the routine. And as an added bonus, if you’ll help me out, I’ll get Meg to make you a big pot of that awful stew the two of you love so much.”
Ian’s mouth began to water at the prospect of the savory Irish stew.“Tell you what,” he said, “I’ll do it on one condition. You get the new girl from the gypsy tent to play the lady, but don’t tell her I asked. And the stew,” he added as an afterthought.
“That’s two conditions, but–done,” Dan agreed with a hearty laugh. “Gotta get to wardrobe but I’ll stop by her tent on the way back to ask her, okay? Maybe she won’t refuse a request from her king.”
Ian grinned. “Brilliant,” he said, replacing the phone on its cradle. Taking his wine back to his studio, he grabbed his cell phone from the workbench and sent Lily a short, cryptic text.
please tell him yes
Humming to himself, he picked up his paintbrush and returned to his canvas.
* * * *
What did Ian’s text mean? Lily mused. Before she could deliberate further there was a commotion outside the tent, and the crowd parted to let the king and his royal guards through. Beth, Esmeralda, and Lily dropped into deep curtseys. “Good evening, your majesty,” they said in unison.
A more youthful and less portly version of Henry VIII, Dan graciously bade them rise then addressed Lily. “We would speak privately with you, mistress.” Leaning close, he whispered, “I have a favor to ask. We do a street performance a couple of times a week, and one of my cast members has called off for tomorrow night. Would you mind filling in? There aren’t any lines or anything.”
“What kind of performance?” Lily asked.
“For this, you would be a lady of the court, so you’ll need a different outfit and you won’t need the wig. You walk with a suitor through the market. Another noble comes up and challenges him to a duel for your hand. I show up and bring them to the list field where they fight it out for your honor.”
“They joust?” Lily exclaimed.
“No,” Dan said, laughing, “they fence. You’ll have a scarf to give your suitor as a favor, and then you are escorted to sit by the queen on stage. The two men fight, the winner comes to claim you and kisses your hand as his reward. Then you get escorted off stage. That’s all there is to it.”
Lily began to protest, not wanting to be the center of so much attention but then remembered Ian’s cryptic message. Could this be what he meant? “Yes,” she agreed at once. “I’ll do it.”
“Wonderful,” exclaimed Dan. “Swing by wardrobe tomorrow around seven. They’ll know the dress you need.” He spent the next few minutes explaining the order of events, then turned and with a wave worthy of a monarch, made a grand exit to
the delight of the crowd. After he and his entourage left the tent, Lily pulled out her cell phone and sent a response to Ian.
I said yes.
His reply was immediate.
thank you
7
The following evening after changing into her ladies gown, Lily returned to the gypsy tents and was greeting by an open-mouthed Beth. “Blimey, yer bleedin’ gorgeous, luvvy,” she said, affecting an outrageous Cockney accent.
Lily laughed gaily, spinning around to admire her outfit, a gold and rose satin Anne Boleyn replica gown. Dan had instructed her to wait at the gypsy tent. The suitor would be by precisely at seven forty-five and they both would arrive at the center of the market by eight, when the show was scheduled to start.
She was nervous, but all thoughts of her debut flew away when Ian strode into the tent dressed in a crimson and brocade doublet, a white cuffed shirt unlaced at the throat, tight brown breeches, a long cape and tall boots. Tonight, he had the added accessories of a lethal-looking sword, its scabbard hanging from a doubled leather belt wrapped low around his hips. His gaze swept over her from head to toe, lingering for the briefest moment on the flattering decolletage.
“You are wondrous fair, my beauty,” he murmured, pressing her fingertips to his lips. He offered his arm. “Wouldst my lady care for a turn about the market?”
“You’re my ardent suitor?” she exclaimed, dramatically placing both hands over her palpitating heart.
“Of course I am,” he said with a laugh. “Were you expecting someone else?” He glanced around the tent at the other tarot readers and added in a conspiratorial whisper, “I’d say no, if I were you. If it got out you were surprised it wouldn’t be very good for business, would it?”
Lily smiled up at him and accepted his arm. “I don’t think I know quite what to expect with you,” she teased.
After leaving the tent, they meandered down the street toward the market. Night had fallen, bringing with it a cooling breeze that swept through the park and she couldn’t help but be charmed by the magic and romance of it all. “Do you know how to use that thing?” she asked, indicating the sword.
“Well enough for this,” Ian said. “My dear brother-in-law, yonder monarch, took fencing lessons as a teenager. He taught me so I could help him practice, but when I got better at it than him, he quit.” He laughed then added dryly, “The Irish aren’t very big on fencing. That would be the French.”
“Um…go Irish?” Lily giggled before regaining her straight face.
Ian smiled mysteriously. “I haven’t the least intention of losing, milady.”
They strolled along, stopping at booths here and there, and Lily found it easy to pretend they truly were sworn lovers. Ian’s hand covered hers, tucked away in the crook of his arm, and she didn’t think she imagined the incidental caresses of his long fingers on hers. The park patrons began to follow behind them, anticipating the event to come.
When they arrived at the market clearing, Ian whispered “Here we go,” as the blond man Lily had seen Ian talking to before approached them.
The handsome man’s tousled curls brushed the collar of his royal blue and white doublet embroidered with red fleur de lis. He struck a courtly pose, bowing low before her. “Pardonnez-moi, demoiselle.” His voice rang out in a distinct French accent. “I wonder if you would care to enjoy a moonlit stroll through the gardens with me. The flowers, sadly, have all forgotten how to be lovely and surely your great beauty would inspire them to remember, ma chere.” Waggling his eyebrows suggestively, he gave her a rakish grin.
Ian rolled his eyes heavenward at the outrageous flattery then directed a fierce scowl at his adversary. “The lady has an escort, Sir Renaud, and does not welcome your attentions.”
Renaud stepped forward to reach for Lily’s arm, but Ian stepped in between them, his eyes narrowing to slits. “I say again, sir, the lady does not welcome your attentions. Nor do I.”
A ripple of excitement swept through the crowd when Renaud stepped back, whipped out a pair of leather gloves and threw them with a flourish at Ian’s feet. “I challenge you for the lady’s honor,” he said, his voice dripping with disdain.
Ian scooped up the gloves and flung them back, hitting Renaud squarely in the chest. “I accept your challenge, sirrah.”
Both men moved to draw their swords. Immediately, trumpets sounded and the crowd parted to let the king and his court through. The two men sank to one knee, and following their lead, Lily dropped into a deep curtsey.
Dan had no trouble making himself heard over the crowd. He boomed in his deep baritone voice, “What’s this? A duel over a woman? We cannot have our gallant nobles fighting in the streets like common ruffians. To the tournament field!”
With a loud “Huzzah!” everyone moved toward the center of the park to fill the waiting bleachers of the large jousting field. Ian guided Lily to the elaborate viewing stage where the thrones were displayed. “You’re doing great,” he whispered against her ear, his warm breath making her tingle all over. The king climbed the steps to join Queen Meghan, clad in her elaborate Catherine Parr gown. With a practiced snap of her jeweled fan, she motioned for Lily to take the seat of honor next to her.
The field was cleared of everyone except Ian and Renaud. Ian stepped forward and gave Lily a beseeching look. “Might I have a token of your favor, my lady?”
Lily tugged the blue silk prop scarf from her sleeve and handed it to Ian with a smile. He pressed a kiss to it before tucking it into his doublet pocket.
A fanfare sounded when the king exclaimed, “We expect a fair and clean fight, my lords. May the better man win.” Lily decided he sounded very…kingly.
When the trumpets sounded again, the two men strode confidently to opposite sides of the field where the men-at-arms waited to assist them with battle preparations. Capes and sword belts were removed, gambesons were donned. Ian pulled his sabre from the scabbard with a flourish and the crowd “oohed” their approval. Not to be outdone, Renaud unsheathed his sword just as flamboyantly and the crowd “aahed.” Renaud sneered at Ian, his upper lip curling. Ian snarled back.
The noble combatants turned to face each other in the center of the arena. Lily held her breath as they saluted and went en garde. Renaud made the first lunge which Ian easily brushed aside. He stepped away from the second lunge as well. His face reddening with anger, Renaud shouted, “You toy with me, sirrah!”
Ian’s laugh was scornful. “Aye, I do. Now playtime is over and for you, schooling starts.”
The crowd roared its approval when the swordfight started in earnest, blades flashing as the two men dodged and parried. Lily gripped the edge of her seat and whispered, “Who’s going to win?”
Meg laughed, a happy tinkling sound. “We don’t know.”
Lily jerked around to look at Meg in surprise. “You…you don’t know the outcome?”
“We know the outcome. We just don’t know who will win the match.” She smiled. “Renaud may be the more skilled of the two since he plays this part more. Ian, on the other hand, might be a bit more…motivated.” With that, she turned back to watch the fight.
What a strange comment, Lily thought, but her confusion quickly gave way to fascination–although she was certain neither would get hurt, it was frightening to watch the men locked in what appeared to be mortal combat. Their fighting styles were as contrasted as their appearances. Renaud, the courtly knight, fought in a graceful, classically trained fencing style, while Ian fought with the passion of a proud Celt chieftain.
Lily and the crowd gasped as one when Ian lost his footing and staggered back, off balance. Renaud pressed the advantage, only to find he had walked into a well-laid trap. Ian shot a booted foot forward and swept Renaud’s legs out from under him. The Frenchman hit the ground with a hard thud, his sword bouncing out of his hand. Ian stood over him, his unwavering blade pointed at the fallen nobleman’s chest as he kicked the dropped sword out of reach.
“Stay your hand, my lord,”
Dan bellowed with a hearty laugh, stopping the match. “It would appear Sir Ian has won this contest. What say you?” The crowd responded with a loud cheer of approval as Ian offered his hand to help up the grinning Renaud. They clasped arms in camaraderie then Renaud retrieved his sword, giving Ian a jaunty salute before he ran from the field to rousing applause.
Ian removed the padded armor, handing it and his sword to the man-at-arms, and approached the stage. He mounted the few steps to stand before the king and queen then dropped to one knee. “What would you have as your prize, sir knight?” the queen asked.
Ian didn’t hesitate before answering, “A kiss from the lady, your majesty.”
Dan boomed out again, scarcely needing the stage amplification, “My loyal subjects, has he earned his prize?” When the crowd shouted its approval, the king gestured toward Lily with a magnanimous wave of his hand. “Granted,” he said.
Rising to his feet, Ian turned to Lily, who stood and held out her hand for the anticipated kiss. He took her hand and to her surprise, drew her slowly forward and encircled her narrow waist with his arm. He bent his head and against her lips whispered, “May I?”
She trembled and sighed, “Yes.”
His lips moved over hers, more of a gentle caress than an actual kiss. Lily leaned into him and his response was immediate, crushing her to him and claiming her mouth completely.
…I know you…
Suddenly no one else in the world was there and she gave herself up to him, yielding to the passion that without warning roared to life within her. Her senses reeled from the taste of him and she could feel his heart thundering in his chest keeping perfect time with her own. She raised her hand without thinking and threaded her fingers in his mass of curls, pulling him down. He clung to her even tighter.
* * * *
The crowd began to cheer wildly when it became more and more apparent this was in fact no staged kiss, but the real thing.
“Uh…” Dan started, clearing his throat.
Celtic Knot Page 5