Vaughn’s eyes went wide. “That’s brave,” he said proudly. “I just hope he doesn’t execute you on the spot as a witch or a heretic for that.”
Sammie forced a smile. She hoped the same thing. “I guess it’s a good thing you’ll be following me, then. You can rush out and stop him.”
They laughed for a second. And then they fell silent.
Vaughn grabbed her. Their lips met.
She didn’t push him away. She didn’t stop him. The kiss was more than welcome and long wanted. She wrapped her arms around his neck, twisting her fingers through his long hair. She slid her lips over his.
It was the kiss of ages. The kiss she’d only dreamed that could come from Johnny. It was greater than the kiss Johnny had given her when they’d gotten engaged. It was greater than the kiss he would have given her if they ended up married at the end of the season. It was a kiss to heal all wounds, to give her air rather than take it from her. It was a kiss that said that there was still something good in this world gone bad.
It was a kiss that she prayed would last an eternity.
But all good things must, unfortunately, come to a crushing end. As soon as it began, Vaughn pulled away from her. “Be safe, Sam,” he whispered.
“I have an ill diving soul,” she said, lost in a dark cloud that had swallowed them both whole. “Methinks I see thee as one dead in the bottom of a tomb.”
“And trust me, love, in my eyes so do you. Dry sorrow drinks out blood.”
Only Romeo and Juliet could understand what Sammie and Vaughn were going through. Would they ever see each other again? Maybe that’s why Vaughn left out the last word. The “adieu.” It was a too literal word for Romeo and Juliet. They’d never see each other alive again.
Would Sammie ever see Vaughn again?
Would the next time they met be in the vast reaches of the ever eternal tomb that was Heaven?
Vaughn brushed his lips over hers one last time. He darted up the nearest path and settled himself below the edge of the long Flog Lume. The slide was a popular new attraction, but now it was empty of even peasant children.
He would be safe.
Sammie sighed and steeled herself as much as was humanly possible when one was setting out for arrest and possibly death. She took a shaky step. And then another.
She ignored the Tavern Aragon. It was a place that no longer gave her happiness. It was the place where she first started to realize just how seriously fucked up everything was.
The chapel approached. Back when things made sense, tourists would book months, or sometimes years, in advance to get married there. Back when things made sense, the Queen would host teas for young girls in there. It was a place where fun things happened.
Now, the overtly depressing tones of a pipe organ told Sam that the chapel held nothing but depressing religious ceremonies.
What was more fun than telling all inside that they were all going to hell?
Queen Elizabeth emerged from the chapel, followed by none other than the Lord High Bastard himself. What luck. What would be better to guarantee her arrest than to tell the both of them that they weren’t who they thought they were?
With any luck, it wouldn’t guarantee her immediate and gruesome death.
She took a deep breath from her pomander.
“Don’t think about what he’ll do to you,” she told herself. “Don’t think about Johnny. Think about Vaughn. Think about Vaughn. Think about his lips on yours…”
They noticed her at the same time. Jameson looked her up and down with disdain. “Be gone with thee, pirate wench,” he said. “Thou hast no business in the presence of the Queen.”
Sammie didn’t move. Jameson clenched his fists. Queen Elizabeth turned and faced her too.
Sammie pulled off her mask.
Jameson’s frozen eyes went wide. “My dear Anne,” he said with forced calmness. His fingernails dug so deep into his palms that he’d be bleeding soon. Good. Let him bleed. “We have been seeking thee for many a long hour. Where be thou beggarly friend?”
“I don’t know, and I don’t care,” she lied, feeling Vaughn’s eyes on the back of her head. She dropped the renaissance act. There was no point in it anymore. There was no point pretending. “I’ve come to find you, Jameson dear.” She hoped he heard the sarcasm in his voice.
“For what purpose, Anne? Be thou so eager to meet thy cell?”
Sammie smiled. If only he knew just how prophetic his words were. “You’re not Jameson Kent, you sadistic bastard. Your name is Johnny Williams, and you are no sheriff. And you,” she turned towards the Queen for the first time. “Your real name is Melinda, and you’re a bigger whore than the person you pretend to be.” A crowd gathered to watch her outburst. Perfect. “They are not who they claim to be! They are imposters!”
What on earth was she doing? What in the blazes made her turn on Queen Elizabeth? Of all the people to call an imposter…
The Queen’s face turned every bit as red as her hair. Sammie had hit a nerve. A big one. “Lord High Sheriff… Seize her! Arrest her! Kill her!” With a swish of her skirt, she marched into the other direction, her retinue following her tail.
Jameson grabbed Sammie’s arm. “Thou hast gone too far, my Lady. I can little help thee now.” He pulled her away.
She didn’t complain. She didn’t pull back on Jameson’s grasp. She turned to look behind her.
Somehow, she knew Vaughn was already following her.
Just let him find her before the Queen’s orders were carried out.
<>
Nobody would see him.
The Flog Lume was a new attraction in the festival. Back in the future it was made of bright yellow plastic. Now it was made out of wood polished to the point of silky smoothness. But not even peasant children enjoyed it now.
He sat at the end of the slide and rested his head against the smooth rounded wood. He had perfect view of the chapel. Sammie had found Jameson and the Queen at the same time. It looked like she had no trouble convincing the two that she needed to be arrested. Nobles streaming out of the chapel paused to listen to whatever she was saying. She was playing her part well.
Maybe too well.
Queen Elizabeth’s face turned beat red. She exploded towards Jameson and then huffed off, her wig bouncing on her head with each angry step. Jameson’s face darkened to a disturbing level. He grabbed Sam’s arm and pulled her away.
Whatever he said, it wasn’t good. Sammie’s face went white, and she turned to where Vaughn was hidden.
He stood. It was time.
The Sheriff was harsh with Sammie as he pulled her along the paths. Something nagged in Vaughn’s mind. What if Sammie was right? What good could come out of this? What possible purpose did T have for having Sammie get arrested by this man? Jameson Kent trapped her in a boiling hot room just for being with Vaughn…
What would he do to her now?
Vaughn didn’t want to think about it.
There was only one thing to do. He’d do what he asked Sammie to do. He would trust himself. He would make sure he did his part.
He followed Jameson and Sam at a distance. He ducked behind the wood carver as the Sheriff pulled her past the Woodland Stage. He hid himself above the washer wenches’ wash pit as the Sheriff yanked Sammie towards the joust field. He dashed to an overgrown area between the two stone paths as they got to the turkey leg stand.
The Lord High Sheriff stopped so suddenly at the far end of the joust field that Sammie slammed into his back. In an instant he turned on her. The bastard shoved her away from him, as far as he could while still keeping an iron grip on her wrist. He raised his hand to strike her.
There was no way that this man every really loved Sammie, or Anne, or whatever form of Sammie that Jameson decided to believe in. There was no way he ever felt anything for her. Not to treat her so harshly. Nobody who loved anybody with any amount of their soul could treat their loved ones with such anger.
But his hand never struck. One o
f Jameson’s constables appeared. He said something to the Sheriff.
Were the constables still looking for Vaughn? Did they still search for a man caked in mud and dirt?
Sammie looked behind her. Her eyes scanned the paths, the shops and food and drynke stands. She looked in every nook and cranny she could think of.
“I’m here, Sammie,” Vaughn whispered. “Don’t worry, baby. I’m right here.”
There had to be some way he could signal her. There had to be some way to let her know he was still there with her. There had to be something he could do without getting caught. He couldn’t get out of the brush. If the Sheriff turned around at all…
Jameson knew Vaughn’s face all too well.
Sammie’s eyes fell on the brush he hid in. He rustled it gently. Anybody else might have thought a gust of wind had gone through the area.
But Sammie smiled. The fear in her face was washed away.
Jameson started to move again. He yanked Sammie behind him, and she very nearly ran into his back again. Vaughn stood and followed.
Where in the blazes was he taking her? Surely he was taking her back to the bedroom in the break room? But he wasn’t heading towards the upper level of the festival. He wasn’t yanking Sammie up the Hill Street faster than her asthma could handle.
Were there other places that the Lord High Sheriff and his constables took prisoners? Would this Tudor faire have the facilities to hold prisoners? Vaughn had been sent to the stocks half a dozen times last season… Where was he held after his arrest?
Something grabbed Vaughn by the arm. Had a constable finally found him, ready to take him to the block or the stake? Or would they kill him immediately? He turned.
There was no constable. Not unless one had disguised him as a mud beggar and covered themselves from head to foot in mud.
“What hath thou done, Puck?” Forarin asked, taking a great bite from a turkey leg. “Word hast spread of thy crimes. ‘Tis good fortune I did find thee. Kaiser wouldst have thee in the most strong grips of the Lord High Sheriff if it had been him to come across thee.”
Vaughn turned back towards the path. Sammie was gone. There was no sign of her red hair anywhere on the visible path.
Dammit! Why did he take his eyes off of her? How was he ever going to find her now?
He turned back to Forarin. “Where would the Lord High Sheriff take a prisoner?”
“What hast come over thee, Puck?” Forarin tossed the bare turkey bone over his shoulder. “Thou be most rightfully bewitched.”
Vaughn kept his eyes on the path. Maybe he’d get lucky and catch one more glimpse of her hair. “Please tell me, Forarin. Where would the Lord High Sheriff take a prisoner to await punishment?” He’d lost his festival speech, but he didn’t care. He didn’t have the time to try to think of the proper things to say.
“There be a dungeon below the drynke stand in the Dregs. Thou shouldst know of this, Cousin Puck. Thou hast seen thee many a stay there for thy unending pranks.”
Vaughn breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you, my friend.” He sped towards the Dregs before Forarin could say anything else.
The drynke stand approached. Vaughn left the path and lingered near a ladder game. He didn’t know if Jameson was still in the dungeon with Sammie. He didn’t know when he would come out. Vaughn could afford a moment of surveillance.
Seconds after he’d gotten to the game, Jameson emerged from the building. He marched down the path, drenched with anger, his fists clenched so tight his knuckles went white.
“Damndable wench,” Jameson muttered as he walked past the ladder game. “Her death shalt not arrive soon enough.”
He kept muttering, but Vaughn didn’t wait around to hear what he was saying. He ran to the building. There had to be a door. There had to be a window where he could see her. Where he could see if she was still breathing. Still alive. Jameson Kent made it sound like she was still alive.
But Vaughn had to see it for himself. He had to see that she hadn’t succumbed to her asthma again.
A window rested on the ground at the back of the building. He knelt and looked through it.
It wouldn’t matter if she was in shackles or chains, so long as she was all right. As long as she was breathing.
“Hast thou lost something, scum?”
Two constables stood over Vaughn. Their swords were drawn.
“The Lord High Sheriff doth most eagerly await thee,” a constable said with a crookedly yellow sneer.
Vaughn looked behind him. He could just see the tips of Sammie’s fingers. She was shackled to the wall.
Her fingers twitched. She was still alive.
But for how much longer?
He turned back to the brutes. “Tell the Lord High Sheriff to bugger off.” He kicked the biggest constable in the stomach and ran.
Chapter 20
He clapped the cold, rough metal around her wrists.
He didn’t care if he used more force than he should have. He didn’t care that she winced in pain. He didn’t care that the tears flowed freely down her face, stealing what little breath she had left away from her.
Let her suffocate. Let the vapours take her from this horrible fate that she’d created for herself. Let the vapours release her to heaven as the Lady she should have been, instead of the Lady she had turned out to be. One who spoke of witchcraft and treason. One who lay with beggars. The vapours were no more than she deserved.
How he wished he could walk out of this dungeon and away from her forever. How he wished he could leave his precious Lady here to rot until she met her Judgment Day. It would not take long. Not from the state of her breathing. How he would love to watch the life slip from her eyes before he left here.
But he could not. The Queen had ordered her to be publically executed once they found the bastard Puck. Anne would find her freedom from this place, if only momentarily. She would die, and Jameson would fill her space in the dungeon with more degenerates while they awaited dunks or the public executions that were little more than a display.
But first, Jameson would have himself two real executions.
He shook the shackles, testing their tightness. Anne grimaced and slid down the damp wall like the slime she had become. She would lose her hands before she managed to free herself of such bonds.
Jameson smiled. Her pain brought him pleasure.
But it was short lived. Pleasure soon turned to anger. All the love he had spent on her… All the coin he had parted with to make sure she was comfortable… To make sure she was as fashionable as the other Ladies at Court… Anne was no more a Lady than the scullery maid in his manor who scrubbed the floors and satisfied him in the broom cupboard whenever the urge hit him. Anne should have been better.
Anne should have been more appreciative of everything he’s done for her.
“Thou be no true Lady,” he said slowly, containing the anger that rose through his body, threatening to boil the blood in his veins. “E’er have my thoughts been on thy happiness. E’er have I thought me of thy safety. Two days have I begged me of the Queen to grant thee clemency. For what purpose didst I exert myself so strongly, Anne? For what purpose didst I seek to keep thee from punishment? So thou could speak witchcraft and treason before our Queen?” He shook his head. “No more. I will have me no more of it, Anne. Heed thee my most truthful words. Thou shalt die, and thy lover too. Mayhap thou shalt find comfort in the thought that thou shalt burn for all eternity in the fiery pits of Hell together.”
<>
Die. Such a short word… Such a fearsome word, that it would cause so much dread…
But it didn’t. Not in her. She felt nothing, no dread, no sense of fear, in the simple word. She would never see another sunset. That didn’t bother her. She would never see another day leave, another day take its place. That didn’t bother her. She would never sit by the pond with Vaughn again…
Ah, there was some emotion after all. She choked up. Vaughn was still out there. He was out there, and in
danger. He was good at ducking the constables. He’d been doing it since yesterday. But how long could it last? How long could he keep the upper hand? Her eyes found a high window. He was still out there somewhere.
She had to see him again. One more time. She had to hold him, and to tell him everything that welled up inside her now. He had to know before they died.
This wasn’t supposed to happen when she set out to find Jameson. She wasn’t supposed to die. She wasn’t supposed to watch her best friend… her love… die. She had to do something… Something to placate Jameson so that he would not do something… So his anger would not get the best of him before she and Vaughn could see each other one more time.
Jameson had told her twice that he pleaded to the Queen for clemency for Anne. It didn’t seem possible, but… Maybe there was still some good in him, after all. Maybe he still had a soft side, as miniscule as it seemed at the moment. If she could play into it…
She stood slowly, easing the tension in her arms. “My Lord High Sheriff,” she said meekly. “I beg it of you, please seek you not to do this. Do not be the one to send me to my most premature death. I beg it of you… Remember you our love.” Tears filled her eyes. She didn’t cry for the memories of her love with Johnny. She cried for the love of Vaughn, the love of a best friend, and the love she’d never known she carried for him. This act would, hopefully, save Vaughn, too. “Remember, my love, I beg it of you. We holidayed on the shore. We made love in the water all the night. For the love of God, remember how much you loved me!”
<>
Such scandalous things should never have fallen from the lips of a woman so well born.
The things Anne said made no sense. Jameson remembered no holiday on any shore, and most assuredly would he never have laid with his betrothed in such an open fashion. The very thought of it sent the blood burning through his skin.
He was sure of some things now. Anne had certainly had a torrid affair with some disreputable person. Perhaps this Johnny she insisted on confusing with him. Maybe even the bastard Puck. She was a Lady of means, after all. She could have arranged a tryst with the miserly beggar.
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