by C. A. Storm
Santiago swept an elegant bow, every inch the perfect gentleman, despite wearing a pair of sweatpants, ratty old Nikes, and an old, holey Metallica t-shirt.
Turning toward Santiago, Rik asked, “Where’s everyone else?”
Shrugging elegantly, Santiago drawled in a thick Texan accent, “Now, don’t go gettin’ yer knickers in a bunch, hoss. Gus is givin’ his lil’ sis a hand settin' up her shop, Bard’s settin' up his smithy, and the others aren’t gonna make it ‘til sometime next weekend.”
Rik was about to respond when he heard a voice that caused his heart to stutter to a halt—and not in a good way.
“Rikard, I’ve missed you,” a woman’s voice purred from behind him, her precise British accent warmed by a throaty tone that once Rik found incredibly sexy, but compared to Sam’s naturally husky voice, it now sounded false and flat.
Rik turned, moving his shoulder away from the lifted hand as he took a step away from the tall, athletic blonde woman. She was nearly as tall as he was, her pale blue eyes almost at eye level with his own. She had broad shoulders, full breasts, and a flat stomach with strong hips and thighs, the build of a true Amazon. Her long white-blonde hair was pulled back into a loose ponytail, and she was dressed simply, in a sports bra and yoga pants, which only emphasized her powerful build. She was heart-stoppingly beautiful, but Rik felt absolutely nothing as she ran those cool eyes over his body hungrily.
“Evie,” Rik grunted an abrupt greeting.
Smirking at his greeting, Evie shook her head in amusement. “Now, now, I heard you found your anam cara. I hope she knows that you’re not going to be faithful. I mean, after all, you cheated on me with Mona of all people.” She shrugged eloquently, lifting a hand to lightly trace her fingers down Rik’s arm. She damn near purred at the feel of the bicep bulging beneath her fingertips as Rik clenched his fists at his sides.
“You’re not her,” Rik said bluntly.
Drawing her hand back and narrowing her eyes, Evie glanced around. An elegant eyebrow arched, “So, where is the lovely little lady?” She began to stalk around him, eyeing him like a side of beef as she smirked. “Already bored with her?”
Conversation, and the scuffle between Clay and Donar, had come to a halt with Evie’s arrival, leaving the two of them the center of an avid audience. Feeling the eyes upon him, Rik gritted out, “Not now, Evie. This is neither the time nor the place.”
“We had an understanding,” Evie hissed as she once more confronted him face-to-face. Crowding into his personal space, her breasts pressed against his chest, she glared up at him, “And I never give up what belongs to me.”
Before Rik could respond, Evie was suddenly wrapped around him, her arms tight around his neck, a leg hooked around his thigh, as she pressed up into him and drug his head down for a bruising kiss.
“Oh, fuck no!” Rang out loud and clear through the amphitheater, echoing a sudden crash of thunder that rolled overhead.
Not good. Not good at all.
Chapter 29
“Oi, Clara!” a deep, masculine voice boomed, drawing Sam’s attention to a man that nearly rivaled Bertie in sheer size. Easily six-and-a-half feet tall, he had long blond hair pulled back into a messy manbun, while his beard was thick and truly luxurious. Bright blue eyes shone mischievously as he waved a brawny arm in greeting.
“Isn’t that the guy you were with last night at the bar?” Sam whisper-hissed as she eyed the big, burly man. That tight black t-shirt strained over his huge chest, and a low-slung pair of jeans hugged his narrow hips. The t-shirt had a snarling wolf head worked in a traditional Norse design, with “Ulvfang Metalworking” in Runic Script around it. He was in an open area, beneath a tall, wooden overhang where he had been wrestling an anvil into place.
“No,” Clara grinned impishly. “That’s one of his identical brothers, Bard.” Clara gave an almost dreamy sigh and actually shivered in delight as she whispered, “There are three of them!” She waggled her eyebrows, “Triplets. All big, and brawny, and…”Her words trailed off in a dreamy sigh before she shook herself out of what was apparently a very pleasant dream.
Sam laughed at the expression on Clara’s face, which had the other woman clear her throat pointedly.
“Bard’s one of our blacksmiths, and like his brothers, he’s quite popular with the ladies. Particularly, since he tends to give demonstrations shirtless and wearing only a leather kilt and boots.”
“Oh!” Clara suddenly exclaimed, spinning and pointing to a building across from Bard’s. It had a similar setup, with an open, roofed area attached to a two-story stone-and-wooden beam building. “That’s the available glassmaker’s studio.”
“The one that cheated on Bertie?” Sam was still outraged by that tidbit.
Leaning in, Clara nodded and whispered conspiratorially, “Yep, that’s the one. And considering he cheated with our last Landsmaster, yeah...you know.” Shrugging, Clara grinned, “Have you talked to your friend yet?”
“Harper? Crap, I forgot!” Sam groaned, pulling her phone out and quickly eying the time. Yep, should be good. Quickly, she pulled up Harper’s contact information and pressed connect.
“Well hello, Samantha. Imagine you calling out of the blue on a Saturday, after months and months of not hearing from you!” Harper’s sweet-as-honey voice rolled over the connection, bright and cheerful, and so Southern Belle, it could cause cavities.
Blushing beneath Clara’s amused regard, Sam cleared her throat, “Heya Harp, sorry. Been dealing with some stuff and needed to go off grid.”
“Sweetie, I understand completely,” Harper replied, “I’m just a bit tiffed you didn’t give me a call. What were you thinking? You know I’d have been glad to take up your case!”
Sam laughed, “Harp, you’re an entertainment lawyer. But that’s not why I called.”
“Well, fine!” Harper huffed, and Sam could just see her friend rolling those big blue eyes of hers to Heaven above. “Why did you call then?”
“You still doing glass art?” Sam asked, then waited for a response. And waited. And waited. Eying the phone to make sure the line was still active, Sam tentatively said, “Hello?”
“Still here,” Harper finally replied. “It's just that came out of left field, sweetie. Yeah, I still do some glasswork when I have time, just haven’t really had much of that lately.”
“Well…” Sam drew out and then bulldozed ahead. “Look, I’m in Denver, well, the Rockies, at a place called Cœur de Lyon Village. It’s a Renaissance and Fantasy Faire kind of place, and anyways, they have an open area for a glass artist, and I thought of you! I know you’re a big shot lawyer and all that, but I remembered that you were always passionate about your art and just went into law to please your mother.”
“A Renaissance Faire?” Harper’s voice was flat.
“Wait, hold on a sec!” Sam said, pulling her phone away from her ear and taking some quick photos of the open booth and building. Sending them to Harper, Sam held the phone back to her ear. “Look, I just sent you some pics of the booth and shop! The Village is only open on the weekends from the end of April through the beginning of November, and you’d have plenty of time to just work on your art, and you’d love the place, it’s peaceful out here, and I really miss my friends, so please at least say you’ll consider it?”
Harper’s laugh was lyrical and sweet, “Sam, sweetie, take a breath! Let me look at these pics right quick.”
Sam paced back-and-forth, while Clara watched. Even Bard had paused in setting up his own shop to watch the animated Sam pacing. When Bard looked ready to say something, Clara held up a hand to forestall him, shaking her head with a pointed glare. He zipped his lips, rolled his eyes, grinned and went back to work.
“Well,” Harper finally drawled, stopping Sam in her tracks. “I’ll be honest with you, Sammy. Things out here have been kind of…tense…lately, and I’ve been debating a nice, long vacation. Why don’t you email me the details, I’ll look them over and get back to you.”
Sam flashed Clara a wide grin and a thumb’s up! “Deal! We’ll get you the details and contracts this weekend.”
“Sounds like a plan then!” Harper’s warm laugh rang out, then once more her voice turned to that sweet, syrupy tone as she continued, “I’ve missed you, girl. Don’t you be a stranger like that again, or I’ll grab my Mema’s switch and give you a beating like I was the Wrathful Right Hand of the Good Lord Above.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Sam laughed, and just barely resisted the urge to salute. Meeting Clara’s amused gaze, Sam shrugged, “You’ve got my number, girl, so give me a call tomorrow some time, after you’ve had a chance to go over the paperwork.”
“Will do! Ciao, sweetie, chat soon!” Harper said before ending the call.
Sam grinned as the call ended, “She’ll look it over. Just need to send her the paperwork and she’ll think about it.”
Pulling out her own phone, Clara said, “Give me her email address and I’ll send the files over right now!”
Quickly pulling up Harper’s contact details, Sam showed them to the other woman, who rapidly typed up a message, included a few files, and shot off the email. Got to love technology!
“Sooo,” Bard drawled, an easy grin on his face as he leaned against his work bench, arms crossed over his chest, “Sounds like we might have a new glassblower. Hopefully, less dramatically inclined than our previous one.” He waggled his eyebrows and leered comically, “And hopefully much prettier.”
Thoughtfully eyeing the tall blacksmith, Sam shook her head in amusement, “Careful. She’ll chew you up and spit you out, all without cracking a nail or raising her voice.”
“I do love a challenge,” Bard’s grin widened, eliciting a laugh from Sam, who just shrugged in response.
“Your funeral,” she proclaimed solemnly.
Bard’s grin was smug as he mimicked Sam’s shrug and turned to saunter back into his forge. Both Clara and Sam paused to watch the tight, muscular ass in motion. Pure poetry.
Sam stumbled as Clara suddenly elbowed her, “Hey!”
“Shouldn’t you only be worried about one masculine ass?” Clara teased.
“Well, you slept with his identical twin, so you already know what that ass looks like!” Sam retorted.
The two both broke into helpless giggles, leaning against one another for support. They probably would have stood there laughing like crazy people, until there was a sudden familiar shout.
“SAM-MEEEEEE!”
Oh no. It couldn’t be.
“SAA-MAAAAN-THA! Sam-The-Man! We see you!”
“Shit,” Sam muttered, instinctively making the Sign of the Cross even knowing it was far too late. Meeting Clara’s concerned, confused expression, Sam pushed her, “Run! Get away! Save yourself!”
But it was too late. Far too late.
Sam was torn away from Clara with a shriek, suddenly caught tight in the embrace of three tall, broad, red-haired men who wrestled her into submission as they tossed the giggling, shrieking woman between them. Before Clara could interfere to save her sister-in-law-to-be, an older man slid between them, his hands up in a placating gesture. The older man’s formerly bright copper hair, gone pale with gray, was ruthlessly cropped close to his head, his blue eyes still bright and sharp, his features hawkish, but split in a friendly grin.
“Easy gal, easy, just my boys teaching their baby sister a lesson.”
Clara’s hand slowly fell from the small of her back, her eyes narrowed suspiciously as she gazed back and forth. Finally noticing that Sam’s expression was more resigned surrender than terror or hatred, Clara relaxed. Clearing her throat, she called out, “Sooo, Sam-The-Man, eh? And who are these gentlemen?”
Finally lowered to her feet, and flanked by the three much taller redheads, Sam sighed in resignation. “That’s my father, Seamus Kelly, and this is Brian,” Sam indicated the widest of the three, a solid wall of muscle with a high-and-tight military haircut. “Connor,” the clean-cut one, with a roguish grin and athletic body. “And Patrick,” roughest looking of the three, with piercings lining both ears, his red-hair wildly spiked, and with a lean, rangy build. All three were around six feet, a good foot taller than their baby sister, and all three grinned at Clara like loons.
“My idiot brothers. You’ve got one yourself, now imagine that times three!”
Clara winced in sympathy as Sam’s three brothers loudly protested, mostly about which one of them was the idiot in question. With a sly glance at Clara, Sam tried to sneak out from between the three brothers, but Brian grabbed her by her ponytail and tugged her back into the circle—gently.
“Now, now, wee imp, we came all this way to check on our baby sister. Where’s the love?” he mock-growled before he leaned down to give her a firm hug that lifted her from her feet. Swinging her back and forth in his arms, he grinned down at her and planted a big, loud, wet smooch on her forehead.
Clara snorted, lifting a hand to belatedly try and hide her amusement. Seamus gave her a long-suffering grin. “Sorry, they can be a bit rowdy. They’ve been worried about their sister, so they’ve gone into White Knight mode.”
Once she was finally set back on her feet, Sam tugged free of her brother’s arms, nearly falling on her rump as she staggered back and glared up at the three laughing men. Suddenly, all three of the guys gave Sam their best puppy dog look, pouts pushing out their lower lips, eyes large and suspiciously watery. While not identical in appearance, the four siblings had enough physical similarities, it was obvious they were related, but that look was the same across the board.
Clara lost it, especially when Sam started wildly waving her hands in front of her, trying to block out the three pouting, oversized boys who once more began to crowd her. When she managed to regain control, thanks in no small part to Seamus, who gently supported her and patted her back as she gasped for breath.
Sam finally peeled herself away from her overprotective big brothers, retreating behind her father and glaring at the three big idiots from the safety of her dad’s stout body. “Why the hell are you all here?”
“There, there, baby girl,” Seamus soothed, obviously amused but knowing better than to show that to Sam. “Sooth your beast. Bri just got released from active duty, and he wanted to come and see you. He just decided to gather up the horde, make a few calls, and tracked you down here. I came along to keep things from,” his grin widened, turning surprisingly boyish as he glanced at his sons, “Well, you know, from blowing up or some such.”
Wrapping an arm around his daughter’s shoulder, Seamus drew her to his side and hugged her against him. Leaning down, he pressed a kiss against the top of her ball cap-covered head. “Missed you, baby girl. Hadn’t heard from you in a week, so figured we’d best head on out here when I got a call from ol’ JP.”
Looking up at her father, her face scrunched up in confusion, Sam asked, “JP?”
A faint red flush rising on his cheeks, Seamus cleared his throat guiltily, “Uh, yeah…Jean-Paul. He’s an old friend of our family’s, going way, way, way back.”
When Sam cast a glance toward Clara, the blonde shook her head, “First I’ve heard of it!” She shrugged and gave a half-grin, “But it doesn’t surprise me. My grandparents seem to know everyone.”
Shaking her head in amusement, Clara eyed the grinning group of redheads—five of them, including Sam, who was the only one not grinning, though she was obviously ‘secretly’ pleased at seeing her family. “Right, come along then. I was just giving Sam a tour of the Village.”
Ignoring the looks she was getting from the three brothers, as well as the strange thrilling tingle that seemed to race through her, Clara turned on a heel and led the pack onward, pointing out various interesting shops and waving at some familiar faces who were busy setting up. Finally, as they reached the amphitheater, and Clara was explaining that it was a reproduction of an ancient Roman theatre in France, they all heard a commotion coming from the amphitheater ahead.
Reaching the top of t
he amphitheater, the group looked down to see a group of guys rough-housing around and having a good time. Clara squinted, noticing a familiar looking woman stalking down the steps toward the group of men.
Coming up beside Clara, Sam noticed the group of men. “Hey, isn’t that Rik?” He was easy to pick out, his golden-blond hair a beacon in the daylight, and even though he and most of the men had their backs to them, she could feel the strange pulse that raced through her whenever he was near.
Nodding distractedly, Clara said, “Yeah. That’s his troupe, well, some of them anyways.”
“Troupe?”
“Yeah, swordsmen. Fencing, sword battles, all that sort of stuff. They perform shows during the Faire,” Clara explained, then gasped as she finally recognized the woman approaching Rik. “Um, maybe we should go check out…uh…” She stuttered, trying to come up with something to distract Sam before things got messy.
Sam’s sudden grip on Clara’s wrist was bruising. “And who’s that?” She pointed at the woman stalking around Rik and getting up into his personal space.
Unfortunately, before Clara could respond or defuse the situation, that blonde skank had thrown her arms around Rik and was kissing him hungrily, damn near molesting him with her body wrapped around his. Even though Rik was doing nothing, indeed trying to push the woman away, Sam’s entire world went blood red.
“Oh, fuck no!” Sam’s voice boomed, echoing through the amphitheater as a sudden crash of thunder exploded overhead in a perfectly clear sky. Without another word, Sam released her grip and stalked down the stairs toward the stage.
“Well, fuck,” Clara groaned as she was surrounded by concerned redheaded men. Glancing between their concerned faces, Clara sighed and squared her shoulders as she gave Seamus a look. “Come on. You said you were here to keep your kids from blowing stuff up. Let’s hope you’re not too late!”