by Jill Jaynes
"Hear ye, hear ye!" His commanding tone sent a hush over the chattering crowd. "I present your King, His Royal Majesty, King Richard!"
The King stepped forward, and silence fell over the crowd.
"My Lords and Ladies." The King had a deep resonating voice that reached every ear in the arena. "Your Champions have fought well for you. But none has fought more fiercely or more honorably than Sir Lance of House Greeve and Sir Reggie of House Mallory. Today, this final contest shall determine which head of these two noble houses will succeed me as king." He waited a moment for the cheering of the crowd to die down. "Let the match begin!"
The crowd exploded into cheers as two figures emerged from the knight's tent at the opposite end of the arena, and marched side by side to the center of the ring.
Even with his shoulder-length blond hair tied back with a cord, Lance was unmistakable. The sun glinted off the silver rings of his chainmail and the mirrored steel of the arm guards that reached from his wrists to his elbows. Around his waist he wore a broad satin band striped with the same Kelly-green and black of Jackie's dress. At his side hung the biggest sword she'd ever seen.
The other man wore something red and gold, colors which barely registered on Jackie's senses. He could have been naked for all she cared.
A young squire decked out in the royal purple and gold trotted out to the center of the ring and stood between the two men, who now faced each other. At his direction, the combatants took six large steps back from where he stood. He shouted a brief announcement of names and titles, and then signaled for the round to commence.
The two knights got right down to it; no social niceties, no easing into things. Just full throttle attack mode right out of the gate.
Gripping his enormous sword, Lance swung it in fierce arcs that seemed designed to take his opponent's head off. At the same time he was simultaneously dodging and parrying the wild swings of his opponent's sword.
Jackie wanted scream with every blow aimed at Lance. While she couldn't seem to look away, her front row seat gave her a way too close and personal view of any and all possible carnage.
With their swords locked hilt to hilt between them, blades mere inches from their faces, Lance and his opponent danced in a tight circle.
Jackie clutched the rail with numb fingers as the sound of steel sliding against steel rang in the morning air. Exhibition, my ass. A hair's breadth slip one way or another and somebody is going to get seriously hurt.
One instant, the pair was facing each other across deadly blades. In the next, Lance's opponent was flat on his back with the tip of a sword at his heart and his wrist trapped by Lance's boot. His blade lay useless in the dirt a few inches beyond his open fingers.
Pandemonium broke loose as everyone cheered and stomped their feet. "Kill him! Kill him!" they chanted.
As she contemplated the bloodthirsty nature of that demand, Lance looked up, finding her in the crowd. Fierce triumph blazed in his eyes as he nodded at her, an unmistakable promise to claim his prize. To claim her.
Jackie's breath caught in her throat. She felt the heat of his gaze stroking her as surely as his hands on her skin. And she was acutely aware of exactly how much skin was exposed to his gaze in her dress, the tightly laced corset plumping her breasts in blatant invitation.
She fanned herself, sure that her breasts must be heaving. How trite, a small, annoying part of her mind thought, even as another, much more insistent part overrode that with, Oh. My. God. She had clearly never considered the hotness-factor of her hero emerging the victor of a life or death battle.
Horns again blared in announcement from the end of the arena, breaking the spell. Jackie's eyes were drawn to the royal platform, where the current King and Queen rose and stepped forward.
"What is your decision, Sir Lancelot?" called the King. "It is for you to declare death or show mercy."
Lance stepped back from his opponent, releasing the man's sword arm. "Vanquishing my foe in fair battle is victory enough, your majesty," he said, and sheathed his sword. "I grant him his life."
"As you will." The King nodded. "Squire," he bellowed, "see to Sir Reggie."
A wiry young man dressed in a simple version of Sir Reggie's red and gold livery rushed onto the field toward his master. He bumped into Lance as he passed him.
A wicked looking dagger dropped onto the sand at Lance's feet.
A chorus of gasps rose from the spectators, followed by cries of outrage.
"Foul! I cry foul!" shouted Sir Reggie, who scrambled to his feet and pointed at the dagger. "It is illegal to carry such blades in this round. He must forfeit the match."
Lance bent to retrieve the knife. He flipped it in his hand, frowning as he examined the hilt. "This is not mine."
Jackie's vision went red, actually red. She had never felt so angry in her life. "I'll bet I know exactly whose it is," she growled under her breath.
Sir Reggie strutted in a circle around Lance. "It matters not whose blade it is," he shouted, as if inviting the crowd's judgment. "It matters only that he carried it."
Unable to contain herself, Jackie leaped to her feet, gripping the rail. "Lance's squire did it!" she shouted. "I saw him with the daggers when he came to get Lance, er, Sir Lancelot, ready. He said he needed them."
Comments and catcalls answered her, and soon bitter arguments broke out among the spectators. Shouts and accusations erupted from rival factions, until the sound was almost deafening.
"Peace!" shouted the king, in an attempt to calm the crowd. When the noise died to a mutter, he called, "Those on the field, approach, and we will judge."
Lance and Sir Reggie strode stiffly across the arena and halted before the King and Queen. They stood well apart, Lance stonily calm while Sir Reggie cast angry sidelong glances at him.
Lance, his temporary squire and Sir Reggie stepped forward in turn to confer with the King, the Queen and a couple of elaborately costumed people Jackie assumed were judges. Each combatant was obviously given the chance to tell his side of the story. Lance stood straight and calm as he spoke, while Sir Reggie punctuated his speech with a lot of arm-waving and finger pointing.
At this distance Jackie couldn't hear what was said. She could only watch, stomach knotted.
Finally the freckle-face squire was asked to step forward. At first he faced the King and the noble judges with his arms crossed and chin raised in defiance. But after only a few questions, he seemed to lose his bravado, and looked at Sir Reggie uncertainly. At one last question, his shoulders slumped and he hung his head.
His mumbled answer caused Sir Reggie to jump back, loudly protesting.
The King, the Queen and the two noblemen all looked very serious, but there was clearly no disagreement among them.
An expectant hush fell as the King stepped forward to the front of the platform, and struck a commanding pose. "Hear our decision, for it is final." His voice reached every corner of the arena.
Jackie could begin to see why he had ended up as King of this game.
"We find that the dagger in question was, secretly and with malice--" Here he turned a stern look on Sir Reggie and his squire. "--placed on Sir Lancelot's person by Sir Reggie and his agents, in a deliberate attempt to tamper with the outcome of the battle. Therefore, we declare that Sir Lancelot remains the winner, having done his part to fairly best his opponent in battle under the terms of these games."
Wild cheers, accompanied by foot stomping, erupted from everyone in the arena. The rickety wooden stands shook so hard Jackie feared they would collapse. While she appreciated the sentiment, she couldn't hear the King, who was still attempting to talk over the noise.
"Hey! Everyone be quiet!" She turned to shout at the people behind her who were cheering and hugging each other. "The King is still talking."
She might as well have been screaming into a gale-force wind for all the effect her words had. Determined not to miss anything the King still had to say about Lance, she threw politeness to the wind and
resorted to the only thing she knew that never failed to get the attention she needed. Sticking two fingers in her mouth, she gave the whistle her cousin Kenny had spent the better part of a summer teaching her to master.
Silence fell. She was suddenly the center of attention.
"Hey!"
"What was that for?"
"Who did that?"
Jackie didn't waste her breath on apologies. She pointed mutely at the King, who now waited silently. At this distance she couldn't be sure, but she would swear he was smiling at her.
"We also declare Sir Reggie is from here on stripped of his title and power. Guards, escort him from the arena!"
A murmur rippled through the crowd as two guards stepped down off the platform to flank Sir Reggie and walk him off the field. Lance remained standing alone before the platform.
The King addressed the crowd one last time. "I give you Sir Lancelot, the winner of this match!" he shouted. "The house of Greeve shall now become the ruling house of this game and its ranking lord shall become your new King."
Spectators cheered and whistled, waving colorful hats and pennants. Shouts of "Huzzah! Huzzah!" rang from one end of the stands to the other.
Lance bowed solemnly to the King and Queen, and then to the crowd. He turned and began to walk the length of the arena. He waved and smiled as the sun gleamed like a benediction on his armor and lit his hair with gold fire.
That was all Jackie had time to notice, because suddenly Lance was there, standing directly in front of her.
"My lady." he said, and bowed low. Straightening, he reached into his shirt to draw out a lacy white glove. "I have something to thank you for."
Jackie opened her mouth, but before she could speak a sudden sharp pain made her yelp. Lady Nima had stepped hard on her foot and slid neatly in front of her to commandeer the rail. Jackie was left with no option but to hop out of the way and glare at Nima's back.
"Sir Lancelot," the noblewoman cooed as she reached for Lance's hand. Leaning over the railing, she must have given him an eyeful of what her plunging neckline was designed to expose. "I have never seen you so masterful, so powerful. And so treacherously, falsely accused. You quite took my breath away." She gave a little giggle that would probably qualify as a titter if ever Jackie had heard one.
Unbelievable. If she giggles any harder her boobs are going to fall right out of her--
"Thank you, Lady Nima, for your dedicated patronage," Lance said, with a polite smile. Jackie couldn't help but notice that his eyes never wandered south of the woman's face, and he dropped her fingers after the briefest squeeze. "But I must speak with your handmaiden, Jacqueline."
He reached past Lady Nima to extend his hand to Jackie, who had been reduced to staring somewhat stupidly at the whole interaction, while she wondered whether being an "extra" meant she could tell this pushy bitch to back off and get out of the way.
Shaking herself out of her reverie, she took Lance's hand, allowing him to pull her forward to the rail. His eyes smoldered blue fire as he touched his mouth gently to each of her knuckles and finally pressing a kiss to her upturned palm.
It might have looked like just a kiss to everyone else, but it felt like a whole explosion of fireworks in her head.
"I think I could really get into this LARP thing," she breathed.
Lance smiled up at her, and slowly slid the glove over her hand and up her arm.
The glint in his eye sent a shiver down Jackie's spine, and all the way to her toes.
"Believe me, this has nothing to do with fantasy," he murmured. "You and I are getting out of here as soon as possible. I only have one more day in Seattle and I'm not wasting another minute."
* * * *
"The first thing is just to get used to the way it feels in your hand."
"Are you sure this is safe?" Jackie hated that she was being such a baby about this. "I'm not really sure how to handle one of these things."
Lance's warm breath tickled the back of her neck as he reached around to close his fingers over her fist. "Trust me."
"Hmph. Like I haven't heard that before." Jackie stared doubtfully at the eight inch dagger in her hand. How in the world was she supposed to focus and keep from seriously hurting herself with the wickedly sharp blade while her senses were completely swamped by the man who was currently pressed close behind her, shoulder, thigh, the backs of her knees?
They were in the living room area of Lance's hotel suite in downtown Seattle, where they had ended up in less time than she could have believed possible after he whisked her away from the LARP event. They'd dropped her car at her place, before making a drive-by to meet up with a bunch of the players for what she supposed was the after-party. They stayed long enough to sip the foam off one beer, and then made a bee-line to Lance's hotel where they had been holed up ever since.
The desk and chairs were pushed to the walls, to give them room to practice. For the previous hour, Lance had put her through a strenuous workout until she mastered the self-defense move she had asked him to teach her. Now they were doing what he called "a little blade work."
Between lunging, parrying and the grueling repetition of critical moves, they had traded bits of life-stories, covering the basics and more. Jackie found herself completely at ease with Lance, who disposed of pretense with warmth, honesty and total acceptance. He was smart, funny and ferociously energetic.
As much as she appreciated the lessons, every passing minute she spent with the man only increased her attraction to him. It wasn't just his amazing body, or the impressive strength and controlled power of his movements while he had been teaching her.
It was the hunger burning in his eyes that made every glance feel like a touch, every touch tingle like a zap of electricity. Her nerve endings were sparking like loose power lines in a high wind. Her whole body hummed with the steadily building tension. She wanted him.
Bad.
Bad enough that she was willing to settle for what she could get with him, even if it was only one night. She was pretty sure he wanted her, too. When was he going to kiss her, for God's sake?
Outside, rain drifted through the darkened Seattle streets, its faint patter on the windows setting a cozy music to the evening and making the room into a warm safe cocoon for the two of them.
Heat radiated from Lance's body, and the scent of clean, warm, and intently focused man enveloped Jackie, bringing a definite wobble to her knees that had nothing to do with the previous workout.
She swallowed hard, and closed her eyes to try to gather her wandering attention. "Okay, fine, Mr. Ninja Knight. Show me what I'm supposed to do."
She felt him shift his weight from foot to foot behind her, as his fingers tightened over hers on the dagger's handle.
"Slide your hand up a bit so your fingers are snug on the underside of the guard. It protects you from your opponent's weapon and keeps you from cutting yourself on your own blade."
Jackie let him adjust her hold until her fingers bumped the underside of the little dome-like shield-thing that circled the base of the blade.
"Kind of like a little safety feature," she said, while eyeing the dagger uneasily. "I get that." It still looked plenty dangerous. She didn't know how much good a narrow hand guard was going do when she was handling what looked like a machete to her.
"You're doing great," he murmured into her hair. His voice slid like silk over her senses and made her want to throw the stupid knife into the wall, grab him and have her way with him right now.
She sighed. "Okay, so let's do this. I'm about as ready as I'm gonna be." Plus, the sooner they were done with the martial arts lesson, the sooner they could get on to other, more interesting, activities.
He put his mouth against the back of her neck. "Planning on using it against me?" His voice vibrated against her skin, followed by the feel of his firm, moist lips as he trailed a line of kisses along the side of her neck. Tingles exploded all the way down to her toes.
Jackie shivered and swallowed hard
, fighting for control as a haze of need swamped her vision. "Should I?" Her voice sounded husky in her own ears.
"Oh, definitely." Lance deftly took the blade from her fingers and tossed it onto a pile of clothes beside his suitcase. "Or something like this could happen." Before she knew it, he'd twirled her to face him, and was taking her mouth in a searing kiss.
Huzzah! Jackie wrapped her arms around him. It was the last coherent thought that made it through her brain for a very long time. All she was aware of was the need to press herself against his hard, hot body and feel all of him at once, everywhere.
Fortunately, he seemed to have the same idea as he locked his arms around her, and proceeded to drive her completely insane.
His kiss was demanding, leaving no doubt of his intention. He intended to have her. His large capable hands that, earlier in the day, had easily swung a claymore with deadly force, moved surely over the curve of her waist and hips until he cupped her ass.
"Oh God," she moaned into his mouth. Needing to be closer, to have more, to give more, Jackie jumped up and wrapped her legs around his waist.
"You're killing me here," Lance hissed on a sharp inhalation, and tightened his grip.
Jackie arched and nearly passed out from the hot spike of pleasure that shot through her as she pressed her most sensitive flesh against the hard bulge in his jeans.
Desire, passion and pure, straight-up, lust warred for dominance in what remained of Lance's consciousness as he carried her into the next room. He fell with her onto the bed, finally giving in to the urge to pull her close and satisfy his need to know how she would feel in his hands, taste in his mouth.
Though she wore jeans and a long-sleeved t-shirt, Lance couldn't get the image out of his head of how she had looked earlier that day, with her costume revealing the lush figure hidden beneath her bulky sweater. The corset had hugged every inch of her curves and plumped her generous breasts into mounds that begged to be touched.
He pulled back just enough to see her, leaning back on her elbows on the bed. Her eyes were dark with need, lips wet from his kiss. Every line of her body invited him to sin. Her red-gold hair waved loose and wild over her shoulders, and the thin cotton of her shirt clung to the curves of her full breasts, teasing him with the hint of jutting nipples.