Faire Justice

by Pillow Michelle M.

  He gallantly took her hand, leaning over to brush his lips over her knuckles. Warmth caressed her and she knew he’d opened his mouth ever so slightly. A shock of sexual excitement lit in her blood at the kiss. She shivered as he let go, the moisture on her hand cooling in the breeze. “I come from the future, in a time where the coffee pours freely and we all take plenty of showers.”

  He chuckled. “Are ya telling me I need a bath?”

  “What? No,” she quickly denied. The sting of where his mouth touched her hand thumped a trail along her skin, like a snake of desire slithering over her flesh, working its way slowly over her arm to her shoulder and neck. It was as if the kiss continued, moving to erect her nipples with longing and curl around her waist.

  “You smell nice.”

  You smell nice? Leda groaned. She should’ve been able to come up with a better line than that—even if he did smell great.

  “Ya are no’ into this, are ya?”

  “Is it that obvious?” she drawled, laughing.

  ‘Leda, what are you doing?’

  “A wee bit,” he agreed. “So, what brings ya to our tournament on such a fine day, Lady Leda?”

  ‘Leda, it’s about time for the tournament. Ditch the knight and get over to the bleachers.’

  She grimaced.

  “Lady Leda?” he asked when she didn’t speak.

  “Oh, the weapons.”

  He gave her a look of surprise.

  “I’m in the market for a sword and I wanted to see some examples in use before I purchased one.” She glanced down his body, unable to help herself, before looking at the tent. “I bet there are a lot of swords in there.”

  Following her gaze down and then over, he nodded. “Yea.”

  “Do you think you could …?” She batted her lashes, letting her eyes dip down. It was an obvious ploy, they both knew it, but that’s what made it so effective.

  “Would ya like to see inside the tent, my lady?” He offered her his arm. “I’m due in the lifts, but I can take ya through after.”

  “I’d like that.” She smiled. “Thank you.”

  “Though,” he leaned forward. “I have to warn ya, it’s no’ that interesting.”

  ‘Leda Williams, what are you doing? Do you need back-up? What’s happening?’

  Leda lifted her hand behind her back and waved for Bret to shut up. They hadn’t been working together long and he obviously wasn’t used to her tactics as of yet. Being a woman, there were certain ways she could get things done that the men couldn’t.

  “I don’t know about that. I’m plenty interested.” Leda didn’t mean for the double meaning she implied with that statement, but now that it was said, she rolled with it. She gave him a smile. “Escort me to the tournament?”

  “I can no’. I’m riding.”

  Leda glanced back, seeing Madame Sabena smiling and waving at her. The woman lifted her hand, blowing a small kiss toward Leda. Biting her lips, Leda mumbled quietly as she lifted her hand weakly to the side to wave half-heartedly back. “Okay, crazy woman. Hi. How ya doin’? Yeah, we’re friends now ‘cause you read some cards. Okay then.”

  “That’s no way to speak about a seer,” the knight said.

  Leda laughed and gave him a guilty look. “Trust me. She didn’t see anything.”

  “Ya did no’ like your future?”

  Leda thought of the whole, ‘tall, dark and handsome’ bit and smiled. “The future was just fine. It was how she went on about my present that bothered me. Oh, and the part about the cards vibrating was a bit silly.”

  “Oh?”

  “She said I work too hard, which is crazy. So what if I work a lot of hours, if I love what I do, that doesn’t mean that I work too hard.”

  “And what is it ya do?”

  “I’m a … ah,” Leda hesitated, knowing she couldn’t tell the truth. “A barmaid.”

  “Mmm, a lady-serving wench,” he said, grinning. “Well, wench, I’d be honored to take this tournament for ya.”

  “What? Win the tournament for me?” Leda felt giddy. There was something about this knight that made her forget she was an agent and made her feel like a woman.

  “Yea.” His smile deepened, reaching his eyes. A thin thread of desire drew their bodies closer. She looked at his mouth, desperately wanting to kiss him.

  ‘Leda! The tournament is starting soon. You need to get in there. Stop fucking around and get moving.’

  But now was obviously not the time. Bret was the last person she wanted in her head as she made out with a hunky knight.

  “And what do I get if you win?” she asked.

  “Prestige.” He laughed.

  “And what would you get?”

  His laughter faded and he turned somewhat serious. “A kiss.”

  Leda smiled, nodding her head. “Okay, Sir Knight, you have a deal.”

  Gallantly he bowed and walked away, whistling as he went into the knights’ tent. Leda stood, watching after him, her body shaking slightly with desire.

  “I told you. The cards never lie. Tall, dark and handsome.”

  Leda jolted in surprise, turning to see Madame Sabena stood next to her. “We’ll see. It’s early yet and he’s got to take the tournament first.”

  Sabena laughed.

  “What’s so funny?” Leda asked.

  “That shouldn’t be too hard,” Sabena said. “He’s been the tournament’s champion for nigh five years now.”

  “Five years?” Leda turned around in awe to stare at the tent.

  “Mm-hmm,” Sabena said, and chuckled knowingly. “Come on, let’s go watch. The crowds always thin out during the main event anyway and I won’t have any customers.”

  Being roped by the fortune teller wasn’t exactly how Leda wanted to spend the tournament, but what else could she do? She glanced back at some nearby tents to see if any of the agents were following her. Bret’s blond head poked up from around the side and he nodded once.

  “This way, my lady,” Sabena said, dragging her along toward the bleachers.

  ‘Right behind you, Leda,’ Bret’s voice said. ‘Stay sharp.’

  * * * *

  Calum tried to remain calm as he entered the knights’ tent. All his life he’d been told this day would come—the day he met a woman who sent an electrical spark through his entire being. Lady Leda. His eyes had been drawn to her since he saw her walking in the distance. The second he saw her across the fairgrounds, he knew.

  He’d instantly gone to Aunt Sabena to confirm his fate. The psychic was only too happy to help him ease his mate with a tarot reading. Only, from the looks of it, Leda was too skeptical to pay attention to what his aunt was telling her. Then, when Leda approached him, he thought to make easy conversation. Only, she’d looked too sexy, her big eyes staring at him, her body calling to him as only a mate could. He’d been unable to resist the invisible bond between them and had to kiss her.

  “Done trailing your lass? Or should we announce that ya will no’ be at the lifts?”

  Calum gave his father, Thomas, a rueful smirk as his uncles began to chuckle. Inside, the tent was plain, set up with long rows of tables. Half-way back a flap blocked the back section of the tent from view. As champion, the back area was for his use. It was nothing fancy, but it did afford him some privacy during the day when the rest of the knights drank themselves into a stupor.

  “I will no’ give ya the satisfaction, old man.” Calum glanced over his gathered uncles—Stephan the Short, Henry the Bald, Peter the Wise and George the Mad. Though, they only went by the old names during the faire. Otherwise, they just used the last name of McKibben.

  “I have a feeling today is my day,” his father answered, chuckling as he fingered the sword at his waist. “Your brains are no’ in your head.”

  “And your liquor is no’ in your cup,” Calum gestured to the man’s empty goblet. Almost instantly, it magically filled with ale. It was one of the few perks of being born into a family of wizards.

  Tho
mas nodded. “There’s a good lad.”

  “And ya wonder why I always win,” Calum muttered.

  “I wonder nothing,” Thomas said. “You’re a fine warrior. Your ma would have been proud o’ the man ya turned out to be.”

  Calum knew his father must already be drunk to mention his late mother. Since Bridget died, a piece of Thomas had withered. Most of the time, the man seemed to only go through the motions, throwing himself into drinking and sport, even wenching. But meaningless sex could never touch a broken heart. Having witnessed the change for himself, Calum had second thoughts about the path he took with Lady Leda. He felt something different when he looked at her, something more than animalistic lust and need. But was it worth being with her to someday end up like his father? Drunk and broken?

  Calum eyed his father as he tipped back his goblet. His parents had married in the thirteen-hundreds. The wizard clans had been locked in a war back then and Calum was raised by his mother’s family after her death—thus the slight cultural difference between he and his father.

  The war had been about many things, most predominately the fundamental questions. Did wizards interfere with the lives of humans and change the course of mortal history? Calum and his family believed they should not. Humans were not their personal slaves or pawns, who should be made to serve a wizard’s whim. On the other hand, mortals were not meant for magic and often abused any power they had. It was best to keep magic separate. Who were the wizards to decide who should be king, or which side should win a war? To influence such things became equivalent to playing God.

  It was only several years after his mother’s death that Calum got to know his father. The wars had ended, though nothing had been resolved on either side. Both factions agreed to avoid the other. With so many bad memories of loss, their family decided to flee the old country for a new start. They came to America.

  Calum still wasn’t sure how it happened, but they’d found a home within the Renaissance Festival. Maybe it was because swordplay was second nature to them, as natural as breathing or walking. Calum couldn’t remember a time when he hadn’t held a sword in his hands. Calluses on his palms attested to the fact. They’d been using the weapons for centuries, and performing for crowds of mortals was an easy way to make a living. Not to mention they could cast their own blades. But, perhaps most importantly, there was comfort in the reminder of the past that the faire gave them.

  “The water’s gone into the well.” George chuckled.

  Calum stopped briefly, glancing at Uncle George, not bothering to tell the man that whatever it was he’d just said made no real sense and wasn’t even a real saying. Everyone in the family was used to George’s idiosyncrasies.

  “Did the lady hit ya over the head?” Peter laughed, pounding his fist on the table.

  Calum blinked, realizing he’d been staring blindly at his father. Thomas lifted a brow, his expression asking if he should be concerned. Shaking his head, Calum said, “Ach! Ya are reading too much into my interest.”

  The defense only made his uncles break out in boisterous laughter. Calum waved a dismissing hand and strode across the tent to gather his sword. Blocking an onslaught of jests that followed him, Calum determined he really didn’t have much of a choice. Fate had showed him Lady Leda and he would follow where his destiny led. Right now, destiny demanded he take the tournament and win his prize.

  Chapter Two

  The wooden bleachers weren’t the most comfortable, but it was no different than being at a high school football game. Oh, except that there were knights on horses running around the track, demonstrating skills of agility and grace. She knew it was all for show, but some of the players’ moves looked downright real and vicious.

  Sabena was only too happy to explain the rules of the sword fights. Leda watched the knights’ skills as they pitted sword against sword. The sound of real metal clanged over the field and she had to admit she was slowly gaining an appreciation for what they did. One man even demonstrated how sharp his sword blade was by slicing through a large melon with one clean hack.

  “That is Lord Barfeld,” Sabena said, pointing at a burly man who towered over his shorter opponent. “And he fights the gallant Sir Thomas.”

  Swords glistened as the two men squared off, shining in the sunlight. The squat Sir Thomas struck the weapon of Lord Barfeld in a surprising show of strength, cracking the noble’s blade in two. The crowd cheered, wildly stomping their feet.

  “See over there,” Sabena pointed across the field to where canopies covered a portion of the bleachers. The royalty procession she’d seen walking through the encampment earlier had moved to the honored seats. “Those seats are for nobility, and beneath is where the peasants and servants watch.”

  Sure enough, peasant-looking actors were beneath the nobles.

  “I thought those were all royalty,” Leda said.

  “Nay, only the one in the middle—the crowned king. The rest are foreign nobles,” Sabena explained.

  The nobles all wore bright colors and flashy jewels. It was a stark contrast to the drabber people below them. A few of the upper class, looking as if they truly were getting drunk, rowdily tossed bits of food at those below. They really did make a ceremony of the whole affair. Before each fight, the men made pretty speeches and pledges of loyalty to the mock king.

  Finally, it was time for the joust. The rules were simple, from what Leda could see. One man with a stick tried to push another man with a stick off his horse. Several of the women pretended to faint as certain knights were called forth. Others waved handkerchiefs at the men.

  Medieval groupies. Leda tried not to laugh.

  And then her knight came onto the field, looking regal astride his stallion. Leda squirmed in her seat, instantly a little hot. A dark green tie fluttered from his blunted lance, matching her gown.

  ‘I got nothing,’ Bret said. ‘I’ve been all over the back section.’

  Leda frowned. The man really did have a knack for speaking up at the worst times. Every part of her wanted to yank the earpiece and Bret’s voice out of her ear, but duty kept her hands still.

  ‘Where are you, Leda?’

  She couldn’t answer. The earpiece only went one way.

  ‘Stand up so I can see you,’ he demanded.

  Leda moved to stand. Her knight’s eyes instantly caught hers, as he found her in the crowd. With a gallant show, he motioned out to her, lifting a handkerchief to his lips. The crowd went wild and several of the noblewomen stood, craning their necks to look at her. Leda could suddenly see the appeal of having a knight’s attention. Her heart flopped in her chest, as if carried by tiny butterflies. She swallowed, unable to pull her eyes away from the handsome man.

  “Ah, so Sir Calum has truly agreed to champion you,” Sabena said. “Though, I’ll bet he has more in mind than that.”

  “What?” Leda looked down, realizing she was the only one standing in the crowd of hundreds. She blushed slightly to know that she’d just made a public display of herself.

  ‘Go ahead and take your seat. I see you,’ Bret said. ‘Try not to disappear on us again. As far as I’m concerned, all of these people are freaks. Any one of them can be the killer.’

  Silently, Leda answered him, knowing he wouldn’t hear the response, Well, if the killer is here, there is no way he didn’t see me in the crowd.

  “Your knight,” Sabena drew her attention back to the immediate area. “He’s championing you. Many of the ladies will be jealous to see you chosen for such an honor. He never champions anyone and, believe me, those harlots have tried.”

  “Ah?” Leda didn’t know how to answer, but found herself smiling. Maybe she’d been too hasty in her first dismissal of Sabena. Leda realized she didn’t really mind the woman. When Madame Sabena wasn’t acting like a freak, waving her arms around and predicting the future, the woman was actually quite nice.

  “I told you your cards were strong,” Sabena said.

  And then there she goes … predicting
the future.

  Leda suppressed a wry laugh.

  A herald made his announcements and dropped a flag. Calum nudged his horse. Leda bit her lip, not wanting to watch as the two men went for each other at full speed. Yet, she couldn’t look away from his strong thighs gripping the bareback horse combined with the taut line of his armored body, moving seductively with each gallop of his mount. Suddenly, Calum’s lance broke on the man’s chest, exploding into bits of wood. The man didn’t fall. Leda frowned. It looked all too real. The men went back to their starting points to do it again. Both times Calum’s lance struck home, showering the men in splinters.

  She relaxed, thinking it was over, only to realize there were more rounds between the men. The more she watched, the more she couldn’t stop from squirming in her seat. She pictured Calum’s strong form shifting beneath the armor. It would have to be strong after five years of this kind of constant physical exertion. Determination and sweat lined his face. His body moved with strength and precision, and it was arousing to behold.

  Looking around for a mace, she frowned. It turned out to be a fruitless search.

  ‘Freaks,’ Bret swore under his breath.

  Naughty little fantasies about Calum started popping into her head. His tight naked body over hers, his arousal striking her like his lance to an opponent, hard and sure. Maybe being trapped in the Middle Ages wasn’t such a bad thing—especially if it included being conquered by a sexy knight. Leda automatically fanned her face with her hand, feeling very hot. The sun beat down from above, but that was hardly the cause of her discomfort.

  ‘I don’t think we’re going to find anything here,’ Bret said.

  I found plenty, Leda thought by way of an answer.

  ‘The guys are going to make another round at those weapon-maker people and then they’re going to call it in until tomorrow.’

  Leda stared at the field for so long, fantasizing about all the wickedly delicious ways she’d like to lure Sir Calum into her bed that she didn’t realize the game had ended. She’d even missed the fact that Calum had taken the tournament as champion until it was announced by the herald. Her eyes found his heated gaze staring at her for all to see.