But as the hour crept toward noon, the crowds picked up, and things got chaotic. Time passed in a blur of popping bottle caps. Of making change. Of grabbing a rag and wiping the bar down as it got wet from the bottles being hauled out of the cooler. I poured wine. I called orders to Jamie, who pulled beers at record speed. Somewhere in there, a band at a nearby stage started playing, guitar and fiddle and hand drums with a rhythm that echoed with a thud in my chest. The sound filtered toward us through the trees, not enough to hum along with a melody, but enough to serve as background music to my day.
Across from the tavern a crowd had started to gather on the benches lining the perimeter of a nearby field. I peered in that direction and could barely make out one of our cast standing in the middle, saying something to the patrons, but I was too far away to make out the words. I nudged Stacey.
“Beatrice, darling, what’s over there?” I had to admit, my accent was pretty damn good.
She followed my pointing finger, squinting like I did. “That’s the human chess match. Remember? We watched them rehearse.”
“Oh, the fighting?” I remembered now. The sword fighting that became fisticuffs. Simon flipping Mitch over his shoulder. Mitch winning the fight. The moment I’d first caught the full force of Simon’s smile.
“The fighting.” She nodded in confirmation. “There are two different matches today. We should try to watch one of them.”
I turned to her in confusion. She had to be kidding. “When on earth will we have time?”
“It slows down at certain times of the day, believe me.” She patted my arm. “We won’t be far off. If Jamie starts drowning in patrons we can come running back.”
“Yeah,” Jamie chimed in. His regular voice with its modern American accent suddenly sounded weird and flat against our faux-English lilts. “This isn’t my first rodeo. Since you’re new to all of this, you should definitely check out some of the shows when we slow down.”
After a little while, I started to see what they meant. People showed up to the tavern in waves. As shows finished, crowds would filter away from the stage area and flow our way. The main appeal seemed to be that they could take a drink to go, and wander the lanes with a beer in hand.
As one of those waves finally thinned out, I caught a flash of pink brocade out of the corner of my eye.
“Milady!” I bobbed a quick curtsy to my niece, then bent to grab a bottle of water from the cooler. Her cheeks were flushed—I didn’t want her getting overheated and keeling over on my watch. April would kill me.
She took the water gratefully and poured it into the glass bottle I’d gotten her for this very purpose. “I’m supposed to get you, actually.”
“Me? What on earth for?”
Cait nodded vigorously. Not something a well-bred Elizabethan lady would do. Ah, well, it was still the first day; she’d get used to it. “We need you at the jousting field.”
“Uh.” I looked in that direction, as though I could see that far. “Why? I know nothing about jousting.” If someone wanted me to get on a horse I was out of here. “My assigned place is here. You’re the one who’s supposed to float around.”
“I dunno. They just said I should come get you.” She came around the bar then and grabbed my arm.
“Okay. This isn’t period at all.” I dropped the accent as I pulled myself free.
“Come on! They’re waiting.”
I glanced over my shoulder at Jamie, who shrugged. “Go ahead,” he said. “I’ve got it here. Stacey will be back from the bathroom soon; she can help me when the show gets out.”
I hated abandoning my post, but Caitlin looked like she was going to pop a blood vessel from stress, so I followed her out of the tavern. We tripped our way down the main lane that wound through the trees and led to the jousting field. In the distance cheers rang out for the knights on horseback, loud and sustained. “What are we doing? It sounds like the joust is almost over.” My heart pounded from our sprint across the grounds and a slight lack of oxygen.
“Yes, but the handfasting is next. And they don’t have enough people, so . . .”
I stumbled over a root and barely managed to recover before I fell on my ass. “Handfasting?” I yanked my skirt up so I wouldn’t trip over it. “I don’t know anything about the handfasting ceremony. I didn’t rehearse it.” How could we be short on people? Everyone was at the morning briefing in the Hollow.
The handfasting was a cute little ceremony for the patrons, which took place after the joust. Couples signed up ahead of time to pledge themselves to each other for a year and a day. Flowery words were spoken, and a golden cord bound their hands together. I was told it was a popular attraction, especially for older couples who wanted to feel young again. But my place was at the tavern, on the other side of the grounds. This was something for the ladies-in-waiting, and other people in the prettier costumes. Not a tavern wench who probably smelled like beer.
We arrived at the clearing to the left of the jousting field. The joust had just ended, and patrons filtered out around us. As we got closer to where the handfasting took place I realized I’d misunderstood Caitlin. We weren’t short on cast members to perform the ceremony. We were short on actual participants. Two couples, in shorts and T-shirts, stood among the cast, looking as awkward as they probably felt, wondering what they had gotten themselves into.
“Aye.” Now that we were among others, Cait slid into her accent again. But she pitched her voice low. “It’s only the first day, they said, so we have very few takers for the ceremony. But we could use the practice, so I was sent to get you, and some others are coming too.”
“For what, an arranged handfasting? Who am I being married off to, then?” I cast my eyes around the field, trying to see who my intended was going to be. Mitch was there—I spotted his kilt right away—but one of the maids to the Queen was already giggling on his arm, so I guessed he wasn’t for me. Dammit. So then who . . .
Then Chris the Queen and her gigantic dress moved about three feet to the left, and I stopped in my tracks.
“No.”
Cait rolled her eyes. So much for staying in character. “God, I knew you’d react this way. Come on.” She pulled on my arm, but I wasn’t moving.
“You couldn’t have said this from the start?” I yanked out of her grasp and crossed my arms across my chest.
She made a disgusted noise in the back of her throat and tugged at my elbow, and I allowed myself to be pulled forward. It was either that or make a scene, and as annoyed as I was, I wasn’t going to do that.
Then a voice called out. A merry, jovial voice I wasn’t used to, because I was used to nothing but criticism from him.