“Yesterday,” she said patiently. “When you ran off, remember? Where did you go?”
“Oh, that.” I sighed. “I had to go to the joust field and be married off.”
“What?” Her laugh was a loud shock of sound, and the middle-aged patron she was pouring the wine for raised her eyebrows.
“I’m going to need to hear about this,” the woman said as she slid the cash for her wine across the bar.
I shook my head and opened bottles of import beer for Jamie while he poured drafts for me. For the next few minutes the three of us worked hard serving everyone who had come out of the Celtic folk-singing show behind us. Once the rush was over, I grabbed a clean bar rag and wiped up the puddles on the bar.
“Don’t think I’m going to let you forget.” Stacey plunked the wine bottles back on ice and started taking note of any beers or ciders that needed restocking.
“Forget what?” I blinked innocently.
“The married thing,” the wine drinker from earlier piped up from the other side of the bar. She had been sipping on her chardonnay the whole time we were working. “I mean, I know there’s lots of authentic things going on at this Faire, but getting married off seems a little much.”
“Exactly!” Stacey said triumphantly. “This is the Renaissance, darling. Not the dark ages. And it’s not as though you have a vast fortune for a man to want to get his hands on. No offense.”
“None taken.” I loved that without even trying we were perfectly in character in this moment, gossiping in our accents, sounding like true barmaids. “All right, perhaps I exaggerated a little.” But another group of patrons came in and I became too occupied serving them to finish my story. And another group after that. Now that afternoon had hit, we were going to be as busy today as we’d been the day before. Which was great, when it came to the bottom line and the whole fund-raising aspect of things.
Across the way the human chess match had begun its first performance of the day. The sounds of fighting and cheering filtered their way to us in our tavern. I had to admit there was part of me that had started to grow a little jealous of those ladies-in-waiting I’d been with during the handfasting, even my own niece. They all got to be part of Faire, to walk the grounds. They could watch the human chess match or listen to the Celtic folk singers. They got to interact with the patrons in a more meaningful way than handing them a drink and collecting their cash. Stacey had said this was a fun gig. Were we going to get any share of that fun? I couldn’t imagine getting any less busy as the summer wore on.
About fifteen minutes later we hit another lull, and Stacey had run out of patience. “Finish your story!”
I traded an opened beer to a patron for a five-dollar bill and smiled my thanks before dropping it into the till. “There isn’t much to tell.” I turned my back to the bar and leaned my elbows on it. The stretch to my back felt good. “The wee Lady Guenevere was sent to fetch me to the handfasting ceremony, where I was promptly wed to a pirate.” I narrowed my eyes at her, showing just what I thought of the pirate in question.
“Now, that’s an exaggeration.” I jumped at the voice behind me and whirled. Simon. No. The accent, the swagger, the cheerful expression. Captain Blackthorne had entered our tavern.
“Captain.” I bobbed a quick in-character curtsy, and out of the corner of my eye I saw Stacey do the same. But as I reached my full height again I raised my eyebrows at him. “How do I exaggerate, milord?”
“We are not wed, we are simply pledged. For a year and a day, remember?” He nodded toward the golden cord, which I had found in my basket that morning. I wore it wrapped around my bodice like a belt and the ends dangled down among my skirts.
“Yes, of course.” But I wasn’t letting him off that easy. “And what is the difference?” It was so easy to slide into the bantery conversation with Simon-as-pirate, more than it ever was to talk to him when he was himself. I was even enjoying myself.
“The difference?” His smile widened; I’d said something either very, very wrong or very, very right, and he couldn’t wait to take advantage of it. “Well, the difference is . . .” He shrugged, but the wicked grin remained intact. “I’m not sure I can say. This is a family-friendly Faire, after all.”
I crossed my arms over my chest. Usually this would all but hide my inadequate cleavage, but in this outfit it highlighted it instead. I thought about dropping my arms, but screw it. Let him look. “This is a tavern,” I reminded him. “Nothing family-friendly here.”
To my horror, he took the dare. “Well, then . . .” He leaned his elbows on the bar, encroaching on my space. Patrons entered the tavern around us, and thankfully, Stacey and Jamie were able to catch them because neither Simon nor I was paying attention. For me, the world had narrowed to this black-clad man in front of me, and the impossible colors that sparkled in his eyes. “If we were wed, when night fell I would take you back to my ship, give the men a week of shore leave, and show you my appreciation very thoroughly, and in private. As it is, we are only pledged, and so I will show you my appreciation thus.” He reached across the bar for my hand, and for some reason I gave it. Never breaking his gaze from mine, he bent over my hand and his mouth lingered this time, much longer than it had when we had been performing in front of the crowd. This kiss on the back of my hand was intimate, and his eyes promised even more.
This was all fake. I knew that. He wasn’t a pirate. There was no ship to take me back to. He was a high school English teacher in a costume, and I was the snarky thorn in his side. He was probably doing all of this to make me uncomfortable so I would tell him to knock it off. Then he could later reprimand me for breaking character. Instead fire pooled low in my belly and my mind filled with the image of us in the moonlight on the deck of a pirate ship. The creaking of the wood, the breeze off the water. His hand touching my face, the warmth of his skin against mine.
“Emma?” Stacey’s voice startled me, and with a blink I was back in the tavern. Which was full of patrons and a concerned-looking fellow wench. Shit.
I snatched my hand from Simon’s grasp, and he started a little in confusion. Had he been on that pirate ship with me? “Excuse me, Captain.” My snippy tone covered up the mix of confusion, guilt, and arousal swirling inside me. “Some of us have work to do. I don’t have time to play.”
His face darkened as he took in the scene: a line of people waiting to buy drinks, and only three people to sell them. “Indeed.” He doffed his stupid hat and his bow encompassed the room. “Ladies. Gentlemen. Enjoy the day.” He sauntered out of the tavern, and I turned to the next waiting patron with a smile that shook only a little.
And the patrons kept on coming. I had originally thought people would cool it a little on the alcohol consumption on a Sunday afternoon, but apparently all bets were off when you were at a Renaissance faire. The familiar ache in my feet from the day before came back with a vengeance, and I longed for a break so I could snag a stool and sit down. Instead I opened cases of bottled beer while Jamie changed out a keg and Stacey handled cash. The three of us had become a well-oiled machine in only two days, but we were a woefully inadequate one. A single-cup coffeemaker for a party of ten. When the end of the day came I sank to the ground, not caring how dirty my skirts would get. We had five days until the next Faire day. Plenty of time for laundry.