Oh, God, he was making our fake relationship part of the show. Fine. I crossed my arms. “But you and I made no such arrangement!” I called back. “We shall discuss this later.”
Ooooooh, went some of the cast members, accompanying his wincing expression. Some of the audience joined in, craning their heads to look back at me. Meanwhile, Simon maintained most of his swagger as he prepared to face off against Mitch in the center of the board.
“All right, then, MacGregor?” Face-to-face like this, their size difference was readily apparent. Simon practically had to crane his neck to look up at Mitch.
Mitch stared down at him, stone-faced. This was the most I had seen him in character since Faire had started, and it was unsettling to see. Mitch was the most cheerful guy on the planet, so this giant of a man, arms crossed over his massive chest and looking daggers down at the pirate, was a stranger I had never met before. A pretty scary one.
“All right.” Mitch’s response was a rumble of rolled r’s as he slowly drew his sword. Also massive. “Said goodbye to your girl, then?” He tilted his head. “Both of them?”
Simon never lost his cocky grin as he drew his own sword, a rapier as slender as he was. “No need. This will only take a moment.”
For a few beats they circled each other, Simon with loose-limbed grace and Mitch with solid, slower movements. They took turns testing each other with experimental taps of the sword, a quick occasional thrust and parry. Then the fight started in earnest.
I’d seen this in rehearsal. I remembered how exciting it had been, how my heart had leapt into my throat. Compared to what I watched now, that had been nothing. Now, at true full speed and in character, it was breathtaking. A dizzying spectacle. These guys knew what they were doing. Swords went flying. Mitch went flying in a flip over Simon’s shoulder, the physics of which I still didn’t understand. Their hand-to-hand grappling ended in that final moment with Mitch standing over Simon, the blade of his dirk against Simon’s neck. The pirate knelt in the grass, his arms outstretched in defeat, his head tilted back to expose his throat, leaning back on his heels away from the blade.
After a beat of silence Mitch (well, Marcus MacGregor) was declared the winner, and the audience burst into applause. The two men broke the tableau, and Mitch took his knife away to offer his hand to Simon. It was a moment of breaking character as he helped him to his feet, but after the tension of the fight no one seemed to notice or mind.
I jumped as Stacey elbowed me in the ribs. “Good, right?”
I dropped my hands from where I had been holding them pressed to my mouth. “Yeah,” I managed. “Yeah, that was pretty amazing. They do that twice a day?” I shook my head. I thought I was tired at the end of the day. At least I wasn’t flipping people over my shoulder.
There was a bit of skit as the chess match ended; the two people who’d been calling the moves bickered over who had cheated and whether that checkmate was an illegal move. Then all the players came out for a curtain call, and the match was over. Patrons got up from their wooden benches and Stacey and I stepped even farther back to be out of their way.
But doing that put us in the path of the whole retinue of royalty, coming down off the dais. “Make way for the Queen!” The guards bellowed the command, and we all obeyed, patrons and cast alike, scurrying to the sides of the lane so the Queen and her ladies could pass by. Stacey and I dropped to the lowest curtsy possible. The Queen got the best, after all.
My eyes were still cast down, focused on the dirt about six feet in front of me, when the gold cloth of the Queen’s skirts came into view. I waited for her to pass, but she stopped in front of me, causing me to look up.
“Ah, Emma.” Chris as the Queen modulated her voice so that it was a smooth melody. I marveled again at how she sounded like a completely different person from the woman I’d spent the week with rearranging bookshelves. When I looked up, she looked like a different person too. Not only because of her makeup and elaborately braided hairstyle, but in the way she carried herself, the way she turned her head. She was regal with every inch of her being. And as a tavern wench, I was astounded she was calling me by name.
“Your Majesty.” I met her eyes for a brief moment, then cast them back down again. Pretty sure wenches weren’t supposed to make eye contact with royalty, much less make conversation, but speak when spoken to, right?
“I am glad to see you are out from behind the bar and enjoying this glorious day. Are you enjoying yourself, my girl?”
“Oh, yes, Your Majesty. Thank you.” I chanced another look up at her. “Thank you,” I said again, with a little more emphasis. I couldn’t break character and thank her directly for getting those other volunteers to our tavern, but I did my best to get the message across. I think it worked. It was hard to tell; with another smile she was on her way, and Stacey and I headed back to the tavern. Extra volunteers or not, we still had drinks to serve.
The rest of the afternoon passed uneventfully, or at least as uneventfully as an afternoon spent in the woods at a Renaissance faire could pass. Patrons in various stages of costuming came through, and at one point I found myself kneeling in the dirt, marveling at a miniature knight wearing plastic chain-mail armor. He wielded a wood-and-foam sword with a lot of enthusiasm, if not skill.
“What’s this?”
I heard Captain Blackthorne before I saw him. While Simon was pretty reserved in general, my pirate (oh, no, had he become my pirate?) easily made his presence known. Especially in a space like our smallish tavern.
I looked up from where I knelt, letting my eyes travel up from his silver-buckled boots, lingering on black-leather-encased thighs, wide belt wrapped around slim hips, and finally up to the billowy, loosely laced black shirt. I was in character; I was allowed to ogle. Once I reached his face, I took in his amused smile that said he knew exactly what I was doing. I should have felt embarrassed, but I didn’t. Then I remembered he had asked me a question.
“This?” I rose to my feet as the small child in not-so-shining armor ran back to find his parents. “This good sir knight here was showing me his most impressive weapon.”
“Oh?” His eyebrow arched, and I tried to ignore the way it sent heat speeding down my spine. “Are you seeking out others, then? Does my weapon no longer interest you?”
I had to bite down hard on my bottom lip to keep from laughing. We were blowing right past subtle innuendo today.
“Oh, Captain.” I fluttered my eyelashes dramatically. “I believe you are quite aware that I have no complaints with your . . . weapon.”
He choked for a split second, but covered it with a small cough before he leaned a casual elbow against the bar. “I hope not, love.” His smile was as broad as ever. “I would hate to think I would have to duel with another for your affections.”
“I hope not, as well, for your sake.” I rounded my eyes in feigned horror. “I’ve seen you fight, sir. It typically ends on your knees in the dirt with a knife at your throat, does it not?” I shook my head, clucking my tongue. “Not a good ending.” A nearby patron snorted, and it was all I could do to not turn my head. Great. Simon and I had turned into a show all on our own. Come for the beer, stay for the bad comedy.