We were too busy in the afternoon to drop by the chess match, which must have derailed some of the rose delivery plans. Because once it was over, several of our fellow cast members dropped by the tavern, along with roses nine, ten, and eleven. By the end of the day the flower crown on top of my head made me look like a wood nymph, and there were more roses stuck at random into my hair and one was threaded through the laces of my bodice. Janet had left for the day, and Jamie had started to break down the bar when Mitch appeared, a smirk on his face and a rose in his hand.
“No.” I held up a hand, as if that would stop him from coming any closer. It didn’t. “No,” I said again. “I don’t need any more roses.” I tried hard to sound annoyed, but I hadn’t stopped smiling since I’d gotten the first rose that morning.
“Too bad, milady.” Mitch actually bopped me on the nose with the rose he held. “I am here to escort you to pub sing.”
I tried to wave him off. “I think I’ll skip it today.” I wanted to collect my niece and get home as soon as possible. One side effect to all of these roses was that Simon had been on my mind all day, a side effect enhanced by the fact that he hadn’t come by the tavern once. It was so unlike him that all I could think about was getting home, showered, changed, and over to his place pronto. I needed to thank him properly for all these roses. And in this case, “properly” meant “naked.”
Mitch laughed. “Nice try. You’re not skipping anything.” I had never been handed a rose so forcefully in my life, and by now I was an expert on being given flowers. He took my other hand and nestled it in the crook of his elbow. “I’m under orders.” He half led, half dragged me to the front of the grounds, where most of the cast and the remaining patrons had gathered for pub sing. By the looks of things, it was winding down; most of the acts who participated had already performed, and a quintet of women singing in a cappella harmony was just finishing up.
No sooner had they left the stage than Simon, still in costume as Captain Blackthorne, hopped up and commanded the attention of everyone there. “I want to thank all of you for joining us here today at the Willow Creek Renaissance Faire.” His authoritative voice traveled without the aid of a microphone, and when I looked at him I was amazed that this was the same man with the shy smile in all his family photographs. He was a completely different person in the costume and persona of a pirate. But the great thing for me was I now found both men equally compelling.
“It’s been a lovely day,” he continued. “The weather’s been perfect, and we have all enjoyed having you. I would like to give my particular thanks to those of you still here who assisted me today on my quest.
“For those of you who weren’t a part of it, let me explain it to you now. We have in our midst a woman named Emma. She is a tavern wench of great beauty, whose smile lights up the day like the sun, and the night like the moon. She has absolutely stolen my heart, but I do not mind in the least. In fact, if she would agree to keep my heart and take good care of it, I would never want it back.”
My own heart pounded at this speech, while the logical side of my brain tried hard to parse it. Who was speaking here? Captain Blackthorne, the pirate I’d been handfasted to at the beginning of Faire, and spent weeks bantering with in character? Or was this Simon, the mild-mannered English teacher, who had kissed me so sweetly in the bookstore a few days before? Or were they two halves of a whole, one living neatly inside the other?
“Recently, I learned something very important about my lovely Emma. Something tragic.” He paused here for emphasis. “She told me she had never before been wooed.” He pressed a dramatic hand to his heart. “Can you imagine something so terrible?”
Yes, I could. Nuclear war. Sad kittens. The rumored worldwide chocolate shortage. But for the sake of argument I kept my mouth shut and let him keep talking, even though my heart pounded and every cell of my body shook. I was not a center-of-attention kind of girl.
Which was too bad, apparently.
“So I made it my mission to woo the fair Emma. With the help of all of you, who delivered the signs of my affections to her all day long, so she might know she is constantly in my thoughts, and always will be. And now I ask you, my dear Emma!”
I almost dropped the rose I was holding, because he threw out an arm, gesturing to where I stood in the back, and all the patrons turned to look at me. It took a moment to realize I was muttering under my breath. “Oh, no. Oh no oh no oh no oh no . . .” The memory of my very public, very projectile-vomity stage fright from my college days was suddenly in the forefront of my mind. That would create the wrong impression here.
“Deep breaths, gorgeous.” Mitch planted one huge hand square in the middle of my back and gave me a little shove, propelling me down the center aisle toward the stage, where my pirate awaited me. He hopped to the ground and met me toward the front of the aisle.
“I ask you, Emma.” His voice was softer now, pitched lower, more for me and less for the world at large. He extended a hand to me and I didn’t hesitate to take it. When his hand closed around mine, solid and sure, all my shaking stopped and the apprehension drained away even as he led me onto the stage. He wouldn’t let me barf in front of all these people. With my hand in his, I felt safe. I was still aware of the audience, but the world that mattered had shrunk down to the two of us. “Would you say that you have been successfully wooed on this day?” The accent was Captain Blackthorne’s, but the words, the voice, were all Simon.
His eyes smiled down into mine, and I knew I looked utterly ridiculous in my blue and white wench ensemble all but covered with red roses. But I also knew, as I smiled back at him, that I had never been so happy, and never felt so much a part of something in my life. Not only Simon, but the entire Faire around us, had become my home.
“Aye, sir.” I stuck the rose I still carried behind his ear. “I have indeed been wooed.”
His smile became a grin, then a laugh, and without any further warning he slid one arm around my back, the other around my shoulders, and he dipped me, as though we were the romantic finale of a black-and-white movie, and while my head spun from the change in equilibrium he kissed me, to the cheers of everyone. His mouth on mine did nothing to stop my head from spinning, but his hands were supportive and strong. He wouldn’t let me fall.
Once he let me up again and we were off the stage, he drew me close into an embrace as the clapping died down. “Come over tonight,” he said, softly enough so only I could hear him. “Wear the roses.”
I shook my head. “I’m filthy. All covered in roses and Faire dirt. I should wash up first.”
“No.” He brushed his mouth against mine one more time before murmuring into my ear. “I can’t wait that long. Come over now. I’ll take care of you.” When his voice was pitched that low I felt it deep in my chest, and there was no way I could say no.