One Knight Only_SKelly Read online

  "What is?" Tad blinked at her.

  "I'm in the damn show, Tad. This isn't the sort of outfit I wear grocery shopping, you know."

  "Pity." He chuckled. "Bet it would get you coupons for fifty percent off frozen peas."

  "I hate peas."

  "I think I remember that."

  There was a brief moment where their gazes clashed. Tad felt the world shift a little as he stared into Drina's stormy blue eyes and nearly lost himself. It was weird, more than a little scary, and made him take a quick step backward. "I'll just go get myself a drink of something."

  She nodded once, a staccato move that seemed awkward and out of place on such an elfin neck. Perhaps she was nervous too. "You might even watch for a bit. The jousting is exciting for those who haven't seen it before."

  Before he had chance to respond, she was gone in flurry of floating blue stuff and a flash of blonde hair. He saw her make her way to the front of the royal box, and stand expectantly with several other young women in colorful costumes.

  Their job was, apparently, to be inspiration for the knights, who would then perform massively heroic deeds. Tad smiled to himself as he made room for a family with two smaller kids. Times hadn't really changed all that much. Women were still the reason men did a number of extraordinarily stupid things.

  Like burning a CD on a playground just to get a girl's attention.

  He sighed. She was even lovelier now than she'd been back then. He wasn't a teenager any more but he'd felt like one—breathless and tense—when he saw her. His cock had immediately responded, and he knew if he hadn't gotten control of himself he'd have been sporting a boner hard enough to rival the swords flashing on the hips of the jousting knights.

  In Junior High, she'd been everything a teenage boy could have asked for. And now it looked as if she was everything a grown man could want. Or at least everything he might want. Not that he'd realized he'd actually wanted it until now… .

  He caught a glimpse of her as she laughed and waved at the knights, doing a little dance of excitement on her toes as one rode directly to her. There were cheers from everyone as he commanded his horse to kneel before her. She threw her hands in the air, applauded and then took some kind of ribbon from her hair and tied it around the knight's lance.

  It was Sir Silent Hulk. Again.

  Tad gritted his teeth, shocked at the bolt of jealousy shooting through his mind. It was only a show and he had no claims on her. He was being a stupid, testosterone-driven man. But shit, she had sweet full breasts and a body he realized he wanted—naked and sweaty beneath him.

  He bit down on a surge of lust and forced himself to watch the show. And, although his mind tended to wander to other things now and again, he was forced to admit to himself that he enjoyed it.

  The crowd responded enthusiastically as the Tournament Master set the stage by introducing the favorite, Sir Josephus Trueheart. Sir Josephus, and his horse, wore cheerful red and white things and lots of gold emblems, along with bright armor and a very perky bunch of red ostrich feathers fluttering in the breeze. Not to mention Drina's ribbon. Obviously the darling of the regulars, his arrival on the field of honor was greeted by a deafening cheer that could have easily shaken Plymouth Rock, not too many miles away.

  Sir Josephus acknowledged it with a regal wave of his gauntlet. The horse looked bored.

  A blast of trumpets heralded the arrival of another knight, who had to be the villain of the piece. Sir Geoffrey deNuit wore—what else—black armor, black pennants and a lot of shiny silver symbols. With sharp things poking out here and there from both armor and weaponry. His appearance struck Tad as being more knight-meets-goth punk rocker than actual medieval combatant, but then again, what did he know?

  The audience didn't seem to mind. There was a lot of booing and hissing, followed by one or two shouts of encouragement from people who clearly couldn't tell the good guy from the bad guy. Or didn't care much either way.

  There was a cute little bit between the knights over the ladies, and when the black knight swooped one off her feet and carried her away, there was a roar of what might have been disapproval, or possibly envy, depending on who was doing the roaring. Since the knight hadn't touched Drina, Tad wasn't unduly concerned.

  Thus the joust was set, two knights about to have at each other for the honor of a kidnapped lady.

  Classic stuff, mused Tad. Good versus evil, lust and innocence, sex—always sex—and two muscled guys about to beat the crap out of each other. Or, in this case, attempt to shish kebab each other with what looked like the proverbial ten-foot poles.

  He turned and carefully made his way out of the crowd. He'd heard a beer calling his name, and he'd seen jousting before. It was fun the first time. After that? Meh.

  The tournament accomplished one very good thing, however. It reduced the lines around the food vendors and Tad found himself with a cool beer and an overflowing steak sandwich in less time than he'd expected.

  Straddling a bench next to an unoccupied picnic table, he set down his napkins and his lunch on its slightly grubby surface, and made himself comfortable. From this point he could see the tournament field, which rose slightly above the fairground itself. Flags snapped merrily, smoke from the barbecues drifted on the breeze and the cheers of the crowd drowned out the sounds of lute playing that some thoughtful soul had piped through the loudspeakers.

  Since Tad wasn't a lute fan, he appreciated it.

  As the sun came out from behind a cloud, he realized this wasn't a half bad way to spend his Saturday. The beer was icy cool, the sandwich amazingly tasty, and the atmosphere—unique.

  He was surprised by the number of guests who were in costume. He'd known the regular Faire employees were similar to a traveling cast of actors. They assumed their personas before the gates opened, and stayed in their roles for the day. But there were entire families dressed in medieval styles, and many women wandering the lanes in everything from full Tudor gowns to skimpy bits of bondage-leather and chains. There were men in costume—some of them stunningly created. Tad was not an expert at evaluating historically accurate clothing since it wasn't his field, but he could appreciate the fine workmanship that had gone into some of the outfits.

  There were winged fairies—none could compare to Drina, of course—and elves, sprites and maidens, along with a complement of ogres and knights. There were dancers and jugglers and musicians strolling with a variety of stringed instruments on their backs or around their necks. Every now and again he heard the dull throaty tones of some huge wooden flute thing resounding through the fairgrounds. He summoned a vague memory and thought it might be an Australian didgeridoo.

  There was even a dulcimer vendor, pulling lyrical tunes from its strings with skill, and attracting a crowd of onlookers. Some would begin to dance. How many of them pulled out their Lady Visa and actually bought one of the beautiful things, he didn't know.

  Tad realized he was experiencing a moment out of time with everyone else. A chance for everyday people with everyday lives and jobs to step back into the past and shed their worries and cares. He looked around at those who were wandering up and down the rough paths. Come Monday, they'd be back at their jobs or driving the kids to school and soccer practice. They'd be making calls, doing laundry, shopping—living in the real world and dealing with their real problems.

  But today? Today the accountant was a king, a sorcerer, a baron or a chivalrous knight. The stay-at-home mom was the lady of the manor, a faerie queen, or the princess bride of a wickedly handsome pirate. The minstrels would sing songs about them, and their names would become legend. Servants would do their bidding and their castles were beyond magnificent.

  Tad chuckled at the fanciful notion even as he observed that men in costume walked taller and more confidently than they probably did at their jobs. And that the women cared less about their figures and more about how much cleavage they could show. Luscious and lusty wenches were admired. This wasn't the age of the pencil-thin stick woman
.

  Yeah, this particular era had its advantages. Of course, the fair-goers were politely ignoring the historical facts. The ones that said they'd be stinking worse than their cattle because hygiene had little to do with castle living. Or the ones that pointed out most women died in childbirth and overall life expectancy was little more than thirty-five or so, given the utter and complete ignorance of health issues and the occasional plague.

  He remembered something else, something from a long-ago history class. Thanks to Henry Tudor and his gluttonous fascination with sugar, large numbers of the upper classes had lost their teeth and the ones they still had were riddled with decay and probably yellow to boot.

  It didn't hurt to be a farmer who couldn't afford sugar. At least you could chew the food you did have.

  A loud cheer distracted Tad and he stood, carefully collecting his post-meal trash and disposing of it in ye olde trash bin, another useful feature that he wouldn't have found in a castle.

  The tone of the cheers changed, getting louder as the sunlight danced wildly from polished metal armor and hoof beats thundered heavily. Tad was pondering the wisdom of hitting the porta-pottie before heading back to the field when there was a loud metallic crash and a different sound from the crowd.

  It was that chilling mixture of indrawn breaths and murmurs of dismay that told Tad something unusual had happened. He broke into a run and dashed headlong for the tournament.

  *~*~*~*

  Drina was over the barricade and onto the field almost before Joe hit the ground. Sir Josephus Trueheart had been bested by his opponent, only instead of rising and remounting, to wallop the crap out of Sir Geoffrey and emerge the triumphant victor, Joe was lying prone on the field, white as a sheet and trying not to moan. Drina knew it would have completely ruined his image if he'd made so much as a yip, but she was free to curse fluidly under her breath.

  Moses, with a look of puzzlement on his usually tranquil face, stood quietly next to his rider awaiting developments.

  "Shit, Joe. What did you do?"

  "Zigged when I should've zagged, I guess." Joe struggled to sit up, his visor half open over his face.

  "Don't move. We don't know what you've done to yourself." Drina pushed on his armored shoulders. "I'll help you with the helmet. Hold on."

  Her fingers found the buckles and deftly unsnapped them, peeling the helmet away from the rest of Joe's head. He sighed with relief as she pulled it free. "My head hurts and I think I've done a number on my damned ankle."

  Drina wasn't a doctor or a nurse, but her history with the New England Ski Patrol stood her in good stead for moments like this. "Okay. I want you to look at me, Joe. Can you do that?"

  "Sure, baby." Joe smiled wanly, staring at her as she leaned over him.

  Thankfully, his pupils matched.

  "What's your name?" She unlatched his breastplate.

  "Joe. It's Saturday, you're not holding up any fingers and I wish you'd go to bed with me."

  "No you don't. You're gay."

  "Oh yeah. I forgot." He managed a weak grin. "Must be a concussion."

  Drina tugged at straps and pulled more armor away from his prone body. "If it isn't, I wouldn't be surprised if Troy gives you one when he gets here. You know how he worries."

  Joe nodded, then winced. "Shit. Got any aspirin?"

  Drina had seen the flash of lights through the slats in the tall fence, and knew a couple of EMT's were on scene. They had parked out of sight of the guests, because God forbid any of the kids think a knight was injured. That image wasn't what anyone wanted guests to take away from their day at the Faire.

  "I packed my pills in my other corset." She patted his shoulder. "Joe, there's a couple of medics coming in and they're gonna check you out, okay?"

  "Damned stupid..." He frowned. "You'd think I'd know better. I let Moses go too far to the left and my lance slipped and caught in the grass." He blinked. "Jeff okay?"

  "Yep." Drina nodded comfortingly. "He's fine and I'll take care of Moses. You let these nice men help you now."

  Joe sighed as the two EMTs ran experienced eyes over him and decided that if he could walk it was probably okay to let him, provided they helped him with their shoulders. Joe was a big man.

  The crowd, which had held its collective breath up to now, roared out a cheer as Joe struggled to his feet. He was limping heavily and using two guys as crutches, but he still had enough showmanship to wave to the crowd and blow kisses to a couple of the closest women.

  Drina sighed with relief. Joe had a hard head and it looked as though he'd be fine.

  A strong nudge nearly knocked her off her feet and she adjusted her balance to find Moses looking at her in that curious way that horses have sometimes. He was asking her something…most probably now what?

  "Well, crap, Moses. I dunno." She caught the reins in her hand and watched Joe leave the field of honor. The crowd muttered and Sir Geoffrey looked worried. The royals were standing, obviously wondering if they would make things worse by coming to the field. Drina hoped they didn't. There were a lot of them and those large hooped costumes were difficult to manage at the best of times.

  She needed a distraction for the guests.

  Taking a breath, she picked up Joe's lance—the one with her ribbon tied around it. "Sir Josephus is unharmed." She yelled the words into the sunshine and they echoed around the field, bringing a round of applause as she waved the lance high. "His honor will be avenged."

  She patted Moses's neck and took a firmer hold on the reins. "Don't move, old fellow." With a grunt and a lot of effort, Drina hoisted herself into the saddle and managed to get the lance stuck upright like a flagpole in a bit of the knightly trappings. The stirrups were useless, being set for Joe's longer legs. But Moses was a gentleman and stayed rock still until he felt her controlling touch on his bridle. "C'mon boy. Let's make the best of this for Joe, shall we?" She leaned forward, tickling the one ear she knew he liked best. He snorted and shook his head, then gave a cheerful neigh, delighting the crowd.

  The Master of Ceremonies was at the microphone now, the panic having subsided. "Our Faery Queen must right this wrong." His tones were dramatic. "She will choose a brave squire to replace Sir Josephus and rescue the maiden from the villainous hold of Sir Geoffrey deNuit. Choose wisely, O Mistress of Magic."

  He'd understood. With years of adlibbing behind him, the MC had taken control of the situation and turned it to an exciting new part of the show. Drina knew this was why troupes tended to stick together. They could read each other, step into the breach when necessary, and roll with the unexpected punches an event of this nature would produce. Yeah, he'd cribbed that last line from a movie but it worked, and she doubted he'd get much flak for it.

  Carefully, using knees and reins since her feet were quite a distance from the stirrups, Drina guided Moses to the fence and the throng of revelers pressed against it. They applauded and hooted and cheered, and she smiled in return—nodding her head at the kids and making sure her dress floated dramatically around her. It was all theater.

  She caught sight of Tad, his face betraying some concern as he craned his neck to get a glimpse of her. She blew a little kiss in his direction, making the crowd laugh and cheer more loudly.

  Finally, she found the person she was looking for. He was probably six or seven years old, had glasses and a little wispy tuft of wayward hair sticking out from the top of his head. In his hand was a small toy sword and he stared wide-eyed at the massive horse bearing down on him.

  "Good sir, would you join me in defeating this evil knight and avenging Sir Josephus?" Drina leaned over and spoke to the little boy, then looked at his parents. "I assure you we'll take a leisurely stroll here, no galloping or anything. Would that be all right?"

  "Daaad..." There was a strangled plea from the lad's throat.

  "I guess so, Danny." Dad looked at Mom and she made that classic well-I-don't-know-but-okay-if-you-must kind of gesture with her shoulders. "Let's see if we can get you up o
n board."

  Within a few moments, Drina and her new knight were tucked together on Moses's broad back.

  "It's kinda high up." The little boy's hand clutched hers where it rested on the pommel in front of him.

  "Yes, it feels like we're on top of the world here, doesn't it, Danny? But this horse is called Moses and he loves to give rides to young friends. He's very gentle and there's nothing to worry about. So we're going to walk over to Sir Geoffrey and scare the pants off him when he realizes there's a brave new knight on the field. What do you think? "

  The little fingers relaxed a bit. "Do I get to kill him with my sword?"

  "Uh, no. Sorry. True knights merely showed their bravery with their good deeds. They didn't kill people unless it was absolutely necessary."

  "Oh." Danny sounded disappointed. "Well, okay then. Giddyup horse."

  Drina took the hint and headed Moses toward poor Jeff, who'd been standing awkwardly next to his mare after Joe had fallen. Seeing them heading his way, he remounted.

  "Sir Josephus has a new champion, Geoffrey deNuit." Drina yelled the words across the grass and the crowd noises sank to a murmur as she improvised the scene. "Prepare to face your doom as Squire Danny Strongarm avenges the name of Trueheart."

  There was a massive cheer and Drina chuckled as her little passenger straightened in the saddle and lifted his tiny sword in a salute that would have made Richard Coeur de Lion look like an amateur at the whole Crusade thing.

  The kid was a cross between Charlie Brown and Harry Potter, and probably got teased to death in school. She hoped his parents were shooting a buttload of photos so he had something really cool for Show-and-Tell next week.

  "Who did you say, Mistress Will O' The Wisp? A Strongarm?" Jeff was no slouch in the adlib department either, thank God.

  "Yes, Sir Geoffrey. The youngest of the house of Strongarm. A worthy foe to champion the Truehearts."

  Jeff made a lot of noise with armor and bridle as he circled them, settling his helmet and riding first one way and the other. His horse, Pixie, had originally been trained in dressage, so she enjoyed the chance to show off a bit. Plus Jeff's armor was much lighter, as was Jeff. He'd not have lasted ten minutes in a real tournament, but he was always a crowd-pleaser at this event.