Knights and Kink Romance Boxed Set (100 page)

Pegeen/Pegonia, my best friend and so-called
lady-in-waiting, however, hasn’t exactly been so dedicated. I
haven’t seen her (or Barlonda, for that matter) since she helped me
get into my garb this morning. I figure Pegeen is probably off
having a stand-up quickie tryst with Arundel in a doorway
someplace, but I have no idea where Barlonda has run off to—unless
she’s fallen asleep somewhere after so many late nights spent
finishing my gown.

I scan the room hoping for a glimpse of my beloved
knight, but see no one other than overworked squires repairing
their knights’ armor, and the scores of ordinary SCA folk who’ve
been sitting on the sidelines watching the tournament progress. I’m
considering finally taking a much-needed potty break when Syr
Phillip appears beside me out of nowhere.

“Hello, milady,” he purrs, and takes my hand into
his own steel-gauntleted one so he can start sucking on my
fingers.

“Oooo—I really don’t think you should be doing that
in public!” I cry.

“I don’t care who sees how much I care for you,” Syr
Phillip coos, and he proceeds to rain kisses all the way up my arm
before he finally sits down beside me on the chaise lounge. Syr
Phillip’s helm is off and tucked underneath his left arm, and I
notice that his tawny hair is sweat-soaked. He smells like a
delightful combination of perspiration, armor grease, and Dial
deodorant soap. It’s a masculine smell, a smell that makes me wish
we were alone together in the grape arbor again instead of sitting
here on the Crown Tournament sidelines as every man, woman, and
child in the Middle Kingdom monitors our every move.

“So, how’s the fighting going?” I finally say,
hoping to break the rising sexual tension.

“Oh, pretty well I suppose. I’ve got two—maybe
three—rounds to go. There’s an odd number of fighters in the final
rounds since Melphus got disqualified, so that means somebody in
the winners’ bracket has to fight twice. We’re going to draw straws
for it. I hope to God it isn’t me.”

“Why?”

Syr Phillip runs a steel-encased hand through his
damp hair. “Well, anyone who has to go through an extra round will
get more fatigued than the rest of the fighters, and when you’ve
gotten this far, you need all the strength you can get.” Syr
Phillip guzzles some Gatorade from a leather wineskin and wipes his
mouth with his wrist. I see that his eyes are a little bloodshot,
and he seems preoccupied.

“Do you still think you’re going to win?” I ask.

“That remains to be seen, Lisa. But I think as long
as I don’t have to fight the same round twice, I’ve got a pretty
good shot. There is one strange thing, though.”

“What’s that?”

“One of the final-round unbelted fighters isn’t
being identified by name for some reason. He’s the one wearing the
all-black suit of armor who hasn’t taken his helm off all day.
Nobody knows who he is, and the Earl Marshal hasn’t been announcing
his full name for some reason. The guy’s like, a mystery. And he’s
also very, very good.”

“Which one is he?” I ask, not recalling seeing a
mysterious, dark-armored fighter today. The thought of one reminds
me of something out of a Sir Walter Scott novel.

“There he is.” Syr Phillip points to a tall fighter
in black leather armor and a heavy black-painted helm with only the
narrowest of eyeslits. I don’t remember seeing him anywhere before
now. But judging by his dark, nondescript armor and plain brown
tabard that almost blends right in with the paneling, I suppose he
would be easy for anyone to miss.

“Oh,” I murmur. “He does look—well, mysterious. And
you say he’s good?”

“As good a fighter as any I’ve ever seen,” Syr
Phillip replies. “Whoever he is, I’m surprised he hasn’t been
knighted by now. Hopefully, I won’t have to face him, at least not
until the crown round.” Syr Phillip gives me a peck on the cheek.
“It won’t be long now, Lisa. Just try to relax as much as you can
for the next hour or so. Things will start to get pretty crazy
during the crown round, believe me.”

The two knights currently in the bear pit— Syr
Alouysious of Tree-girt-Sea and a newly belted knight named Cedric
Callahan the Meek, are finishing up their match. Cedric has already
“lost” both legs and one arm, and as a result is fighting kneeling
and shieldless. Syr Alouysious delivers the finishing blow to
Cedric’s neck, and the Earl Marshal declares the round over.

The Earl Marshall pounds his staff on the stage.
“All knights and fighters remaining in the Lists present yourselves
for the straw-drawing!” he shouts.

“That’s my cue,” Syr Phillip says, standing up.
“I’ll see you soon, Lisa.” With that, he bounds up to the stage to
draw his straw. I notice to my relief that it’s not the short
one.

With Syr Phillip not due up to fight again for at
least fifteen minutes, I decide to take a long-overdue bathroom
break, and then go in search of my absentee lady-in-waiting. I
figure that even if I haven’t needed her that much so far,
Pegeen/Pegonia’s services will probably be a necessity by the crown
round—assuming Syr Phillip makes it that far.

By now the great hall is packed with people hoping
to grab a good seat for the upcoming crown round, and I have a hard
time making my way through the crowd to the room’s main entrance.
After almost ten minutes of polite shoving I finally make it out
into the corridor.

I dash down the hallway to the ladies’ room, my
bladder almost ready to burst. The marble-tiled bathroom is empty.
I’m in the last stall rearranging my skirts to sit down on the
toilet when I hear someone else enter the restroom.

“Well, you just never know what Phil is going to do,
even if he does become King,” I hear one familiar female voice
whisper. I can’t quite make out whose voice it belongs to, but it’s
pretty obvious that whoever it is, she’s talking about Syr
Phillip.

“I suppose he’s always going to have problems with
the ladies,” another familiar whispering voice replies. “He’s just
had way too many of them over the years not to.” That voice might
belong to Barlonda, but I can’t be sure.

The first voice coughs, or perhaps laughs. “Phil’s
always
gonna be a heartbreaker. He’s been lovin’ ‘em and
leavin’ ‘em for years, and if he becomes King you betcha a lot of
the ex-girlfriends are gonna start comin’ outa the woodwork. That’s
just the simple facts. He’s his father’s son, after all. I should
know. I was sleepin’ with Phil’s dad before little Phil could
shave.” That can’t be anyone but Duchess Danyel.

The whispered gossip against my lord and knight is
enough to start my temples to throbbing and my jaws to clenching. I
finally relax enough to pee, and once the two women hear the
tinkling and realize they’re not alone, they lower their voices
even more. I strain to hear them, but can’t from my spot on the
toilet. I finish peeing and decide to try eavesdropping a little
more before I flush. I rearrange my skirts carefully so I can lean
against the metal stall door, hoping it will serve as an amplifier
of sorts.

“—it’s just that I don’t want to see Lisa get hurt.”
Barlonda’s mature, gravelly voice now is unmistakable through the
cold aluminum of the stall door. “She’s a nice, sweet girl, naïve
as she is.”

“Well, you’re right, she
is
a sweet girl, if
a little dumb.” Danyel replies. “You’d have to be pretty dumb to be
going along with becoming Queen this soon after joining SCA.
Especially with someone like Phil.”

Dumb? Naïve? I’m dumb
and
naïve?

Oh,
that
does it.

I mash the toilet’s flush lever with a vengeance and
jerk open the stall door. I stomp up to Barlonda and Danyel, who
take one look at me and go quiet as lizards.

“Is there something you ladies need to discuss with
me?” I demand, stamping my foot—although given my soft satin
slippers it doesn’t exactly make much of a noise.

“Now—-now Lisa, don’t take what you just overheard
the wrong way, hon,” Barlonda stammers. Duchess Danyel says
nothing. She just plucks off the tri-leafed brass circlet of her
rank and starts polishing it with the hem of her gown.

“You both just basically implied that Syr Phillip is
cheating on me, and always has been,” I shoot back. “How the hell
else am I supposed to take it?”

“Lisa, that’s
not
what we said at all,”
Danyel protests. “You’re twisting our words all around.”

“Oh yeah? Then what exactly
were
you
saying?”

Barlonda and the bawdy old duchess exchange
bewildered looks, but say nothing. Barlonda’s palms are sweating. I
can tell because she keeps wiping them on her houppelande and they
leave dark marks on the green velvet. Danyel fiddles with the gaudy
Renaissance-style rings on her chubby fingers and says nothing.

“Well?” I seethe.

Barlonda heaves a heavy sigh. “It’s just that there
are a lot of complicated. . .interkingdom politics going on right
now, and Syr Phillip’s getting caught up in them, that’s all.
That’s
all
we were talking about, Lisa. Really it was.”
Duchess Danyel nods her head emphatically in agreement.

“Please. I wasn’t born yesterday. I distinctly heard
the two of you call me dumb
and
naïve.” Two words that are
usually reserved for abandoned housewives and cuckolded husbands.
“Is that really what the two of you think of me?” I ask, feeling my
voice breaking a little. “I may be new to the SCA, but I didn’t
just fall off the turnip truck, either. What else are you two
trying to hide from me?”

“Lisa, sweetheart, you wouldn’t understand,” Duchess
Danyel says, gently. “Just concentrate on cheering on your lord on
to victory today, and forget all about what you overheard in
here.”

“I
won’t
forget about it!” I screech. “And I
will
find out the truth!” I shove past them out of the
bathroom. And as much as I want to find out the truth behind the
two older women’s gossip, I’m almost afraid to know. As the idea of
Syr Phillip making me into yet another relationship of convenience
starts taking shape in my confused brain, I start feeling a little
faint. I step the rest of the way into the hallway and find Pegeen
waiting for me there, tapping her velvet-slippered foot and
checking her chrome Timex.

“Where the hell have you been?” she hisses in her
best mother-hen voice.

“I should ask the same of you,” I retort. “Some fine
lady-in-waiting you are.”

“Pardon me, Lees, but I’ve been busy working behind
the scenes.”

I roll my eyes. “Doing what? Screwing Arundel up
against a wall someplace? Because you’ve been missing in action
ever since this morning.”

Pegeen/Pegonia clears her throat. “For your
information, I have been busy lobbying on your and Syr Phillip’s
behalf with the senior kingdom leadership all day long, not to
mention trying to create a positive crowd buzz every time Syr
Phillip has gone up to fight. It’s not enough to be a good fighter
to win Crown Tournament, you know. You have to have the people
behind you, too.”

“But—“

“And furthermore, Lisa, Arundel isn’t even here yet.
His car broke down somewhere around Middletown. And if I weren’t so
busy trying to make sure
you
become Crown Princess of the
Midrealm today, I could have driven
him
up some jumper
cables. And that doesn’t even cover how much sleep I’ve lost on
your behalf this week—”

I bite my lip. “I’m—I’m sorry,” I mumble aloud. I’m
starting to have trouble breathing. All the stress of Crown
Tournament is sending me straight into a panic attack.

Pegeen’s expression softens and she taps me on the
shoulder, gently. “Lisa? Lisa, are you okay? You look like you’re
going to faint again.”

“I’m fine,” I lie. But I’m far from fine. I lean
against the wood-paneled wall for support. Knight boyfriends who
turn out to be scoundrels, my pending major celebrity in the SCA
world—it’s all getting to be a little too much for me to take.

Whoa. Why is the paneling starting to spin
around?

Pegeen/Pegonia grabs my arm. “Lisa, you really need
to get a hold of yourself. The whole reason I came looking for you
is because Syr Phillip just made it to the crown round. You have to
be there beside him as his most favored lady when the King
introduces the two of you to the crowd.”

“Wha? The
King
is going to introduce me? I
mean, Syr Phillip? I mean,
us?”
The dark wood paneling isn’t
just spinning now—it’s swaying, too.

“Yeah, Lees, and we’re going to be late!” Pegeen
cries. “Let’s go!”

“Riggghhhhhhhhhtttt—“ I moan, and then everything
goes black.

I come two a few minutes later. Danyel, Barlonda,
and Pegeen are all standing over me. Barlonda is fanning me with a
Champions’ Lists program again; Pegeen has dumped almost an entire
bottle of Evian she's procured from somewhere onto my face.

“Hon, are you
sure
that corset’s not too
tight?” Barlonda says, patting my hand. “That’s your second faint
today.”

“You aren’t pregnant, are you?” Danyel asks, giving
me a playful punch in the arm. “I know old Phil can be feisty in
the sack, but—" I sit bold upright. There is a sharp, throbbing
pain on the back of my skull, probably from where I wonked it
against something on the way down. “I am NOT pregnant,” I hiss. Of
that, I can be sure. My period ended the day before yesterday and I
haven’t been with Syr Phillip since—well, since about two hours
ago. Can you get pregnant in two hours?

“Are you sure?” Pegeen asks, helping me stand up.
“Because you sure are fainting a lot for someone who’s not.”

I shove Pegeen out of the way. “Will all of you just
give me some air, please? I’m very stressed out right now. I pass
out a lot when I’m stressed, that’s all.” Not exactly true, but I
don’t have a better explanation.