Knights and Kink Romance Boxed Set (87 page)

Barlonda tosses the garment bag onto my couch and
kicks off her dirty Nikes. “Sorry to drop in on you like this, hon.
I just got off the phone with your friend Pegeen and she said you
were at home. She gave me directions.”

“How did you know Pegeen’s work number?” I ask.

“She’s listed in
The Gryphon Pages,”
Barlonda
says. “All the active Dayton-area SCA members are. At least all the
members officially registered as of last month are. You’re too new
to be listed, so I figured calling Pegeen was the quickest way to
get in touch with you. I’ve got your dress here and I need to do
some fittings on you so I can finish the repair work on it.”

I do a double take. “You have my gown? The blue one
that got shredded by that horrible poodle?” I’d figured that since
I’d come home from the hospital in borrowed street clothes, the
ruined gown had gone to the big costume closet in the sky.

“Yep, sure do. And Syr Phillip asked me to make sure
I got it fixed up for you in time for Crown Tournament. Plus, he
hired me to make at least
four
more gowns for you. I’ll
really be burning the midnight oil to get them all done in time.
What do you think about that?”

I’m struck dumb for a moment. “Wow,” is all I
finally manage to say before I tumble backwards into my purple
La-Z-Boy recliner.

Baroness Barlonda smoothes her damp hair and gives
me a matronly smile. “You know Lisa, Syr Phillip must be incredibly
taken with you. He just wrote me a check for six thousand dollars’
worth of custom-made garb. He not only ordered four top-of-the-line
gowns for you, he ordered four tunics for himself too, all made to
match yours in style, colors, and fabrics.”

I do another double take. “Are you fucking kidding
me?”

“I wouldn’t kid about six thousand dollars’ worth of
business, hon,” Barlonda says. She stands up and stretches. “Do you
have a bathroom I can use? I’ve been on the road for a while today
and my bladder is a-bursting. You can pull that gown out of the
plastic and put it on while I'm in there doing my business.”

I start to protest that I’ve just changed clothes
for my big date, but think better of it. I pull the stunning blue
gown I remember so fondly from the plastic garment bag and am
surprised to find that it is now more a red gown than a blue one.
True to her word back at Lady Ramona’s party, Barlonda has expertly
interwoven red velvet fabric and embroidery throughout the garment
in a manner that renders all the rust stains left over from the
Ohio Caverns almost unnoticeable. The poodle-shredded blue velvet
train has been completely replaced by a purple-and-red
parti-colored one that is even longer and more elaborate than the
original, and I see that Barlonda has made the side lacings even
more intricate, with four layers of lacings instead of the previous
two, and gemstone-ringed grommets have replaced the old plain metal
ones. The bodice and yoke of the dress now have red and purple
velvet overlay in a keyhole shape that also has been decorated all
over with tiny blue gemstones.

I hold the dress up to my body, rush into my bedroom
for a look in the full-length mirror, and am completely blown away.
If the original gown made me look like Arwen in
Lord of the
Rings
over the weekend, this new and improved gown will easily
have me rivaling Vanessa Redgrave in the movie version of
Camelot.

I hear the toilet flush, and a moment later Baroness
Barlonda finds me in the bedroom. “This is a nice place you have
here, hon. And you’ve got such a cute little bathroom.”

“Oh, it’s all right, I guess. It’s usually a lot
messier than this.”

“I bet you have company coming tonight, huh?” the
older woman says, and gives me a wink.

“You could say that,” I reply, blushing.

“Well, then let’s get this fitting over with so I
can get out of your way. Why don’t you have this gown on yet?”

“I—I was just admiring how pretty it is,” I stammer.
“Plus, I’m not quite sure how to work all these lacings.”

“Let me help you, hon. Pretty soon, you’ll be so
good at getting these big gowns on and off you’ll be doing it in
your sleep.”

Without another word, Barlonda pulls my batik
sundress over my head and somehow has me laced into the stunning
made-over gown and underdress in less than a minute, her fingers
flashing back and forth through the lacings so fast that I can
barely see them. She pulls a box of pins out of her back jeans
pocket and starts tacking up the hem, making a few nips and tucks
along the waistline of the gown while she’s at it.

“So what do you think, hon?” she says through the
lattice of pins gripped between her teeth.

“It’s beautiful. After all that happened to it over
the weekend, I can’t believe you actually managed to make it a
prettier dress than it was before.”

“Fixing ruined dresses is my specialty. That’s what
Queen Navarra made me Court Baroness for, you know.”

“What do you mean?” I ask, still mesmerized by my
princesslike reflection.

“I got appointed a Midrealm Court Baroness way back
at Pennsic 14 when I rescued the entire royal wardrobe from a
mudhole during a flood. Grizzly got Court Baron for heralding
safety information after the Pennsic site got declared a federal
disaster area. I not only saved all the King and Queen’s garb, I
got it all cleaned and repaired in time for Pennsic High Court—and
we are talking an entire royal wardrobe getting made over, in
outdoor disaster conditions, in less than
three days
. I
didn’t sleep or eat for almost fifty straight hours, I was sewing
so much.”

“That’s impressive,” I mumble, too amazed by the
gown to admit I have little to no idea what Pennsic is. I vaguely
recall Pegeen mentioning something about it being a kind of big
pretend war or something, but that’s all.

“That reminds me,” Barlonda says, putting away the
rest of her straight pins as she starts unlacing me from the gown.
“Are you planning to go to Pennsic this year?”

“I dunno,” I say, feeling stupid. “I guess I haven’t
thought that far ahead.”

“Well, if you want to go this year, you’ll need to
get your reservation in pretty soon,” Barlonda says as she whisks
the gown over my head and stuffs it back into the garment bag in
one swift motion. “There’s only so much space to go around up at
Cooper’s Lake, you know.”

“Uh huh.” I slip back into my sundress and hope that
Barlonda will leave soon. With the effects of Pegeen’s ginseng
coursing through my veins, I am not much in the mood for SCA small
talk right now. Unfortunately, however, Barlonda unzips her
overstuffed knapsack as if she’s gearing up for a lengthy stay.
Barlonda reaches into the knapsack and pulls out several luxurious
fabric swatches of brocade, silk, and velvet—all in rich, deep
jewel tones. “Take your pick of these,” she instructs me firmly.
“Syr Phillip wants his garb to match yours at the next several
events you two attend together. But he’s leaving the choice of
colors and styles entirely up to you.”

I flip through the swatches absently. “How many
different sets of outfits are we talking about here again?”

Barlonda counts on her fingers. “At least four,” she
says. “Maybe five or six eventually, but so far Syr Phillip’s only
paid me for four sets. Although you’ll be needing a lot more than
even five or six sets if he wins Crown Tournament this year, which
I believe he has his heart set on doing.”

Barlonda makes another strange face and claps her
hand over her mouth. “Oops!” she cries. “I wasn’t supposed to tell
you that yet.”

I fold my arms and stare at Barlonda, eyes narrowed.
“So he tells you things he doesn’t tell me?”

Barlonda purses her lips for a moment before
speaking. “Oh, just that one thing, hon. He—he means for it to be a
surprise. He wants to talk to you about it tonight, all
romantic-like.” Barlonda’s wide smile looks somewhat forced.

“Uh huh,” I say, not narrowing my eyes. “And what
exactly does it mean if Syr Phillip wins Crown Tournament? For me,
I mean.”

“Well, it means that Syr Phillip would be Crown
Prince of the Middle Kingdom, and that means you, as his favored
lady, would be Crown Princess. And then you’d both be King and
Queen. You’d rule together as Crown Prince and Princess for six
months, and then you’d be coronated as King and Queen, to serve
another six months. You’d both be the biggest celebrities in the
kingdom for a full year, you’d get to travel all around the kingdom
holding Court, giving awards, and—.”

“Really,” I say, not sure if I should be elated or
suspicious. “Is that why I need all this fancy garb? Because I
might be a big SCA celebrity?”

“Hon,” Barlonda says, giving my shoulders a gentle
squeeze, “you already
are
a big SCA celebrity.”

****

I finally manage to get Barlonda out the door around
5:30 after telling her just to make Syr Phillip and I our new garb
outfits out of
all
the fabric swatches when I got tired of
listening to her explain the nearly infinite number of color
combinations red silk, blue brocade, and purple, green, and yellow
velvet can make.

At precisely 6:00, my doorbell rings. I wait the
appropriate full minute before I open it, hoping that the delay
will help build some much-needed tension in Syr Phillip exactly
where I think he needs it.

I finally fling wide the door, and Syr Phillip is
standing there with a bouquet of purple freesias. He’s dressed in a
crisp blue-and-white striped oxford that matches his sapphire eyes,
tailored brown pants by Ralph Lauren, and gray loafers. He smiles,
and his straight, even teeth are even whiter than I remember
them.

“Good evening, Lisa,” he says, taking my hand and
raising it to his lips. “You look stunning.”

All the feeling suddenly goes out of my legs and I
find myself using the doorjamb as a crutch. “I do?”

“Absolutely.” Syr Phillip tosses the freesia bouquet
onto my purple La-Z-Boy, sweeps me into his arms, dips me so low to
the ground that the top of my head brushes against the trampled
shag carpeting, and gives me a kiss with more tongue than I ever
thought was possible for the human anatomy to possess.

That kiss seems to last for hours.

When we finally come up for air, all the blood has
rushed to my head and I feel a little faint. Syr Phillip carries me
over to the couch and sets me down gently.

“I’ve been thinking about you all day long,” he
whispers, nibbling on my left ear.

“So have I,” I breathe. “I’ve been talking to a lot
of people about you today, too.”

As abruptly as he swept me off me feet, Syr Phillip
stands up and starts pacing the room. “Was Barlonda here today by
any chance?” he asks, chewing his left thumbnail.

“Yes she was, actually,” I reply, a little stunned
by Syr Phillip’s sudden change in mood. “She said you hired her to
make some garb for the two of us. She showed me some fabric
swatches and stuff. Plus she’s already repaired the dress I wore
over the weekend, and—”

Syr Phillip passes a sweaty palm over his face and
sighs. “She wasn’t supposed to do that yet,” he says, his voice
gruff. “Oh well. I guess you and I will have to have our little
chat first then.”

“First before what?” I ask.

“Dinner. I’m starved. Where is this pizza place of
yours again? Let’s go.” Syr Phillip grabs my hand and starts
pulling me towards the door.

“At least let me put the flowers in water,” I urge.
He reluctantly lets go of my hand, and I find a Mason jar in the
kitchen for the flowers. I barely have time to fill it with water
before Syr Phillip is dragging me towards the door again.

“Come on, Lisa,” he begs. “We have a lot to talk
about, and not much time.”

We pile into Syr Phillip’s immaculate Lincoln
Navigator and I give him directions to Marion’s Pizza, an old local
institution which is tucked away on an access road just behind the
Dayton Mall. We place our order for a large pepperoni-and-sausage
and two Bud Lights at the counter and find a table in a dark corner
to wait and talk.

Syr Phillip reaches across the brown Formica table
and takes both of my hands in his. He says nothing for a long time,
instead just staring deep into my eyes for what feels like an
eternity. I finally have to look away before the mounting sexual
tension brings tears to my eyes.

“Syr Phillip—“ I begin.

“It’s just Phil,” he says. “In the mundane world,
I’m just plain old Phil Dawson, pharmaceutical salesman for Pfizer.
I want you to know me for who I really am, Lisa.”

“Really?”

“Really.” Plain old Phil Dawson squeezes my hands
again. “Lisa, I’ve been thinking a lot over the past few days, and
I think that you and I are meant to be together in a very big way.
In a very big way in
both
of my worlds—the medieval one
and
the mundane one. But I’ve also decided that in order for
that to happen, there’s something that you need to know first,
something that you’ll need to agree to with your eyes open.”

“What’s that?”

“Lisa, I’d like to fight for you in this spring’s
Crown Tournament. In two weeks.”

“O—Okay, sure,” I stammer.

Phil holds up his hand. “Don’t agree to it just yet.
You need to know the level of commitment it would entail if I were
to win. And if you feel like you can’t make that kind of
commitment, it’s totally fine for you to turn me down. But you’d
need to make that decision now—not later. That’s why I wanted to
have this talk with you tonight, so you could have all the
information you need to make your decision.”

An image of myself dressed as a queen as I hang on
Syr Phillip’s strong-yet-tender arm floats before my eyes. After
getting lost in that image for just a moment, I decide that’s all
the information I need to make up my mind. “Of course you can fight
for me in Crown Tournament. I’d be crazy to say no,” I blurt.