afternoon passed in a blur of serving drinks and counting cash and keeping a smile plastered on my face. Whenever we thought there was a break in the action, another show would let out and more people would stream over to the tavern. When I had a spare moment I scooped up my glass water bottle and took a good swig, wishing the clear liquid were vodka instead. I marked the passage of time by the show on the stage behind us, the hand drums thudding through my consciousness. At one point, I glanced across to where the human chess match was going on. I saw Simon in a flash of black and red, Mitch in a blur of green tartan. I heard the cheers of huzzah! from my vantage point.
Eventually, the crowd of drinking patrons slowed to a trickle, and I had never been so glad to see the end of a day in my life. I waved an exhausted goodbye, scooped up my basket, and stumbled back across the grounds and down the hill to the Hollow, searching for Caitlin. By the time I got there she had struggled halfway out of her outer dress, and I helped her peel the rest of it off. She unlaced my bodice and I took my first good deep breath since sunrise. Too tired to speak, we trudged to the parking lot and practically fell into the Jeep.
“Only five and a half weekends to go!” I forced cheer into my voice as I turned onto the road and toward home. Caitlin groaned a response from the back seat, and I couldn’t blame her. How much was it going to hurt to walk when we got home? Were foot transplants an option?
After a long shower—amazing how much dirt was accumulated after a day spent outside, not to mention all the weird places you found said dirt—and a huge dinner, I dumped my basket out on the bed to set out my costume and accessories for the next morning. A long golden cord tumbled out with April’s tartan scarf, and I wound the cord around my fingers. My mind was full of the memory of Simon’s hand warm around mine, and how surprisingly soft his lips had been. I pushed those thoughts away, but then I remembered I had never told Stacey about my adventures in handfasting. Maybe she’d forget to ask about it.
Nine
I should have known better. Stacey didn’t forget a thing.
“So what happened yesterday?” She glanced over at me as she opened a new bottle of white wine.
“Pardon?” I brushed my hands on my overskirt, which looked a little grubby on its second day of wear. I had a clean chemise for each day, but the outer parts of my costume had to last the weekend.
“Yesterday,” she said patiently. “When you ran off, remember? Where did you go?”
“Oh, that.” I sighed. “I had to go to the joust field and be married off.”
“What?” Her laugh was a loud shock of sound, and the middle-aged patron she was pouring the wine for raised her eyebrows.
“I’m going to need to hear about this,” the woman said as she slid the cash for her wine across the bar.
I shook my head and opened bottles of import beer for Jamie while he poured drafts for me. For the next few minutes the three of us worked hard serving everyone who had come out of the Celtic folk-singing show behind us. Once the rush was over, I grabbed a clean bar rag and wiped up the puddles on the bar.
“Don’t think I’m going to let you forget.” Stacey plunked the wine bottles back on ice and started taking note of any beers or ciders that needed restocking.
“Forget what?” I blinked innocently.
“The married thing,” the wine drinker from earlier piped up from the other side of the bar. She had been sipping on her chardonnay the whole time we were working. “I mean, I know there’s lots of authentic things going on at this Faire, but getting married off seems a little much.”
“Exactly!” Stacey said triumphantly. “This is the Renaissance, darling. Not the dark ages. And it’s not as though you have a vast fortune for a man to want to get his hands on. No offense.”
“None taken.” I loved that without even trying we were perfectly in character in this moment, gossiping in our accents, sounding like true barmaids. “All right, perhaps I exaggerated a little.” But another group of patrons came in and I