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 frees
ias. 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.
Syr Phillip laughs. “Actually, some might say you’d be crazy to say yes.”
“Why?”
“Well, being Crown Princess, and then, Queen of the Middle Kingdom—the largest kingdom in the SCA in terms of both geography and SCA member population—is a huge responsibility, and requires a huge time and financial commitment as well. Don’t say yes to me just yet, okay? For your own good, Lisa.”
I sigh and stare at the Formica tabletop. “All right. So what exactly is required of a King and Queen in the SCA?”
“Quite a lot, I’m afraid. But first let me explain how one gets to become a King and Queen. That alone is a bit complicated.”
“Okay, so explain,” I say, growing impatient. A skinny waitress shows up with our beers. Syr Phillip drinks his in almost one gulp and asks for another. I think about gulping mine down too, but decide I probably need to be sober for this little talk.
Syr Phillip settles back into his chair and takes a deep breath. “Lisa, as a Knight of the Midrealm I’m automatically entitled to an invitation to Crown Tournament every six months. But despite that qualification, I’ve only fought in one Crown Tournament during the whole six years of my knighthood. The one I did fight in was five years ago, when I was still a relatively inexperienced fighter, even as far as knights go. I lost in the second round then. But I’ve improved over the years, and I probably could have won a couple Crown Tournaments by now if I’d chosen to enter the Lists. But I didn’t.”
“Why not?”
“A lot of reasons,” Syr Phillip says, fiddling with his napkin. “For one thing, being King of a kingdom as large as the Midrealm is very expensive, what with all the travel involved, and the garb you’re expected to wear, and the gifts you have to procure for people who assist you in your duties—“
“What kind of travel is involved, exactly?”
“Well, for a full year of your life, first as Crown Prince and Princess and then as King and Queen, you will spend literally every weekend going to SCA events all over the kingdom. And I mean every weekend. The royal couples must visit every barony at least once during their reigns. And that’s quite a lot, considering the Middle Kingdom is made up of six U.S. states and a fairly decent-sized chunk of Canada.”
“Uh huh,” I say, nursing my beer. “So a lot of road trips, then. Sounds like fun.”
“Well, I’m sure that some of it would be fun,” Syr Phillip agrees, running his finger along the top of his empty beer glass in a manner that I find insanely erotic. “But I’m afraid that most of it would be grueling. Lots of long drives, lots of cheap motel stays or sleeping on the floors of strangers. And lots of days off work, too—some of the longer road trips can take a couple of days, each way. How many vacation days do you get a year, by the way?”
“Um, I only get two weeks off a year,” I say, staring at the floor. “But my boss is a jerk who usually doesn’t let us take it more than two or three days at a time.”
Syr Phillip sucks in his breath. “Well, that would be a pretty big problem in and of itself. Never mind—we’ll worry about that later. Let’s get back to why I didn’t fight in the Crown Tourney lists for so long.”
“Okay.”
Syr Phillip takes hold of my right hand again; his is cold and wet from holding his beer glass, and the sensation of his cool, wet palm against my nervous, warm one is enough to accelerate both my breathing and my heartbeat.
“Are you all right, Lisa?” Syr Phillip asks, concerned. “You look a little flushed.”
I shift in my seat, hoping to tame the wild urges arising from my lower body. “Oh,
I’m fine, really,” I lie. “Go on, please.”
“Right. Well, one of the big reasons I didn’t fight in the Crown lists for so long was because I didn’t have a favored lady who was up for the responsibility of being Queen, which is another requirement of registering for the Crown Lists. I dated a lot of women over the years, but only one steadily enough to carry her favor—and that was Lady Rowan of the Fenix Barony. But she was a medical student, and just wasn’t up to all the travel, responsibility and expense that would come along if I were to win Crown. She finally left the SCA altogether not too long ago, so that was pretty much it for our relationship, too.”
“Did you carry Lady Rowan’s favor the one time you did fight in Crown Tournament?” I ask, almost afraid to hear the answer.
Syr Phillip makes an odd face, strangely similar to the one Baroness Barlonda made back at my apartment. “Actually, I carried Duchess Danyel’s favor that time, believe it or not.”
Duchess Danyel? He wanted to be King with Duchess Danyel? That old, gray-headed bag of a woman?
“I see,” I mutter, and pull my hand away. I suppose my suspicions about Syr Phillip and the bawdy old duchess aren’t that ridiculous after all.
Syr Phillip races to grasp my hand again, and strokes the inside of my palm with a nervous index finger. “It’s not what you’re thinking, Lisa. Duchess Danyel and I are old friends, and nothing more. And it’s not uncommon in the SCA for knights and fighters to carry the favors of those they aren’t romantically involved with. It’s purely a symbolic gesture in many ways. Besides, the only reason I carried Danyel’s favor that year was because I was dead-set on fighting in the Crown lists, and Danyel was the only woman I knew willing to risk the responsibility of becoming Queen. She’d already been Queen three times in two different kingdoms by then, and considered the possibility of another reign pretty old-hat.”
“Uh huh,” I sigh, not sure whether to believe him or not. “But it would seem to me based on all the women who practically threw themselves at you on Saturday that you’d never have a problem finding someone to fight for at Crown Tournament.”
Knights and Kink Romance Boxed Set Page 65
