“Oh, good,” I gush. “Because I would really appreciate it if you could explain some things to me. All the mumbo-jumbo about kingdoms and kings and stuff just seems so—complicated.” Boy am I laying it on thick. I sound so stupid, it’s almost embarrassing.
“Well, Lisa, as you may or may not know, the Pennsic War is coming up later this summer,” Master Stephen burbles, casually leaning in my direction against the wood-paneled wall.
“Oh, ummmm, I didn’t know that,” I lie, trying very hard to keep a straight face. “There really are wars in the SCA? That sounds really scary. Do people get hurt in them?”
“Oh, yes. Physically hurt—although usually not seriously—and sometimes, emotionally hurt as well. When important people’s feelings are hurt at Pennsic and other big SCA events, well, that’s where diplomats like me come in. I’m there to, shall we say, heal wounds. I’m quite good at healing wounds, if I do say so myself.” Master Stephen ever-so-subtly takes hold of my hand again, and gives one of my knuckles a caress so light, yet so sensual, it’s almost enough to make me forget that I am Syr Phillip’s lady.
Almost, but not quite.
“Oh,” I say. “My goodness.” I reluctantly withdraw my hand before I get too aroused to remember just which man I’ve recently given my favor to. “So, ummm, do these important people get emotionally hurt in the SCA a lot?”
“Often enough to keep me in business, milady.” Master Stephen leans in a little closer, and I get a whiff of his Cool Water cologne, which is lightly blended with the scent of his Irish Spring soap. “And I’ve found that more often than not, I get hired to take advantage of the weaknesses made by emotional wounds, especially where Pennsic alliances are concerned.”
“Is that what you’re doing here now? Taking advantage?” I bat my lashes at him casually, hoping for a double entendre. But all I end up doing is getting an eyelash stuck to my cornea.
“Not this time, milady. This time, my mission is one of mercy.” Master Stephen notices me rubbing the bejeezus out of my left eye and looks concerned. “Are you all right, Lisa? I have some Visine out in my car if it will help.”
“No, that’s okay,” I say as I finally manage to pick the stray lash off my eyeball. “Go on, tell me more about this mission of mercy that you’re on.”
“Well, it’s partially to help fix a longstanding quarrel between two very important men, and partially to help the East Kingdom win Pennsic this year. Which is kind of an odd combination, because one of the two men in question doesn’t want that to happen. In fact, one of the two men in question will be pretty pissed off if the East wins the war this year.”
“Then why do it?” I blurt stupidly. “I mean, why do whatever it is that you’re going to do?”
“Because it’s the only way to get the two men in question to make up,” Master Stephen says with a wink. “We diplomats work in mysterious ways sometimes.”
“Uh huh,” I say, feigning ignorance. Although I think I’m starting to get a pretty good idea of just what this bicepped hottie might be up to. “And what mysterious ways are those, exactly?”
Before Master Stephen can answer, though, Pegeen shows up.
“What the hell have you been doing back here, Lees?” she shouts. “I was beginning to think you drowned in the toilet bowl or something. You’re missing all the good dish! Our waiter is totally hooking me up with some major information. According to him, Master Melphus just finished talking all about how the Horde is mounting an alliance with the Tuchux to seize both the Midrealm and the Aethelmarc thrones this year! I mean, we are talking major coup here if it actually happens—”
I clear my throat. “Pegeen, this is Master Stephen Blackhawk of the Two Shires, from the Kingdom of Aethelmarc.”
Pegeen’s jaw drops to approximately the level of her knees. She claps a hand over her mouth, and for a minute I think she might throw up.
Master Stephen takes it all in stride. “I was just educating the lady Lisa on some of my diplomatic work,” he explains. With a wink, he bows in Pegeen’s direction, and ever the suave gentleman, he kisses her hand. “I’m sorry milady, but I haven’t yet had the pleasure of making your acquaintance. What brings you both to the location of our top-secret interkingdom negotiations this fine evening?”
Pegeen says nothing. She’s still too busy chewing on her left palm.
“That’s just my friend Pegeen,” I explain. “We were ahhh, sort of in the neighborhood tonight and in the mood for pizza, that’s all.”
“Of course you were. Now if you fair ladies will excuse me, I will need to be rejoining the Hordesmen I was hired to persuade to Aethelmarc’s cause. But before I take my leave, I’d like to ask you a favor, my lady Lisa.”
“Okay,” I stammer.
“Please tell your lord and knight Syr Phillip that when he meets me and others from the East Kingdom and Aethelmarc at Pennsic this year as Crown Prince of the Midrealm—and I promise you, he will win the title—that he must be prepared to fight the entire Tuchux, Aethelmarc, and East Kingdom nations hand-to-hand—personally—in the Woods Battle. Capture of the Crown Prince during the Woods Battle is a War Point, you know. And it’s a War Point that the East Kingdom wants to win very badly.”
With that, Master Stephen goes back out into the restaurant.
I fold my arms across my flat chest and give Pegeen a triumphant look. “So, Pegeen, it seems maybe I’m not bad at gossip after all.”
Pegeen stops chewing on her palm and groans.
“Is our pizza ready yet?” I ask. “I’m starving. And I call first dibs on anchovies.”
Chapter 19
Two nights later, Syr Phillip and I are engaging in heavy phone sex. It’s the closest we can get to the real thing, at least for the next two weeks.
“Are you going to tell me what you found out on Sunday or not?” Syr Phillip’s rich baritone is burning up my phone line with every labored, overstimulated breath he takes.
“Only if you meet each and every one of my sexy demands, milord.”
“And what exactly are those demands, milady?”
I pause to think for a moment. “Well, first, you must start undressing me, which will take a while, considering I’m wearing a double-laced corset and leather-boned underbodice right now.” (Actually, I’m wearing my ‘I’m A Pepper’ T-shirt and a pair of old boxer shorts, but that’s not exactly a good outfit for phone sex.)
“Oh my,” Syr Phillip breathes. “I’m undoing the lacings right now, one by one. With my teeth.”
“Oooo!” I hear myself cry.
“Your bodice is off now, milady,” Syr Phillip whispers through the phone, drawing me back. “And I am sorry to report that I have torn it to pieces—again, with my teeth. I’m afraid the sight of your bare breasts drove me into a frenzy.”
“Ahhhh,” I sigh. “And what are you doing with my breasts now, milord?” I whisper, fingering my left nipple through the thin cotton of my T-shirt.
“Oh, I’m doing several things with them that are far too X-rated to risk saying over the telephone,” Syr Phillip moans back seductively. “With all the anti-terrorism laws now, you never know when something might trigger the FBI to start tapping your phone lines. So I’m afraid you’ll just have to imagine what unmentionable things I’m doing to your beautiful, creamy, silky bosoms right now.”
“Ohhhhh,” I breathe, twitching a bit as I feel my heart start to hammer between my ears. “You’re making me so hot, I can barely stand it,” I whisper into the phone.
“I can’t stand it either, Lisa. I need to be with you. Being separated from you even for just a few days is driving me crazy. I can’t concentrate on my fight practice at all, I want you so badly.”
“It’s driving me crazy too,” I say. I grab the glass of ice water I’ve set on the nightstand and hold its sweating sides up to my forehead to cool off. “Maybe we should chill out on the phone sex for a while. I don’t want you to lose Crown Tournament because you’re too distracted by—ahhh—me.”
<
br /> “Good idea,” Syr Phillip replies. “Why don’t you do that saying-unsexy-words trick you did the other day when I called you from work? That seemed to calm me down.”
“Sure,” I sigh, disappointed that our virtual love session is coming to a close so soon. “Hmmmm. Let me think for a minute. How about this. C-SPAN, bread mold, athlete’s foot, earwax, and motor oil.”
I hear Syr Phillip heave a heavy sigh into the receiver. “That’s much better,” he says. “Except for the motor oil part. I’m finding motor oil unusually sexy today.”
“Okay, here’s a couple more then. Furniture polish, laundry detergent, toenail fungus, and Roseanne Barr naked.”
“Ewwwww. Much better. Now I can actually think. So, my lady Lisa, what’s the big scoop?”
I wrap my index finger with the phone cord for a moment, pondering how much I should reveal about Master Stephen Blackhawk’s secret diplomatic plot against Syr Phillip, his dad, and the Middle Kingdom in general. Although I think I know exactly what that young bicepped hottie from Aethelmarc is up to, I’m also pretty cognizant that directly mentioning anything to Syr Phillip about his father is probably a bad idea. “Well, I didn’t find out too much,” I finally say. “But what I did find out is probably at least a little bit important.”
“Go on,” Syr Phillip says eagerly.
“Well, it seems that Master Melphus, Lady Ramona, and all of Melphus’ buddies got arrested at the post-revel for marijuana possession or something. Lady Ramona is still in jail, in fact. The Horde couldn’t make her bail.”
Syr Phillip is silent. I think I hear him grinding his teeth.
“Phillip? Are you there?”
“I’m here,” he finally says. “What about Grizzly? Anything happen with him?”
“Well, he seemed to have a. . .small disagreement with Melphus.”
“That’s probably an understatement,” Syr Phillip says, quietly. “Those two have a long, strange history.”
I think about prodding Syr Phillip on just what that history might be, but decide against it. “Well, after Baron Grizzly and Melphus had their little fight, all the Hordesmen left the meeting, and Pegeen and I followed them to Noble Roman’s.”
“Why?”
“To spy on them, of course! That’s what you wanted me to do, wasn’t it?”
Syr Phillip sucks in his breath. “Yes, of course it was, Lisa. I’m sorry. I’m just a little—preoccupied right now. Please, tell me what else you found out.”
I stare at the cracked plaster of my bedroom ceiling, wondering how much I should reveal about the surprisingly sexy (and knowledgeable) Master Stephen Blackhawk of the Two Shires. “Well, not too much else, really,” I fib. “There was this one—uhhhh, guy at Noble Roman’s from the Kingdom of Aethelmarc. Nobody important, but he seemed to think that Aethelmarc would help the East Kingdom win Pennsic this year.”
This piques Syr Phillip’s interest. “What guy from the Aethelmarc? What did he look like? What was his name?”
“Oh—ummm, I don’t remember exactly what he looked like,” I lie. “He was just sort of a nondescript person. He said that the East Kingdom and the Tuchux will try to capture you in the Woods Battle at Pennsic.”
“Why would he say something like that?”
“I dunno. He seemed to know a lot about you, though. He even recognized me and knew I was your girlfriend.”
Now Syr Phillip is definitely grinding his teeth. “And?” he growls, his tone sharp as barbed wire.
“Well, he talked about how you would be a War Point at Pennsic, so it was important for the East Kingdom to capture you, or something. I didn’t really understand what that was all about.”
“Did this—uhhh, gentleman say anything else?”
“Umm, not really,” I say. I’m surprised at how much I feel compelled to protect Master Stephen’s identity. Could I possibly be that attracted to someone who is plotting against my lover?
“Lisa? Did you hear what I just said, darling?”
“Ohhh—uhh, sorry, Phillip. I was just. . .thinking about something. So anyway, this guy—this totally boring, unimportant, and uhhh, non-handsome guy—he did say something about how the Tuchux were siding with the East this year at Pennsic, and that they’d help the East capture you to ensure the East Kingdom would get the War Point for capturing you. Or something like that. The whole thing was really confusing.”
“Oh boy,” Syr Phillip mutters. “Great. That’s just great. Maybe I should just go kill myself now.”
“Why?”
“Lisa, I have to apologize for putting you up to that spying mission. It wasn’t fair of me to ask it of you. Not fair of me at all.”
“Phillip, I was happy to do it. It was no problem, really—“
“Lisa, I think I know the man from Aethelmarc you saw. By any chance, was he about six feet tall, in his late twenties, with brown hair and rather thick biceps?”
Now it’s my turn to suck in my breath. “Umm, yes. Yes, that’s him exactly.”
“Was his name Stephen? Master Stephen? Or maybe just Steve? Please, Lisa, tell me the truth.”
“Yes,” I finally say in a very small voice. “Do you know him?”
“And then some. Master Stephen Blackhawk of the Two Shires is mundanely known as my younger brother, Steve Dawson.”
I don’t say anything for almost a full minute. I feel my throat start to tighten up with guilt at the thought that I was more than mildly attracted to someone who turns out to be my favored lord and knight’s own brother. Then again, their blood relation probably explains why they’re both so charming and easy on the eyes.
“Are you sure he’s your brother?” I blurt, before I get a chance to realize just how ridiculous that sounds.
“I think I know who my own goddamned brother is, Lisa.” Syr Phillip sounds hurt.
“I—I’m sorry. It’s just—it’s just all so strange—“
“No, no—it’s my fault,” Syr Phillip replies. “I never should have asked you to do something like spy on people you barely know. You’re far too sweet a person to get caught up in these nasty interkingdom politics. It was unfair of me to ask you. Please accept my apology.”
“It’s all right, Phillip. Really. I didn’t mind it at all. Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” Syr Phillip mutters after a tense moment. “I think I need to get off to fight practice, Lisa. If I know my kid brother the way I think I do, he’s going to have the entire East Kingdom, Aethelmarc, and Tuchux nations fighting me hand-to-hand in the Woods Battle this year. I’ve got to make sure I’m ready for it.” Syr Phillip’s voice is heavy and edged with despair.
“But—“
“Goodbye, darling.”
Syr Phillip hangs up before I can tell him he quoted his brother’s warning nearly word for word.
Somehow I think the Dawsons must be a very competitive family.
****
Two days later, Baroness Barlonda and Baron Grizzly are hanging out in my living room, both sipping tallboy cans of Pabst Blue Ribbon I bought on sale at Kroger’s. Barlonda has brought the first rough cut of the silk brocade gown I’m to wear at Crown Tournament, while Grizzly has lugged in several heavy books on medieval history.
“We need to get you a real SCA name, hon,” Grizzly says, flipping pages in an old, moldy tome that looks like it might have been stolen from a college library at some point. “Lisa of Winged Hills won’t cut the mustard at Crown.”
“It would be a perfectly good SCA name if there wasn’t already one listed in the rolls, Grizz,” Barlonda chirps as she guzzles the last dregs of her beer. She sets down the empty can on my matted carpeting and reaches into her sewing case for the gown’s bodice fabric pieces, which she starts pinning to my frame. “Especially considering that the last Lisa of Winged Hills quit the SCA at least fifteen years ago.”
“I know, but rules are rules, Barlonda. Nobody in the SCA can have exactly the same registered persona name as somebody else.” Grizzly runs his stubby fing
er down a few pages of his heavy tome as Barlonda pins some sleeve fabric on my left arm and makes some marks on it with tailor’s chalk. “Here we go,” he says, tapping a page with a stubby finger. “You could be Lisa Bartoldi di Napoli. That would give you a nice Renaissance Italian persona of the noble class.”
I shrug. “Okay, sure, whatever.” I’m too preoccupied with how sad Syr Phillip sounded the last time we spoke to care much about medieval names.
Barlonda sets down her tailor’s chalk and gives me a quizzical look. “What’s wrong, dear?”
“I’m just worried about Syr Phillip, that’s all.”
“Oh, he’ll be just fine, hon.” Baron Grizzly says, not looking up from his book. “Everybody says he’s going to win Crown, you know.”
“That’s not what I’m worried about,” I sigh as Barlonda unpins the brocade fabric pieces from my frame and starts measuring my waist. “I think he’s getting too caught up in all this funny business going on with the Dark Horde and the Tuchux.”
“Phil can take pretty good care of himself, Lisa,” Barlonda says. “Don’t worry.”
“I’m worried about the both of you, too,” I admit. “What happened at the Winged Hills meeting between the two of you and Master Melphus really scared me.”
Barlonda and Grizzly exchange uneasy looks, but say nothing.
“What is going on with all of you?” I blurt.
“What do you mean, dear?” Barlonda says, her teeth clenched around a mouthful of straight pins. Baron Grizzly abruptly claps his heavy book shut and heads for the bathroom.
“There just seems to be a lot of funny business going on,” I say. “I mean, first there was the strange way Baron Grizzly acted around Syr Phillip at Lady Ramona’s party, then the house fire, then the little incident at the Winged Hills meeting—“
“Oh, it wasn’t an incident at all, dear. You’re overreacting.” Barlonda tries to give me a reassuring smile around the quiver of pins, but she ends up choking on one of them and has to spit the whole stainless-steel wad onto the floor.
I place my hands squarely on my hips and give the older woman a piercing stare. “Are the two of you involved in drug dealing, Barlonda? Because if you are, I would appreciate it if you keep that kind of activity as far away from me as possible.”
Knights and Kink Romance Boxed Set Page 71
