Knights and Kink Romance Boxed Set

by Jill Elaine Hughes

  Now my head is starting to spin. I can’t tell anymore where the SCA kingdoms end and the Great Dark Horde and all its strange, undercover intrigue begins. “Why should it make any difference to the Horde whether Syr Phillip stays royal or not?” I ask. “I don’t understand any of this political mumbo-jumbo. I thought the SCA was just a silly way for boring people to have some fun and excitement in their lives by dressing up as King Arthur and Henry VIII—not some weird, top-secret underworld of Mafia types aiming for world domination or something. And furthermore—“

  Shen Fu laughs. “The Horde isn’t about world domination, Lisa. Like we’ve been saying all along, the Great Dark Horde is interested in two things—peace, both physical and mental—and making money. And as any good businessman will tell you, you can’t make money without peace and stability.”

  “Aggghhhh!” I scream. “For a group that wants so much to give me peace of mind, the Horde is really making me crazy! I don’t understand anything you’re saying. The SCA is a bunch of nutty hobbyists, not a warmongering superpower! Will somebody here just give me a goddamn straight answer for once?”

  Shen Fu folds me into a big bear hug. “It’s all right, Lisa. I’m sorry. We probably shouldn’t try to explain the entire history and purpose of the Great Dark Horde all in one day. We have two main things to ask of you right now—make up with Phil first. I’ll talk about the second part of your mission in a minute. And in true Dark Horde fashion, we will make completing these tasks well worth your while.”

  “What Shen’s trying to say is, we’ll pay you,” Jerry says, his eyes twinkling.

  “And the Horde pays its servants well, dear,” Diane says. “Very well. The pay’s even better when the kingdom we side with at Pennsic wins.”

  “How much?” I ask, almost afraid to know the answer.

  “Four thousand,” Shen Fu replies. “In two installments, paid upon the successful completion of each task I give you.”

  “Four thousand?” I sputter.

  As in, four thousand dollars?

  I sigh and flop back down into my uncomfortable chair, baffled. Even if I still don’t have a clue what is really going on in the SCA or the Dark Horde or even in my own personal life, if there’s that much pay involved, maybe this whole Dark Horde thing isn’t so bad. After all, if I end up losing my job at Delco after becoming Queen I’m going to need some cash. “Fine, sure whatever,” I say. “Just tell me what I need to do.”

  Chapter 26

  At Shen Fu’s insistence, I’m driving myself up I-70 to Syr Phillip’s condo in the Columbus suburbs, hoping to convince him to remain heir to the throne of the Middle Kingdom. I’m not as optimistic about restoring our romantic relationship, however. I know now after talking to Shen Fu that I’ve behaved horribly, jumping to all kinds of unwarranted conclusions about a man who obviously loved me wholly and unconditionally. Given how callously I’ve behaved, I’m not sure if Syr Phillip will be willing to take me back.

  One thing I am sure of is, most men can’t resist the sex-kittenish hard-to-get act, and I’m banking on my hunch that Syr Phillip is like most men in that regard. Accordingly, I’m planning to pretend at first that I don’t know what I saw Syr Phillip doing with Lady Ramona was really just an innocent Horde ritual—and instead act like I’m still mad as hell. I’m praying that my resulting hard-to-get approach will help restore the passion between us.

  Whatever happens, I only have about twelve hours to complete the first half of my paid assignment from Shen Fu. The other half involves some rather complex political maneuverings with the East Kingdom, the King of Aethelmarc, and the Tuchux at the upcoming Pennsic War—three things I know almost nothing about. If I don’t manage to convince Syr Phillip to keep his crown, then Shen Fu will release me from the second half of my assignment. Of course, then not only will I not get paid the four thousand, I won’t have the love of my life back, either.

  Therefore, I’m leaving nothing to chance. Not only am I going to play super hard-to-get with Syr Phillip, I am going to play super hard-to-get in the sexiest, flashiest, most low-cut outfit I own—a little spandex cocktail number I ordered from the Victoria’s Secret catalog last year, and have yet had occasion to wear. I suppose this occasion is as good as any.

  As I pass the second-to-last suburban exit before crossing into Columbus city limits, my hands grip the steering wheel tighter and tighter in anticipation of the meeting to come.

  I follow the directions on the map Shen Fu sketched for me to Syr Phillip’s condo in the posh Columbus suburb of Westerville. I shudder when I realize that even after dating Syr Phillip for over a month, I’ve never once set foot in his home. Even when we were practically joined at the hip at SCA events and engaging in plenty of hot-and-heavy lovemaking, I never learned much, if anything, about Syr Phillip’s daily life and habits—his job, his likes and dislikes, or much of anything about his life outside the SCA. I realize as I pull my battered old Ford Escort into his condominium complex that our relationship, as brief as it was, consisted mostly of me soaking up the overly romanticized, archaic wooings of a make-believe knight in shining, prefabricated armor. A fairy tale, really—a fairy tale that ended badly.

  Hopefully tonight I’ll be able to find that fairy tale’s happy ending.

  I park the car, take a deep breath, and approach Unit 4-W. My hand pauses just before my finger reaches the buzzer as I feel the familiar surge of electricity that Syr Phillip’s presence always seems to trigger up and down my spine.

  I go to press the buzzer, but before I do, the front door opens. Syr Phillip is behind it, dressed only in rumpled pajama bottoms. He is unshaven and his unwashed hair looks like it just got run through a Cuisinart.

  “Hello, Lisa,” he mumbles, rubbing his eyes. “I uhhhh, I saw you drive up.”

  “Hi,” I say, trying to avoid his eyes. The all-too-familiar heat starts to rise in the lower half of my body. I take another deep breath and resolve to ignore it. “I’m here on official SCA business of the Great Dark Horde,” I say matter-of-factly.

  Syr Phillip runs a hand through his tangled locks and smiles. “Either you’re here on SCA business, or you’re here on Horde business. Which is it? The two things are pretty much mutually exclusive.”

  This catches me off guard. “Uhhhh—that is, I—“ I stammer. Before I get a chance to collect my thoughts, Syr Phillip grabs me and plants a passionate kiss on my still-open mouth.

  With tongue. Lots and lots of tongue. And I can tell that he hasn’t brushed his teeth in a while. And even if Syr Phillip’s three days’ worth of whisker stubble is scratching the top layer of my face off and his mouth tastes vaguely of dirty socks, I can’t help but kiss him back.

  Just a little.

  Then I remember why I’m here. I am here to conduct important Horde business, and I am also here to play super hard-to-get. Stepping right into my playacting role, I push my most favored knight away with both hands. “Just a minute, mister. I am here on official Horde business. And furthermore, you are still on my shit list over what happened on Saturday. So no kissing allowed, okay?”

  Syr Phillip looks sheepish. “All right, fine. I apologize. I just couldn’t control myself is all.”

  I raise a neatly plucked eyebrow at him. “And what exactly is that supposed to mean, Phil?”

  “It means that the sight of you is so arousing that I can’t be held responsible for my actions when I’m in your presence. Good God, Lisa, that is the most incredible outfit I’ve ever seen. On anyone.”

  I stamp my foot. I’m really enjoying this whole hard-to-get thing. “Look, Phil,” I growl. “You’ve got a lot of explaining to do before you can even think of being aroused in my presence. You got that?”

  Syr Phillip gives me a mock salute. “Yes, ma’am.”

  I fold my arms and cock my head at the forlorn, sleep-disheveled knight, who’s still blocking the front door. “Aren’t you going to invite me in?”

  Syr Phillip steps aside and motions for me to enter.
I stomp into his lavish condo, which has a dramatic two-story entrance with a vaulted ceiling and a large crystal chandelier. Expensive-looking designer furniture fills the open living room. Reproduction medieval tapestries and original oil paintings line the walls. A delicate marble table sits in the entrance hallway, cradling a pile of Syr Phillip’s mail. The place looks more like a four-star hotel suite than a bachelor pad.

  “Sorry the place is such a mess,” he says as he sweeps the pile of mail into a drawer.

  Some mess. I don’t see a speck of dust or the slightest bit of clutter anywhere. “No——it’s lovely,” I say. “Is it ummm—professionally decorated?”

  “Yes. I mean, no. I mean—“ Syr Phillip bites his lip and starts tapping his foot nervously.

  “Go on.”

  Syr Phillip bites his lip some more, then sighs. “An old girlfriend of mine decorated it for me. She’s a professional interior designer, but she did it for free. As a favor.”

  “Uh huh,” I say, nonplused. “And I suppose you’ve had a lot of different girlfriends do you a lot of different favors over the years, huh?”

  Syr Phillip leans against the spotless white wall and stares at the floor, obviously embarrassed. “Yes, you could say that. Lisa, can I get you something to drink?”

  “No thanks,” I hiss. “I don’t want to risk you slipping me a mickey or something. I have to be back at work tomorrow.”

  “Fine. Then why don’t you just say whatever Shen Fu hired you to say to me, and then get the hell out of here?”

  I’m taken aback; I never expected Syr Phillip to be so abrupt with me, especially after hearing he was so upset about our breakup. But I manage to keep a straight face and stick to business, even as my own flaming heat of arousal starts to creep up my legs and settle around my waistline. “Um, well, Shen Fu wants you to stay on as Crown Prince of the Midrealm. He says it’s really, really important for the Dark Horde’s plans that you stay on the throne. But to be honest, I don’t much understand all the reasons for that. King Fallon wants you to stay on as well.” I take a deep breath, feeling all my hard-to-get strategies giving way to the irresistible fires beginning to surge throughout my body. “And—and so do I.”

  Syr Phillip’s expression softens. “You do?”

  “Yes. I think that you should finish what you started.”

  “Really.” Syr Phillip comes to sit beside me on the Italian leather sofa. I inch away from him, afraid of the very strong reaction my body makes the closer he gets to me. With his shirt off, I can almost trace the paths my fingers took over the skin that stretches so tightly across his pectoral muscles the last time we made love. . .

  Okay, that’s it. I jerk myself off the couch, send a mental message to my quickly dampening crotch to chill out, and cross to the far side of the room. I need to stick to the matter at hand. “Yes, that’s right, Phillip,” I finally say. “I want you to finish. . .your task of being Crown Prince and then King of the Midrealm. And I’m happy to be at your side at SCA events as your Consort. But that’s all. The relationship will end there. Strictly platonic, strictly business. Appearances only, and nothing more.” It’s all I can do to keep a straight face as I say this—of course I want our relationship to be a hell of a lot more than just strictly platonic or strictly business. But I can’t let him know that. Not just yet.

  Syr Phillip stretches out full-length on the sofa and clasps his hands behind his head, accentuating his steel-cut biceps. He’s bare-chested, chiseled, and ridiculously sexy. “Strictly business, eh? You know, you keep talking about that, and yet I’m willing to bet you haven’t got the foggiest idea what exactly that business is. What did Shen Fu put you up to, exactly? And what’s he paying you?”

  “Uhhh, that’s classified,” I retort, feeling more and more like an idiot-spy.

  Syr Phillip laughs. “Let me guess. A gold bracelet, a toilet-shaped pin, and a certificate for mental health therapy. And—four thousand chocolate chip cookies, payable in two installments. Am I right?”

  My jaw drops.

  Four thousand chocolate-chip cookies?

  What?

  I knew Syr Phillip helped pay for the gifts, but four thousand cookies? The “four thousand” Shen Fu spoke of was in fattening sweet treats, and not dollars?

  “Well?” Syr Phillip is grinning ear to ear. “You look surprised.”

  I stare at the floor. “I thought Shen Fu meant dollars when he said four thousand, that’s all.”

  Syr Phillip cracks up. “I’m sure Shen Fu probably assumed that you already knew the official currency of the Great Dark Horde is chocolate-chip cookies. Or if no cookies are available, they’ll also trade in Pringles. The Dark Horde isn’t the Mafia, Lisa. It’s just a bunch of kooky SCA folks who like to have good clean fun by making innocent trouble and playing practical jokes. That’s all.” Syr Phillip gets up from the couch and comes to stand in front of me. He reaches out to take both my hands, but I pull away. I’ve obviously been tricked by this man and his weird Dark Horde cohorts yet again. I feel my face go hot with shame at my sheer gullibility.

  “Lisa, let’s start over. Have a seat on the couch. I’ll fix you a cup of coffee—no mickeys or funny business, I promise. I’ll be a perfect gentleman and I swear I won’t do or say anything to embarrass you or trick you. Just let me give you my side of the story, okay? Please?”

  “Your side of which story?” I ask. “There seem to be a lot of different stories going around about you these days, and frankly, I don’t know which one to believe.”

  “The story of my life for the past twenty years,” Syr Phillip says, softly. “And just how you fit into all of it. That’s the story I’m going to tell. Are you ready to hear it?”

  “How long will it take?” I ask, never taking my eyes off Syr Phillip’s spotless white Berber carpet.

  “Couple of hours, maybe more. I promise I’ll be done in time for you to get back to work tomorrow.”

  Chapter 27

  I’m sipping a cup of Syr Phillip’s expensive-smelling hazelnut-mocha coffee when he begins to tell his side of the story. At my insistence, he’s showered and shaved now, but he’s still only wearing pajama bottoms. So in addition to being bare-chested, chiseled, and ridiculously sexy, now he’s bare-chested, chiseled, ridiculously sexy, and clean. I can smell the musky, minty fragrance of his Ralph Lauren soap-on-a-rope all the way across the room. It takes all the willpower I have not to grab him and start caressing those beautiful pecs and licking those hard nipples of his. . .

  Syr Phillip paces the room, occasionally taking a sip from the longneck bottle of Miller Genuine Draft he’s pulled from his Subzero fridge. He’s more nervous than I’ve ever seen him. “Lisa, I’ll try to be as quick about this as I can, but it’s kind of a long story. What time do you need to be at work tomorrow again?”

  “Nine o’clock.”

  “Can you be late?”

  “No,” I say, my voice clipped. “I’ve already missed three days from being so depressed about you that I couldn’t get out of bed. I don’t have any more days off left. If I miss another day I’ll probably get fired.”

  “Oh. Right. Sorry.” Syr Phillip takes another long sip of his beer. “I work on commission, so I never have to punch a clock. Sometimes I forget how regular jobs can be a pain in the ass.”

  I roll my eyes. “You aren’t exactly endearing yourself to me right now, you know.” A lie, actually. Watching Syr Phillip walk around barechested and shower-fresh is probably enough to make him endearing to anyone, regardless of what else he might do or say. I cross my legs daintily and send another nasty “chill out” message to my nether parts.

  Syr Phillip sets his beer down on one of his chrome side tables and sighs. “Sorry, Lisa. I’m just—I’m just not good at talking about certain aspects of my past. But no matter how it makes me feel, I guess I can’t avoid it with you any more, so here goes.

  “I joined SCA when I was still in high school. My mom and dad got involved first. I forget why. But af
ter they’d gone to a few events on their own, they started dragging all us kids along. I was fourteen or fifteen at the time. My older sister Holly was barely a year older than I was—we were what you call Irish twins. And Steve—well, you’ve met Steve, unfortunately—he was the baby of the family. Spoiled brat most of the time. He was always Dad’s favorite. Anyway, I think he was around eight or nine when we all started going to events. Dad got into the SCA fighting almost right away. He was an ex-Marine and he loved anything to do with martial arts. It was a lot easier to get authorized as a fighter back then—I think he got his authorization card at his second or third event. We didn’t have a lot of money to spend on armor and things back then, so Dad’s first set of armor was made out of carpet.”

  “Carpet?” I ask, stifling a laugh as I picture Syr Phillip’s dad fighting a bear pit round wearing a suit of burnt-orange shag.

  “Yeah, carpet. The SCA used to allow carpet armor. You just cut up old pieces of carpet into standard armor shapes and wore them backing-side out. If you couldn’t manage to construct buckle fasteners, you just held them onto your body with duct tape. Ugly, not at all medieval, but hey, it worked when and where you needed it to. I learned to fight in carpet armor myself. Anyway—What’s so funny?”

  I’m cracking up at the thought of Syr Phillip wearing anything remotely resembling a rug. “Sorry. I just think the idea of you wearing carpet is hilarious.”

  “Lisa, if you don’t mind, I’m trying to tell a very serious story here.”

  I bite my lip to keep from laughing. “I’m sorry. Go on.”

  Agitated, Syr Phillip guzzles the dregs of his beer and tosses the empty into the fireplace, where it shatters. “Where was I?”

  “Carpet armor,” not commenting on the reckless beer bottle display. “And something about your brother Steve being a brat.”

  “Right. That’s an important point. My brother Steve is still a brat, by the way. That’s never going to change. Anyway, after we’d all been going to SCA events for a year or so, my dad got squired to a knight out of Akron named Thorvald the Traveler. Syr Thorvald really took to my dad, and it got to the point that Dad was spending almost every single night of the week over at Syr Thorvald’s house—which was almost two hours away—doing squire stuff. Polishing his armor, re-padding his shields, stuff like that. And once Dad got on Syr Thorvald’s good side from all that grunt work, Syr Thorvald started training my dad to become a knight himself. But that didn’t go over too well with my mom, as you might imagine.”