“I am not constrained,” he said.
“What?”
“For this one night, I am not constrained. I am what I was born to be.”
“A knight in armour.”
“Not always in armour,” he murmured. “As thou—”
“You! Focus, Piers. What does Niall call you? Prof!”
“As you are not always wrapped in defences, neither am I always armoured,” he said.
“I am not.”
“No. For now ’tis a sheet that veils thy fair form.”
She recoiled. “You’re relapsing. Anyway, I had a nightshirt on, but it was too hot. That was you, wasn’t it? This summer-in-June thing is all you.”
“Hadst thou not—”
“Come off it. It’s nothing to do with me. You’re the one who’s got the weird obsession with knights and armour and ladies. You should go.”
He nodded mournfully. “Didst... I didn’t mean to trouble you. I wanted to please you. It is my purpose in life.”
“You don’t even know me.”
“I cannot... can’t explain,” he said with an effort. “When this auspicious night is over, then shalt explain.”
“You should go now.”
“You must dismiss me.”
She didn’t want to, but all those what’shisnames in her romantic wake made her cautious.
She took a breath, closed her eyes and exhaled. “Off you go. Goodbye.”
“Nay. Thou must find me unworthy of thee, say it, and mean it in thy heart.”
Oh fruitcake.
Kendra remembered what Niall said during that rushed phone call. She had to tell the knight he was not worthy of her favour, probably in the peculiar archaic language he used.
She supposed it had to be a magic dismissal, maybe the opposite of a summoning.
“What will happen if I do dismiss you?” she asked.
“Then I shall be shamed, and deserving of nothing. A shamed knight is nothing, worthy of oblivion.”
“There’s no need to go that far.”
“Indeed there is. If a lady calleth to her bed a knight, and deems him unworthy, and sends him away, how can he not be worthless and ashamed?”
Kendra felt a hot flush on her cheeks. “I did not call you to my bed, or to anywhere else. I’m the pet-sitter!”
“Didst thou not speak a wish aloud?”
“No.” Her cheeks felt as if she’d spent too much time in the sun. “At least, I might have said something about wanting the kind of luck Frances had—oh. Was that it? Is that what happened? I wished I had someone to love me the way Niall loves Frances and so the nearest available fairy man turned up?”
He nodded.
“So, if I say you’re not what I want and tell you to go, you’ll go, and stay gone.”
He nodded again. “Shalt never trouble thee more. Nor shall any of my kind.”
So, it’s this fairy or no fairy. No wish rerun.
She looked into his face and saw sadness and acceptance. “What if I ask you to stay? Not that I am, mind. This is hypothetical.”
He smiled. “Then shalt love thee this night and count myself the most blessed of men forever.”
She should send him packing. Even if he was what he said he was, and what Niall and Frances said he was, this was just mad.
It crossed her mind that maybe Frances had set her up. She’d struck gold with her fairy man and wanted to pass on her recipe for romantic riches? Nice one, Frances... a heads-up would have been good! Like... ‘You too can have a yummy fairy man if you just make a wish.’
“Are you really Niall’s cousin?” she asked.
“I am.”
“And you really came here because I said I wanted some... um... romantic luck of the kind Frances had?”
“Yes.”
“And you are available. You’re not married, or engaged? Promised? Betrothed? Whatever commitment you fairies can have?”
“I am free to love thee tonight.”
She took a step forward. “What about tomorrow?”
“Then the choice is thine. Send me away, have me stay. I am thine to command while I live.”
Dammit. Men just didn’t say that.
But if Frances was telling the truth, the Le Fay men were not precisely men. Not entirely. Fairies. Magic.
Kendra took another step forward, and turned to perch on the bed beside the knight. The summery smell intensified, now mixed with strawberries and cream, her favourite summer treat. Mmmmmm.
You’re crazy, said a voice in the back of her head.
No, she said back. I’d be crazy to miss this opportunity. So what if it’s a mistake? The what’shisnames don’t set the barrier very high.
She turned to face the naked knight. “It’s awfully hot in here,” she said.
“Thou art over-dressed, my lady.”
“Kendra.”
“Kendra.”
She lifted her arms away from her sides, letting the green sheet fall to pool around her hips. She was damp with perspiration, but so was he.
To her consternation, Sir Piers stood up, but only to face her. He held out his arms, and she rose to meet him. Her head came to his collar bone, but he lifted her clear off the floor and kissed her, turning to lay her on the bed and following her down.
She wasn’t sure what she expected, but the long verbal joust must have acted as foreplay, for he rolled on his side, and pulled her to him. He cupped her head with one hand and her butt with the other, kissing her with abandon as he entered her with a single thrust.
“Hey!” she mumbled against his mouth, bucking with surprise, but he gathered her closer, angling her artfully so she stopped holding back and gave herself to pure enjoyment. It was over much too soon. She heard a scream of ecstasy which she vaguely thought must have come from her, though how and why was beyond her. She shuddered in his arms and her head spun. He grasped her buttocks and lifted and she gasped and convulsed, just as he stiffened still more (if that was possible) and thrust into her hard before his grip slackened and his breathing resumed.
He’d been holding his breath?
Stretched and shaken, she lay against him, her arms flung above her head where they must have gone in that moment of truth.
She opened her eyes.
Sunlight dazzled her, with the scent of hay, strawberries and apples; so different from the usual smell of sweaty sex. Her legs were tangled with his and she peeled them free.
He got up on one elbow, gently rolling her off his arm and flat onto the bed. “Art thou pleased with thy knight, my Kendra?”
She rolled back to face him. “How couldst I not be?” she said, choosing her words with care. “Thou art my hot summer knight.”
It was true, but she felt sticky. She touched the drops of perspiration pooled on his chest with a finger, then dabbed it on her tongue. Mmmm, salty. She wondered what he’d say if she suggested a shower. Did knights shower?
“Do knights shower?” she asked.
“Wouldst please thee?”
“Yes.” She got out of the bed with an effort, finding her knees unexpectedly wobbly.
He was up to steady her and guided her down four stairs to the half landing which housed the bathroom. It still contained the old-fashioned tub from Frances’s granny’s day, but a modern shower stall was wedged in beside it.
Kendra adjusted the water and stepped in, beckoning the knight to join her. The ‘summer’ effect as she called it to herself followed them to the bathroom, so her ecologically-sound shampoo and body wash smelled beguilingly of roses and the vapour from the running shower glowed amber. Kendra turned her face up to the spray, and half-closed her eyes, taking in the beauty of scent and the light through her wet eyelashes. She washed her hair and then, smiling, reached up on her toes to wash her summer knight.
Few men with hair as long as his looked their best with water pouring over their lank locks. Sir Piers was an exception. The water darken
ed his flaxen hair to brown, but the curl persisted. He was beautiful in the manner of a medieval portrait, but lacked the faintly gormless look such heroes often had.
Dried and clean, Kendra put on the lightest t-shirt she’d brought, finger-combed her short hair and then turned to Sir Piers. “Do you have any clothes, apart from that armour?” she asked.
He appeared to think about that. “I am uncertain. It matters not.” He smiled, and pulled her into his arms, kissed the top of her head and then simply hugged her. It felt good. Better than good.
“I suppose we needn’t bother with clothes?” she suggested. “It’s the middle of the night.”
She led him back to the bedroom, and made up the bed with fresh sheets from the press. “Are you hungry?” she asked. “Do you eat?”
He smiled. “How else would I have the strength to please my lady?”
“Wait here.”
Kendra went to check on the cats, pleased to see them settled in a furry yin/yang ball. In Frances’s kitchen, she found fruit, cheese and some rustic-looking bread. That seemed suitable knight-fodder, so she carried it up to the bedroom.
They ate the impromptu picnic sitting cross-legged on the bed. Kendra felt curiously relaxed. Either she was getting used to weirdness or maybe the long train journey had caught up with her. It was still summer-hot, so she removed the t-shirt.
“What now?” she asked, rubbing her fingers on a wet towel to clean them.
Sir Piers smiled. “Couldst take thee to the Midsummer Court to dance the night away.”
“Uh-uh,” said Kendra, wagging her finger at him. “I know what happens to people who go off to Fairyland. They either don’t come back at all or else they find everyone they know is dead.”
The knight’s smile faded. “Never wouldst I harm thee by mine actions!” he said. “I thought only to amuse thee. Wouldst clothe us in fair raiment.”
Kendra felt a definite chill in the air. “I didn’t mean to offend you,” she said. “I don’t know anything about this Summer Court. Could you really take me there?”
“I couldst,” he said. “No harm would come to thee there, and thou wouldst be home as expected.”
“I think I’d rather not, all the same,” said Kendra, putting away a vision of herself in ‘fair raiment’. “I’d prefer to spend the night just with you.”
Because he still looked chastened, she put her hand on his knee, leaned up and kissed his shoulder. His arms came round her and he lifted her against him, falling back against the pillows.
Seriously? He’s going for round two?
Kendra considered disentangling herself, but then his lips fastened around her nipple, and she cried out as a fierce pang shot through her from breast to groin. Her back arched. In seconds she felt his cock surge in readiness against her, and she lifted herself and settled astride him, holding his shoulders in a desperate grasp as she settled and rocked and moaned her way to fulfilment.
“Aghhhh!” The cry burst out around her clenched teeth, and she looked down into his eyes, hazy with desire. She let herself down to lie full length, kissing him hard, sucking, nipping and licking as he drove into her still convulsing body and then shook with his own orgasm.
“Oh. My. Lord!” she panted, lying against him in the aftershocks.
“Calleth me not thy lord,” he murmured, “calleth me thy love.” He sounded... smug.
“I didn’t mean it like that.”
“Am I not worthy? Have I failed thee?”
Kendra sat up abruptly, and planted both hands on his chest as he tried to rise. “Stop it!” she said, straddling him again to keep him down. “Enough with the guilt trip, and the humility and the gentle knight act!”
“Without thy favour, I am nought. Cast me not away! I wish only to please thee.”
“Well, please me!” She leaned harder, staring down at him. “Look. Piers. Yes, I’m talking to you. Piers Le Fay, not some fucking fairy tale.”
He blinked up at her and the change came over his face, much stronger than before. It was indefinable, a shifting, a blurring, and then a snap as if his features came into focus.
She saw the shift and her cheeks flared with heat as she looked into the hazel eyes of a stranger. He still had fair hair, but darker and shorter than before, and a faint shine of stubble on his jaw.
Oh, fuck. Fuckety fuck.
He lay looking up at her and blinked. “Um?” he said. “You—I—did we?”
Could her cheeks burn any hotter?
His gaze shifted and she realised he was looking at her breasts with an appreciative gleam in his eyes.
“I’m guessing the answer’s yes?”
He shifted his hips and Kendra dismounted in a hurry. Still on her knees, she shuffled sideways, grabbed for the shirt and hauled it over her head. For the second time that night she considered bolting for the street. Something of that might have shown in her expression, because Piers sat up, and leaned against the headboard.
“Don’t tell me,” he said in a conversational tone. His voice was the same but the accent had shifted to something more cosmopolitan. “It’s midsummer night. Damn, damn.”
“It’s winter,” said Kendra. She realised it was getting colder. A chill settled over her damp skin, and the hot sunlight faded fast. Before it quite went she lunged for the light-pull and flooded the room with electric light.
“It’s winter here,” he agreed, “but where I come from it’s high summer. But surely midsummer night’s not until tomorrow? June twenty-third? I couldn’t have made that mistake. Niall was going to—oh damn.”
“June twenty-third is tonight,” said Kendra.
They exchanged wary looks, then Piers snapped his fingers. “The international dateline. Damn, damn, shit and bloody hell.”
Kendra swallowed. “What happened to your thees and thous and prithee fair maidens?”
“No! I didn’t, did I? Tell me I didn’t.” He seemed caught between laughter and anguish.
“You didn’t say prithee,” she said, and added mercilessly, “but you did call me my lady.”
“I can explain. But no. On second thoughts, I think I’ll just go.”
“Go where?”
“Away. Preferably to find Cousin Niall.” He gave her a hopeful look. “Do you know Niall Le Fay? I was supposed to meet him somewhere.”
“He’s my cousin’s boyfriend and I met him at Christmas,” said Kendra. “Is he your pimp?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Sorry. Look, this is Frances’s house. Niall lives here with her. They’ve gone to a festival to meet you, and I’m cat-sitting.”
She thought this was succinctly put, and hoped that would be the end of it.
No such luck.
“If that’s so, why am I here instead of there?”
Kendra sighed. “Niall and Frances said you’re a fairy. A Midsummer Knight,” she said.
“Yes,” he said unhelpfully.
“Is that true?”
“Yes. I am a fairy; variety Midsummer Knight. But it’s not what you think. I don’t go about casting spells or sticking my sword into dragons.”
No, only into me. She winced.
“It’s more like a cultural sensitivity. Have you ever heard of SAD?”
“Seasonal Affective Disorder?”
“Right. It’s a condition that affects some people and they alleviate the problem by using artificial sunlight. Being a Midsummer Knight is like that, except it’s just a few days each year.”
“Like a werewolf at full moon,” she muttered.
“That’s a myth. Werewolves don’t—”
“Fuck werewolves.”
“What? You want werewolves in plural?”
“I think I preferred you when you were theeing and thouing.” She sniffed. “At least you liked me then.”
He eyed her uneasily. “You haven’t finished telling me how I got here.”
She gave it to him with both ba
rrels. “According to you, you showed up in a kind of fairy roulette. I wished, and you appeared. Sunlight and roses, hay and music, and clanking armour. That is, until you started taking it off.”
“Oh.” He bit his bottom lip.
Kendra tried not to look as a neat red oval where she’d bitten into his shoulder in the throes of passion. She’d sucked his neck, too. Maybe she was a latent vampire?
“What happened then?” he asked.
“I worked out who you were and tried to get you to call Niall. You didn’t remember how to use a phone, so I called Frances. Niall tried to talk you down but you’d gone ninety-nine per cent knight, so in the end he said I could kick you out and you’d go.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“You made puppy dog eyes. You played the guilt card. And besides...”
“Besides what?” he asked as she paused.
“You were my wish!” she blurted. “You didn’t want to go, and I wanted you to stay and besides, you said you’d explain in the morning.”
He turned and heaved up a pillow, then turned back to her. “Did I come up to expectations?”
“I don’t know. Do you usually?”
He fussed with the pillow again. “There is no usually.”
“Don’t tell me you’re a virgin.”
“No. I wouldn’t say that.” He tugged at the corner of the quilt. “But I think he is. Was.”
“He?”
“The knight. Sir Frickin’ Piers. I generally spend midsummer in a safe house, or with relatives. We fairies look out for one another. This year I had to fly over here for work. I thought he probably wouldn’t manifest at all this year, since it’s winter here. If he did, I was relying on Niall to keep me out of trouble.”
“It didn’t work.”
“So I see. I just hope he didn’t imprint on you.”
Kendra’s head spun. Oh, this was getting better and better. “You mean, like a duckling?”
“Yes, more or less. When Midsummer Knights find their ladies, they fall hard. They’re as faithful as hounds and as constant as death and taxes. That’s why we generally get somewhere safe so as not to risk it.”
“Does it really matter?” she ventured. “From what Niall said you only manifest—is that the word?—for a day or so a year. Being a bit devoted probably means he’ll just mope a bit on midsummer nights. Doesn’t it?”
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