A Bride for a Day

by Pam Binder

  C.C. had guessed that working for Tatiana would be a challenge. Tatiana had a reputation for being demanding, but C.C. admired the woman’s work ethic. Tatiana had worked her way up from the assistant who helped dress the runway models to a runway model herself, and had started her own custom shoe empire. C.C. hoped that, in addition to the job and the needed income, she might also learn how to run a business from Tatiana.

  Michael paused beside a jewelry vender and stood examining the handmade rings. He hadn’t said very much over the past hour. When she’d first seen him and Tatiana together this morning, they had been the picture of perfection. Two beautiful people who said all the right things about each other in public and seemed to sense the exact moment when someone would snap a picture. Sometimes, though, it was the things that weren’t said or the times when they kissed and it looked more for show and photos than spontaneous passion that had C.C. wondering why they were together.

  “If you don’t mind my asking,” Michael said, “what do the initials C.C. stand for?”

  “Promise you won’t laugh?”

  “My middle name is Babe Ruth.”

  “What’s wrong with that? You’re named after the famous baseball player.”

  “I wish,” Michael said. “Nana said that when my mother was pregnant she was addicted to Baby Ruth candy bars. She ate them morning, noon, and night. When I was born, she insisted on the modified name.” He moved closer. “Your turn.”

  These days, the only time the question came up of what her initials stood for was when she had to sign a legal document. Her full name was on her passport, and she’d gotten plenty of raised eyebrows, but thankfully no one had ever made a comment.

  She took a deep breath and plunged forward. “My father’s last name is Charming, and when my parents married, they thought it would be fun to name their children after fairytale characters.”

  For a split second it looked almost as though Michael had started to smile. He caught himself, and frowned instead. “You’re serious.”

  C.C. shrugged and strolled to the next vendor, who had a display of multi-colored ribbons that fluttered in the breeze. “Afraid so. My mother named me Cinderella, my sisters are Briar Rose and Belle, from Sleeping Beauty and Beauty and the Beast, and my brother is named Galahad, from King Arthur and His Knights of the Round Table.”

  “That’s why you made such a sour expression when someone remarked that you were a modern-day Cinderella.”

  “Don’t forget the shoes. Although it was generous of Tatiana to lend me a pair from her collection, they resemble the description of the glass slippers in the fairytale. But it’s more than that. I think the Cinderella story misses the point. There’s the fantasy that we can all fall in love at first sight or find our Prince Charming. Thousands of children have bought into that scenario. No one seems to wonder what happens to the couple the next morning. Do they still love each other in the cold light of day after all the lights, fancy clothes, and magic have disappeared? Or do they live to regret their decision?”

  Michael fingered one of the ribbons hanging from the vendor’s booth. “What was his name?”

  C.C. reached for a pink ribbon and paused. “You’re suggesting that someone broke my heart.”

  “Why else would you dislike a classic fairytale?”

  “Are you telling me you believe in the nonsense of love at first sight?”

  “Let’s say I’m not ruling it out.”

  “Tommy Shepard.”

  Michael lifted an eyebrow. “The spin-the-bottle guy? He’s the one who made you stop believing in love?”

  “He’s the one. It started out like a fairytale. We kissed, and he started planning our future after the first date. We even attended the same college, enrolled in the same classes. It felt a little too fast, even back then, but I thought this was the forever-after kind of love. Between my sophomore and junior year, my mother died. Tommy had taken an internship in D.C. I called and gave him the news, and told him when the services would be held. He said he couldn’t leave his internship, but even if he could, he didn’t like funerals.”

  “I’m not sure anyone does.”

  “Yes, well, he didn’t stop there. He said, and I quote, ‘Your family is weird and will make it a fairytale-themed funeral. If I attend, I’ll risk my reputation,’ end of quote.”

  “You broke up with him.”

  She smiled, liking that he’d guessed correctly. “I ended it right there and then.”

  “Good for you.” He paused. “Did it?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Did the funeral have a fairytale theme?”

  She laughed softly, remembering her family’s reaction to Tommy’s words. “We’d planned the traditional funeral. After my conversation with Tommy, I called my family. They loved the idea of a themed funeral, and they agreed that our mother would have loved it, too. It felt right. We each dressed up in a costume that represented our character’s names. We told our friends, and many of them also attended in costume. We laughed, and we cried. It was an amazing celebration of our mother’s life.”

  “I wish I’d known you then.”

  “You would have come in costume?”

  “Why would that be so strange? I dress up like a knight every time I step out on the football field. Helmet, pads that are like the early cloth armor worn before chainmail and metal, all that’s missing is a sword and shield. Sometimes I think if some in the league had their way, we’d have those too.”

  “You surprise me. So you might have attended the funeral dressed like King Arthur.”

  “That would have been a high possibility. I blame Nana. She loved the happily-ever-after stuff and dragged me to her favorite romantic comedies and fairytale movies. The deal was that if I accompanied her so she wouldn’t have to go alone, when I finished my homework, she’d let me watch sports on television. As a result, and I can’t believe I’m admitting this, I have my own spin on the Cinderella story. I think she was brave. In order to go to the ball, she had to find the courage to step out of her comfort zone. She had to be able to take risks. She was going to the ball to meet the prince, but there were no guarantees he’d notice her. And although I agree that you should know a person well before you commit, you can also tell a lot about a person when you first meet. The prince may not have known for sure that they could make their marriage work, but he knew two things. He knew he needed to see her again, and he was willing to take a risk that it might not work out.”

  She shivered and pulled the cloak closer around her shoulders. “Do your fans know you’re a Cinderella fan?”

  “Nice deflection, Cinder Girl. You look cold.” Michael sluffed off his coat and draped it over her shoulders.

  “I can’t feel my toes.”

  “Why didn’t you say something sooner?”

  She didn’t want to tell him that she was having too much fun and didn’t want it to end. “The coat helps, thank you.”

  “You were looking for boots. I should have known.”

  “There you go again, making me sound practical.”

  He swept her off her feet and into his arms. “I like practical. Besides, we’re almost there.”

  She wrapped her arms around his neck, feeling as though she were dreaming again. Hold on, she cautioned. He might be a chivalrous knight, but he was Tatiana’s chivalrous knight.

  After half a block, he stopped under a wooden sign that hung from metal rings above a door: The Water Horse. She recognized the building. It was the site of the Matchmaker Café in the twenty-first century. Instead of a café, the sign indicated that this establishment was a tavern.

  Chapter Seventeen

  With C.C. still in his arms, Michael shouldered the door open. The stupidity of his gender never ceased to amaze him. Tommy Shepard had been a fool. So what if he might have had to wear a costume? C.C.’s mother had died. Families were everything. It didn’t matter if you had dozens of family members or one or two. Families shared a bond that couldn’t be broken.
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br />   A blast of warm air, the aroma of baking bread, and the hum of conversation welcomed him and C.C. into the crowded tavern. There had been few changes over the centuries. The same cheery fire crackled on the hearth, and a long trestle-style bar hugged the far wall.

  Women in ankle-length skirts carried foaming tankards of ale or trays of brown bread and thick soup instead of lattes and pre-packaged pastries. As though to underscore the point that they were no longer in the twenty-first century, there wasn’t an electronic device in sight.

  Michael set C.C. down and reached for her hand as he led the way into the small, crowded room, looking for a vacant table. He found one near the fireplace, and as soon as they sat down a waitress appeared with a small wedge of shortbread.

  “Fiona?” C.C. said. “What are you doing here?”

  “Watching over the two of ye, of course,” she said with a rich Scottish brogue. Michael noticed her accent was also thicker than he remembered, just like William’s. Probably to allow them to blend in better with the locals. “Liam was keeping an eye on you,” she continued, “and told me you were headed this way. The Water Horse is a fine choice. ’Tis one of the finest establishments in the city. My apologies for the wee bit of shortbread. Most of our cooks have taken off early to join the celebrations.”

  “We don’t mind,” C.C. said, breaking off a corner and passing the rest of the shortbread to Michael. “Who is Liam?”

  “Why, he is the mime who was dressed as a jester. We make it a rule that when we send our guests back in time some of us join them to make sure they have a good experience.”

  C.C. took a nibble of her shortbread. “Why has the tavern been named the Water Horse?”

  “In honor of the beastie that is guardian of the waters around Inverness. It’s said he has never harmed a child, and in fact it’s considered good luck if a child sees him. It’s only around the holidays when there is a lot of noise and fireworks that he becomes ill-tempered and the water foams and froths like a witch’s caldron. Hogmanay is the worst. He’ll keep out of sight, for sure, but those foolish enough to venture out on Hogmanay have met with watery deaths.”

  Men at another table nearby called over to Fiona to bring them another round of ale and something to eat. They were richly dressed. Fiona nodded toward them, then turned back to C.C, lowering her voice. “You were wise to leave the mansion when you did. I’ve received word that the reporters have been turning our home upside down looking for you.”

  “Lass,” one of the men from the neighboring table shouted. “Did ye not hear us? The prince and his men are thirsty.”

  “I’d best be moving along,” Fiona said. “The prince is none other than Bonnie Prince Charlie himself. ’Twould be unwise to neglect royalty in these days and times.”

  Michael watched Fiona as she waited on the men. There were five in total. It was easy to pick out which one was the prince. He was dressed in bright colors: a peacock surrounded by mud hens. “I’m torn between asking the prince for his autograph or asking why he didn’t march on London when he had the chance. If he had, historians believe he might have succeeded in controlling the city and regaining the crown for the Stuarts. Instead, he will be remembered as the man who would be king and the one responsible for the slaughter at Culloden.”

  “We should warn him that the battle will fail.”

  Michael drummed his fingers on the table. “We can’t change history.”

  “Says who?”

  “Scientists, writers, Star Trek…”

  C.C. smiled. “You like fairytales, and you’re a science nerd. What would your fans say? But conjecture regarding time travel aside, to my knowledge no one has actually traveled back in time.”

  “You’re forgetting the matchmaking sisters. Don’t you think if it were possible to change some of the horrific events in history they would have?”

  “Lady Roselyn said they need the right door to travel to the time they want. Maybe they don’t have the right ones for all situations.” She leaned against the back of her chair. “It was just a thought. New topic. Do you think that really persistent reporter could have followed us here?”

  Michael kept his gaze locked on the rolling flames in the fireplace. “I’m not worried about him anymore.”

  “Well, then why did we leave in the first place?”

  “At the time it seemed important. I’ve been running from my past so long it has become a habit.” His voice sounded strained and hard. “Now I’m not so sure it wasn’t a waste of time.” His voice trailed off, smothered by the clatter of plates and tankards of ale being delivered to customers. “There’s something in my past I’d like to keep buried.”

  She folded her arms across her chest. “What do you think the reporter suspects?”

  He turned toward her. “Nothing good.”

  “Nothing good, like you received a B in physics or skipped football practice, or nothing good as in you broke the law? I made it clear before I was hired that I will not be around people who have a wanton disregard for the law.”

  His mouth twitched up at the corner. “Yes, you made that quite clear during your interview. Do you know that you were the only person we interviewed who stressed that point? Your mother was a trial attorney, as I remember. And to answer your question, I’ve never so much as had a traffic ticket.” He looked away, as though interested in the activity going on in the tavern. He could tell she wanted to press him. He wasn’t ready.

  Pots and pans crashed on the floor just outside the kitchen, followed by loud yelling. C.C. rose from the table. “Let’s see if we can help Fiona.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  C.C., with Michael close behind, headed toward the tavern’s kitchen. She had never met a kitchen she didn’t like. She supposed that was a strange thing to admit, even to herself. She guessed the reason she liked kitchens so much was because most of her fondest memories were of the times spent with her mother preparing meals. Together they would create new sandwiches to pack for her sisters’ and brother’s lunches. Most were a success. However, the chopped olives and the cold cooked asparagus sparked open rebellion. Her siblings threatened to eat cafeteria food if there was not one day a week where the sandwich was peanut butter with homemade strawberry or raspberry jam. Reluctantly, she and her mother agreed to their terms. Her mother considered cafeteria food unhealthy.

  C.C. smiled at the memory as she shoved open the door and was hit with a wave of heat pulsating from the small kitchen. It looked much smaller than the one in the twenty-first century. It must have been remodeled and expanded over the centuries.

  Fiona and only one other young woman were busy preparing food for the customers. The young woman’s face was flushed as she loaded plates of bread and bowls of soup on her tray. She then hurried past C.C. and Michael so fast the braid she’d wound in a loose circle on top of her head, like an ebony crown, seemed likely to spring apart and uncoil.

  Directly behind the table was a walk-in hearth that ran the length of the wall and rose to the ceiling. Flames churned and crackled around wood logs, pouring heat into the small room. Dried herbs hung from the beams alongside ropes of garlic and onions.

  Fiona glanced up from ladling soup into a wooden bowl.

  “We’re here to help,” C.C. said. “Put us to work.”

  Fiona’s pinched expression softened with relief as she set the bowl on the table and rushed to give C.C. a hug. “We’re saved. Molly and I didn’t know how we were going to survive.” She grinned. “We were afraid the crowd out in the tavern might turn ugly if we announced we were out of food. I should decline your offer,” she chatted on in a rush. “You shouldn’t be working here. You and Michael should be enjoying the celebrations.”

  “Not a chance,” Michael said. “You’re stuck with us.”

  C.C. grinned. “What he said.”

  Fiona shook her head. “I knew there was something I liked about you two.”

  “You lost your Scottish brogue,” Michael said.

  Fiona la
ughed. “You noticed.” Her smile broadened. “Between you and me, it’s sometimes exhausting.” After handing C.C. a long white apron to help protect her dress, she gave Michael a tray filled with tankards of ale. “Molly will show you who placed these orders. This will give you a chance to practice your brogue.” When Michael left, she turned back to C.C. “As I said, we are running out of food.”

  C.C. fitted the apron against her waist and wound the ties around twice to secure it. She surveyed the kitchen. Fiona was right. The last of the lamb stew bubbled in an iron pot on the hearth. It had boiled down. Ale could be used to extend it a little. They might get as many as another dozen or so bowls. What they needed was innovative thinking.

  C.C. started to take an inventory. Cooling in the larder was a round of cheese, what was left of a side of raw beef, and a full haunch of smoked ham. What they had in abundance was baked bread, cooling on racks. “I have an idea, but do you know when sandwiches were invented?”

  “Sixteen sixty,” Michael said as he reentered the kitchen, headed over to the keg, and filled tankards of ale from the spigot. “John Montague, the Fourth Earl of Sandwich, is credited with the idea. He wanted to keep his hands from touching the meat when he traveled.” He loaded up his tray and headed toward the door.

  C. C. and Fiona both glanced toward Michael as he disappeared back into the tavern, and then at each other. They both burst out laughing.

  “He is like a walking, talking Wikipedia,” Fiona said with a wide smile. “Is he always like that, or is this because he’s researching Scottish history for the part he might play in the movie?”

  C.C. shook her head. “This is classic Michael. He seems to love knowing random things most people would find boring. Once when we were at the café waiting for Tatiana and her mother, I asked him if he knew how the game of football started. An hour later I’d learned football was an early version of rugby that was played in Britain in the nineteenth century. Someone by the name of William ‘Pudge’ Heffelfinger started professional football in 1892, and in 1920 the American Professional Football Association was formed. There was a demonstration game at the 1922 World’s Fair and a competition game at the 1932 summer Olympics.” C.C. grinned. “There were a lot more dates and events, so many they had my mind spinning. Fortunately, Tatiana and her mother finally arrived.”