My Faire Lady

by Laura Wettersten

  Patsy, a woman with unruly brown hair and a large nose, snorts at him. “Aye. You lay in bed like an invalid all day, clutching your head and moaning about your bellyache like a baby.”

  “Ramón’s coffee works wonders, and so does the sausage,” Will says, and takes a huge bite of a sausage patty he’s speared with his fork as if to prove it. He chews noisily, mouth open.

  Watching him makes my stomach roll, so I turn back to my toast and try my best not to draw attention to myself. I listen to them talk, gossiping about the events at the party last night, chatting about all they have to do that day, Patsy and Quagmire peppering their jokes throughout the conversation.

  As they talk, Will leans close and whispers to me, pointing out various groups at the tables in the shelter house. “So this is the fun table. Believe me, you want to sit here, not with the knights. It’s way too much ego to stomach on top of food. The vendors talk shop the whole time. Very boring. Over there are the dramatic performers. They never break character. It’s irritating, to say the least. And the table way over there? Troubadours. The snobbiest bunch you’ll ever meet. If you can’t sing or discuss the merits of the Italian madrigal in depth, forget about sitting with them.”

  “So this is the fun table, huh?” I ask, eyeing Ramón’s scowl with doubt.

  Will follows my gaze. “You want to be friends with the cook, trust me about that.”

  That might be true, but Ramón looks about as friendly as the pointy end of a jousting lance, and twice as prickly. He catches me staring at him and his scowl deepens.

  I finish two slices of toast and drink a healthy portion of my thermos of coffee, which seems to dull the ache in my head. I even find the steady rhythm of the table’s conversation soothing, as they oscillate between jokes and the day’s plans. But when Patsy challenges Quagmire to a contest of who can eat the most Scotch eggs, my upset stomach can’t take it.

  Thoroughly nauseous, I take my coffee, thanking Ramón again profusely, and stand to go. As I gather my trash, Sage walks in and slaps me on the back. “Nice party last night, Ro, although I’m going to have to teach you how to play cards. How’s it going, Indy?”

  Will lifts his cup toward her to acknowledge that he heard her, but his attention is on Quagmire, who might have more than four Scotch eggs in his mouth. It’s the second time she’s called Will that, and I’m about to ask him if he’s from Indiana or something when Quagmire launches a Scotch egg from his mouth that goes whizzing right between me and Sage.

  “Charming, aren’t they?” Sage asks me, and winks. The table behind us erupts with whoops and hollering and congratulating Quagmire on his distance.

  “Disgusting,” I reply and take one last look at the buffoons I’ve shared breakfast with. Quagmire and Patsy are going for round two, and Ramón is looking down at his plate as if he’s going to be sick.

  Smiling at the thought of anything making tough old Ramón squeamish, I set off for the face painting tent.

  The morning and afternoon go so slowly that it’s all I can do not to fall asleep. My head is still pounding but, thank goodness, I don’t have waitressing duties today. Cassie’s on lunch duty, which means not only do I get to avoid the busy, demanding tavern job, but I have the face painting tent to myself. A couple of kids stop by, kids who behave well and don’t complain, whose parents tip decently, but other than that, I’m all alone. I repin my Polaroids on the tent wall, secure them tightly, clean all the brushes and organize the paints, and study the B.A.B., but all of that takes an hour, tops. The B.A.B. isn’t that thorough or detailed, and I’m sure I can master these designs in minutes.

  With resignation, I turn the pages of the B.A.B. again and find something that looks at least a little challenging, but before I can try to practice it, Suze steps into my tent with a big mug in her hands.

  “If that’s mead, I’ll kill you.”

  She grins at me and lowers the mug in front of my face. It’s steaming, and the white string and tab of a tea bag dangles over one side. “Chamomile. It’ll settle your stomach. Sorry I missed you at breakfast. I was, um, busy.”

  “You looked it,” I say, taking the proffered mug. The tea isn’t too hot to drink, thankfully, and I take several soothing sips before speaking again. “You and Grant seemed rather . . . involved.”

  Suze takes Cassie’s empty chair, waving me away. “Yeah, well, I guess we got along well enough last night. Perhaps if I hadn’t been so busy taking care of a certain Pukey McPukerson, I would have gone back to his tent with him.”

  I wince. “I’m so sorry. Thank you. I’m surprised I’m not sicker, honestly.”

  Suze nods. “Eat more next time. And don’t play card games with the knights. No good can come of that.” She grins. “Besides, no worries. I have plenty of time to lock it down with Grant.”

  “Lock it down?” I ask, interest piqued.

  “Yeah. You know, for the season. We workers tend to pair up.” Suze leans back into the chair, smiling, a distant look in her eye. “Fairemances. Hook up with someone for a season, have fun for a few weeks, and it’s over when we strike the faire. No worries, no big commitments, no stress. Just fun and sexy times.”

  I giggle like a ten-year-old at that. Normally, the idea of a summer hookup wouldn’t appeal to me, but with the wounds from Kyle still healing and a possible tryst with Prince Charming on the horizon, it sounds like exactly what I need. I say so to Suze, who agrees wholeheartedly.

  “Perfect remedy for a broken heart,” she concludes. “Lord knows, Christian would make me forget about any other boy. Hell, he might make me forget my own name.”

  “He’s already done that to me,” I confess. We laugh, but I sober almost immediately. “So basically I need to lock it down before someone else hooks up with him for the summer?”

  “Exactly, my friend,” Suze says. “Lock it down and fast. You don’t want to be dateless for the Revel.”

  “The Revel?”

  “The Fairie Queen’s Revel!” Suze says excitedly. “It’s a ball at the end of the season. A whole bunch of people come and we dress up as animals. But not, like, costumes. Just cool masks and stuff, to give impressions of the animal. We’re not freaks. Or at least, we’re not that kind of freak.” Before Suze can say more, a stunning figure walks by the opening of the tent, and Suze calls out to him. “Hey, Christian! Looking for Ro?”

  I shoot Suze a near-lethal look as she waves him in. She widens her eyes at me and scoffs, “I’m just helping!”

  Christian ducks in the tent, his mouth widening into a smile when he sees me. “Hey, Ro. How do you feel?”

  “Um, I’ve been better. I don’t think I’ll be playing drinking games with you and your friends again anytime soon,” I joke.

  “It’s so sweet of you to check on her,” Suze coos.

  “Oh, yeah. Well, you know.” He shrugs. “I was on my way to the stables so . . .”

  “Ro was just mentioning how much she wanted to see the stables,” Suze says, and I’m about to ask her what the hell she thinks she’s doing when I catch on: She’s “helping” me again.

  “Oh. The stables. Yeah,” I agree with Suze and smile at Christian, trying to appear intrigued and interested.

  Christian gives me an appraising look, and the corners of his mouth turn up, stopping just short of a smile. “Come by after the joust. I can show you around. Just the two of us.”

  “Okay. Thanks,” I say to him. My voice, annoyingly, sounds like I’ve just run two laps around the entire faire grounds. He gives me a small wave and then he’s gone, the tent flaps falling airily behind him.

  “Lord. Those are your flirting skills, woman? No wonder your tips were so bad yesterday.”

  I set my tea on the supply table and run a hand through my hair, pulling slightly in frustration. “I know. I’m a disaster. It’s a wonder Kyle even wanted to date me.”

  “Relax. I didn’t mean to make you feel more nervous. You’ll get better, I promise. You can’t spend whole summer with me and no
t.” Suze reaches over and pats my hand. “And he’s going to show you around the stables. Alone. How sexy is that? I certainly wouldn’t mind a roll in the hay with that one.”

  “Suze!”

  She cracks up. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I’ll stop fantasizing about your man.”

  “You have a good one of your own, from what you’ve said,” I say, and stick my tongue out at her.

  “Grant, yeah,” Suze says, and her gaze goes all fuzzy again, most likely thinking of Grant and their own roll in the hay. I wave in front of her face, snapping her back to reality. “Sorry. Yeah. We both need to lock it down.”

  “Totally.”

  “Just remember, fairemances only last for the season,” Suze says. I give her a puzzled look, unsure of what she’s getting at. “I’m just saying, don’t fall for him. This kind of thing isn’t meant to last.”

  “Gotcha,” I say, and reassure her. “That’s exactly what I want. A fun fling to help me get over Kyle. Nothing serious.”

  “Christian’s got the cure for what ails you, I’m sure,” Suze says. She picks up my mug of tea and hands it to me. “Except for not knowing how to play Cheers, Your Majesty. Drink up, McPukerson. Drink.”

  The joust today does not go in Christian’s favor. Sir Richard knocks him off his horse twice, to the delight of the crowd, and when it’s over and we disperse, the losing knights and squires are left to clean up the field.

  Because I don’t want to hang around the field like a desperate idiot, I walk back toward the stables alone. Cassie is covering the face painting tent until close tonight, which means I have at least until dinner to hang out, alone, with Christian.

  I wring my hands together and try not to notice they’re damp. All afternoon I’ve done nothing but work myself into a messy pile of nerves, which was great for hangover relief but terrible for business. One poor child, who had wanted to look like a tiger, got zigzagging stripes because I just couldn’t stop my hand from shaking. Good thing he liked it and said it made him look like he was in a heavy metal band.

  The stables are back behind the petting zoo, tucked nicely away from the traffic and tourists. They’re bigger than what I would have imagined, since I’ve only seen four horses around the faire. But as I enter, I realize they’re not just for horses. There are a few goats in a small pen right inside the wide double doors, and a handful of cows and sheep as well. Even better, far down on the other end, in a pen all by itself, is a camel with two humps. I’ve never seen a camel before, but I always imagined they’d be the size of a horse, maybe a little bigger. This one might as well be the size of a giraffe. Its neck is so long it can scratch its head on the beams crisscrossing the ceiling, and as it scratches itself it does a funny, fluid dance, like a belly dancer.

  Giggling, I walk through the stables and right to its pen so I can get a better look.

  “Ah, Eli. Stop showing off for the pretty girl.”

  I turn and Christian’s standing there in the doorway, his horse behind him, laughter in his eyes.

  “Eli?”

  “Elijah, the camel. You haven’t seen him yet? He’s our biggest moneymaker down at the menagerie.”

  “Are you kidding? If I’d known there was a camel, I’d be down there all the time. Can you ride him?”

  Christian nods and comes closer. He’s braver than I am, or at the very least he knows the animal decently, because he sticks his arm through the wooden planks and pets Eli’s massive chest. “Yep. It’ll only cost you five dollars. Of course, it’s a bumpy ride. Eli doesn’t have the grace of Blaze, here.”

  As if responding to his name, Christian’s horse lets out a snort that blasts hot air across my face. I turn my attention to Blaze, intrigued. The first time I saw the horse up close, I’d been much too interested in his rider to notice that his white coat and mane were beautiful, and the accents of gray around his hooves and muzzle gave him an air of sophistication.

  I reach my hand out, stopping just short of Blaze’s snout, and look to Christian for permission. “May I?”

  “Yeah. Blaze loves attention almost as much as I do.”

  I giggle at that and then cautiously brush my fingers down the horse’s snout, from his wide-set eyes all the way to his nostrils. He raises his massive head and licks my hand.

  “He’s got good taste,” Christian says as I study the drool on my fingers.

  “He’s certainly a charmer.”

  “Well, what he meant to say is that he’s glad you came to visit.” Christian takes my slobbery hand and pulls a handkerchief from out of his armor sleeve, wiping my hand off gingerly. I can’t help but notice that the handkerchief is lavender, with white flowers embroidered in the corners. Christian catches me looking. “From a fair maiden at the joust today. She looked like she might be seven years old, and I’d put money on this handkerchief being her mother’s. Probably should have given it back.”

  “But it’s coming in so handy,” I say as he wipes away the last traces of Blaze’s adoration of me. “I’m sorry you lost today.”

  Christian shrugs, tucking the damp handkerchief into his sleeve again. “I drew the short straw. It happens.”

  “That’s how you decide?”

  “Either that or Rock, Paper, Scissors,” Christian says, grinning. “Sage always beats me at that. And she loves to gloat when she wins. She does an extra victory lap and makes a big show of collecting all the flowers. Plus, sometimes she doesn’t move her lance fast enough and actually nicks you as you go by.”

  I shake my head slowly, unable to comprehend why any of them would put themselves through it. “It looks so painful.”

  “Are you worried about me, Ro?”

  I flush and try to look away, but he takes my chin in his hands and turns me back to him. He’s smiling at me, amused and so amazingly confident, and I feel small, nervous, and hopeless next to him. “Don’t get a big head about it,” I tease, hoping I sound flirty enough.

  “Me? A big head?” Christian laughs, then he reaches down and takes my hand in his, smartly taking the one that Blaze didn’t assault with slobber. He raises it to his lips and gives me a small, feather-light kiss on my middle knuckle. The touch of his lips on my skin seems to send my nervous system into overdrive, nerves sizzling all the way up my arm, igniting goose bumps all along its path. He lowers my hand slowly, keeping it folded into his, and the joints of his armor groan as he moves. He looks down at himself, as if he just realized what he’s wearing. “Want to help me out of this?”

  I gulp, like one of those ridiculous cartoons where a character realizes he’s in big trouble, about to fall off a cliff or get a safe dropped on his head. It’s just as scary, honestly. Christian wants me to help him undress.

  “Um, sure. What do I have to do? Use a wrench?”

  Christian shakes his head like I’m hopeless, laughing a little. “Nothing that complicated. There are leather ties . . .”

  He turns around and I see what he’s talking about. The joints of the armor are tied together like shoelaces. There are three knots in the back, and two on each side of his waist. I’m thankful he’s turned away from me because when I lift my hands to untie him, they’re shaking in the most unattractive way. As I work, he takes off his gloves. He may not be doing it specifically to tease me, but he does a fantastic job of doing it anyway. He pulls at each finger with deft, practiced moves, much like I’ve seen suave gentlemen in old movies do, never mind that the gloves are thick and plated with metal. The gloves come off with ease, revealing his long, slender fingers. I’d never thought about it until just then, but fingers and hands can be sexy. At least hands like his, that seem elegant and muscular, not stubby and useless.

  My own fingers seem to be the latter, rough with callouses at the tips where I balance my paintbrushes, but I manage to untie his chest piece. When Christian feels it fall open, he shrugs out of it and folds it together, setting it aside with his gloves and arm pieces. He turns his right side toward me, catching my gaze with his own, and gives me a
naughty smirk.

  “I could untie that myself, but I think I’d rather you do it.” He glances pointedly downward, to where the ties rest temptingly at his hips, issuing a challenge.

  “I don’t untie leg armor on the first date,” I quip, and Christian laughs.

  “That’s a pity. Is untying leg armor a third date or a fourth date thing?”

  “Fourth. But I suppose this once wouldn’t hurt.” I give him my cheekiest smile. “Just don’t tell the other boys.”

  “It’ll be our secret.”

  I nearly sigh at that, then set to work untying the laces at his hip, then his other, and then the ones around his knees and ankles. He steps out of the metal, adding it to the pile from his chest, and tries in vain to right his clothing. He’s wearing a deep blue tunic over black riding pants, with sturdy boots on his feet. The tunic is the only shirt he’s wearing, and the front leather ties are mercifully undone, revealing the smooth skin of his chest. I remember how it felt to press my face into that part of him last night, the smell of him in my nose, the sound of his heart in my ear. For a moment he simply looks at me, watching me as I’m watching him, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

  And for good reason.

  I finally rip my eyes away as he reaches for Blaze’s reins, and it hits me that the horse has stood there obediently this entire time. I’d forgotten he was even here.

  “So these are the stables,” Christian says in a tone that’s overly showy, like I’m one of the patrons coming in for a tour. It breaks the tension and I smile. “This is where we knights keep the horses, and of course the cloven-hoofed animals from the menagerie. Peter, the hawk guy, takes care of our more feathery, cuddly, or reptilian friends.”

  He beckons to me, a simple hand outstretched and a waggle of his sexy fingers, and all I can do is follow. He leads Blaze into one of the stalls, turning the horse and then backing him in like he’s parallel parking. “There’s not much to it, really. We have to feed them, groom them, and make sure they get their exercise. We bathe them when they’re muddy, which is where Richard and Grant are for sure. They can’t resist running through the mud and splattering the crowd.”