Knightless in Seattle

by Jill Jaynes

  Knightless in Seattle

  A Knit Witchery Tale

  By

  Jill Jaynes

  Uncial Press Aloha, Oregon

  2015

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and events described herein are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locations, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  ISBN 13: 978-1-60174-210-0

  Knightless in Seattle

  Copyright © 2015 by Jaimee Friedl

  Cover art and design by Becca Holland, Un4seen Design

  Copyright © 2015 Jaimee Friedl

  All rights reserved. Except for use in review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher.

  Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to five (5) years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.

  Published by Uncial Press,

  an imprint of GCT, Inc.

  Visit us at http://www.uncialpress.com

  For Keely, thanks for all the brainstorming and the endless supply of subject matter experts on the most interesting things. You're welcome for the margaritas.

  For the awesome ladies of WSR--thanks for challenging me to be my best and then helping me do it.

  And for Steve. You are every hero in the world to me.

  Knightless in Seattle

  Nichole

  "I swear this ending gets me every time," Nikki sniffled, and wiped teary eyes with the back of her sleeve. "Even if it is the third time I've watched it this week."

  The strains of Lerner and Loewe's "Camelot Reprise" swelled and faded as the movie credits began to roll up the screen.

  She sighed and bent her head over her knitting, counting carefully as she focused on the delicate lacy pattern she was creating. "There's just something about knights in shining armor and chivalry and castles. So romantic. Except for the part where Guinevere becomes a nun." Nikki shuddered. "What was she thinking, giving up that hottie, Lancelot?"

  "Meow." Samantha, Sammy for short, replied from where she crouched at the foot of the padded rocking chair on the other side of the lamp Nikki was knitting by.

  "I know, I know, it's going to make me drop a stitch and I've got to get this done tonight for Jackie. I told her to come first thing in the morning and get her birthday gift." She glanced down at the cat, and shook her head. "I wish I knew what you find so fascinating about that chair, Sammy. Kinda gives me the creeps sometimes, not gonna lie."

  Sammy tucked her front paws under her chest in what Nikki called her loaf-of-bread position, and purred. She never took her attention from the rocking chair.

  "There." Nikki tied off the yarn and laid down her knitting needles. She held up her work to inspect it. "Not bad, if I do say so myself."

  Sammy purred louder in agreement.

  "You know, Jackie doesn't come off like a girly-girl, but I have a feeling she's really going to like these gloves." Nikki laid her work carefully over the arm of her chair, yawned and flicked the off button on the remote. "Let's go to bed, Sammy. It's really late."

  She stood and turned off the antique Tiffany floor lamp she'd received several weeks ago as a surprise inheritance from the Italian grandmother she'd never met. Glancing behind as she headed down the hall, she saw Sammy rise, stretch, and then pad silently after her.

  She crawled into bed, and was asleep almost as soon as her head hit the pillow.

  In the darkened living room, the rocking chair began to move silently.

  * * * *

  Jackie

  The tingling sensation running up and down her arms was so distracting that Jackie totally missed the first hiccup of her failing engine.

  "No! No! Nooo!" She pumped the gas pedal desperately as the car sputtered, pinged and coughed. "Come on, we can do this baby."

  But her battered Civic only coasted to an inevitable stop. A mere half a block ahead, the lights at the gas station pumps taunted her through the Seattle drizzle.

  With a resigned sigh, she shoved the gearstick into park, turned off the engine, and laid her forehead on the backs of her hands where she gripped the top of the steering wheel. It was her own fault. She had no one else to blame.

  Leave it to her to run out of gas first thing on a Saturday morning, on her way into work. On her birthday, no less. How pathetic was that? She needed some lessons in how to "Just Say No," especially to her boss. She couldn't help but notice that she was the only one at Ernest, Ernest and Cope Architects he ever called with all of his last minute must-have's. Likely everyone else had gotten wise to him years ago.

  So here she was, responding to another late Friday night call to go into the office on the weekend. This time it was to prepare for a surprise "Team Building" event that he just remembered to tell her would be held first thing Monday morning.

  One of these days--hopefully soon--all her hard work would pay off, and her boss would finally recognize that she was the best choice for her dream job of office manager.

  Well, career goals were one thing, but birthdays were another thing entirely. Even she deserved some small corner of the day for herself, which was why she had ignored the yellow light warning her that she was running on fumes and swung by her best friend Nikki's house first to pick up the handmade birthday gift waiting for her. She had gambled that those fumes would be enough to make the six-block detour and still get her to the gas station.

  She was a terrible gambler.

  Lifting her head, she stretched out her fingers to admire the delicate ivory lacework of the fingerless gloves Nikki had made for her and decided running out of gas two hundred feet away from the gas station was a reasonable price to pay.

  Romantic, feminine and completely impractical, they were perfect. She loved the feel of the lace snugly enclosing her arms up to her elbows; her little secret beneath the bulky sweater she wore against the chill. Something about them reminded her of a time when a woman could count on a little chivalry in the world, maybe even a knight-in-shining-armor or two.

  Jackie rolled her eyes. Yeah, like that was ever going to happen. The only men--and she used the term loosely--she ever seemed to attract with any consistency were shy, socially awkward emo-boys that she agonized over hurting when she inevitably gave them the "Let's be friends" talk.

  She peered through her watery windshield at the gas station ahead. It looked pretty deserted, except for one car parked by the minimart, so it didn't appear that assistance would be showing up any time soon. She sighed. It wouldn't be the first time she had pushed her car into a gas station, and it likely wouldn't be her last.

  Popping the gearshift into neutral, she shoved open the driver's door and jumped out to the accompanying whoosh of cold, damp air. Gripping the steering wheel with one hand and the door frame with the other, she lowered her head and pushed with everything she had.

  Nothing happened. Nothing at all. Dammit! Shifting her grip, she tried again, grunting with what surely had to be super-human effort. Still nothing.

  "Well, crap," she muttered, and shivered as the rain turned her carefully straightened hair into rebellious curls and trickled in icy rivulets down the back of her neck. Where was a hero when a girl needed one?

  She moved to the front of the car and bent to peer at the angle of her wheels to see if anything was blocking them. Suddenly the skin beneath her lace gloves began to tingle again. She hiked t
he sleeve of her jacket up, rubbing one arm. "What the heck? Am I allergic or something?"

  "Need a hand?"

  With an involuntary squeak, Jackie whirled to face whoever had snuck up on her. The tart response on the tip of her tongue died with her first glimpse of the man who stood before her.

  The second glance pretty much killed any other chance of a civilized response.

  He had to be at least six-foot-three. But it wasn't just his size, or the muscled breadth of shoulder and chest on that impressive frame that stole her breath. Or the blue of his eyes that smiled at her from a square-jawed face that would do Sir Lancelot proud. Nor was it the way his nearly shoulder-length golden hair seemed glow with its own light, even dripping with rain in the gray of a drizzly Seattle morning.

  Nope. It was the chain mail.

  Worked in an intricate pattern of silver rings, it clung to his form from neck to thigh like a living thing, flexing sinuously with every movement, every breath.

  Jackie pushed wet hair out of her face and stole an admiring glance at lean hips banded by an ornate leather belt, then down to long muscular legs encased in sturdy looking leggings of some kind. Scuffed black leather boots that looked like they had marched a league or two completed the ensemble.

  He oozed sheer male power from every pore, sending an unmistakable call that reverberated through every cell of her body and shook her to her toes. Raising her eyes, she found him watching her, apparently still waiting for her response.

  "I'll take that as a yes." He produced an amazing dimple with his careless smile. "Why don't you get into the car and steer, and I'll push."

  "Um, sure. Okay." She silently smacked her forehead at her inane answer as she hurried past him to duck into the dry interior of her car. The universe had just dropped a knight in shining-freaking-armor right into her path and all she could say was, "Um, sure, okay"?

  In less time than she would have thought possible, he had pushed the car into the gas station and up to an open pump.

  Still, she had had a few minutes to compose herself and her thoughts while her knight was completing her rescue. Now a few million questions were competing for attention in her head. She got out of the car, determined to make a better showing of herself.

  "Thank you, kind sir," she offered with a nod, and wondered briefly if she should curtsy. As he walked towards her from the rear of the car, she couldn't help thinking how unfair it was that the only effect pushing a car in the rain had on the man's amazing good looks was to make him appear slightly ruffled, in a bed-head, sleepy-sexy kind of way.

  She knew she must look like a drowned rat with her bedraggled hair, somewhat soggy knitted sweater and leggings. At least she'd had the good sense not to wear makeup, or she'd be sporting raccoon eyes for sure.

  The overhead lights lit the silver of his mail and the gold of his hair with bright fire, and it was easy to believe for a moment that he had stepped out of a legend to rescue her.

  She swallowed hard, helpless to pull her eyes away as he came close, invading her personal space by a few significant, breath-hitching inches. God, he was hot.

  He took her hand and raised it to his lips. It was a fair ways up, since she was only five foot two. He had at least a good foot on her.

  For the space of several heartbeats, she could only swim in his blue gaze as he pressed a warm kiss to her hand, sending a shiver through her that had nothing to do with the cold. He was all vibrant, virile man. No figments here.

  She heard a sigh escape her lips. He was just so...pretty.

  "The honor is mine," he murmured, still holding her hand captive, and flashed that amazing dimple again.

  Jackie giggled. Actually giggled. What was wrong with her? Her heart pounded and she could feel herself blushing like the dorky teenager she had once been instead of the competent twenty-eight-year-old she was. She couldn't remember ever having been so affected by a man.

  Sir Lancelot smiled. "Is there anything else you need?"

  "Oh. No, I'm fine." She blinked and took a step back, putting a little distance and cold reality between them, even though he still kept possession of her hand. "Just need to fill her up, is all."

  He didn't say anything, just stood there, a slight smile playing about those perfectly shaped lips. Jackie was acutely aware of the feel of his warm palm, so much larger than hers.

  She cleared her throat. "Um, so, what's a knight like you doing in a place like this?"

  His lips quirked and his eyes lit with amusement. "Why, rescuing a fair maiden, obviously."

  "Hmm. You must new around here." She tilted her head and grinned at him. "I can't say I've ever seen a knight in Seattle."

  "I'm visiting from out of town."

  Of course he was. She could almost hear the clang of her heart and hopes smacking into cold, hard reality. Move along, no possibilities of happy-ever-after here. She had tried once, and failed, in the long-distance relationship department. It had left her heartbroken and feeling like a fool. That was one road she was never going down again.

  Well, nothing wrong with enjoying the moment, and this totally hot guy, for what they were.

  "Business or pleasure?" she said, and immediately wanted to bite her tongue. What possible business could involve a grown man dressing up as a knight?

  "Both, actually."

  "Really?" She pretended to run a critical gaze over his figure, barely managing to keep from licking her lips. "And do they both involve your current, um, dress?"

  He chuckled. "They do. But today is all about pleasure."

  He stroked the back of her hand with his thumb. Jackie's knees trembled a little at the sensation that shot through her at the touch. Hell yeah it is.

  She cleared her throat. "And what kind of pleasure would that be?"

  "Not the kind I wish it was right now," he murmured, as he pressed another kiss to her hand. "Actually, I'm running late to a weekend, um, fair of sorts."

  Jackie frowned. "A fair that requires chain mail?"

  "Actually, it's a LARP, a Live Action Role Play event. I decided it would be better to get into costume before I get there so I can hit the ground running."

  "Oh, I've heard of that. Some of those are pretty intense, I hear." Live Action Role Play was big in their area. She knew several people who took part various LARPs. The detailed costume suddenly made a lot more sense.

  "Yes, and unfortunately, that means that I need to get going. Even pleasure has its schedule sometimes."

  "Oh. Of course." She couldn't keep the disappointment out of her voice. Time for Sir Lancelot to get on his horse and move along to the next great conquest.

  He squeezed her hand and looked more carefully at it, while fingering the lace of her glove. "Perhaps you would consider a favor?"

  "You'd like me to do you a favor?"

  "No, I would like you to give me one." His smile deepened. "It's considered good luck for a knight to carry his lady's handkerchief or glove into a competition." He slid a finger under the edge of the lace that lay over the back of her hand, stroking the skin beneath.

  Jackie's breath locked in her throat. The unmistakable heat in his eyes raised her temperature a few notches from "melt" to "incinerate."

  "Ah, um, ok. Sure." That was smooth, Jackie. Sadly, it was the best she could manage.

  "If you would allow me to carry one of your gloves, I would consider it a great honor." He tilted his head, giving her a considering look. "The fighting event is supposed to be held tomorrow, around noon. Could I persuade you to come cheer me on?"

  No persuading needed here. I would happily take even five more minutes with this man. "I would love to." She summoned a cheeky grin. "You sound pretty sure you'll make the final round. What are you competing in, jousting?"

  He grinned back. "Sword fighting. And yes, I'm pretty sure, since I teach European martial arts for a living."

  "Martial arts?" She frowned, confused. "Sooo...you're a ninja knight?"

  He laughed. "Really more of a fencing master t
han a knight. European martial arts is a fancy name for traditional medieval fighting techniques, but we also teach the traditional knightly virtues of chivalry, self-discipline and self-control."

  "So you really are a knight, then? I mean, professionally. Wow." How irresistible was that?

  She found herself hoping chastity wasn't one of those virtues as well. She frowned. Or was that just for women? "Well, sir, um-- What was your name again?"

  "Lance."

  Of course it was. "Yes, well. Sir Lance," Jackie reached under her right sleeve to gently slide the delicate lace glove down her arm. "I do hereby, at your request, grant you the honor of carrying my favor into battle. Or competition. Whichever it is."

  As she carefully pulled the glove over her hand, noting the beautiful leaf pattern her friend had doubtless spent hours knitting, she bit her lip. Was she taking too great a chance by giving this to a virtual stranger? He could drive off into the Seattle mist and she would never see it, or him, again. She wondered what the chances were of convincing Nikki to knit her a replacement.

  Which made her stop and ask herself, which possibility was she more worried about?

  He closed warm fingers over hers, covering the lacy glove. "I promise to guard it with my life." He raised her hand once again to his lips. "And you must promise to come and claim it tomorrow when I'm declared victor."

  "I wouldn't miss it for the world."

  * * * *

  Jackie swung her car into one of the last tight little spaces still left in a dirt parking lot filled with a surprising number of vehicles. Before her was an encampment of dozens of tents spread over the rich green of a meadow cradled by rolling hills. She gave a low whistle. This was a bigger deal than she had expected. The LARP groups a couple of her friends belonged to had about a hundred members and that was considered pretty big.

  For such a big camp, it sure was quiet. Where was everyone?

  Lance's directions had been amazingly accurate, considering this place was off several beaten paths. All she had to do now was figure out where her knight was.