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Faire Justice
By
Michelle M. Pillow
© copyright April 2009, Michelle M. Pillow
Cover art by Natalie Winters © copyright April 2009
ISBN Number 978-1-60394-303-1
New Concepts Publishing
Lake Park, GA 31636
www.newconceptspublishing.com
This is a work of fiction. All characters, events, and places are of the author’s imagination and not to be confused with fact. Any resemblance to living persons or events is merely coincidence.
Dedication
To my Wonderful Husband, my Knight in Colorful Armor
Chapter One
Renaissance Faire, Tuxedo, New York
“Mmmm, I see great change. It’s good. You need change. You’re too involved with work,” Madame Serilda, or whatever her name was, said. “You work too hard.”
Leda turned her eyes briefly to the woman dressed like some gypsy out of a bad historical documentary. The fortune teller’s Romanian accent was worse than her outfit, which was amazing, considering the cheap imitation velvet of her dark red and green medieval gown was trimmed in white gauze and gold cording. Her dark hair looked like it hadn’t been washed in weeks as it frizzed about her head.
Leda tried to hide her rueful smile. The smell was the most authentic medieval thing about her. Wryly, she insisted, “Oh, really, go on.”
The woman waved her hands in haphazard patterns through the air and Leda knew she thought she looked mystical by doing so. Sadly, the fortune teller wasn’t out of place. She was just as extravagant at the rest of the re-enactors walking around the fairgrounds.
People really got into this Renaissance Festival thing. The makeshift village looked like something from the 1500’s with stone siding and tightly woven thatched roofs on the few permanent buildings. Tents and booths formed haphazard rows, creating winding trails through the village. The dirt paths were rutted, as if someone intentionally had driven a cart through the mud just to make it more genuine, and each person seemed to stick to their role within the fake caste system.
Vendors sold everything from leather boots to swords and horseshoes, flower wreathes for the hair to custom clothing, roasted nuts to sticks of lumpy, suspicious meats. One woman walked around as if she were mad, screaming at the heavens in her muddy gown, crawling around in puddles. Another stopped her to talk about dragon footprints she saw “yonder”. There was even a procession of royal couples representing many European countries. They rode horses and Leda was a little put off by the piles of the manure some of the wretched creatures left behind for the rest of the crowd to walk through.
All the women wore period dresses, from peasants to nobility. The gowns hugged along chests and flared from waists in a sweep of lightweight linen. The embroidered edges were simple to nonexistent on the peasants, with more elaborate decoration for the fine noble ladies. Some of the noblewomen even had jewels, glass bead belts and hair pieces over upswept locks, which twisted into a complicated series of plaits and coils.
The men were no different in their commitment to their roles, though they did have a more rugged appeal. Some were dressed in amour, others in breeches and tunics ranging from the poorest of villains to the richest of noblemen. Leda only knew what she did about this time period from reading her mother’s historical romance novels in high school.
She looked down at her own noblewoman’s gown and frowned. Tugging uncomfortably at the long sleeve of her overtunic dress, she fidgeted to make it more comfortable. The gown hugged to her chest to flare from her waist in a sweep of lightweight linen. It would have been cool, but for the undertunic beneath. Embroidered edges lined her sleeves and squared neckline. Along her waist was a chained belt of glass beads. The emerald green was beautiful, she had to admit, but she didn’t belong in it. Leda couldn’t understand those who thought they did. Sure, life could be boring, but what kind of person lived like this? Day-to-day, on purpose?
However, regardless of how she felt, today she was a freak, too. How did her boss ever talk her into this? Who ever heard of going undercover in a Renaissance Faire as some sort of serving wench? Already she’d been propositioned by a few of the knights. Clearly, sexual harassment wasn’t around in the Middle Ages. Though, if she were honest, there were a few knights she wouldn’t mind harassing a bit herself.
Actually, she was here for a very important purpose—to catch some mace-wielding psychopath that had been killing innocent women. Being that she was female, her boss didn’t like her working on this assignment. Leda wasn’t one to let the fact she had boobs interfere with what needed to be done.
A team of men, just as uncomfortably dressed as she, also roamed the campground. She’d seen them several times in her area and knew that their director had told them to keep an eye on her. Most days she would’ve hated their over-protectiveness, but she’d seen the photos of what the killer had done and she was lucky to have such devoted co-workers.
At first, the murders had baffled them. What kind of object could inflict so much damage? But, thanks to the help of FBI intelligence, they’d narrowed the weapon down to a medieval mace—a stick with a chained ball of spiky metal on the end of it. Luckily, the man in charge of the scientific team was into role-playing games, otherwise it might have stumped them longer. After that, it was a matter of narrowing down known makers of such period weaponry, matching metal content with shards found on one of the victims, and here they were ready to catch a very bad guy.
And Leda was the bait—unofficially, of course. She fit the profile perfectly—athletic in build, green eyes and long red hair. All the victims even had a sprinkling of freckles over their noses like she did. But, there were a few things she had that the victims didn’t—Federal training, a gun and the innate ability to “feel” the future. She wouldn’t call it foresight so much as a natural instinct that allowed her to be in the right place at the right time. Beyond that mild psychic ability, she also could read people—not their exact thoughts, but impressions of what they were thinking and it wasn’t often that those impressions were wrong.
They have been a little off lately, though, her brain reminded her.
Shut up, she answered herself. A few bad calls don’t mean anything.
Tell that to the pizza guy you drew a gun on last week.
“Yes, yes,” the fortune teller droned, her eyes lifting in her head as she made a whirling noise. The annoyance successfully drew Leda from her thoughts.
Leda tried not to be too aggravated. She knew there were tellers out there who didn’t act like this at all, and would probably be offended by the way this woman was representing them, but it didn’t make her a believer in such divining arts at tarot cards. Leda’s sister had been into them as children, but the cards were merely a waste of time. Both of them were much more in tune with the future without the use of visual aids. Psychic ability was just something inside a person, a gift. It couldn’t be taught or learned, though it could definitely be suppressed or nurtured.
The woman flipped over another card. “The swords are strong with you. Very strong.”
“Ah, thanks.” Leda glanced down at the strange spread of cards all neatly placed in a jumbled pattern. She hummed softly, trying to remember what the swords were. Some distant memory made her think nature, but she couldn’t be sure beyond that. Although, looking at the layout, she saw a lot of the cards had swords on them. Too bad she was looking for a mace.
“Hmm,” the woman shook her head and tapped the table. “But look at this one. Not a sword.”
Leda glanced down, but the card didn’t mean anything to her.
“The ace of cups is with the ace of swords.”
Blackjack! She thought, wondering if the lady would appreciate it if she said the joke out loud. Somehow she doubted it.
“Oh, yes, I feel it. Yes. Yes. Yes.”
Leda drew back as the woman’s voice grew. If she kept it up much longer the passersby were going to think she was playing footsy with the woman’s crotch under the table cloth. Leda drew her legs to the side so they were within view.
“Mmmm, can you feel it? So much energy.” The fortune teller began to sway.
“And that means …?” Leda prompted, hoping the woman would stop the theatrics. The Bureau better reimburse her for this job-related mental distress. The only reason she was sitting for the reading is that the tarot sorceress had set up her booth next to the knights’ tent. It was a perfect position to watch the weapons that went in and out of the place.
“Mmmm, the Ace of Cups and the Ace of Swords, together like this means a new force will be entering you life, a spirit—one of justice, yet love.”
I want to bring justice to the women, and psychopaths often kill out of a belief of love. Hmm, maybe this woman is gifted, Leda mused doubtfully. Her mother and grandmother would be rolling in their graves if they knew she was even listening to Madame Whatever-Her-Name-Was. They taught the females in their family to cherish their gifts and not exploit them for cash—unless it was like Leda using them for a good cause in her day-to-day work.
“Ah, love,” the woman repeated, smiling as if she’d just predicted next week’s lottery numbers. Now that was something Leda could use. “Love.”
“Let me guess, tall, dark and handsome,” Leda said dryly.
The woman glanced to the side, her smiling widening. “Mmmm, yes, I’d say so.”
Leda followed her gaze. Her heart nearly stopped in her chest—a reaction that wasn’t exactly the most favorable in her line of work. Only instead of the sharp pain of a bullet, it was the sharp stab of instant attraction. Dark, sinful eyes were surrounded by a sea of wind-swept hair. Deliciously thick muscles formed the most attractive body she’d ever seen. It took her a moment to even distinguish that he was wearing chain mail and breeches. He was one of the knights ready for mock tournament.
She’d seen the man before, walking the grounds and this wasn’t the first time he met her gaze. Though they had yet to speak, they exchanged smiles and a crystal-clear sexual energy a dead man could pick up on. The man was definitely interested in her and she had to admit she was interested in return. He was one of the fine specimens she was thinking of harassing. What was he doing near her yet again? Was he following her?
“Yes, the swords are strong with you,” the fortune teller said, her words a low hum to Leda’s ears.
Leda couldn’t pull her eyes away. A man joined the knight, drawing his attention from her. She watched him laugh and nod, before pointing in the opposite direction toward the tournament grounds. He had a great laugh, so rich and full and happy, and an even better smile.
“But this Ace, it has a very strong vibration near you. Can you feel that humming?”
Leda glanced over. The woman had her hand out expectantly and Leda reached forward to put her hand in the woman’s. The fortune teller placed it over the card. “There, feel that? This is the symbol of opportunity. I feel that it’s close. If you stay open, it might even happen today.”
“What might happen today?” Leda asked, glancing back to discover the man was staring at her, his friend gone. All she felt beneath her hand was a flat surface and if she, a mild psychic as she referred to herself, couldn’t feel anything then there was a good chance there was nothing to feel. A slow smile curled the knight’s mouth as she watched him, making her thighs tighten in response.
“Truth. Justice—”
“Sanity?” Leda broke in wryly, unable to help herself.
“No,” the woman said, letting go of Leda’s hand. “Clarity.”
“Ah, my mistake.”
The fortune teller kept talking, but Leda stopped listening. How could she pay attention when the man licked his lips like he could taste her? Several knights passed behind him into the tent. Leda glanced at them. Seeing a glint of a metal sword, her mind was instantly brought back to her task. She was here to work, not stare at knights in shining armor in hopes that he’d strike up a conversation.
Or perhaps she could do both .…
Glancing at the fortune teller, she pushed up from the round barrel she sat on and said, “Thanks, Madam Saline, this has been really… ummm … insightful.”
“That’s Sabena,” the woman corrected. “Madame Sabena.”
“All right, then.” Leda didn’t care. She set her eyes on the knight, her heart thumping violently in her chest, a combination of nervous tension from approaching a man she liked and the anticipation of going into “battle”. It was the same rush she got moments before taking the bad guy down.
“My lady,” the knight bowed as she went straight for him.
Leda’s step faltered. She didn’t expect a Scottish accent. Too bad he didn’t have the kilt to go with it. She imagined his legs would’ve looked good in a kilt. And reminded of the very naughty email picture her sister forwarded to her showing what Scotsmen did and did not wear under their kilts, it would’ve been fun to see if it were true. Now there was a sword she wouldn’t mind seeing. It was her “card” after all.
She would be the first to admit that she didn’t understand, nor get into, the whole Renaissance Faire, role-playing thing. But seeing Mr. Knight towering before her was quickly changing her mind. The weapon was a particularly nice touch to the fantasy world.
Fantasy world?!
Leda wanted to hit herself upside the head. She was supposed to be here looking for a murderer, not entertaining men in armor. Doing her best to focus on her assignment, she knew the best way to get an escort into the very private knights’ tent was to flirt.
Hoping her butchering of an Old English accent was adorable and not annoying, she said, “My lord, ‘tis a really big sword thou have … hast … uh, there.”
He smiled good-naturedly and she was glad he wasn’t as snooty as some of the others she’d run into at the fair. Didn’t they know it wasn’t real? Jeesh! She’d even had one lady refuse to sell her a hairpiece because she didn’t know the “proper” name for it and didn’t want to stand around long enough to learn. The flower wreath had been for her baby niece’s birthday, anyway. It’s not like she had time to go to a toy store with the hours she’d been keeping lately.
“My enemies think so too, lass,” he answered, lowering his chin. Her heart flipped a little in her chest.
‘Leda, you got something?’ Bret asked, his voice coming from the earpiece hidden by her hair. She lifted her hand to the side, knowing his binoculars were on her. Lifting her hand, she stretched her wrist in what looked to be an absentminded movement, signifying that all was well and she couldn’t really talk at the moment.
“Is my lord—?” she began.
He leaned forward and whispered. “Sir. I’m no’ a lord, merely a knight, and those who are noble might take offense to ya saying so.”
“Ah,” she said. “Is my sir …?”
He grinned, a completely enchanting, heart-thumping look.
“Oh, forget it,” she grumbled, losing the accent. “I can’t flirt with you and concentrate on my horrible accent at the same time.”
He arched a brow, as if surprised by her forthcoming statement.
“Hi, I’m Leda,” she held her hand out to him. “You may call me Lady Leda, as I so christened myself this morning when I was getting dressed.”
He gallantly took her hand, leaning over to brush his lips over her knuckles. Warmth caressed her and she knew he’d opened his mouth ever so slightly. A shock of sexual excitement lit in her blood at the kiss. She shivered as he let go, the moisture on her hand cooling in the breeze. “I come from the future, in a time where the coffee pours freely and we all take plenty of showers.”
He chuckled. “Are ya telling me I need a bath?”
“What? No,” she quickly denied. The sting of where his mouth touched her hand thumped a trail along her skin, like a snake of desire slithering over her flesh, working its way slowly over her arm to her shoulder and neck. It was as if the kiss continued, moving to erect her nipples with longing and curl around her waist.
“You smell nice.”
You smell nice? Leda groaned. She should’ve been able to come up with a better line than that—even if he did smell great.
“Ya are no’ into this, are ya?”
“Is it that obvious?” she drawled, laughing.
‘Leda, what are you doing?’
“A wee bit,” he agreed. “So, what brings ya to our tournament on such a fine day, Lady Leda?”
‘Leda, it’s about time for the tournament. Ditch the knight and get over to the bleachers.’
She grimaced.
“Lady Leda?” he asked when she didn’t speak.
“Oh, the weapons.”
He gave her a look of surprise.
“I’m in the market for a sword and I wanted to see some examples in use before I purchased one.” She glanced down his body, unable to help herself, before looking at the tent. “I bet there are a lot of swords in there.”
Following her gaze down and then over, he nodded. “Yea.”
“Do you think you could …?” She batted her lashes, letting her eyes dip down. It was an obvious ploy, they both knew it, but that’s what made it so effective.
“Would ya like to see inside the tent, my lady?” He offered her his arm. “I’m due in the lifts, but I can take ya through after.”
“I’d like that.” She smiled. “Thank you.”
“Though,” he leaned forward. “I have to warn ya, it’s no’ that interesting.”
‘Leda Williams, what are you doing? Do you need back-up? What’s happening?’
Leda lifted her hand behind her back and waved for Bret to shut up. They hadn’t been working together long and he obviously wasn’t used to her tactics as of yet. Being a woman, there were certain ways she could get things done that the men couldn’t.
“I don’t know about that. I’m plenty interested.” Leda didn’t mean for the double meaning she implied with that statement, but now that it was said, she rolled with it. She gave him a smile. “Escort me to the tournament?”
“I can no’. I’m riding.”
Leda glanced back, seeing Madame Sabena smiling and waving at her. The woman lifted her hand, blowing a small kiss toward Leda. Biting her lips, Leda mumbled quietly as she lifted her hand weakly to the side to wave half-heartedly back, “Okay, crazy woman. Hi. How ya doin’? Yeah, we’re friends now ‘cause you read some cards. Okay then.”
“That’s no’ way to speak about a seer,” the knight said.
Leda laughed and gave him a guilty look. “Trust me. She didn’t see anything.”
“Ya did no’ like your future?”
Leda thought of the whole, ‘tall, dark and handsome’ bit and smiled. “The future was just fine. It was how she went on about my present that bothered me. Oh, and the part about the cards vibrating was a bit silly.”
“Oh?”
“She said I work too hard, which is crazy. So what if I work a lot of hours, if I love what I do and that doesn’t mean that I work too hard.”
“And what is it ya do?”
“I’m a … ah,” Leda hesitated, knowing she couldn’t tell the truth. “A barmaid.”
“Mmmm, a lady-serving wench,” he said, grinning. “Well, wench, I’d be honored to take this tournament for ya.”
“What? Win the tournament for me?” Leda felt giddy. There was something about this knight that made her forget she was an agent and made her feel like a woman.
“Yea.” His smile deepened, reaching his eyes. A thin thread of desire drew their bodies closer. She looked at his mouth, desperately wanting to kiss him.
‘Leda! The tournament is starting soon. You need to get in there. Stop fucking around and get moving.’
But now was obviously not the time. Bret was the last person she wanted in her head as she made out with a hunky knight.
“And what do I get if you win?” she asked.
“Prestige.” He laughed.
“And what would you get?”
His laughter faded and he turned somewhat serious. “A kiss.”
Leda smiled, nodding her head. “Okay, Sir Knight, you have a deal.”
Gallantly he bowed and walked away, whistling as he went into the knights’ tent. Leda stood, watching after him, her body shaking slightly with desire.
“I told you. The cards never lie. Tall, dark and handsome.”
Leda jolted in surprise, turning to see Madame Sabena stood next to her. “We’ll see. It’s early yet and he’s got to take the tournament first.”
Sabena laughed.
“What’s so funny?” Leda asked.
“That shouldn’t be too hard,” Sabena said. “He’s been the tournament’s champion for nigh five years now.”
“Five year?” Leda turned around in awe to stare at the tent.
“Mm-hmm,” Sabena said, chuckled knowingly. “Come on, let’s go watch. The crowds always thin out during the main event anyway and I won’t have any customers.”
Being roped by the fortune teller wasn’t exactly how Leda wanted to spend the tournament, but what else could she do? She glanced back at some nearby tents to see if any of the agents were following her. Bret’s blond head poked up from around the side and he nodded once.
“This way, my lady,” Sabena said, dragging her along toward the bleachers.
‘Right behind you, Leda,’ Bret’s voice said. ‘Stay sharp.’
* * * *
Calum tried to remain calm as he entered the knights’ tent. All his life he’d been told this day would come—the day he met a woman who sent an electrical spark through his entire being. Lady Leda. His eyes had been drawn to her since he saw her walking in the distance. The second he saw her across the fairgrounds, he knew.
He’d instantly gone to Aunt Sabena to confirm his fate. The psychic was only too happy to help him ease his mate with a tarot reading. Only, from the looks of it, Leda was too skeptical to pay attention to what his aunt was telling her. Then, when Leda approached him, he thought to make easy conversation. Only, she’d looked too sexy, her big eyes staring at him, her body calling to him as only a mate could. He’d been unable to resist the invisible bond between them and had to kiss her.
“Done trailing your lass? Or should we announce that ya will no’ be at the lifts?”
Calum gave his father, Thomas, a rueful smirk as his uncles began to chuckle. Inside, the tent was plain, set up with long rows of tables. Half-way back a flap blocked the back section of the tent from view. As champion, the back area was for his use. It was nothing fancy, but it did afford him some privacy during the day when the rest of the knights drank themselves into a stupor.
“I will no’ give ya the satisfaction, old man,” Calum glanced over his gathered uncles—Stephan the Short, Henry the Bald, Peter the Wise and George the Mad. Though, they only went by the old names during the faire. Otherwise, they just used the last name of McKibben.
“I have a feeling today is my day,” his father answered, chuckling as he fingered the sword at his waist. “Your brains are no’ in your head.”
“And your liquor is no’ in your cup,” Calum gestured to the man’s empty goblet. Almost instantly, it magically filled with ale. It was one of the few perks of being born into a family of wizards.
Thomas nodded. “There’s a good lad.”
“And ya wonder why I always win,” Calum muttered.
“I wonder nothing,” Thomas said. “You’re a fine warrior. Your ma would have been proud o’ the man ya turned out to be.”
Calum knew his father must already be drunk to mention his late mother. Since Bridget died, a piece of Thomas had withered. Most of the time, the man seemed to only go through the motions, throwing himself into drinking and sport, even wenching. But meaningless sex could never touch a broken heart. Having witnessed the change for himself, Calum had second thoughts about the path he took with Lady Leda. He felt something different when he looked at her, something more than animalistic lust and need. But was it worth being with her to someday end up like his father? Drunk and broken?
Calum eyed his father as he tipped back his goblet. His parents had married in the thirteen-hundreds. The wizard clans had been locked in a war back then and Calum was raised by his mother’s family after her death—thus the slight cultural difference between he and his father.
The war had been about many things, most predominately the fundamental questions. Did wizards interfere with the lives of humans and change the course of mortal history? Calum and his family believed they should not. Humans were not their personal slaves or pawns, who should be made to serve a wizard’s whim. On the other hand, mortals were not meant for magic and often abused any power they had. It was best to keep magic separate. Who were the wizards to decide who should be king, or which side should win a war? To influence such things became equivalent to playing God.
It was only several years after his mother’s death that Calum got to know his father. The wars had ended, though nothing had been resolved on either side. Both factions agreed to avoid the other. With so many bad memories of loss, their family decided to flee the old country for a new start. They came to America.
Calum still wasn’t sure how it happened, but they’d found a home within the Renaissance Festival. Maybe it was because swordplay was second nature to them, as natural as breathing or walking. Calum couldn’t remember a time when he hadn’t held a sword in his hands. Calluses on his palms attested to the fact. They’d been using the weapons for centuries, and performing for crowds of mortals was an easy way to make a living. Not to mention they could cast their own blades. But, perhaps most importantly, there was comfort in the reminder of the past that the faire gave them.
“The water’s gone into the well.” George chuckled.
Calum stopped briefly, glancing at Uncle George, not bothering to tell the man that whatever it was he’d just said made no real sense and wasn’t even a real saying. Everyone in the family was used to George’s idiosyncrasies.
“Did the lady hit ya over the head?” Peter laughed, pounding his fist over the table.
Calum blinked, realizing he’d been staring blindly at his father. Thomas lifted a brow, his expression asking if he should be concerned. Shaking his head, Calum said, “Ach! Ya are reading too much into my interest.”
The defense only made his uncles break out in boisterous laughter. Calum waved a dismissing hand and strode across the tent to gather his sword. Blocking an onslaught of jests that followed him, Calum determined he really didn’t have much of a choice. Fate had showed him Lady Leda and he would follow where his destiny led. Right now, destiny demanded he take the tournament and win his prize.
Faire Justice
By
Michelle M. Pillow
© copyright April 2009, Michelle M. Pillow
Cover art by Natalie Winters © copyright April 2009
ISBN Number 978-1-60394-303-1
New Concepts Publishing
Lake Park, GA 31636
www.newconceptspublishing.com
This is a work of fiction. All characters, events, and places are of the author’s imagination and not to be confused with fact. Any resemblance to living persons or events is merely coincidence.
Dedication
To my Wonderful Husband, my Knight in Colorful Armor
Chapter One
Renaissance Faire, Tuxedo, New York
“Mmmm, I see great change. It’s good. You need change. You’re too involved with work,” Madame Serilda, or whatever her name was, said. “You work too hard.”
Leda turned her eyes briefly to the woman dressed like some gypsy out of a bad historical documentary. The fortune teller’s Romanian accent was worse than her outfit, which was amazing, considering the cheap imitation velvet of her dark red and green medieval gown was trimmed in white gauze and gold cording. Her dark hair looked like it hadn’t been washed in weeks as it frizzed about her head.
Leda tried to hide her rueful smile. The smell was the most authentic medieval thing about her. Wryly, she insisted, “Oh, really, go on.”
The woman waved her hands in haphazard patterns through the air and Leda knew she thought she looked mystical by doing so. Sadly, the fortune teller wasn’t out of place. She was just as extravagant at the rest of the re-enactors walking around the fairgrounds.
People really got into this Renaissance Festival thing. The makeshift village looked like something from the 1500’s with stone siding and tightly woven thatched roofs on the few permanent buildings. Tents and booths formed haphazard rows, creating winding trails through the village. The dirt paths were rutted, as if someone intentionally had driven a cart through the mud just to make it more genuine, and each person seemed to stick to their role within the fake caste system.
Vendors sold everything from leather boots to swords and horseshoes, flower wreathes for the hair to custom clothing, roasted nuts to sticks of lumpy, suspicious meats. One woman walked around as if she were mad, screaming at the heavens in her muddy gown, crawling around in puddles. Another stopped her to talk about dragon footprints she saw “yonder”. There was even a procession of royal couples representing many European countries. They rode horses and Leda was a little put off by the piles of the manure some of the wretched creatures left behind for the rest of the crowd to walk through.
All the women wore period dresses, from peasants to nobility. The gowns hugged along chests and flared from waists in a sweep of lightweight linen. The embroidered edges were simple to nonexistent on the peasants, with more elaborate decoration for the fine noble ladies. Some of the noblewomen even had jewels, glass bead belts and hair pieces over upswept locks, which twisted into a complicated series of plaits and coils.
The men were no different in their commitment to their roles, though they did have a more rugged appeal. Some were dressed in amour, others in breeches and tunics ranging from the poorest of villains to the richest of noblemen. Leda only knew what she did about this time period from reading her mother’s historical romance novels in high school.
She looked down at her own noblewoman’s gown and frowned. Tugging uncomfortably at the long sleeve of her overtunic dress, she fidgeted to make it more comfortable. The gown hugged to her chest to flare from her waist in a sweep of lightweight linen. It would have been cool, but for the undertunic beneath. Embroidered edges lined her sleeves and squared neckline. Along her waist was a chained belt of glass beads. The emerald green was beautiful, she had to admit, but she didn’t belong in it. Leda couldn’t understand those who thought they did. Sure, life could be boring, but what kind of person lived like this? Day-to-day, on purpose?
However, regardless of how she felt, today she was a freak, too. How did her boss ever talk her into this? Who ever heard of going undercover in a Renaissance Faire as some sort of serving wench? Already she’d been propositioned by a few of the knights. Clearly, sexual harassment wasn’t around in the Middle Ages. Though, if she were honest, there were a few knights she wouldn’t mind harassing a bit herself.
Actually, she was here for a very important purpose—to catch some mace-wielding psychopath that had been killing innocent women. Being that she was female, her boss didn’t like her working on this assignment. Leda wasn’t one to let the fact she had boobs interfere with what needed to be done.
A team of men, just as uncomfortably dressed as she, also roamed the campground. She’d seen them several times in her area and knew that their director had told them to keep an eye on her. Most days she would’ve hated their over-protectiveness, but she’d seen the photos of what the killer had done and she was lucky to have such devoted co-workers.
At first, the murders had baffled them. What kind of object could inflict so much damage? But, thanks to the help of FBI intelligence, they’d narrowed the weapon down to a medieval mace—a stick with a chained ball of spiky metal on the end of it. Luckily, the man in charge of the scientific team was into role-playing games, otherwise it might have stumped them longer. After that, it was a matter of narrowing down known makers of such period weaponry, matching metal content with shards found on one of the victims, and here they were ready to catch a very bad guy.
And Leda was the bait—unofficially, of course. She fit the profile perfectly—athletic in build, green eyes and long red hair. All the victims even had a sprinkling of freckles over their noses like she did. But, there were a few things she had that the victims didn’t—Federal training, a gun and the innate ability to “feel” the future. She wouldn’t call it foresight so much as a natural instinct that allowed her to be in the right place at the right time. Beyond that mild psychic ability, she also could read people—not their exact thoughts, but impressions of what they were thinking and it wasn’t often that those impressions were wrong.
They have been a little off lately, though, her brain reminded her.
Shut up, she answered herself. A few bad calls don’t mean anything.
Tell that to the pizza guy you drew a gun on last week.
“Yes, yes,” the fortune teller droned, her eyes lifting in her head as she made a whirling noise. The annoyance successfully drew Leda from her thoughts.
Leda tried not to be too aggravated. She knew there were tellers out there who didn’t act like this at all, and would probably be offended by the way this woman was representing them, but it didn’t make her a believer in such divining arts at tarot cards. Leda’s sister had been into them as children, but the cards were merely a waste of time. Both of them were much more in tune with the future without the use of visual aids. Psychic ability was just something inside a person, a gift. It couldn’t be taught or learned, though it could definitely be suppressed or nurtured.
The woman flipped over another card. “The swords are strong with you. Very strong.”
“Ah, thanks.” Leda glanced down at the strange spread of cards all neatly placed in a jumbled pattern. She hummed softly, trying to remember what the swords were. Some distant memory made her think nature, but she couldn’t be sure beyond that. Although, looking at the layout, she saw a lot of the cards had swords on them. Too bad she was looking for a mace.
“Hmm,” the woman shook her head and tapped the table. “But look at this one. Not a sword.”
Leda glanced down, but the card didn’t mean anything to her.
“The ace of cups is with the ace of swords.”
Blackjack! She thought, wondering if the lady would appreciate it if she said the joke out loud. Somehow she doubted it.
“Oh, yes, I feel it. Yes. Yes. Yes.”
Leda drew back as the woman’s voice grew. If she kept it up much longer the passersby were going to think she was playing footsy with the woman’s crotch under the table cloth. Leda drew her legs to the side so they were within view.
“Mmmm, can you feel it? So much energy.” The fortune teller began to sway.
“And that means …?” Leda prompted, hoping the woman would stop the theatrics. The Bureau better reimburse her for this job-related mental distress. The only reason she was sitting for the reading is that the tarot sorceress had set up her booth next to the knights’ tent. It was a perfect position to watch the weapons that went in and out of the place.
“Mmmm, the Ace of Cups and the Ace of Swords, together like this means a new force will be entering you life, a spirit—one of justice, yet love.”
I want to bring justice to the women, and psychopaths often kill out of a belief of love. Hmm, maybe this woman is gifted, Leda mused doubtfully. Her mother and grandmother would be rolling in their graves if they knew she was even listening to Madame Whatever-Her-Name-Was. They taught the females in their family to cherish their gifts and not exploit them for cash—unless it was like Leda using them for a good cause in her day-to-day work.
“Ah, love,” the woman repeated, smiling as if she’d just predicted next week’s lottery numbers. Now that was something Leda could use. “Love.”
“Let me guess, tall, dark and handsome,” Leda said dryly.
The woman glanced to the side, her smiling widening. “Mmmm, yes, I’d say so.”
Leda followed her gaze. Her heart nearly stopped in her chest—a reaction that wasn’t exactly the most favorable in her line of work. Only instead of the sharp pain of a bullet, it was the sharp stab of instant attraction. Dark, sinful eyes were surrounded by a sea of wind-swept hair. Deliciously thick muscles formed the most attractive body she’d ever seen. It took her a moment to even distinguish that he was wearing chain mail and breeches. He was one of the knights ready for mock tournament.
She’d seen the man before, walking the grounds and this wasn’t the first time he met her gaze. Though they had yet to speak, they exchanged smiles and a crystal-clear sexual energy a dead man could pick up on. The man was definitely interested in her and she had to admit she was interested in return. He was one of the fine specimens she was thinking of harassing. What was he doing near her yet again? Was he following her?
“Yes, the swords are strong with you,” the fortune teller said, her words a low hum to Leda’s ears.
Leda couldn’t pull her eyes away. A man joined the knight, drawing his attention from her. She watched him laugh and nod, before pointing in the opposite direction toward the tournament grounds. He had a great laugh, so rich and full and happy, and an even better smile.
“But this Ace, it has a very strong vibration near you. Can you feel that humming?”
Leda glanced over. The woman had her hand out expectantly and Leda reached forward to put her hand in the woman’s. The fortune teller placed it over the card. “There, feel that? This is the symbol of opportunity. I feel that it’s close. If you stay open, it might even happen today.”
“What might happen today?” Leda asked, glancing back to discover the man was staring at her, his friend gone. All she felt beneath her hand was a flat surface and if she, a mild psychic as she referred to herself, couldn’t feel anything then there was a good chance there was nothing to feel. A slow smile curled the knight’s mouth as she watched him, making her thighs tighten in response.
“Truth. Justice—”
“Sanity?” Leda broke in wryly, unable to help herself.
“No,” the woman said, letting go of Leda’s hand. “Clarity.”
“Ah, my mistake.”
The fortune teller kept talking, but Leda stopped listening. How could she pay attention when the man licked his lips like he could taste her? Several knights passed behind him into the tent. Leda glanced at them. Seeing a glint of a metal sword, her mind was instantly brought back to her task. She was here to work, not stare at knights in shining armor in hopes that he’d strike up a conversation.
Or perhaps she could do both .…
Glancing at the fortune teller, she pushed up from the round barrel she sat on and said, “Thanks, Madam Saline, this has been really… ummm … insightful.”
“That’s Sabena,” the woman corrected. “Madame Sabena.”
“All right, then.” Leda didn’t care. She set her eyes on the knight, her heart thumping violently in her chest, a combination of nervous tension from approaching a man she liked and the anticipation of going into “battle”. It was the same rush she got moments before taking the bad guy down.
“My lady,” the knight bowed as she went straight for him.
Leda’s step faltered. She didn’t expect a Scottish accent. Too bad he didn’t have the kilt to go with it. She imagined his legs would’ve looked good in a kilt. And reminded of the very naughty email picture her sister forwarded to her showing what Scotsmen did and did not wear under their kilts, it would’ve been fun to see if it were true. Now there was a sword she wouldn’t mind seeing. It was her “card” after all.
She would be the first to admit that she didn’t understand, nor get into, the whole Renaissance Faire, role-playing thing. But seeing Mr. Knight towering before her was quickly changing her mind. The weapon was a particularly nice touch to the fantasy world.
Fantasy world?!
Leda wanted to hit herself upside the head. She was supposed to be here looking for a murderer, not entertaining men in armor. Doing her best to focus on her assignment, she knew the best way to get an escort into the very private knights’ tent was to flirt.
Hoping her butchering of an Old English accent was adorable and not annoying, she said, “My lord, ‘tis a really big sword thou have … hast … uh, there.”
He smiled good-naturedly and she was glad he wasn’t as snooty as some of the others she’d run into at the fair. Didn’t they know it wasn’t real? Jeesh! She’d even had one lady refuse to sell her a hairpiece because she didn’t know the “proper” name for it and didn’t want to stand around long enough to learn. The flower wreath had been for her baby niece’s birthday, anyway. It’s not like she had time to go to a toy store with the hours she’d been keeping lately.
“My enemies think so too, lass,” he answered, lowering his chin. Her heart flipped a little in her chest.
‘Leda, you got something?’ Bret asked, his voice coming from the earpiece hidden by her hair. She lifted her hand to the side, knowing his binoculars were on her. Lifting her hand, she stretched her wrist in what looked to be an absentminded movement, signifying that all was well and she couldn’t really talk at the moment.
“Is my lord—?” she began.
He leaned forward and whispered. “Sir. I’m no’ a lord, merely a knight, and those who are noble might take offense to ya saying so.”
“Ah,” she said. “Is my sir …?”
He grinned, a completely enchanting, heart-thumping look.
“Oh, forget it,” she grumbled, losing the accent. “I can’t flirt with you and concentrate on my horrible accent at the same time.”
He arched a brow, as if surprised by her forthcoming statement.
“Hi, I’m Leda,” she held her hand out to him. “You may call me Lady Leda, as I so christened myself this morning when I was getting dressed.”
He gallantly took her hand, leaning over to brush his lips over her knuckles. Warmth caressed her and she knew he’d opened his mouth ever so slightly. A shock of sexual excitement lit in her blood at the kiss. She shivered as he let go, the moisture on her hand cooling in the breeze. “I come from the future, in a time where the coffee pours freely and we all take plenty of showers.”
He chuckled. “Are ya telling me I need a bath?”
“What? No,” she quickly denied. The sting of where his mouth touched her hand thumped a trail along her skin, like a snake of desire slithering over her flesh, working its way slowly over her arm to her shoulder and neck. It was as if the kiss continued, moving to erect her nipples with longing and curl around her waist.
“You smell nice.”
You smell nice? Leda groaned. She should’ve been able to come up with a better line than that—even if he did smell great.
“Ya are no’ into this, are ya?”
“Is it that obvious?” she drawled, laughing.
‘Leda, what are you doing?’
“A wee bit,” he agreed. “So, what brings ya to our tournament on such a fine day, Lady Leda?”
‘Leda, it’s about time for the tournament. Ditch the knight and get over to the bleachers.’
She grimaced.
“Lady Leda?” he asked when she didn’t speak.
“Oh, the weapons.”
He gave her a look of surprise.
“I’m in the market for a sword and I wanted to see some examples in use before I purchased one.” She glanced down his body, unable to help herself, before looking at the tent. “I bet there are a lot of swords in there.”
Following her gaze down and then over, he nodded. “Yea.”
“Do you think you could …?” She batted her lashes, letting her eyes dip down. It was an obvious ploy, they both knew it, but that’s what made it so effective.
“Would ya like to see inside the tent, my lady?” He offered her his arm. “I’m due in the lifts, but I can take ya through after.”
“I’d like that.” She smiled. “Thank you.”
“Though,” he leaned forward. “I have to warn ya, it’s no’ that interesting.”
‘Leda Williams, what are you doing? Do you need back-up? What’s happening?’
Leda lifted her hand behind her back and waved for Bret to shut up. They hadn’t been working together long and he obviously wasn’t used to her tactics as of yet. Being a woman, there were certain ways she could get things done that the men couldn’t.
“I don’t know about that. I’m plenty interested.” Leda didn’t mean for the double meaning she implied with that statement, but now that it was said, she rolled with it. She gave him a smile. “Escort me to the tournament?”
“I can no’. I’m riding.”
Leda glanced back, seeing Madame Sabena smiling and waving at her. The woman lifted her hand, blowing a small kiss toward Leda. Biting her lips, Leda mumbled quietly as she lifted her hand weakly to the side to wave half-heartedly back, “Okay, crazy woman. Hi. How ya doin’? Yeah, we’re friends now ‘cause you read some cards. Okay then.”
“That’s no’ way to speak about a seer,” the knight said.
Leda laughed and gave him a guilty look. “Trust me. She didn’t see anything.”
“Ya did no’ like your future?”
Leda thought of the whole, ‘tall, dark and handsome’ bit and smiled. “The future was just fine. It was how she went on about my present that bothered me. Oh, and the part about the cards vibrating was a bit silly.”
“Oh?”
“She said I work too hard, which is crazy. So what if I work a lot of hours, if I love what I do and that doesn’t mean that I work too hard.”
“And what is it ya do?”
“I’m a … ah,” Leda hesitated, knowing she couldn’t tell the truth. “A barmaid.”
“Mmmm, a lady-serving wench,” he said, grinning. “Well, wench, I’d be honored to take this tournament for ya.”
“What? Win the tournament for me?” Leda felt giddy. There was something about this knight that made her forget she was an agent and made her feel like a woman.
“Yea.” His smile deepened, reaching his eyes. A thin thread of desire drew their bodies closer. She looked at his mouth, desperately wanting to kiss him.
‘Leda! The tournament is starting soon. You need to get in there. Stop fucking around and get moving.’
But now was obviously not the time. Bret was the last person she wanted in her head as she made out with a hunky knight.
“And what do I get if you win?” she asked.
“Prestige.” He laughed.
“And what would you get?”
His laughter faded and he turned somewhat serious. “A kiss.”
Leda smiled, nodding her head. “Okay, Sir Knight, you have a deal.”
Gallantly he bowed and walked away, whistling as he went into the knights’ tent. Leda stood, watching after him, her body shaking slightly with desire.
“I told you. The cards never lie. Tall, dark and handsome.”
Leda jolted in surprise, turning to see Madame Sabena stood next to her. “We’ll see. It’s early yet and he’s got to take the tournament first.”
Sabena laughed.
“What’s so funny?” Leda asked.
“That shouldn’t be too hard,” Sabena said. “He’s been the tournament’s champion for nigh five years now.”
“Five year?” Leda turned around in awe to stare at the tent.
“Mm-hmm,” Sabena said, chuckled knowingly. “Come on, let’s go watch. The crowds always thin out during the main event anyway and I won’t have any customers.”
Being roped by the fortune teller wasn’t exactly how Leda wanted to spend the tournament, but what else could she do? She glanced back at some nearby tents to see if any of the agents were following her. Bret’s blond head poked up from around the side and he nodded once.
“This way, my lady,” Sabena said, dragging her along toward the bleachers.
‘Right behind you, Leda,’ Bret’s voice said. ‘Stay sharp.’
* * * *
Calum tried to remain calm as he entered the knights’ tent. All his life he’d been told this day would come—the day he met a woman who sent an electrical spark through his entire being. Lady Leda. His eyes had been drawn to her since he saw her walking in the distance. The second he saw her across the fairgrounds, he knew.
He’d instantly gone to Aunt Sabena to confirm his fate. The psychic was only too happy to help him ease his mate with a tarot reading. Only, from the looks of it, Leda was too skeptical to pay attention to what his aunt was telling her. Then, when Leda approached him, he thought to make easy conversation. Only, she’d looked too sexy, her big eyes staring at him, her body calling to him as only a mate could. He’d been unable to resist the invisible bond between them and had to kiss her.
“Done trailing your lass? Or should we announce that ya will no’ be at the lifts?”
Calum gave his father, Thomas, a rueful smirk as his uncles began to chuckle. Inside, the tent was plain, set up with long rows of tables. Half-way back a flap blocked the back section of the tent from view. As champion, the back area was for his use. It was nothing fancy, but it did afford him some privacy during the day when the rest of the knights drank themselves into a stupor.
“I will no’ give ya the satisfaction, old man,” Calum glanced over his gathered uncles—Stephan the Short, Henry the Bald, Peter the Wise and George the Mad. Though, they only went by the old names during the faire. Otherwise, they just used the last name of McKibben.
“I have a feeling today is my day,” his father answered, chuckling as he fingered the sword at his waist. “Your brains are no’ in your head.”
“And your liquor is no’ in your cup,” Calum gestured to the man’s empty goblet. Almost instantly, it magically filled with ale. It was one of the few perks of being born into a family of wizards.
Thomas nodded. “There’s a good lad.”
“And ya wonder why I always win,” Calum muttered.
“I wonder nothing,” Thomas said. “You’re a fine warrior. Your ma would have been proud o’ the man ya turned out to be.”
Calum knew his father must already be drunk to mention his late mother. Since Bridget died, a piece of Thomas had withered. Most of the time, the man seemed to only go through the motions, throwing himself into drinking and sport, even wenching. But meaningless sex could never touch a broken heart. Having witnessed the change for himself, Calum had second thoughts about the path he took with Lady Leda. He felt something different when he looked at her, something more than animalistic lust and need. But was it worth being with her to someday end up like his father? Drunk and broken?
Calum eyed his father as he tipped back his goblet. His parents had married in the thirteen-hundreds. The wizard clans had been locked in a war back then and Calum was raised by his mother’s family after her death—thus the slight cultural difference between he and his father.
The war had been about many things, most predominately the fundamental questions. Did wizards interfere with the lives of humans and change the course of mortal history? Calum and his family believed they should not. Humans were not their personal slaves or pawns, who should be made to serve a wizard’s whim. On the other hand, mortals were not meant for magic and often abused any power they had. It was best to keep magic separate. Who were the wizards to decide who should be king, or which side should win a war? To influence such things became equivalent to playing God.
It was only several years after his mother’s death that Calum got to know his father. The wars had ended, though nothing had been resolved on either side. Both factions agreed to avoid the other. With so many bad memories of loss, their family decided to flee the old country for a new start. They came to America.
Calum still wasn’t sure how it happened, but they’d found a home within the Renaissance Festival. Maybe it was because swordplay was second nature to them, as natural as breathing or walking. Calum couldn’t remember a time when he hadn’t held a sword in his hands. Calluses on his palms attested to the fact. They’d been using the weapons for centuries, and performing for crowds of mortals was an easy way to make a living. Not to mention they could cast their own blades. But, perhaps most importantly, there was comfort in the reminder of the past that the faire gave them.
“The water’s gone into the well.” George chuckled.
Calum stopped briefly, glancing at Uncle George, not bothering to tell the man that whatever it was he’d just said made no real sense and wasn’t even a real saying. Everyone in the family was used to George’s idiosyncrasies.
“Did the lady hit ya over the head?” Peter laughed, pounding his fist over the table.
Calum blinked, realizing he’d been staring blindly at his father. Thomas lifted a brow, his expression asking if he should be concerned. Shaking his head, Calum said, “Ach! Ya are reading too much into my interest.”
The defense only made his uncles break out in boisterous laughter. Calum waved a dismissing hand and strode across the tent to gather his sword. Blocking an onslaught of jests that followed him, Calum determined he really didn’t have much of a choice. Fate had showed him Lady Leda and he would follow where his destiny led. Right now, destiny demanded he take the tournament and win his prize.
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