Kissing Shakespeare (12 page)

Between the meat courses, we were served a rich array of vegetables. Artichokes, turnips, peas, cucumbers, and salads, too, some with violets peeking through the delicate lettuces. By the time dessert showed up, my bodice lacings felt uncomfortably tight. So I resisted the temptations of pies, fruit and nut tarts, and cheese, instead nibbling on strawberries and cream and sipping my wine. What I really craved was some H
₂
O. Bottled water. Tap water. Any water, but it was never offered. Stephen had told me it was not safe to drink.

What with eating, drinking, talking, and teeth picking, it was after two o’clock before anyone got up from the table. “I will help ready the games,” Stephen said to me. “ ’Tis customary for the ladies to rest for an hour or so before coming outside.”

I nodded. A short nap would feel good.

Later, I jerked awake, hoping the festivities hadn’t started without me. I hated not having my watch. While I was splashing water on my face, Bess cracked open the door in the back wall. “Mistress?”

“Come in, Bess,” I said. “I know, ’tis time for me to dress.”

“And I will arrange your hair for you.” She eyed my sleep-tousled locks.

When Bess’s back was turned—I didn’t want her to see my underwear—I slipped into a fresh smock. Then she helped me dress in a green wool bodice and petticoats, proper apparel for the games, according to her. When I was all put together, she sat me down at the dressing table and began to brush my hair.

“Shall I fix braids around your head, mistress?” she asked.

“Sure. Er, that is, I would be pleased if you would.”

Bess’s gentle hands began to work their magic, and when she spoke, her words didn’t register right away. “Has Stephen courted anyone else since Mary Swindon died?” she asked. “We all felt so sad when we heard the news.”

Stunned, I couldn’t think of a sensible reply. Stephen had courted someone who died? Maybe that explained the sadness that sometimes showed in his eyes. The vulnerability.

“Nay, he has not had the heart for it.” I had no idea, of course, but I suspected I was right.

Before leaving, I glanced at my reflection in the glass. My hair looked pretty with the braid. I was beginning to resemble, if not quite feel, like a girl of this century.

Let the games begin, I muttered to myself as I hurried outside.

At first, I felt like I was at a Renaissance fair. The grassy area out back had been transformed, and a crowd was already gathering. Canopies covered tables of refreshments, and playing fields had been marked off with stakes. I noticed several boys and men heading toward the archery range with bows and quivers of arrows. An uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach reminded me I was supposed to find a way to spend some one-on-one time with Shakespeare. I was committed to it, though, so I’d have to get control of my jitters.

I wandered around and watched the various competitions. A game a lot like soccer was in progress, except there didn’t seem to be any rules. I noticed Stephen in the thick of it, doublet and hose covered with mud and sweat dripping off his face. The most important part of the game seemed to be subtly tripping members of the opposing team. I waved to Stephen, but he didn’t see me.

I drifted on, threading my way through merrymakers, strolling musicians, and servants carrying food and drink. At last I found Will and Fulke playing a game that looked like bocce, but I knew was called bowls. It involved throwing balls at a target, with the goal of having your ball end up closest. If I walked over to the refreshment tables right now, I could be waiting with something for Will to drink when the game was over. Arriving back at the bowls area just as Will and Fulke’s match was ending, I held out two tankards of ale and smiled.

“Ah, mistress, you are an angel,” Fulke proclaimed. He drank his ale in one long gulp and excused himself. “I’m off to the archery butts.”

Will looked at me and offered his arm. “Come. Let’s stroll awhile. I see the football is done.”

“Do you play?”

“Aye. ’Tis a common pastime in Stratford, where I grew up, when there is free time to be had.”

Stephen and one of the other footballers rushed up. “Are you ready for barley-break?” I couldn’t imagine why he wanted to play something else, since he was still breathless from the football game. He eyed Will and me with a mischievous grin. “The two of you can be the couple in hell.”

Will snorted, and I pretended to know what Stephen was talking about. I gave a feeble laugh.
Couple in hell? How appropriate
.

“Over here. The court is already staked.” Stephen motioned and we followed. “Wait while Henry and I find partners.”

“Barley-break is a good excuse for hand holding,” Will said, grinning. He grabbed mine and led me to the square in the middle, which I guessed must be “hell.” Two long rectangles led off from either side of the square.

“Aye. But I don’t mind.” I tried to look modest but tempting, and figured I was probably succeeding in looking like a moron.

Stephen and Henry returned, each with a girl in tow, and joined hands with their respective partners. Each couple stood in one of the rectangles. For the next half hour or so, Will and I, without letting go of each other’s hands, tried to tag the other couples as they ran through the center square. They were allowed to drop hands when necessary to get away, but we were not. It took forever for us to finally tag someone, one of the girls.

What had started as a game with six people morphed into something else. By the end, lots of couples had joined in, and the rules had seemed to change. When someone was tagged they joined the end of the line in the center square, which had taken on a life of its own. Those who hadn’t been tagged still had more freedom, but the long line of people could swing around and trap them. It was a little like playing crack the whip. This was the most fun I’d had since my enforced stay in this era began, and I couldn’t stop giggling. I sneaked glances at Will whenever I had the chance, and when he looked back at me, his eyes glowed good-naturedly. The game grew more physical as we tried to catch the two remaining players, Stephen being one of them.

When the great long line swung around to capture them, I felt a ripple of overpowering momentum. I was thrown to the ground, piling on top of the heap of bodies already there. I knew somewhere at the bottom, Stephen had been caught at last.

Someone fell on me, and then grasped me around the waist and flung me over. It was Will, and his face was only inches away. His lips brushed mine for just a second, and I thought I should take advantage of the opportunity. I grabbed him and pulled him closer, putting everything I had into the kiss. His lips were soft and sweet, and the kiss lingering. My pulse raced when I realized I was kissing Will Shakespeare, the man I idolized. When we finally split apart, he looked surprised, but then smiled. I glimpsed other couples stealing kisses and figured this must be the traditional ending of the game.

When at last we’d all rolled off of Stephen, he lay there, eyes closed, not moving. A tremor raced through me. “Stephen?” I said, shaking him. “Are you all right?” He burst out laughing.

Will leaned over and locked wrists with him, pulling him to his feet. “In truth,” Stephen said. “I feared you would crush me.”

The games were ending, and exhausted competitors were now making their way to the food and drink tables. I wandered over with Stephen.

“Well?” he said, latching on to my arm. “Anything to report?”

His words, his tone of voice, made me unaccountably and irrationally angry. I said nothing.

“Olivia? Did anything happen?”

I fingered back a few stray locks of hair and pretended to think. “Let’s see,” I said, “we held sweaty hands for what seemed like hours during that stupid barley game, and at the end, we all fell on top of each other. Are you satisfied?” I hurried off ahead of him.

Stephen caught up with me, grabbed my arm, and spun me around. “Something’s amiss. Tell me.” His eyes looked confused, and his words seemed sincere. But I was still ticked off.

“Nothing. I’m going in. Have a pleasant evening.” I turned and stalked off toward the house.

“Olivia!”

I kept walking, hoping he’d be distracted by the food and drink. Which I guessed he was, since he didn’t come after me or call out again. If I could find Bess, I’d ask her if I could have some extra basins of water brought in. Apparently actual bathtubs hadn’t been invented yet, or else people of this time didn’t care about smelling bad, because lots of them did. After running around, I was hot and sweaty and really wanted to bathe.

In the upstairs hall, I looked for Bess. I’d noticed her outside a few times during the games, but she must have come in by now. She’d probably enter through the servants’ door soon. Meanwhile, I sprawled on my bed and thought about why I was so angry with Stephen. Instead of this stressed-out feeling, with my guts churning, I should be feeling ecstatic. I’d kissed Shakespeare. It was the second time we’d had a fairly intimate encounter, which was what this little trip to the past was all about.

Deep down, though, I knew why I was upset. Stephen still thought I was promiscuous, and that really got under my skin. He considered me a wanton. That whole conversation we’d had yesterday, about sex and nearly naked girls and horny guys … he’d never talk that way to an Elizabethan girl. To the girl he was mourning, Mary what’s-her-name. It totally pissed me off that he didn’t care if he was using me, or if I got hurt in the process.

And yet, sometimes he showed genuine concern for me. He’d proved that by the way he acted after the burning in Preston—insisting I ride with him, and then holding me close the whole way home. Checking on me that evening to make sure I was all right, and explaining everything to me. Yesterday, when I’d cried, he very tenderly brushed my tears away.

But the reality was, Stephen was so focused on this job of ours he was prickly with me more often than he was tender. Saving Shakespeare. That was what I was here to do, and I’d just have to get on with it so I could go home. I couldn’t worry about what Stephen thought of me. What did it matter?
Good girl, Olivia. Stick to your guns
. Oh my God. Now I was talking to myself using my new name, as though I’d actually
become
Olivia. In some ways, I guessed I had.

I rolled over and right onto a folded piece of paper. It was cream colored, like the coverlet, so I hadn’t noticed it before. I unfolded it and read the one line written there:

I know you are not who you say you are
.

I had to really concentrate to decipher the strange writing, but I finally got it. The message was curt and its meaning unmistakable.

A shiver of fear unfurled inside, like a wisp of smoke. Bess knocked and came in, and I jumped.

“Pardon me, mistress. Did I frighten you?”

“Nay.” I looked at the words once more before I threw the paper aside. “Would it be possible for me to have some extra water brought in?” I asked.

Later, I heard Stephen in his room. After giving him a few minutes, I hurried over and rapped on our adjoining door. When he hollered “Enter!” I opened it and found him standing right inside as though he’d been waiting for me.

“What ails you, mistress?” he asked, looking irritated. “Why so peevish this afternoon?”

I didn’t answer, only held the note out. He quickly read it. “God’s breath! Where did you find this?”

“It was on my bed when I came in from the games.”

“Who could have done this? And what does it mean?”

I shrugged. “Anyone could have written it. During the games, someone could have sneaked inside, thrown it on the bed, and run back out. We wouldn’t have noticed.”

“Or someone who didn’t attend the games.” I stood there stiffly. “Be seated,” he said, gesturing toward the settle by the fireplace.

I sank down, glad my back was to him. In a minute, I heard him pouring water into the basin, and then some energetic splashing. I risked a glance and saw that he’d stripped to the waist.
Whoa!
Stephen was the owner of an amazing set of pecs. He looked like a modern guy who was into some serious lifting, but I was pretty sure his lifting was confined to things like saddles, farm implements, and hay bales. As though he felt my eyes on him, he turned his head to the side and looked right at me.
Oh, shit!
My cheeks burned, and I spun back around.