Knights and Kink Romance Boxed Set (94 page)

Master Melphus scoffs and steps closer to Grizzly.
“Funny,” he hisses. “You never seemed to worry too much about that
before.” A few latecomers straggle into the meeting room, but
freeze in their tracks when they see the near-melee that has
erupted between the two middle-aged men. “Consider yourself out of
the business, Your Excellency.”

Baron Grizzly lets out a long, slow breath. Barlonda
puts her face in her hands. Pegeen drops her knitting, takes a
small notepad out of her purse, and starts doodling something that
I can’t read.

“Let’s go guys,” Master Melphus instructs his
entourage, and they all pile out of the room’s only door, nearly
knocking over the gaggle of latecomers hovering there. Lady
Ragamuffylan, Lord Woadsbane, and Lady Ceridwen’s husband Cip all
follow them out.

Pegeen nudges me. “Let’s go,” she whispers.

“Let’s go where?”

“After them. We’re spying, remember?”

Before I have a chance to argue, Pegeen’s already
out the door. I rush after her.

I catch up with Pegeen at the top of the stairs just
as she’s about to follow the Hordesmen into the parking lot.

“What the hell is going on, Pegeen?”

“I’m not sure,” she replies as she peeks around the
doorjamb out at the Hordesmen, who are all piling into a large
white Chevrolet cargo van. “But I’d bet money they’re all heading
over to Noble Roman’s early to talk strategy.”

“Noble Roman’s? What’s that?”

“It’s a pizza place over in Fairborn. Everybody goes
there after the meetings. Go get our stuff and meet me at the car
in two minutes, okay?”

I dash back down to the meeting room, where Baron
Grizzly and the others are still trying to recover from Melphus’
accusations. I snatch our belongings and head back toward the door,
but Grizzly grabs my arm to stop me.

“Where are you going, Lisa?”

“I—that is, I, ummm—“

Barlonda edges her way towards me. “Leave her be,
Grizz. Lisa, I think I know what you’re up to.”

“I’m not up to anything,” I lie.

“It’s all right, dear. I know you’re only doing what
Syr Phillip wants you to do, and that’s fine. I just want to warn
you to be careful. And please, be sure to tell Grizzly and me
anything you find out.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I lie
again, although I know that whatever pained expression my face is
wearing right now is giving me away. I’ve never been much of a
liar.

“Watch your back!” Grizzly calls after me as I dash
up the stairs.

I’m met at the top by a petite fiftyish woman with
long, straight black hair and wearing some kind of long, flowing
hippie robe. Her hands are ink-stained and she’s carrying a
paint-splattered tacklebox.

“Hello there,” she says, grabbing my right hand. To
my horror, she starts examining my fingers, seeing how far they can
bend while she massages my knuckles. “I’m Mistress Naomi. You look
like someone with a lot of artistic talent. How would you like to
be my apprentice?”

This must be the Mistress Naomi Pegeen warned me
about.

“No, thanks. I’ve really got to go—“ I try pulling
away from the tiny woman’s grasp, but her small, bony fingers have
formed a deathgrip I can’t release.

“But I
really
need a new apprentice,”
Mistress Naomi insists, grasping my fingers so hard I think they
might break. “King Fallon and Queen Marguerite just placed an order
for fifty award scrolls, and I need at least three more apprentices
to fill it.”

Pegeen swoops into the building lobby out of
nowhere. “You better let her go, Naomi. She’s the favored lady of
Syr Phillip Reginald of
Blackstar,
you know. You’re familiar
with the Blackstar household, are you not?”

Mistress Naomi goes white and instantly lets go of
my hand as if it’s infected. “Of course,” she stammers. “M-my
mistake.”

“Let’s go, Lees,” Pegeen says, dragging me toward
her car. “We don’t want them to get too far ahead of us.”

As we pile our ourselves into Pegeen’s Tercel, I
glance over my shoulder to make sure we’re not being followed.
We’re not, so I whisper, “Why does everybody keep talking about Syr
Phillip’s
Blackstar
name? Everybody seems to be afraid of
it, or something. What’s up with that?”

Pegeen says nothing. She just grins.

“Pegeen, come on. You’re really weirding me out,
here. From what I’ve seen, it’s like ‘Blackstar’ is some kind of
magic word for getting people to leave us alone or something.”

“That’s because it is,” Pegeen says, downshifting
the Tercel into fourth gear so she can catch up with the white
cargo van that is now at least a half-mile ahead of us.

“But
why?”

“Maybe you should ask Syr Phillip about that the
next time you see him.” I cut a glance over at Pegeen to see that
she’s gone tight-lipped.

I settle down into the Tercel’s bucket seat and sulk
until Pegeen pulls into the strip mall where the Noble Roman’s
restaurant is sandwiched between a nail salon and a dry cleaner’s.
The white cargo van carrying the known and possible Hordesmen is
already there.
“Here we are,” Pegeen chirps. “Now Lees, it’s very important for
you to do whatever I tell you. I’m the gossip expert here, you
know.”

“Never said you weren’t,” I sigh.

Just before we step inside the dark, wood-paneled
pizzeria, Pegeen reaches into her embroidery bag and pulls out two
Cincinnati Reds baseball caps. She tosses one onto her own head and
hands the other to me. “Here, put this on. Pull it way down over
your face.”

“It’s rude to wear hats inside a restaurant,
Pegeen.”

“You’re supposed to do whatever I say, Lees. That’s
part of the agreement. Do you want to give your lord and knight the
information he needs to win Crown Tournament or not?”

I clap the hat onto my head without another word,
and follow Pegeen into the restaurant.

“Keep your head down and be quiet,” she instructs me
as we slip through the front door. Once inside, we notice that
Melphus and his confirmed-and-possible Horde cronies have taken
over the back corner of the pizzeria. Instead of obeying the
“Hostess Will Seat You” sign, Pegeen grabs two menus from a rack
and starts walking to the back of the restaurant.

“We’ll sit here,” she whispers, selecting a booth
just across the aisle from Melphus and his buddies. “I’ll take care
of all the ordering and talking, okay? You just keep your ears open
for whatever they’re talking about. Don’t do anything too obvious.
However hard that might be for you.”

I flip open the menu without commenting on Pegeen’s
latest jab and stare blankly at Noble Roman’s mediocre selection of
prefabricated pizzas and breadsticks.

“Wanna split a black-olive-and-anchovy pizza?”
Pegeen whispers. “My treat.”

I shrug silently and strain to listen to the
Hordesmen’s conversation. Melphus and his buddies are keeping their
voices low, plus the restaurant’s acoustic ceiling tile is doing
too good a job of absorbing the very background noise I’m trying to
hear.

“We’ve gotta do somethin’ ‘bout the. . .situation. .
.”

“Syr Phillip. . .you know he don’t. . .no, that’s
ain’t . . .”

“The Tuchux. . .they aren’t real happy about. .
.”

“I dunno. . .”

I flip my menu closed in frustration. No matter how
hard I strain my ears, I haven’t been able to learn anything new
from the over-testosteroned gaggle of Hordesmen.

Pegeen flags down a pimpled teenage waiter and
places our order. Just before he goes to get our soft drinks,
Pegeen writes something on a napkin and hands it to him. “Do you
think you could help us out with that, hon?” Pegeen nods toward
whatever instructions she’s written on the napkin scrap and gives
the boy a nice sneak preview of her cleavage as she does. The
boy-waiter grins a metallic smile, gives her a single nod, and
dashes off towards the kitchen.

Pegeen leans across the table and whispers, “Hear
anything good yet?”

“No,” I whisper back. “I can’t hear much of anything
at all. Too much interference.”

“Well, I’ve enlisted the waiter’s help. It’s always
important to have accomplices when it comes to gossip-gathering in
unfamiliar locales,” Pegeen explains.

I roll my eyes at this.

“Here, switch places with me,” she says. “Maybe I
can hear more than you.”

“But then we’ll draw attention, and you already said
not to do anything too obvious.”

“You’re right.” Pegeen pouts for a moment. “Tell you
what. You get up to go to the bathroom. I’ll drop my purse on the
floor while you’re away, and use that as an excuse to switch seats.
Then when you come back, you just sit here. Easy, and enough within
the realm of normal restaurant behavior not to draw attention.”

“Fine,” I groan, and head off toward the bathroom,
which turns out to be one of those single-seater unisex jobs. It’s
already occupied, so I lean against the paneled wall until its
occupant finishes his business.

After about a minute, a very attractive
twentysomething man emerges. He gives me the usual polite
bathroom-line glance, then pauses for a moment. He gazes downward
and sideways, peering at my face underneath the shadow formed by
the Reds cap, the bill of which I’ve pulled down to almost to the
level of my chin.

“Hey, you’re Syr Phillip’s new squeeze, aren’t
you?”

Great
, I think.
Our cover’s blown.
I
try to think of a clever comeback to throw this surprisingly
handsome man—whose biceps are nearly bursting the sleeves of his
faded Nike T-shirt out at the seams—off my trail. But as per usual,
my mind is a blank.

“Uhhhh—excuse me,” is all I manage before I duck
into the grimy bathroom and lock the door.

I don’t actually need to pee, so I just stay inside
the bathroom for the requisite two minutes one usually needs, and
even flush the toilet for good measure before coming back out.

The surprisingly handsome young man is still
standing outside the bathroom door. His arms are folded across his
chest in a manner that accentuates just how powerful his biceps
are.

“Hello again, Lisa,” he says, staring straight into
my eyes. My feet freeze to the grimy linoleum floor and my mouth
goes dry.

“How do you know my name?”

“Nobody who captures the heart of Syr Philip
Reginald of Blackstar stays anonymous in the Known World for very
long, milady.”

“Who the hell are you?” I blurt. I can say with
pretty fair certainty I’ve never seen this man before. (It’s not as
if that killer physique, those gorgeous features, and that velvety
tenor voice would be easily forgotten.)

The killer-bicepped hottie gives me a deep bow.
“Forgive my impertinence, milady. I am Master Stephen Blackhawk of
the Two Shires. I hail from the kingdom of Aethelmarc, just to the
east of your own beautiful kingdom. The Midrealm is famous in other
parts of the Known World for its beautiful women, and I am sure
that you and your incredible beauty are solely responsible for that
reputation.”

“Aethelmarc, huh?” I say, trying to play it cool. “I
hear that’s a pretty nice place.”

“You are absolutely correct, milady. You should drop
in and see us sometime.”

“Maybe I will.”

Master Stephen the Bicep Hottie bows again, quite
the romantic. “My lady Lisa, I am also acquainted with your favored
knight’s father, who happens to be the King of Aethelmarc at the
moment.”

A slow smile spreads across my face. Knowing what I
do about Syr Phillip’s rocky relationship with his dad, I have hit
the proverbial spy jackpot with this guy. The fact that he’s also
pretty easy on the eyes is just an added bonus.

I slide my baseball cap up on my forehead, giving
Master Stephen the Bicep Hottie a good look at my face. I smile and
curtsey deeply, making a mental note not to betray my knowledge
(such as it is) of the royal father-son dispute. “A pleasure to
make your acquaintance, Master Stephen. What brings you to our fair
kingdom?”

“A bit of interkingdom business. Pretty dull, I’m
afraid. Definitely not as interesting as you.” Master Stephen bows
deeply again, takes my hand and kisses it with all the relish and
passion of a sixteenth-century Frenchman.

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” I coo, playing right
into his hands. “I’m sure that whatever it is, it’s fascinating.
Although I’m sure not as fascinating as
you
are.” I adjust
my blouse to reveal a little of what passes for my supremely
flat-chested cleavage, finding myself a little ashamed of my
gossip-gathering conduct on the one hand—and even the slightest bit
aroused on the other.

At this, Master Stephen’s eyeballs very nearly pop
out of his head. “Well, if you put things
that
way, my lady
Lisa, how can I refuse?” Master Stephen bends to kiss my hand
again, and this time he even manages to put a little of his tongue
into it.

I’m beginning to understand just why Pegeen likes
digging for gossip so much. This is fun. Fun, and just a little bit
naughty.

“Do go on, Master Stephen,” I purr coquettishly.

“I’m what you might call a diplomat of some sorts,”
he explains, never letting go of my hand. “As far as the SCA can
have diplomats, that is. I’m here negotiating a deal between the
East Kingdom, Aethelmarc, and ahhh—some other parties.” Master
Stephen abruptly lets go of my hand and grimaces in a vaguely
familiar, winky manner. I know that he’s already revealed far more
to me than he knows he probably should. But perhaps I can use my
feminine wiles to prod him just a little bit more. And right now, I
think the best thing I can possibly do to get what I want from the
beautifully bicepped Master Stephen is to play a role I know I’m a
master of—that of a clueless SCA newbie.

“And what other parties might those be? I’m pretty
new to the SCA—as you might know—so I’m clueless about all these
different uhhh, kingdom-group affairs.” I cock my head like a
collie and pull off my baseball cap so fast that my hair tumbles
out of it all at once in a bright, shiny, tousled wave.