We arrived at the clearing to the left of the jousting field. The joust had just ended, and patrons filtered out around us. As we got closer to where the handfasting took place I realized I’d misunderstood Caitlin. We weren’t short on cast members to perform the ceremony. We were short on actual participants. Two couples, in shorts and T-shirts, stood among the cast, looking as awkward as they probably felt, wondering what they had gotten themselves into.

“Aye.” Now that we were among others, Cait slid into her accent again. But she pitched her voice low. “It’s only the first day, they said, so we have very few takers for the ceremony. But we could use the practice, so I was sent to get you, and some others are coming too.”

“For what, an arranged handfasting? Who am I being married off to, then?” I cast my eyes around the field, trying to see who my intended was going to be. Mitch was there—I spotted his kilt right away—but one of the maids to the Queen was already giggling on his arm, so I guessed he wasn’t for me. Dammit. So then who . . .

Then Chris the Queen and her gigantic dress moved about three feet to the left, and I stopped in my tracks.

“No.”

Cait rolled her eyes. So much for staying in character. “God, I knew you’d react this way. Come on.” She pulled on my arm, but I wasn’t moving.

“You couldn’t have said this from the start?” I yanked out of her grasp and crossed my arms across my chest.

She made a disgusted noise in the back of her throat and tugged at my elbow, and I allowed myself to be pulled forward. It was either that or make a scene, and as annoyed as I was, I wasn’t going to do that.

Then a voice called out. A merry, jovial voice I wasn’t used to, because I was used to nothing but criticism from him.

“Is this the wench you have brought me?”

Oh, Jesus Christ.

Eight

There stood Simon in full pirate regalia. But I couldn’t call him Simon, of course. No one took this Faire more seriously than he did, so God forbid I fuck it up for him. Captain Ian Blackthorne. Pirate.

I was still getting used to this abrupt shift in Simon’s character. He wasn’t giving me his usual glare, or waiting to pounce and criticize me for something I’d done wrong. Instead he wore his Hot Pirate smile, which both dazzled me and propelled me forward. I remembered my etiquette just in time; pirates were roughly the same place in the hierarchy as tavern wenches, but women still gave deference. So I stopped in front of him and dropped into a practiced curtsy. I kept my eyes aimed at the ground, and the silver buckles on his boots winked at me as he stepped closer.

His outstretched hand appeared before my downcast eyes, and I looked up as he bowed slightly before me, as if we were in a dance. I rested my hand in his as I rose back to my feet. But he didn’t let go. Instead, he held my gaze and brushed his lips across the back of my hand. I felt the contact as a jolt through my entire body, and every instinct told me to snatch my hand back. But I kept my composure; I hadn’t taken three semesters of theatre courses for nothing. I could stay in character, even when noticing that this close, Simon’s brown eyes were actually hazel; there were flecks of gold and green in them I had never noticed before.

“Captain Blackthorne.” I quirked my lips in a smile that told him I’d play along, but I wouldn’t make this easy on him. “I was told you sent for me? What is your will?”

Simon—no, in my mind now he was Captain Blackthorne, because Simon never looked this cheerful or laughed this easily—let my hand fall from his grasp and chucked me under the chin. If he’d tried that move at a bar, he would have earned a slap in about two seconds. But out here, with the sunlight filtering through the trees, I wasn’t looking at the guy who had been a pain in my ass since the middle of May. Out here, I was looking at a pirate, all black leather and open shirt, with kohl smeared around his eyes, giving them a hooded bedroom look. Out here, the sun threw those glints of red in his brown hair, which matched the closely trimmed beard. To my utter shock, that same sun glanced off a silver hoop dangling from one ear.

This pirate was doing things to me I didn’t want to admit to anyone. Least of all him. Or me.

At that point the Queen spoke, and we all fell in line. Ladies-in-waiting bustled around those of us who were being handfasted. With the two sets of patrons, Mitch and his girl, and Simon and me, we made four couples. I could see now it looked better to have cast members playing along, so the patrons wouldn’t feel awkward or singled out. We made a comfortable crowd this way.

One of the ladies-in-waiting took my hand and put it in Simon’s. His hand closed around mine, warm and dry despite the heat of midsummer. I’d held hands with my share of guys over the years; this certainly wasn’t a new experience. But this was the first time I’d felt this: a sense of peace. Of protectiveness. The sense that this was the guy, and he was going to take care of me.

Take care of me? What century was my mind in, anyway? Maybe I was getting a little too into character.

“Groom and Bride,” the Queen began, and my eyes widened. I hadn’t heard Chris speak yet in character, and it was astounding. Her voice was deep and commanding. This was not a woman to laugh and share coffee with you. “I bid you look into each other’s eyes.” Her gaze flicked to each of us four couples in turn, to make sure we followed her command. “Will you honor and respect one another and seek to never break that honor?”

I looked up at my fake betrothed with what had to be horror. It was probably being called a bride and groom that did it, but this was all sounding far too real. Too official. But he stayed in character, regarding me with an affectionate smile as though we’d known each other for years. In the silence that followed, I realized we were supposed to speak.

“Aye.” My voice came out scratchy, thick. I cleared my throat and tried again. “Aye.” It was an easy thing to promise, after all. I may not like the guy much, but honor and respect? I could give him that. I knew how important this Faire was to him, and even though he got on my nerves I certainly didn’t want to do anything to make his life harder.

“Aye.” His response was firm, casual, almost amused. Did pirates honor and respect anyone but themselves? Gold, maybe? Rum? I made a mental note to ask him later.

“And so the first binding is made.” The lady-in-waiting in front of each of us couples wound a golden cord around our joined hands, tying them together loosely. I could pull my hand out of his easily and break the connection. I should want to do that. But I didn’t move.

“Will you share each other’s pain, and seek to ease it?”

“Ummm.” I glanced up at him again, but he immediately answered with a firm “aye,” and so I did the same. Again, this wasn’t such a terrible thing to promise, was it? That was a normal thing any nice person would do. Share pain, seek to ease it. I thought about the day I’d run into Simon here in the woods, the pain on his face. The memorial to his brother. I hadn’t talked to him about that, told him Chris had filled me in a little on his past. Maybe I should.

“And so the second binding is made.” Another loop around our hands, and he tightened his hand a little around mine. I squeezed back, but I had no idea why. In this moment, I felt closer to this guy dressed as a pirate than I’d ever felt to Jake. And I’d dropped out of college for Jake. I’d worked two jobs while Jake went to law school.

“Will you share the burdens of each, so your spirits may grow in this union?”

Sure, my smart-assed self wanted to respond. Why not. But it was a defense mechanism. This was getting more personal now. I couldn’t laugh this off as something I’d promise any guy on the street. Now our union was being brought into this. My union. With a guy wearing leather pants who I barely knew and didn’t really like. But he agreed with an “aye,” his voice solid and sure, and what kind of asshole would I be if I didn’t do the same?

“And so the third binding is made.” Another loop. We were well and truly bound together now, the gold cord practically covering our hands up to our wrists. Pulling away from him would prove difficult, so I didn’t even consider it. Worse, I didn’t want to consider it.

“Bride and Groom, as your hands are bound together now”—the Queen took her time and looked at each of us joined couples—“so your lives and spirits are joined in a union of love and trust.” Mitch smirked and his girl barely stifled a giggle; I kind of wanted to kick them for not taking this seriously.

“Above you are the stars and below you is the earth.” The two sets of plain-dressed patrons in between us only had eyes for each other, and when I looked at them I could see how affecting this ceremony could be for people who were deeply in love. Were they remembering their own weddings? Were these vows a reaffirmation?

“Like the stars, your love should be a constant source of light, and like the earth, a firm foundation from which to grow.”

Then there was Simon and me. Captain Ian Blackthorne the pirate and Emma the tavern wench. The words were beautiful, but man, were they wasted on us.

“You are hereby bound for a year and a day,” the Queen proclaimed. “At the end of this time, should you wish to remain so bound, you must appear before me and state your intention to remain so. Otherwise, at the end of that time you may go your separate ways.”