The Celtic Knot. Shannon MacLeod

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      The following evening after changing into her ladies gown, Lily returned to the gypsy tents and was greeting by an open-mouthed Beth. “Blimey, yer bleedin’ gorgeous, luvvy,” she said, affecting an outrageous Cockney accent.

      Lily laughed gaily, spinning around to admire her outfit, a gold and rose satin Anne Boleyn replica gown. Dan had instructed her to wait at the gypsy tent. The suitor would be by precisely at seven forty-five and they both would arrive at the center of the market by eight, when the show was scheduled to start.

      She was nervous, but all thoughts of her debut flew away when Ian strode into the tent dressed in a crimson and brocade doublet, a white cuffed shirt unlaced at the throat, tight brown breeches, a long cape and tall boots. Tonight, he had the added accessories of a lethal-looking sword, its scabbard hanging from a doubled leather belt wrapped low around his hips. His gaze swept over her from head to toe, lingering for the briefest moment on the flattering decolletage.

      “You are wondrous fair, my beauty,” he murmured, pressing her fingertips to his lips. He offered his arm. “Wouldst my lady care for a turn about the market?”

      “You’re my ardent suitor?” she exclaimed, dramatically placing both hands over her palpitating heart.

      “Of course I am,” he said with a laugh. “Were you expecting someone else?” He glanced around the tent at the other tarot readers and added in a conspiratorial whisper, “I’d say no, if I were you. If it got out you were surprised it wouldn’t be very good for business, would it?”

      Lily smiled up at him and accepted his arm. “I don’t think I know quite what to expect with you,” she teased.

      After leaving the tent, they meandered down the street toward the market. Night had fallen, bringing with it a cooling breeze that swept through the park and she couldn’t help but be charmed by the magic and romance of it all. “Do you know how to use that thing?” she asked, indicating the sword.

      “Well enough for this,” Ian said. “My dear brother-in-law, yonder monarch, took fencing lessons as a teenager. He taught me so I could help him practice, but when I got better at it than him, he quit.” He laughed then added dryly, “The Irish aren’t very big on fencing. That would be the French.”

      “Um…go Irish?” Lily giggled before regaining her straight face.

      Ian smiled mysteriously. “I haven’t the least intention of losing, milady.”

      They strolled along, stopping at booths here and there, and Lily found it easy to pretend they truly were sworn lovers. Ian’s hand covered hers, tucked away in the crook of his arm, and she didn’t think she imagined the incidental caresses of his long fingers on hers. The park patrons began to follow behind them, anticipating the event to come.

      When they arrived at the market clearing, Ian whispered “Here we go,” as the blond man Lily had seen Ian talking to before approached them.

      The handsome man’s tousled curls brushed the collar of his royal blue and white doublet embroidered with red fleur de lis. He struck a courtly pose, bowing low before her. “Pardonnez-moi, demoiselle.” His voice rang out in a distinct French accent. “I wonder if you would care to enjoy a moonlit stroll through the gardens with me. The flowers, sadly, have all forgotten how to be lovely and surely your great beauty would inspire them to remember, ma chere.” Waggling his eyebrows suggestively, he gave her a rakish grin.

      Ian rolled his eyes heavenward at the outrageous flattery then directed a fierce scowl at his adversary. “The lady has an escort, Sir Renaud, and does not welcome your attentions.”

      Renaud stepped forward to reach for Lily’s arm, but Ian stepped in between them, his eyes narrowing to slits. “I say again, sir, the lady does not welcome your attentions. Nor do I.”

      A ripple of excitement swept through the crowd when Renaud stepped back, whipped out a pair of leather gloves and threw them with a flourish at Ian’s feet. “I challenge you for the lady’s honor,” he said, his voice dripping with disdain.

      Ian scooped up the gloves and flung them back, hitting Renaud squarely in the chest. “I accept your challenge, sirrah.”

      Both men moved to draw their swords. Immediately, trumpets sounded and the crowd parted to let the king and his court through. The two men sank to one knee, and following their lead, Lily dropped into a deep curtsey.

      Dan had no trouble making himself heard over the crowd. He boomed in his deep baritone voice, “What’s this? A duel over a woman? We cannot have our gallant nobles fighting in the streets like common ruffians. To the tournament field!”

      With a loud “Huzzah!” everyone moved toward the center of the park to fill the waiting bleachers of the large jousting field. Ian guided Lily СКАЧАТЬ