Chapter 1
Jenna
Sometimes there was no other word to describe my life besides absurd. It’s a good word, actually. It rolled off the tongue easily. Sounded better when you said it aloud than when you heard it in your mind. And sometimes, in the middle of a situation where you’re outside of your own body looking at events taking place around you, it just fit so well.
That was the word that popped into my mind that sweltering Saturday morning in March. I sat in the front row of an outdoor amphitheater at a local park watching two grown men in full medieval-style armor hack at each other with long swords. The reflection of the slanted morning sunlight glinted off the metal and stung my eyes as they faced off against each other. The shorter man was Doug, the guy I’d been seeing for the past few months. The tabard draped over his breastplate was brilliant scarlet trimmed with gold. The other man was taller, and though his head was hidden beneath a metal helmet and visor, I knew him to be William Drake.
“Huzzah, Sir William! You can do it!” Shannon called. She was one of a group of women I liked to refer to as his fangirls. William seemed to have obliviously acquired his own little collection, and they alternated between trying to date him and trying to mother him, almost always failing on both counts.
However, he didn’t seem to show much interest in the women in the group, no matter how many times they threw themselves at him. I could see why they did it though. He was, in fact, almost too handsome to be real—tall and strong, with dark hair, a square jaw and excellent bone structure. His features were marred only by a tiny scar across his chin, which only lent ruggedness to his beauty.
Armor clanked as swords crashed against each other with surprising speed. These weren’t padded or wooden swords, the typical weapons of choice for medieval battle reenactments. No, this was the real deal.
The rules of Historical Medieval Recreation Combat—as the formal organization was called—required real but blunted weapons. The injuries, however, could be all too real. Given the way Doug’s left shoulder sagged where William savaged it in the first bout, I was certain he was feeling just how real it was.
Currently, Doug was down by one, and they were fighting the second bout out of three now. I looked on with only mild interest. I had no dog in this fight.
Well no, that wasn’t exactly correct. I had one dog in this fight—Doug. I wanted him to win so that when I broke up with him later today, it wouldn’t be as big a blow to his already enormous ego.
Clang! William’s weapon landed on Doug’s armor, followed by a series of aggressive blows. He appeared to be overwhelming Doug, who clearly had not expected him to be this good. Actually, Doug had said as much to me this morning before the duel. He’d even laughed and made some disparaging remarks about the competition—“who could barely be called that,” he’d sneered.
Doug was an ass sometimes, but that was only part of the reason I was done with him. The winds had changed, and I had that familiar aching feeling that I needed to cut ties and move on. It was my fate to never be tied down, especially by a mediocre relationship.
Behind me, another group of people also cheered for William. They were friends of mine as well and most definitely not fangirls. Mia, one of my best friends, was whooping and hollering over the crowd, and Alejandra, my roommate, had started a chant while clapping in rhythm. “Sir William! Sir William!”
I inhaled a breath and let it go. It would serve Doug right to learn some humility at William’s hands. But I couldn’t really break up with him on the same day he’d been defeated in battle, could I? What would a medieval lady do?
Thank goddess, I’d never actually know the answer to that question. Being a woman of the twenty-first century, I had a lot more choices than that proverbial medieval lady.
Doug straightened after being driven back by William’s blows and began swinging his good arm wildly, causing William to retreat. He cut in at the waist, and when William went to block with his buckler, Doug smashed his own buckler into William’s helmeted face. A perfectly legal move, if an assholish one. Doug was clearly pissed that not only had the “easy competition” wounded him in the shoulder, he’d also won the first bout.
In minutes, the second bout was over, Doug declared the winner by the judge. It was a tie, with one bout to go. The first combatant to score three hits on his opponent would be declared the winner of the final bout and thus, the entire duel.
William and Doug were given a few minutes to catch their breath. With purpose, Doug strode right over to the railing, stopping in front of me. He bowed with a loud clank and then lifted the visor on his helmet. Absurd.
“My lady,” he called, still breathing heavily. “Your favor, if you please.”
I raised my brow. He did not actually believe that my hair ribbon or a scarf would help him, did he? I pressed my lips together when Caitlyn, at my right side, jabbed me in the rib cage with her elbow, giggling. “You lucky wench. Give him something!”
I pulled the ribbon off my head, which promptly caused my long hair to fall over my eyes, and held it, dangling between my thumb and forefinger, toward Doug. He extended his sword, hilt first.
“Tie it around the pommel, my love,” he said again in a loud, sing-songy voice.
Acid filled my stomach at the term of endearment—and at his stupid grandstanding. My cheeks burned in embarrassment. He’d been calling me that for the last few days—loudly, and in public only. It was about fifty percent of the reason that I’d decided to cut and run now instead of later.
My gaze flicked to the other figure in the arena. William had switched out his small, round buckler for a tall shield, which was always used in the third round of a duel. He stood still as a stone as he silently watched us through his lowered face guard.
I rose from my seat and quickly tied the ribbon in a bow around the pommel of Doug’s weapon. Then I sat back down before he got really obnoxious and asked for a kiss or something.
Doug then held up his sword, facing the crowd. A loud cheer erupted. “Louder! We can’t hear you through our helmets.”
William had not moved, and his helmeted head was still aimed in my direction. Disquieted, I demurely clapped my hands, my applause lost in the clamor behind me. People were stamping their feet on the wooden bleachers and whistling. William’s helmeted head swung in the direction of the bleachers, his shield lowering a fraction. Then, he spun and turned his back on the crowd, his head drooping.