Love is a Battlefield: Games of Love, Book 1 (29 page)

“Thank you for this. I promise it’s nothing bad. In fact…I think it might make things a lot easier. On both of us.”

He hung up the phone, blowing out a long breath he didn’t know he’d been holding, and caught a glimpse of himself in the endless array of mirrors. The man looking back at him was one he recognized from years of Highland Games, a man who didn’t do anything the easy way unless he had to.

But right now, easy seemed like a pretty nice alternative.

Kate sat at a table at the fairground meeting hall with Lady Lovelace, Anne and a few representatives from the Renaissance re-enactment group, including Naomi, who seemed to have so much energy she couldn’t sit still for five minutes at a time.

As Naomi had promised, the Knights of Mayhem had a permanent structure on several acres of wooded land—a venue that put anything Julian or Kate dreamed of to shame. Throughout their twenty years as an organization, they’d replicated an entire old English village, right down to free-range peacocks and taverns that served home-brewed ale. While the accuracy might have been a little off, both Naomi and Stuart, the man in charge, assured them they could move either the JARRS or the SHS venue in at the last minute and still remain somewhat true to their respective eras.

“I don’t know,” Lady Lovelace waffled, tapping her fingers on the table.

Kate and Anne shared a glance. The entire drive to the meeting, they’d been heralded with Lady Lovelace’s exact thoughts on the Renaissance Fair. The thoughts were not, despite the Knights’ generous offer, very favorable.

“Historical re-enactment at its worst.” Lady Lovelace sighed. “A pulsing orgy of breasts and shafts.”

Looking around the room, the walls covered with photographs of previous fairs, Kate could see where she got that impression. Wenches and knights were there in abundance, complete with breasts and shafts. But even though there were a few images of parties in full swing, Kate would hardly call them
orgies
. She doubted Lady Lovelace knew what that word meant outside of 1815 England.

“We’re trying to set ourselves up as an academic society,” Lady Lovelace explained. “This just all seems so…campy.”’’

“We understand that, Mrs. Lovelace,” said Stuart. He was a short man but a powerful one, despite a soft-spoken voice. Naomi told Kate he was the one who took on the role of the monarch in their weekend re-enactments, and she could see why. He was one of those people with so much inherent kindness that doing anything to upset him just seemed cruel.

“Lady,” she corrected snidely. Apparently Lady Lovelace didn’t agree with Kate’s assessment.

“Lady Lovelace. I apologize.” He smiled and laid a hand over hers. “The truth is that we need you and the publicity you can bring in. People aren’t into historical preservation like they used to be, but this plan of yours might be enough to save us all. I can’t tell you how much it would mean to us.”

Lady Lovelace sat up a little. “That is true. We can bring you something no one else can.”

The Scots, that’s what.
Kate was more than happy to let Lady Lovelace assume she’d devised the whole plan, but the truth was that none of this would work if Julian and his men failed to show up. She should have explained herself more clearly over the phone. She should have let him know that this was to help them both—that she was making one last attempt to reach out.

But even that might not have been enough.

She slunk to the bottom of her chair, doing her best not to steal a quick peek at her watch. The last time she checked, they were ten minutes late.
They weren’t coming.

“Speaking of that, ah, do we have any idea when the opposition will get here?” Stuart asked, looking to Kate. She shook her head mutely but was saved from responding by the sound of heavy footsteps drawing up to the doorway.

It was a sound that could only belong to several oversized men clomping their way through the halls. Kate had never heard anything so wonderful in her entire life.

“I hope we’re not too late.” Julian’s voice was strong as he came through the doorway, leading his men, all of them full of swagger and self-supremacy. Kate felt her entire body rising up in her seat at the sight of so much unquestionable male confidence. Even if Julian refused to actually look at her.

“You must be the Scottish battalion,” Stuart said, beaming. He gestured widely. “Come in. Sit down, sit down. We’ve been waiting for you.”

Stuart reminded Kate very much of a magnanimous king welcoming his prodigal knights. Julian chose the seat directly across from her, even though he had yet to acknowledge her sitting there. Michael, Peterson, McClellan and Nick followed suit. They dwarfed and outnumbered them all, and only Naomi and Anne seemed to appreciate them as they were due.

It had only been a few days since Kate had seen Julian last, but she felt immediately warmer just being in his presence. He was dressed simply, as he always was, the stubble across his lower jaw perhaps a bit darker than she remembered. He looked more at ease than he’d been in a long time, perfectly in control of the situation even though there was no way he could have known what was coming.

“We’re not exactly a battalion, but thanks for having us all the same,” Julian said, falling into his role as leader quite naturally. “Now. Does anyone care to tell us what’s going on?”

He finally looked over at Kate, his eyes snapping, one eyebrow raised. All her body heat radiated to the surface, and only Anne’s hand pressing firmly on hers kept her from launching herself over the table to greet him more properly.

“It has been brought to my attention that your two groups are in need of mediation,” Stuart began, his voice soft. “From what I understand, you both want the same venue for the same weekend and are unable to reach a fair consensus. Does this sound about right?”

Kate nodded, watching Julian and the other guys react to the scene. Although Peterson and Michael exchanged glances, Julian didn’t move other than to cross his arms and sit back in his chair. If he was surprised or upset or feeling anything at all, it certainly didn’t appear so on the surface.

Cool and calm and in command, no matter what the situation.

“What I’ve been asked to propose is a final battle between the Scots and the English. One with rules and a fair outcome. Winner takes all—in this case, Cornwall Park and a whole lot of great publicity.”

Lady Lovelace, caught up in the moment, clapped her hands excitedly. “A duel!”

Julian’s jaw clenched—Kate could see the tick of it from across the table. “What kind of a duel?”

“Battle chess,” Stuart said. “Live-action battle chess right here on the Knights of Mayhem fairgrounds.”

Kate had seen a Renaissance group on television do one of them before. The chessboard had been painted on sixty-four giant squares of wood that fit together like a jigsaw puzzle, which the group on the show packed up and took with them all over the country. The queen sat in a throne overlooking the entire board while her opponent stood on the other side. The opponent varied depending on where they were, though it was usually another member of the royalty or even a volunteer from a crowd of historical buffs and overstimulated teenage boys. The pieces, all of whom were part of the show, wore full costume and had both a winning and a losing move choreographed out. The game could last for hours, depending on how elaborate the moves were as each piece fell. Kate’s favorites had been the pawns, dressed up in fool’s garb like a row of little satiny Yoricks.

It was silly, as far as olive branches went. It didn’t make up for Julian turning her down or for Jada filling his tent with snakes. But it was what she had to offer.

Just let it be enough.

Her eyes met Julian’s as the idea exploded throughout the room. Although everyone started talking at once, even Lady Lovelace gurgling with excitement as the challenge was laid out on the table, it felt like it was just the two of them in the room.

“How many reporters are we talking?”

“Great exposure for all of us—”

“An unprecedented number of attendees—”

“I want to carry a battle axe. Do I get to carry a battle axe?”

Julian and Kate remained silent. He looked straight at her, an inquiring lift to one brow, what might have been a smile lurking at the corners of his mouth. She stared back at him, trying to hide the fact that her heart raced in unbidden circles around her chest.

The battle-chess match would involve a lot of people and a lot of last-minute preparation. It required the coordination of all three groups. But in that moment, she needed Julian to know that the challenge was for him alone to accept or deny.

Accept it, Julian,
she wanted to scream.
Accept me.

But she didn’t. If they had any chance at all, this needed to come from him.

“We’ll do it.”

Julian’s words were barely audible among the voices clanging about in the room, but he let them sit there for a moment all the same. By the time everyone caught on, his face had broken into a grin that Kate could feel all the way down to her toes.

“I don’t think you realize it, Kate, but I’m an exceptional chess player.” He inclined his head in a slight bow, and Kate lost all track of the rest of the conversation. Details, dates, times—they were all there, buzzing about and falling into place. But she didn’t hear a thing other than the heavy pounding of her own heart and the roar of blood in her head.

Unless she was very much mistaken, Julian Wallace, the unmovable warrior, had just agreed to meet her halfway.
 

Chapter Sixteen

Battle Cry

“Gareth called again,” his mother announced the moment Julian walked through the front door. “I think it’s important.”

Julian dropped the gym bag he’d been carrying and stepped out of his shoes. Guilt pinged in his stomach, and it was only by focusing all his attention on his feet that he was able to successfully avoid both it and his mother’s eyes at the same time.

Of course he owed Gareth a phone call. He also owed half a dozen calls to other vendors and the crew in charge of setting up the platforms and tents for the Games. He was ignoring them on purpose.

“I’m not feeding you until you give me an explanation.”

Mothers.
They knew just where to hit the hardest. If he didn’t know any better, he’d think she and Kate were in some sort of collaboration to end him.

“It’s not a big deal,” Julian offered, even though it was. Once again, he was losing sight of the things that were supposed to mean the most. “Gareth is probably wondering where he needs to drop off the cabers, and I don’t want to call him back until I know the answer. We’ve got three days until the Games, and right now there’s no place to call home.”

“I thought you fixed that,” Beth said. “Nala said you were going to do some Dungeons and Dragons role-playing stuff to figure it out. Please don’t tell me I have to go, Mom. It’s so embarrassing already.”

Only the top of Beth’s head was visible above the back of the recliner. Julian reached down and gave her hair a quick tussle. “It’s not D&D, brat. It’s chess. Perfectly nerd-free.”

“Is everyone going to be wearing costumes?” she asked, swatting at his hands.

“Of course.”

Beth made a scoffing noise. “Nerd-free, my ass.”

“Elizabeth Wallace, you watch your tongue.”

True to teenage form, Beth grabbed her book and stormed away, muttering something about families and the end to all social aspirations.

“What’s with her lately?” Julian asked as he pulled out his phone and ran over the list of missed calls. Just a few of the reporters he’d contacted about the upcoming chess game and the sheepdog demonstrators, it looked like. Nothing from Rockland Bluff Whisky.

Nothing from Kate.

“She misses you.”

Julian’s whole body tensed until he realized it wasn’t Kate his mother was talking about. She meant Beth. She meant the family. He shoved the phone back into his pocket. “No way. She hasn’t missed me since she was five years old and I moved away from home for the first time.”

“Julian, you are so like your stepfather, sometimes I have a hard time believing you don’t have his blood.”

Julian beamed.

Until his mom swatted him on the head. It stung with reproach. “You’ve been so busy with all your planning and practice, you’ve been a ghost around here. You used to come home to spend time with your family. This year, it’s all about whisky and winning.”

“I come home whenever I can,” Julian protested, knowing it was a weak excuse. “I’m here now, aren’t I? And where’s Beth? Up in her room, as far from me as possible. Nala too. She’s the real ghost around here.”

“The real ghost around here is Harold. Jules, you need to put that man to rest and move on with your life.”

“But—”

“And call Gareth back. I taught you better than that.”

With those words, his mom walked away, leaving him standing once more, alone in the living room. He sank into the couch, head in hands. Things were supposed to be getting better. They had a plan of action for getting Cornwall Park. They had a huge number of news reporters coming out to the battle-chess match, a fact that Rockland Bluff Whisky couldn’t help but notice. Kilroy had become all but invisible over the past few days, and Julian had to assume he was holed up somewhere, doing some last-minute prep work to try to win the Games.