Love is a Battlefield: Games of Love, Book 1 (30 page)

But something was missing—and he knew damn well what, or rather, who, that was.

It was funny. If someone had asked him a few weeks ago how he felt about sharing a campground with that lot of Regency-obsessed women, he would have been full of snide remarks. Now that he was back in his apartment, he actually missed Kate more than he’d ever thought possible. He missed her grumpy frown in the morning. He missed her gallons of bug spray. He missed knowing that even if the two of them weren’t exactly on the same side, she was only a stone’s throw away and game for a fight.

She still is
, he reminded himself. Even after all that had happened between them, she was still game for a fight. He’d had no idea Kate had so much ingenuity inside her. The battle chess was a stroke of genius—for both their sides. They could save face. They could play chess. It was fair all the way around, and it didn’t hurt that chess was one of the many things Harold had taught him. A man’s game, he’d always vowed. All logic and wee phallic chess pieces.

Julian also knew, deep down, that it meant Kate was beginning to understand what the Games meant to him and how important it was that he finish this first. Then they could try all over again. Then maybe they had a chance.

As they pulled into the Renaissance village the next morning in preparation for the chess match, Julian was almost ready to lay down his sword and let the JARRS group have Cornwall Park. The fairgrounds were amazing.

Sherwood Forest, as it was aptly named, sat back from the highway by several miles, and there weren’t any buildings or houses for as far as the eye could see. The Knights of Mayhem owned the space, since the land had been donated years ago, and they’d been building on the site for years. Like a real village, it had started as a small collection of buildings in the center. As the years progressed, it had expanded outward until what they had now was a concentric ring of circles, each containing more specialized vendor stands and performance areas, including a jousting ring and a public square.

To the back of the village there was a large expanse of field which was almost the exact size of the space they used for the Highland Games every year. Except instead of booths or the materials the SHS used, there was an enormous wooden structure Peterson informed him with awe was a real, working trebuchet.

“These people must have a lot of money,” Peterson said, shaking his head. Most of the guys had gathered in this back field, surveying what might very well be their home for this year. Julian tried not to think what that said about his men’s faith in his chess abilities.

“Do you think they’d let us use the trebuchet?” Nick added. “I mean, if we do end up here? We could add a whole new event. Haggis flinging.”

Michael puffed his chest up and boomed a hearty laugh. “Who needs a piece of machinery for that? I fling my haggis whenever I get the chance.”

In all honesty, Julian could easily see them performing here just as well as at Cornwall Park. They were all dressed in full battle mode in their athletic gear—not quite the formal wear they donned for the ceremonies, but kilts in their respective plaids and, for most of them, T-shirts or other clothing that was loose enough to allow them freedom of movement. Michael wore the same Metallica shirt he’d been wearing to the Games for years, and Nick went without one at all, though he’d strapped a pair of leather bandoliers across his bare chest out of respect for the ladies. It held a few dirks that could easily be pulled out for battle. The dirks were his weapon of choice for the game.

It had taken some hashing out, but they’d eventually decided to let the men, or women, as the case may be, determine their own attack moves. Each participant had winning and losing steps planned, and depending on how Julian and Kate—the kings on each team—played the game, they would act out their role accordingly.

“Have you decided the positions yet, Jules? Because I’ll tell you right now, I’m not gonna be a pawn.” McClellan’s arms crossed his chest, and his leg tapped restlessly underneath his kilt. “I want to be a rook, at least. A knight would be even better.”

“You can’t be a knight. Reggie and I are the knights,” interjected another man. Jacob, Julian realized when the man cracked his knuckles ominously.

Julian sighed. The men circling him seemed to be pulsing with some unnamed discontent.

“Well, some of you have to be the pawns,” he said.

“Pawns,” McClellan explained with painstaking slowness, “are for sissies. I’m not going out there to act like a sissy in front of a crowd of people expecting pure manly might.”

Julian gave a low chuckle and shrugged. “Well, Mikey here’s going to be the queen. If he’s not complaining, I don’t see why the rest of you feel justified.”

He was greeted by the obligatory round of guffaws, but Michael coughed before it got too far, raising one of his hands and silencing the crowd like a Biblical figure of old.

“Laugh if you will. But I brought this claymore…”

“A claymore?” Julian asked. “I said you could bring a signature move to the board—not an arsenal. You do know this is a family event?”

Michael waved him off and winked, turning his attention to the other athletes. “I’ll keep it safe, bro. No worries here. Anyway, it’s this Celtic replica my cousin Jennings had lying around. He used to keep it in a glass case with all his other antique crap, but now it’s mine. Queen? Please. No queen would carry this shit.”

He grinned and swung his arms over his head like he was getting ready to toss his hammer. “I’m going to wave it over my head, like this, and then take the other guy out at his knees. Then I’m going to stomp on his neck as he falls to the ground.”

Michael was so earnest in his movements, Julian had to laugh.

“Dude, you’re joking, right? Kate’s team is going to be made up mostly of little old ladies wearing fancy gowns and crying into handkerchiefs. You’re going to pretend to snap a grandma’s neck with your steel-toed boots? In front of her whole family?”

Michael shrugged good-naturedly. “Well, it is battle chess. We have to put on something of a show. Give the people their money’s worth.”

Julian imagined the shocked look on Kate’s face when he brought his men in full Highland dress, a mixture of authentic weapons and replicas in their hands. This was her idea, but he was really warming to it. It was going to be great.

He nodded his consent. “See, McClellan? Why don’t you use your hammer and improv it? I’m sure you’ll think of something awesome. In the heat of battle and all.”

“Be the pawn,” McClellan nodded, considering the plan. “The pawn with the shot put. Or a caber. All right, Jules. I’ll do it. But if you sacrifice me to one of those old ladies and I have to go down on the end of a knitting needle, you’re going to owe me. Big time.”

As if on cue, the town crier came running past them, a blur of blue velvet and heraldic embroidery, calling out the hour and announcing the commencement of the live battle-chess match.

“Men, to your weapons,” Julian called, getting into the spirit of it. “We’re wanted on the field.”

“Wait,” Michael called, holding up a hand. “We need to discuss one last thing.”

Julian forced a patient look on his face. “We don’t want to miss this, Mikey. It’s kind of a big deal.”

“The shorts.”

“What shorts?” Julian was instantly wary.

“You know what shorts I mean, Jules.” Michael looked around the group of men, all of them sharing knowing looks Julian wished he could ignore. “I think we need to show these people what being a Scottish athlete is all about.”

He reached under his kilt and pulled down his boxer shorts with a flourish, but they caught on his heavy work boots, and he ended up standing there with them pooled around his feet. It didn’t seem to matter to him.

“Let’s do this old-school style,” Michael announced, nodding his head knowingly and admiring his own underwear.

No way. Not at a public venue. Not with reporters coming. Not when every single member of the Knights of Mayhem and the Jane Austen Regency Re-Enactment Society had invited their extended families.

“Let’s vote on it!” one of the other men cried.

“A vote!”

Julian prided himself on his leadership abilities and his skill at calling men into line. But when every single hand except his shot up with a hearty roar, he realized this was one area in which he had no authority.

“All right, guys, you win. Let’s do this.”

It was go full commando or go home.

The Scottish team moved as one toward the throne tower at the center of the village.

In the first ring outside the center, there were mostly vendor booths and displays. An apothecary stand had several ropes hanging from the beams across the top. From the looks of it, there were garlic bulbs, dried herbs and various soaps for sale.

Taverns were there too, windowless buildings that smelled of yeast and hops. There was also a clothing shop, which featured everything from New Age jewelry to more authentic costume items, though it looked to be closed up for the battle-chess event. Two outdoor cookeries were visible, one boasting an open fire pit, the other a brick-like oven from which the smell of roasting meat could already be detected. A fortune teller’s tent and a blacksmith’s shop filled the rest of the space, which would have been really cool except it contained a wall of weapons very clearly marked NOT FOR SALE.

The outer circle of the village contained the entertainment district. Julian hadn’t had a chance to walk the entire perimeter yet, but he knew it had a longhouse, a mud pit, the battle-chess board, an open-air theater and various carnival games—all of which had been opened for the event and were crowded with people.

It was amazing that all this had come together in just days. Julian tried not to think what that meant in the grand scheme of things, that when people worked together rather than locking in head-to-head battle right from the start, they could accomplish almost anything. He and Kate had wasted an awful lot of time—time that could have been better spent locking something else entirely.

That was going to change. Starting right now.

Julian took his place at the left end of the chess grounds, a series of squares painted onto a giant wood platform in a familiar alternating pattern of black and white. Stuart had arranged to borrow a set of portable bleachers from a local high school, and they’d been delivered and installed the night before. The seats were already packed with spectators, many of whom were topped by foam crowns and waving giant foam maces. Stalls had been set up on either side of the chess board, and beer wenches were selling their wares with cheer.

Despite his outward calm, the number of people in the audience set him back. The number
and
the variety. Close to two hundred people were there already, anxiously awaiting the battle like it was ancient Rome and the Colosseum was the only entertainment across three continents. The game didn’t even start for another half hour, and more people were pouring in the gates, handing over ten dollars a ticket to see the spectacle.

Their costumes were incredible, to say the least. He’d thought his group was pretty authentic in their kilts, but they had nothing on the rest of the people there. The Renaissance folk were everywhere, men in their signature tights and women in hot, heavy dresses that must have been uncomfortable in the muggy August heat. A few ladies in lighter gowns—most likely Kate’s people—milled about with fans and lace.

And breasts—oh, the breasts. It seemed no woman’s costume, Renaissance, Regency or anywhere in between, was complete without a low-cut neckline that seemed to defy both gravity and anatomy. Perfectly rounded mounds of flesh appeared everywhere they turned, femininity on display for the entire world to see and appreciate.

Michael and Peterson took in the sights with a calm, knowing air, but Nick looked about to pass out from the glory of it all.

“Julian?” It was Kate’s voice. Tentative. Unsure.

He turned. “Kate.”

Admirably, he kept his gaze on her face, even though a quick glance indicated she hadn’t been the exception to the dress code of the day, her breasts rising out of a delicate white gown, quivering with each breath she took. It was similar to what the other Regency ladies wore, a light ivory dress that was tight across the chest but fell all the way down to the ground, gently flowing over the curves of her hips. The dress was long enough that she had to loop the train over one of her arms, and Julian could see the tips of a pair of white satin shoes underneath.

From a fabric yardage standpoint, it should have been a modest dress.

It wasn’t.

And while he could have spent all day examining the cut of her gown and the lines of her body underneath it, he knew the sudden pounding in his chest had more to do with simply being here with her. It was the first time he was seeing Kate on her own turf, so to speak, dressed up in the costume that gave her purpose and meaning in the same way his kilt did for him.

Her own restraint proved much weaker than his. Her eyes, sparkling amber, roamed every inch of him, from the tips of his heavy combat boots to the fitted black button-down shirt he’d donned for the occasion.

She chewed her lip thoughtfully, and Julian relaxed even more. Reading this woman was like reading a book. No, it was like reading a
Playboy
magazine. Every one of her erotic thoughts flickered in her eyes and in her full lower lip.