An Unexpected Renaissance

©Erin Dutton 2006

Madison lifted the heavy skirts of her period costume as she made her way toward the arena. She cursed the corset that made it even harder to breathe beneath the scorching afternoon sun. Glancing down, she had to admit that though it was restrictive, the corset displayed her rather modest breasts nicely. For perhaps the first time, she had cleavage. She smiled to herself—there was one good thing about agreeing to be part of this nonsense.

She reached the arena with plenty of time to spare. Careful not to trip over her hem, she mounted the stairs slowly and settled into the large ornately carved throne.

“My liege.” She inclined her head respectfully to the man already seated beside her. Meeting his eyes, she returned his amused grin.

“Very funny.” He covered her hand briefly with his. “Nancy told me to thank you for standing in for her.”

When he turned to look back over the arena, Madison studied him. With his thick brown hair and classic features Kevin looked very much the part of King Reginald. His wife, Nancy, was supposed to play the part of his queen, Melissande, at the Renaissance Faire when she had suddenly become ill. They had called Madison the day before and begged her to stand in. She was no match for her friends when they both got on the phone together. She argued she had nothing to wear. They said she could wear Nancy’s dress since they were both the same size. She argued that she wouldn’t know what to say, and there was no way she could affect a believable English accent. They said she didn’t need to say a thing. She could simply sit on the throne and smile. Kevin would do the talking. It had gone back and forth like this until she ran out of excuses and had to give in.

“What are we watching today?” she asked leaning closer to him.

“Sword fighting first, and then the joust.”

Madison laughed at the excitement in his voice. Kevin had been looking forward to the joust all week, so much so that he had little patience for the many events that had been taking place up to that point.

“You guys did an amazing job with the arena.”

“Thanks.”

It was hard to believe that a few weeks ago the arena had been an empty field generously donated by a local farmer for the festival. In addition to playing the King, Kevin headed up the crew that had transformed the field. They had built tall fences of rough-hewn logs and carved dramatic looking points on the tips of each one. Every few feet flagpoles were attached to the top flying colorful flags that snapped in the wind. The necessary rail had been constructed through the center of the arena for the jousting competition. And on the right side a circle had been chalked in the dirt indicating the sword-fighting ring.

The crowd continued to trickle in and settle into the bleachers carrying turkey legs and large steins of lemonade or beer. The announcer drew their attention to the ring where the next event would take place. Madison shifted her attention to the two figures standing at the edge of the ring. Each was flanked by an attendant who held their swords. The first was announced as Sir Nicholas Drake. Madison knew that the Sir Drake was portrayed by Abe Kingston, a friend of Kevin’s. Drake’s competitor was Sir Grayson Finlay. Sir Finlay stepped into the ring. Drawing himself up to his full height he was still at least three inches shorter than Drake. It was difficult to accurately judge their physiques beneath the gleaming metal of their armor, but it was clear that Finlay was outsized. Both men wore similar armor. Their helmets left only a narrow space for them to see out.

“Who’s playing Finlay?” Madison whispered to Kevin.

“I don’t know. Nancy did the auditions for the swords.”

Madison didn’t have a chance to probe any further before two swords clanged together. The warriors danced around each other, alternately striking sweeping blows in what seemed to be a carefully choreographed battle.

Soon, Sir Drake had an opening and Madison tensed, thinking surely he would go in for the kill and end the match. She was confused when Drake retreated several steps. Sir Finlay reacted quickly, almost angrily. The broad swing of his sword seemed to defy gravity and his slight build, cutting through the air with amazing power and speed. The blow caught Drake on top of his right shoulder. He staggered several steps to the left and fell to one knee. He scrambled quickly back to his feet and his head snapped up. The two warriors appeared to be staring each other down. There was a moment when both men were frozen there before springing back into action. Neither man seemed to be holding back now as Madison swore she could see the vibrations from the impact of their weapons radiate up their arms.

For several more exhausting minutes they fought, though it was quickly becoming clear that Finlay had the upper hand. Drake was tiring visibly as his thrusts grew slower and he spent more time deflecting blows with the small shield strapped to his left arm. The next time Finlay drove him to his knees, he did not rise, instead bowing his head in surrender.

Finlay stood victorious, with his arms raised, in the center of the ring before turning to nod respectfully at his opponent. He handed his sword to his attendant and headed for the tents. Madison could not take her eyes off the retreating form of Sir Grayson Finlay. She knew he must be exhausted after the battle she’d just witnessed but his shoulders did not droop an inch as he walked across the field and out of the arena.

“I’ll be right back,” she said, touching Kevin’s forearm and rising from her throne.

“The joust starts in fifteen minutes. You have to be here for that,” Kevin urged. All day long he had been telling her how important the joust was. The pageantry involved would be greater than any other event and it was important that they be present on their thrones.

“I have plenty of time,” she assured him trying not to hurry down the stairs.

She didn’t think about what she would say, or why she felt compelled to follow as she once again picked up her skirts and trudged across the field. Forgetting her role for a second she was caught off guard by the bows of several costumed performers as she strode by them.

She pushed aside the canvas flap, stepped inside the tent and paused to allow a second for her eyes to adjust to the dim interior. Finlay stood with his back to her. He had removed his helmet and his thick dark hair was damp with sweat and curled at the base of his neck. He unclipped the shoulders of his armor and pulled it from his torso. Madison took in broad shoulders, a strong back and a narrower waist than she expected.

“Sir Grayson Finlay, I presume,” Madison called out, deciding as soon as she said it that all this medieval play was going to her head.

The knight turned in the midst of removing the deep green tunic to reveal a white undershirt. Madison gasped. The form-fitting undershirt was made more so by the moisture that plastered it to the warrior’s body leaving little doubt that the victorious knight was not a “sir” at all. Finlay’s eyes swept over her and recognition dawned.

“Your majesty,” the knight greeted her with a deep bow.

“I—uh—I’m sorry. You’re…” Madison trailed off. Suddenly she thought she understood why Drake had hesitated and why Finlay had reacted in anger. Though, she was completely at a loss as to how to explain her own reaction. Her heartbeat tripped and a flush rose up her neck.

Finlay stood and met her gaze. Dark eyes studied her as if trying to discern the thoughts racing through her head.

“Grayson Sabatini,” she introduced herself. “Grayson is my real first name, but Sabatini didn’t sound like a proper name for an English knight.”

Grayson’s given last name shed some light on the origin of the smooth olive skin that was still glistening with a slick sheen of sweat.

“Finlay?” Madison was suddenly obsessed with a vision of herself licking the sheen from the strong line of Grayson’s jaw.

“It means fair hero.”

It fit her.

The knight still studied her intently.

“When you followed me in here you thought I was a man.” Grayson stalked across the room with surprising grace considering the armor plates still fastened to her thighs and shins.

“M-my intention was to congratulate you on your victory.” Inwardly Madison cursed the stutter she was unable to suppress.

Stopping only inches from her, Grayson raked her eyes down Madison’s body lingering for a moment on her cleavage. “And what, my lady, are your intentions now?” Grayson leered cocking an eyebrow.

Madison’s breath hitched as Grayson reached out to lightly run a finger along her collarbone and then dipped dangerously close to her cleavage. Madison was unable to respond. Grayson’s eyes met hers and the flash of lust that burned in them left little doubt as to what Grayson intended. A twinge of pleasure twisted low in Madison’s stomach.

She leaned unconsciously closer, close enough to watch a drop of sweat trace a path down the side of Grayson’s neck and toward the edge of her t-shirt. Madison resisted the urge to catch it, her fingers curling into a fist with the effort of her restraint. Despite Madison’s silence, Grayson read the interest in her eyes.

“So, our beautiful queen has a thing for knights.” It was not a question but a statement made with more than a touch of arrogance. “I wonder what His Majesty would think.”

“No, Kevin is—” Madison’s mind was still firmly attached to reality and she began to argue that Kevin was happily married when something in Grayson’s eyes stopped her. The warrior was slipping back into character and her expression entreated Madison to play along. And, she found, she very much wanted to do just that.

“Well, actually,” Madison cleared her throat and put on what she hoped was a regal air. “It has been quite some time since I was, ah, satisfied by Reginald’s attentions.”

“And you think I can remedy that for you?” Grayson leaned her palm against the table beside her, testing its strength. She glanced at Madison as if guessing her weight and then went back to testing the table. It was clear what she had in mind.

Madison’s heart rate jumped so quickly that she was sure Grayson could see it pulsing at her jugular.

“If you did, I would certainly find it even more impressive than your feat in the ring earlier.”

Grayson methodically removed the armor pieces from the tabletop and placed them on the floor. When the surface was bare she turned to Madison, encircling her waist with strong hands.

“So you found my performance in the ring impressive?” Grayson pressed her lips to the side of Madison’s neck just below her ear.

“Yes. You were quite powerful.” Madison was enjoying playing the fair maiden.

“I would have been even more so had I known I was fighting for such a desirable prize.” She traced a warm moist path along Madison’s throat, making it difficult for her to stay in character.

She did not miss the possessiveness in Grayson’s tone nor the tightening of the hands around the already too tight corset. She hadn’t expected the surge of arousal that accompanied this display of power.

“I don’t have much time. My absence will be noticed,” Madison managed.

Grayson’s mouth was doing amazing things to her sensitive skin, and she desperately wanted to feel those lips against hers. Tangling her hands in Grayson’s damp hair, Madison tugged her head around until she could close her teeth over her lower lip.

Grayson backed up, dragging Madison with her, and pushed her against the edge of the table. She lifted Madison off her feet and deposited her on the table. Caught off guard, Madison clutched at her shoulders.

She couldn’t help but giggle when Grayson pushed up her skirt only to reveal another layer, and then another.

“How many skirts are you wearing?” Grayson grumbled, finally sorting through them to find her legs clad in yet another layer of underthings.

“Unfortunately quite a few and there are names for every one of them though I don’t have a clue what they are.” Madison admitted her ignorance regarding the costume she’d been forced into.

Grayson’s mouth returned to hers. She kissed Madison with all the confidence and control that she had exerted in the fighting ring. Her tongue traced Madison’s lips seeking entrance and chased any rational thought from her head. Lord but this woman can kiss, Madison thought. She led and Madison willingly followed.

Madison gasped as Grayson yanked away the final cotton layer and her fingers touched silk.

“Mmmm…I didn’t know they had Victoria’s Secret in the 15^th Century,” Grayson moaned against her lips.

Madison nodded, barely having heard what she said. She knew only that the vibration of Grayson’s throaty voice against her lips set off other wonderful reactions in her body. Her head spun and she was fairly certain Grayson could now feel the wetness soaking through the silk that her fingers were playing lightly against.

Grayson continued to tease her through the fabric until Madison didn’t think she could stand any more. When Grayson’s mouth drifted to her earlobe, Madison cupped her jaw firmly and pulled her mouth back. Grayson’s tongue entered her mouth at precisely the moment that she pushed aside the scrap of silk. Madison moaned as Grayson’s thrusting tongue echoed the motion of her fingers.

Grayson tore her mouth from Madison’s with a groan.

“You feel so good…so wet.”

“Oh God, Grayson, please.”

“What do you want? What is it that he doesn’t do for you?”

Lost in a fog of sensation, Madison had no idea how Grayson could keep up their charade. She would have been hard pressed to string together a sentence let alone remember that she was supposed to be royalty.

“Your mouth,” Madison demanded. “I need your mouth.”

Grayson dropped obediently to her knees. She pushed Madison’s thighs apart and, barely giving Madison’s brain time to catch up, she pressed her mouth to her. Madison’s hips jerked and she leaned back to brace herself on one arm.

With Madison’s other hand fisted in her hair, Grayson’s tongue possessed her, first circling, then entering and then pulling back to apply the sweetest of suction to her clitoris. When Madison’s fingers tightened and she thrust her hips in an effort to get just a little more from her, Grayson slowed. Several times she brought Madison right to the edge, refusing to push her over.

“Please…there, please.” Madison was begging and panting but she was beyond caring. She simultaneously needed for Grayson to put an end to the exquisite torture and to never stop touching her.

The next time Madison hovered on the precipice Grayson didn’t back off. She pulled Madison’s clitoris between her lips one final time while sliding two fingers inside of her. Madison came quickly, shuddering and rasping Grayson’s name.

She had barely a second to enjoy the afterglow. In fact, Grayson was still extricating herself from beneath Madison’s skirts when she heard the sound of trumpets in the distance.

“Shit! The joust! I’m late!” Madison exclaimed.

She scrambled off the table and struggled to right her clothing. Grayson turned her back to rifle through a backpack on the floor. Only after Madison was certain her appearance was passable did she look up. Grayson was smiling shyly at her, but Madison couldn’t read the expression in her eyes.

She grasped Madison’s hand and, lifting it, pressed a tender kiss to the inside of her wrist.

“Go. Your absence will be noticed.” She placed a card in Madison’s hand and closed her fingers around it.

Madison nodded. As she pushed aside the tent flap she turned back to look at Grayson over her shoulder.

It was a pleasure, Sir Finlay,” she purred.

Grayson grinned. “The pleasure was mine.”

Minutes later she tried to slide unobtrusively into her seat next to Kevin. He glanced over at her and his eyebrows drew together as he took in her slightly disheveled appearance. He didn’t say a word.

As the first pair of knights started their horses charging across the arena, Madison opened her hand. She smiled as she read the business card in her hand. Grayson Sabatini, Attorney at Law.