Chapter 11
The Faire opened today to perfect weather.
Daisy was so excited she could hardly stand it.
It took place every weekend for almost two whole months.
Since she’d forgotten to call and ask, maybe someone there could look Callan up and would have some contact information for him.
Frankie strained at the leash as they got out of the car, excited about whatever they were doing.
His kilt was back from the cleaners, along with his linen shirt.
Last night he’d polished the worn leather boots and this morning he’d pulled his hair back.
Talk about breathtaking. He looked like he’d stepped off the cover of a steamy romance novel.
She had opted for a long, flowing pale pink sleeveless dress, since it was going to be hot.
Definitely no wool for her, not in this heat.
People were laughing and calling out to each other. Music filled the air and carried the rich smell of roasting meat to them, making Callan inhale deeply.
He was so busy looking around at the colorful tents and vibrant costumes of the Faire-goers that he almost tripped over a little boy.
“Apologies to ye, lad.”
The boy looked up at him. “Are you fighting today?”
Callan shrugged. “Mayhap, we shall see.”
The boy ran to his parents, shrieking, “I met a real highland warrior,” making Callan grin.
“Here we are,” Daisy announced, her voice tinged with a mix of excitement and nervousness as she practically dragged Callan towards the registration area.
She gripped Callan’s arm as they made their way through the crowd, heading straight for the information booth and registration table adorned with fluttering flags and hand-painted signs.
At the table, a cheerful volunteer in a medieval dress with a flower garland in her hair greeted them.
“Welcome to the Faire! How may I assist you on this fine day?” she said, voice as bright as her smile.
Daisy gave the woman her name and took the badge with her name on it, putting it around her neck.
“You’ve got your phone?”
At her nod, the woman smiled. “We’ll text you to let you know which booth needs you first.”
“Thanks.” She leaned forward. “Before we go, could you please check to see if there’s any record of a Callan? Callan Graham. He might have worked here last year or scheduled to work this year?”
The volunteer’s brow furrowed as she turned to the computer, fingers dancing over the keys. Callan stood beside Daisy, his posture tense.
After a few moments of searching, the volunteer looked up, apologetic. “I’m sorry, but there’s no record of a Callan Graham in our system. Sometimes details fall through the cracks, especially with temporary staff or last-minute additions.”
Daisy’s shoulders slumped slightly, a shadow of disappointment crossing her face. She glanced at Callan, trying to mask her concern. “Oh, okay. Thanks for checking.”
Callan placed a hand on her shoulder. “Dinna fash, my memory will return.”
“Come now, let us enjoy the Faire,” Callan said as he gestured towards the crowds. “There’s much to see, and I wish to see it all.”
Daisy nodded, forcing a smile. It was almost as if he wasn’t surprised that he wasn’t listed in the database.
Could Zara be right? Was he somehow taking advantage of her?
But she pushed the worrisome thoughts away, certain everything would work out the way it was supposed to.
The baseball player, Ed, had told her she was like the grasshopper, not the ant, flitting from thing to thing, never worrying about the future.
At the time she’d thought it was a complement, that she was easygoing and free-spirited, but later she realized that he’d meant it as an insult, basically calling her empty-headed and irresponsible.
“You’re right. Come on, I know you’ll want to eat first. Do you remember the enormous turkey legs?”
When he shook his head, she took hold of his hand and led him over to the food court.
After they’d stuffed themselves, they made their way to a makeshift arena where a sword-fighting demonstration was about to begin. The clang of steel echoed through the air as two fighters in elaborate medieval garb bowed to each other and began their choreographed battle.
It was just as fun to watch Callan’s reactions as it was for Daisy to watch the demonstration.
He watched intently, his eyes following every move. “See how the one on the right holds his blade too high?” he murmured to Daisy, pointing discreetly. “Makes him slow to parry a low strike.”
Daisy nodded, half-understanding, half-amused. Maybe his name had gotten lost. The guy certainly knew enough about swords.
As the fighters continued, his observations grew more detailed, discussing foot placement, balance, and the flow of motion, making her mouth drop open.
A big red-headed man who looked like he was in charge stood next to them. When the demonstration ended, he turned to Callan.
“Couldn’t help overhearing,” he said. “You seem to know a great deal about swordplay.” He nodded to Callan, “I’m Evan. I’m in charge of these demonstrations.”
“Callan Graham.” He looked the man over, then nodded respectfully. “Aye, I’ve a wee bit of practice with a blade.”
The man’s grin widened. “Our highlander came down with food poisoning. How would you like to fill in for him? You’d have two demonstrations per day and we’ll cover your meals along with paying you a hundred bucks for each weekend.”
Daisy’s eyes lit up. “Callan, you should totally do it! It sounds like fun, and you’d be amazing.”
She smiled. “Anyway, I’ll be helping the vendors, floating to cover their breaks, so it will give you something to do.” She leaned down and patted Frankie’s head. The dog was busy sniffing the air.
Callan nodded to the man, then frowned. “I … weel, I lost my sword and both my daggers.” His shoulders slumped.
Evan pointed. “See that booth over there? Tell them I sent you. They’ll loan you blades.”
Before Callan protested, he added. “Some of these finance type guys who couldn’t wield a blade if their lives depended on it pay a lot of money for the swords used in the demonstrations. I’ll be able to sell whatever blade touches your hand, of that I have no doubt.”
“Then we have a bargain.” Callan nodded.
Evan added. “If you want to make a couple of hundred more, there’s also a spot open for helping with security around the Faire. Nothing too strenuous, but it helps to have someone who knows how to handle themselves, just in case.”
“Aye, I could use the funds,” Callan said.
“Excellent!” The man clapped him on the shoulder, leading him towards the booth filled with various pieces of armor and weaponry. “Let’s get you outfitted, then. Welcome aboard!”
As Callan followed, he turned to give Daisy a reassuring nod. She smiled at him, glad he was going to work at the Faire. Maybe, just maybe, doing this would jar his memories loose.
Callan found he enjoyed the Renaissance Faire, both the sword-fighting, and making sure all was well with everyone attending the Faire.
When Daisy went to relieve a couple who painted landscapes and battle scenes so they could take a break and eat, he visited a fortune teller, but she could not aid him. The woman laughed and said he was good at staying in character.
With no idea how to return to his own time, Callan had to confront the possibility that he would remain in this time, never to see his brother again.
The only thing he thought of was that there had been a terrible storm on Samhain. Did he require a storm? Or mayhap he would have to wait until Samhain? Perchance it might be the two together?
Nay, he would not think on it now, for it made his head ache.
“Callan? You’re up next.”
He nodded to a blond man who called himself Sven and said he was a viking.
As he adjusted the weight of the sparring broadsword in his hand, a fellow volunteer, an older man named Tom, approached. The man bore a weary gaze that spoke of hard times. He said he had worked the Faire every year for the past four years.
“You handle that blade like it’s a part of you.” Tom narrowed his gaze. “Almost as if you grew up fighting with swords.”
Callan shrugged, a faint smile touching his lips as he tested the sword’s balance. “Aye, I’ve spent a bit of time with a blade.”
Tom’s interest piqued. He leaned against a nearby table, arms crossed. “Military?”
“Something like that,” he replied cryptically, the memory of the mercenaries filled his thoughts.
When the demonstration began, he stepped into the arena, his movements fluid and precise, instead of the more theatrical flourishes of his opponent. The crowd cheered when he disarmed his opponent with a practiced flick of his wrist.
When he glanced over, he saw Daisy watching, a frown on her face, almost as if she knew.
After the demonstration, he looked for her in the crowd, but she was gone, likely to help another merchant.
Tom walked with him to the security tent, their words easy.
“Where did you learn to fight like that?”
Callan shrugged, his gaze distant. “’Twas a necessity where I come from.”
Tom nodded. “Well, you’ve got a gift. Ever think of teaching? I heard Evan talking about you. Pretty sure he’d hire you to train the fighters, make them look more convincing.”
Callan considered the offer. Training others would allow him to make his own way. Mayhap he could try again at Samhain. ’Twas five months from now, but all he had was time. “I will speak with him,” he said after a moment.
As the day wore on, the Faire culminated each evening with a dance. Strings of lanterns cast a warm glow over the gathering as music filled the air.
Daisy, who had been floating from booth to booth all day, appeared, smiling at him. Her presence calling to him from the darkness.
He crossed the floor to her, a tentative smile playing on his lips. “Dance with me, lass?” he extended his hand.