Chapter 7
SEVEN
When Charlie stepped off the elevator into the hotel lobby that morning, still damp from her shower, she stopped.
Viv and Rowan were already in their Ren Faire costumes, and she barely recognized them, even though she'd been there while Gina's friend, Nettie, measured and later fitted them with prosthetic noses and cheeks the day before.
If I can't recognize them, there's no chance anyone else will, either.
That loosened the tight knot in her belly that worried they'd be spotted and harassed. And gave her brain just enough room to think about something else entirely. Like seeing Ben at his forge today.
Stop it. Focus.
So far, the week had been uneventful---no sign of any Caidansworn, no protests, no threatening messages waiting at the hotel desk, not even a lot of chatter on the fan sites.
Do not think easy day, she told herself. Don't jinx this.
They were waiting for her at a table on the outside edge of the lobby bar, in full Ren Faire costumes—which also helped draw attention away from their faces, especially the goofy hat on Rowan’s head.
The two of them were leaning in, staring intently at each other with soft smiles, not saying anything.
If I didn’t suspect it before, I sure do now. Those two are having an affair.
Which was perfectly fine—neither was currently married—and it was none of her business unless it interfered with her ability to protect Viv.
“Hey,” she said to gain their attention. Neither one looked away. Charlie cleared her throat and tried again. “Hello?”
“Oh!” Viv’s head snapped to the side to look at Charlie. Her cheeks turned bright pink as she leaned back.
Charlie clocked the brief disappointment on Rowan’s face as he took in her outfit—no armor or even a wool cloak, just casual street clothes.
She’d decided it was more important to have comfortable, familiar clothing than to try and blend in.
The last thing she needed was to trip over her own costume if Viv were in danger.
“Sir Mariel.” Rowan stood and bowed. “I was hoping you’d conjured some armor to wear.”
Charlie hoped her smile wasn’t too awkward. “I’m afraid Princess Evelaine’s court magician lost his way to my house, so no conjured armor.”
“And you don’t have your father’s battle armor either? How will you avenge him without it?”
Now she was really struggling to keep the disgust off her face.
He’s only teasing. He has no idea my father is nothing like Sir Mariel’s.
Viv saved her. She stood and said, “Rowan, please stop tormenting my bodyguard, would you?”
Charlie forced a laugh. “Are you ready? Or are we waiting for Maddie?”
“I gave her the day off, poor thing. Shopping in Cherry Creek is much more her speed than hanging around us olds at a Ren Faire. She looked relieved when I handed her a company card and told her to go have fun.”
“She’s a BattleLore fan though, right? I’m surprised she didn’t want to come along.” They started walking toward the hotel entrance.
“I think she exaggerates her love for the books.” Rowan held the glass door open for Viv and Charlie. “She’s not fluent in Elven like we are.” He winked at Charlie.
“So where’s your pooch?” Viv asked.
Charlie’s heart squeezed. “I wish I could have brought Flo, but dogs aren’t allowed in.
I was told they upset the elephants.” It just figured she couldn’t bring Flo with her on her first detail after getting her.
Instead, Flo was spending the day back at the Watchdog kennels.
Charlie hoped she didn’t think she’d been rejected and sent back.
Even if she hadn’t worked out—and she had because Flo was the best dog ever—Charlie would have begged to adopt Flo.
Her apartment finally felt like a home now that she had someone to share it with.
“This way.” Charlie led them to one of the unmarked white SUVs Watchdog used when their clients needed to stay incognito. It was parked with its hazard lights on under the porte-cochère.
Rowan opened the passenger side door for Viv before Charlie could, then let himself into the back. Charlie got in and pulled into downtown Denver traffic. The Ren Faire was a forty-five minute drive away.
Viv pestered Rowan the entire time.
“You won’t even give me a hint who this surprise person is?” She pretended to pout.
“Then it wouldn’t be a surprise, would it?” He sat back in his seat looking totally smug.
“I’m not happy about it, either,” Charlie added. “I don’t like surprises on my watch.”
“Trust me, ladies. you won’t be in any danger.”
It turned out Charlie was in far more danger than Viv when she saw who the surprise was.
I’m going to throttle Shane the next time I see him.
Why the hell hadn’t he mentioned that Ben was a blacksmith at the fucking Renaissance Faire?
For that matter, why didn’t Ben tell her he knew Rowan McCrae? Or that he and Rowan were buddies? They’d been talking about the BattleLore books like two nerds in a pub, and she’d sat there in her office nodding like a fool.
He didn’t tell you for the very same reason you didn’t tell him you were about to guard Viv and Rowan, she thought grimly. Because you wear thicker armor than Sir Mariel’s.
She hated that it was true almost as much as she hated that lately she was starting to notice how heavy the armor had become. Maybe she was tired of hiding inside it, tired of being the one who never let anyone see the soft spots.
No, stop. She needed to be sharp. To stay aware of any danger that might threaten Viv. This was why she didn’t take off her armor. She needed to focus on her job, not on the absurd possibility that some man—no, not some man, a good man—was actually interested in her.
And yet…
As she walked away from his forge, she could feel Ben watching her. She didn’t have to look back to confirm it; the air changed when he focused on her. Heat, weight, tension—like the moment before a storm breaks.
You’re imagining it. Wish-fulfillment, anyone?
The possibility that some drop-dead handsome blacksmith with kind eyes might actually see her?
Not on the list of possibilities in this lifetime.
She was Sir Mariel whether she liked it or not.
Everyone knew it. It was how everyone saw her.
If she was being honest, it was how she saw herself, too—just one of the guys. Competent and cool.
Untouchable. Undesirable.
Still, when they passed the gown hanging outside the costume shop, she hesitated.
Silver and blue silk shimmered in the sunlight, the royal colors of Lady Evelaine’s court.
The dressmaker had probably put it there on purpose—made it in honor of Rowan’s appearance next weekend, hoping to cash in on the popularity of BattleLore. Smart merchandising.
It was also… breathtaking.
Exquisite embroidery stitched in shimmering silver thread glittered like dew on morning grass. The fabric looked like moonlight had been coaxed into silk.
Charlie’s fingers brushed the fabric before she could stop herself.
It was cool and impossibly smooth, the kind of material that didn’t belong to her world of Kevlar and cargo pants.
She imagined what it would feel like against her skin—how it would feel to wear it for someone who thought she was beautiful.
And that little voice inside her whispered again—quiet, persistent, irritatingly tender.
If just for one day… One night… I could take off the armor and be soft. Let someone else protect me for a change.
The thought startled her as much as it tempted her. She snatched her hand back, squared her shoulders, and shoved the softness down where it belonged. The moment passed quickly, and Charlie was back on her guard.
She hadn’t sensed any threats so far, but the day was still young. Luckily, the disguises were holding. Nettie had been a miracle worker; even Charlie had done a double take that morning. No one recognized Viv or Rowan. If anything, the curious looks were landing on her—as usual.
That happened a lot on protection details.
People noticed the tall, broad-shouldered woman scanning every corner.
Sometimes she used that to her advantage, dressing in a way that pulled eyes away from her principal.
Heels, a skirt, and an up-do could accomplish what a sidearm couldn’t—take attention away without threatening violence.
She’d been called statuesque more times than she could count, as if that were a compliment.
Maybe it just meant she filled the space like a warning sign.
The shop was a riot of color and fabric.
Corsets, skirts, vests, fancy hats stacked on every shelf.
Laughter spilled out of three dressing booths in the back as women tried to wrestle themselves into stiff corsets with miles of laces.
Charlie kept a sharp eye out for anybody who might have noticed Vivienne and Rowan.
But so far everyone was just having a fun day out, helping each other into and out of corsets, trying on different hats, taking photos of themselves dressed up in their finest medieval attire.
“Look at this,” Viv said, tugging a gown from a rack. “The detail work—unbelievable. I think I’ll send the costumers out here to talk to the owner.” She looked around. “I wonder where she is. They could take some pointers from her.”
“I think she’s over there.” Rowan pointed to a woman speaking in a Cockney accent to a couple of girls holding up fairy princess wings. Her cleavage looked like the Grand Canyon, barely contained by a peasant’s blouse and corset.
Viv started that way, but Charlie’s instincts snapped.
“Hold up,” she murmured, stepping close enough that her voice didn’t carry.
“I don’t think it’s a good idea to talk to her here and now.
” She lowered her voice. “Too many people. If you start talking about sending out costumers from Hollywood, your cover is blown before she finishes her next sale.”