Chapter 5
Second Week of Faire: Highlander Weekend
The second week destroyed any hope that things would be easy.
The initial flood of customers died down to a trickle. Barely a soul came to their little edge of the faire on Saturday morning.
Lilian almost sent Margo to the front gate to check that they were open, but from the bottom of the hill, they could hear laughter and merriment cascading throughout the field.
People were here; they just weren’t coming to their shop.
“It’s Highlander Weekend,” Margo reasoned. “There’s a lot taking up people’s attention.”
“But it's Highlander Weekend,” Lilian stressed, waving toward the shelves of medieval Scottish romances. Of which there were plenty. “People should be clamoring for these babies.”
“I know this might shock you,” Margo said gravely, “but not everyone is into Highlander romances like you.”
Lilian opened her mouth but quickly had to swallow the lump of protest. She did have a soft spot for medieval Scottish Highlanders. The kilts. The muscles. The accents. What woman could resist?
“I know you,” Margo continued. “If you weren’t running the shop, you would be out there with the rest of them watching the Highland games.”
“They lift logs!” Lilian said, as if that was the only reason one’s attention would be captivated by their mini version of the Scottish Highland Games. Not only did the actors and guests participate in traditional Scottish feats of strength, they did it bare-chested… and in kilts!
The chances of her ever going to Scotland were low. Highlander Weekend was the closest she was going to get.
“I’m going to go talk to the other vendors. Maybe you're right, maybe Highlander Weekend is taking more bandwidth than I thought.”
“Good luck,” Margo sang as she pulled out her phone and began scrolling.
Lilian stepped out into the oppressive midday heat.
Midwestern summers lingered well into September, causing her to sweat under the layers of cotton.
One of the nice things about their location was the ample amount of trees they had for shade.
The front gates and the jousting arena had no protection from the brutal sun.
She crossed the short distance to Russ’s shop, where she found the older man hunched over a mannequin, a sewing needle in hand as he intently threaded rhinestones into a silk sash. He barely even noticed her in the doorway until she gave a light knock.
He glanced up, sweat glistening across his forehead. “Hullo there, Ms. Bodice. What brings you by?”
“I’m looking around,” Lilian said as she stepped inside. Since she and Margo had helped clean up his shop, the place had transformed.
Russ had been meticulous about the dirt, wanting things to be as clean as possible before he set out any of his dresses. Now she could see why.
His outfits were nothing like the historic clothes sold in the main square.
The designs looked like something straight out of a fantasy movie.
Beautiful, seductive dresses that no one in their right mind would wear in the modern world.
Long silk gowns as black as night, gems sewn carefully along the hems. Dresses that emphasized the busts, cut open to show far more skin than Tudor England would ever allow.
Russ’s shop was sparser than the other clothing stalls at the faire, but that only made each piece demand attention. There was nowhere for the eye to hide. Each design asked to be looked at. And held.
They were too revealing for a wedding. Too beautiful to ruin by tromping around the faire grounds. Too fantastical for a cocktail party. And still, she wanted one so badly it hurt.
“Do you like them?” Russ asked.
“They’re beautiful,” Lilian answered breathlessly, “but where would someone even wear something like this? It’s way too glamorous for Kansas.”
Russ laughed easily, like it was a question he heard all the time.
“Customers wear them for photo shoots. Social media. Some throw their own themed parties.” His fingers traced down the length of his current garment.
It was a soft periwinkle blue that made Lilian think of twilight.
The shape was simple enough at first glance, floor length.
Long sleeves. Then there was the plunge.
Deep. Unapologetic. An offering of skin that completely contradicted the sleek, skintight sleeve he was stitching into place.
The contradiction, she realized, was the point. Cover up everything except the one area where you wanted attention.
She could never pull off a gown like that. Her boobs were too small, and her stomach had more to it than Lilian would have liked. But she could not stop staring.
“You should be making clothes for television,” she said. “Or for celebrities.”
“Maybe someday,” Russ said. “But right now, I like having the freedom to make whatever I want and seeing it to my non-celebrity customers. Why shouldn’t a girl from Kansas feel like a princess?”
His words touched a chord within her, speaking to a younger version of Lilian, who desired the exact same thing.
The more she hung out with Russ, the more she liked the man.
People should be filling his shop, maybe not to buy, but at least to admire such amazing creations.
She looked around to make sure, but his shop was as empty as hers.
“I don’t get it. Why isn’t anyone here?”
“Ah.” Something flickered across Russ’s eyes. He leaned back in his chair and set down the sewing needle. “So that’s what this is about.”
“What?”
“Slow day?”
“Kind of,” she muttered, embarrassed.
“Don’t take it personally. It’s only the second week.”
“That’s what Margo said.”
“And we’re in the Reject Woods of the Faire.”
Lilian froze at the words. “The Reject Woods?” She’d never heard that term before.
The faire had designated areas, of course; she knew the map by heart.
There was the Enchanted Forest, where the children could get their faces painted and dress up.
Pirate’s Cove, the Viking Camp, and the Castle Square.
Their small circle of shops wasn’t situated in any of those areas, sure, but the Reject Woods?
Russ set his needle down and gave her his full attention. The soft pity in his eyes reminded Lilian of the time her mother had broken the news that her cat was dead. “It's the part of the faire for vendors who don’t really belong.”
“What?” She straightened, feeling both hot and cold at the same time. “That’s ridiculous. We belong!”
“Well, you are the first bookshop I’ve ever seen at a faire,” he pointed out. “And as you noticed, my clothes aren’t exactly normal… faire attire.”
“But… but… the stationery shop is full of wax seals and candles! There’s nothing more Renaissance than wax seals.”
Russ didn’t look convinced. “They don’t make their pens and wax kits from scratch. A lot of it is mass produced. And that doesn’t fit with what King Rothbury has in mind for his Ren Faire.”
“King Rothbury? What does he have to do with this?”
“You haven’t noticed?” Russ ran his fingers over his beard, contemplating if he should go on.
“I don’t like to gossip, but it's a known fact that Marcus Carlisle favors certain shops around here. Those that are more historically accurate tend to get better placement. And those that don’t…
well, they get put off to the side.” He waved a hand at their small abode, as if making a point.
“That’s ridiculous,” Lilian protested. “I know we’re in the back, but that doesn’t mean anything.”
“For some, location is everything,” Russ said. “You’ve been coming to this faire for years, right? How many times did you walk past the Enchanted Forest?”
She opened her mouth to argue, then shut it just as quickly when she realized the answer was "not very often." The Enchanted Forest took up most of the left side of the faire, and since Lilian didn’t have any children, she’d never had a reason to wander back there.
Honestly, she hadn’t even known there were shops past it.
“My point exactly,” Russ said. “Back here, shops usually only last a year or two before they give up. Parents with little kids don’t need expensive gowns or wax sets. They want wooden swords and the petting zoo.” He shrugged. “Most of the time, we’re lucky to break even back here.”
Oh.
Her heart sank as the realization settled in.
“And what about you?” she asked. “You said you’ve been coming back for years. Why do it if there’s no money in it?”
“Ah.” Russ nodded like he’d been waiting for the question.
“Because I only need to sell one dress for the whole trip to be worth it.” He smiled.
“Plus, this is my wife’s favorite faire, so the trip’s really for her more than me.
Truth be told, I make way more money out west. But if I break even here, I’m happy.
” He paused, then added, “Even if I have to deal with Lord Tight Ass.”
It all made sense now. The way the king had glowered at her little bookshop like it personally offended him. He’d put her back here to fail, and Hawk probably knew that when he’d talked to her. The jerk.
They were both waiting for her little shop to close its doors and never return.
Well, Lilian couldn’t afford to fail. This was supposed to help her clear out her inventory, maybe make a little money on the side. Losing money wasn’t ideal; neither was lugging all her books back to the shop.
She had to fix things.
“Thanks for the help, Russ.”
“Anytime, Ms. Bodice,” he said, brow creased in concern as she stormed out of his shop.
Her mind was hard at work, trying desperately to look for a solution to her problem. But all that came to mind was Hawk Carlisle and how she was going to slap his stupid clipboard out of his hands the next time she saw him.
On the second Sunday of the faire, tragedy struck for the pirates.
“Logan is out for the rest of the season.”