A Midsummer's Day (19 page)

Vaughn put his hand on her shoulder.  “It’s going to be okay, Sam.”

“How?  How is any of this going to be okay?”  Her voice cracked beneath a well of sudden tears.  “Sending me back into the hands of Jameson freaking Kent isn’t going to help us.”  She lost herself to her sobs.  Why was this happening to her?  To them?

She found herself in Vaughn’s arms again.  “I don’t want you to do this, Sammie.  But there must be a reason T said it.  They’ve been right about everything so far.  Without T I wouldn’t have found you in that bedroom, and we’d be in the hands of the soldiers now.  T has kept us safe.”

“So why send me to my death now?” she sobbed into his shoulder.

“You’re not going to die.”  Vaughn pulled back so they were eye to eye.  “You’re not going to die,” he said again.  “T didn’t tell me what I had to do, so I’m going to do this.  I’m going to follow you every step of the way.  If Jameson puts you someplace, I’ll know, and I’ll get you out.  I won’t let him hurt you again.”  He leaned his forehead against hers.  One of his hands drifted to the back of her neck.  “If you don’t trust T, then at least trust me.” 

“I do trust you.”

Chapter 19

To find Jameson would mean being arrested immediately.

But what other choice did they have?  This T had been their savior since this strange time change occurred.  Sammie didn’t know if she trusted T…

But Vaughn still did.  Vaughn trusted T, and Sammie trusted Vaughn.  So if he thought this insane plan had any hope...    She would try to hope, too.

They were silent as they walked down the Dead Road.  Sammie fidgeted with her mask, newly re-tied around her eyes.   Suddenly it felt too loose, too much like it would fall off just by thinking about it. 

She wanted it to disguise her eyes for as long as she could, until…

They stopped where the Dead Road met up with the rest of the festival.  Vaughn opened his mouth to say something, than closed it.

What could he say?  What could she have sa
id
to make this any better?  Any less frightening?  She couldn’t say goodbye.  What if it really was goodbye?  What if they separated, and he never found her?

What if Jameson put her to death instead of arresting her?

“What are you going to do?” Vaughn asked, breaking the penetrating silence threatening to suck the very soul from their bodies.  His voice cracked.  He wasn’t as sure about this plan as he seemed on the stage.

“I don’t know,” Sammie said.  It was the truth. There was no pretending that she had some great plan stuck in the back of her head.  But if there was anything she was good at, it was improvising.  “I don’t think I’ll have to do anything to get arrested after I reveal myself to Jameson.  But, if I have to, I could go back to the truth.  That he’s not Jameson Kent and that it’s really 2012.”

Vaughn’s eyes went wide.  “That’s brave,” he said proudly.  “I just hope he doesn’t execute you on the spot as a witch or a heretic for that.”

Sammie forced a smile.  She hoped the same thing.  “I guess it’s a good thing you’ll be following me, then.  You can rush out and stop him.”

They laughed for a second.  And then they fell silent.

Vaughn grabbed her.  Their lips met.

She didn’t push him away.  She didn’t stop him.  The kiss was more than welcome and long wanted.  She wrapped her arms around his neck, twisting her fingers through his long hair.  She slid her lips over his.

It was the kiss of ages.  The kiss she’d only dreamed that could come from Johnny.  It was greater than the kiss Johnny had given her when they’d gotten engaged.  It was greater than the kiss he would have given her if they ended up married at the end of the season.  It was a kiss to heal all wounds, to give her air rather than take it from her.  It was a kiss that said that there was still something good in this world gone bad. 

It was a kiss that she prayed would last an eternity.

But all good things must, unfortunately, come to a crushing end.  As soon as it began, Vaughn pulled away from her.  “Be safe, Sam,” he whispered.

“I have an ill diving soul,” she said, lost in a dark cloud that had swallowed them both whole.  “Methinks I see thee as one dead in the bottom of a tomb.”

“And trust me, love, in my eyes so do you.  Dry sorrow drinks out blood.”

Only Romeo and Juliet could understand what Sammie and Vaughn were going through.  Would they ever see each other again?  Maybe that’s why Vaughn left out the last word.  The “adieu.”  It was a too literal word for Romeo and Juliet.  They’d never see each other alive again.

Would Sammie ever see Vaughn again?

Would the next time they met be in the vast reaches of the ever eternal tomb that was Heaven?

Vaughn brushed his lips over hers one last time.  He darted up the nearest path and settled himself below the edge of the long Flog Lume.  The slide was a popular new attraction, but now it was empty of even peasant children.

He would be safe.

Sammie sighed and steeled herself as much as was humanly possible when one was setting out for arrest and possibly death.  She took a shaky step.  And then another.

She ignored the Tavern Arago
n.  It was a place that no longer gave her happiness.  It was the place where she first started to realize just how seriously fucked up everything was.

The chapel approached.  Back when things made sense, tourists would book months
,
or sometimes years, in advance to get married there.  Back when things made sense, the Queen would host teas for young girls in there.  It was a place where fun things happened. 

Now, the overtly depressing tones of a pipe organ told Sam that the chapel held nothing but depressing religious ceremonies.

What was more fun than telling all inside that they were all going to hell?

Queen Elizabeth emerged from the chapel, followed by none other than the Lord High Bastard himself.  What luck.  What would be better to guarantee her arrest than to tell the both of them that they weren’t who they thought they were?

With any luck, it wouldn’t guarantee her immediate and gruesome death.

She took a deep breath from her pomander. 

“Don’t think about what he’ll do to you,” she told herself.  “Don’t think about Johnny.  Think about Vaughn.  Think about Vaughn.  Think about his lips on yours…”

They noticed her at the same time.  Jameson looked her up and down with disdain.  “Be gone with thee, pirate wench,” he said.  “Thou hast no business in the presence of the Queen.”

Sammie didn’t move.  Jameson clenched his fists.  Queen Elizabeth turned and faced her too.

Sammie pulled off her mask.

Jameson’s frozen eyes went wide.  “My dear Anne,” he said with forced calmness.  His fingernails dug so deep into his palms that he’d be bleeding soon.  Good.  Let him bleed.  “We have been seeking thee for many a long hour.  Where be thou beggarly friend?”

“I don’t know, and I don’t care,” she lied, feeling Vaughn’s eyes on the back of her head.  She dropped the renaissance act.  There was no point in it anymore.  There was no point pretending.  “I’ve come to find you, Jameson dear.”  She hoped he heard the sarcasm in his voice.

“For what purpose, Anne?  Be thou so eager to meet thy cell?”

Sammie smiled.  If only he knew just how prophetic his words were.  “You’re not Jameson Kent, you sadistic bastard.  Your name is Johnny Williams, and you are no sheriff.   And you,” she turned towards the Queen for the first time.  “Your real name is Melinda, and you’re a bigger whore than the person you pretend to be.”  A crowd gathered to watch her outburst.  Perfect.  “They are not who they claim to be!  They are imposters!”

What on earth was she doing?  What in the blazes made her turn on Queen Elizabeth?  Of all the people to call an imposter…

The Queen’s face turned every bit as red as her hair.  Sammie had hit a nerve.  A big one.  “Lord High Sheriff…  Seize her!  Arrest her!  Kill her!”  With a swish of her skirt, she marched into the other direction, her retinue following her tail.

Jameson grabbed Sammie’s arm.  “Thou hast gone too far, my Lady.  I can little help thee now.”  He pulled her away.

She didn’t complain.  She didn’t pull back on Jameson’s grasp.  She turned to look behind her.

Somehow, she knew Vaughn was already following her.

Just let him find her before the Queen’s orders were carried out.

<>

Nobody would see him.

The Flog Lume was a new attraction in the festival.  Back in the future it was made of bright yellow plastic.  Now it was made out of wood polished to the point of silky smoothness.  But not even peasant children enjoyed it now.

He sat at the end of the slide and rested his head against the smooth rounded wood.  He had perfect view of the chapel.  Sammie had found Jameson and the Queen at the same time.  It looked like she had no trouble convincing the two that she needed to be arrested.  Nobles streaming out of the chapel paused to listen to whatever she was saying.  She was playing her part well.

Maybe too well.

Queen Elizabeth’s face turned beat red.  She exploded towards Jameson and then huffed off, her wig bouncing on her head with each angry step. Jameson’s face darkened to a disturbing level.  He grabbed Sam’s arm and pulled her away.

Whatever he said, it wasn’t good.  Sammie’s face went white, and she turned to where Vaughn was hidden.

He stood.  It was time.

The Sheriff was harsh wi
t
h Sammie as he pulled her along the paths.  Something nagged in Vaughn’s mind.  What if Sammie was right?  What good could come out of this?  What possible purpose did T have for having Sammie get arrested by this man?  Jameson Kent trapped her in a boiling hot room just for being with Vaughn…

What would he do to her now?

Vaughn didn’t want to think about it.

There was only one thing to do.  He’d do what he asked Sammie to do.  He would trust himself.  He would make sure he did his part.

He followed Jameson and Sam at a distance.  He ducked behind the wood carver as the Sheriff pulled her past the Woodland Stage.  He hid himself above the washer wenches’ wash pit as the Sheriff yanked Sammie towards the joust field.  He dashed to an overgrown area between the two stone paths as they got to the turkey leg stand.

The Lord High Sheriff stopped so suddenly at the far end of the joust field that Sammie slammed into his back.  In an instant he turned on her.  The bastard shoved her away from him, as far as he could while still keeping an iron grip on her wrist.  He raised his hand to strike her.

There was no way that this man every really loved Sammie, or Anne, or whatever form of Sammie that Jameson decided to believe in.  There was no way he ever felt anything for her.  Not to treat her so harshly.  Nobody who loved anybody with any amount of their soul could treat their loved ones with such anger. 

But his hand never struck.  One of Jameson’s constables appeared.  He said something to the Sheriff.

Were the constables still looking for Vaughn?  Did they still search for a man caked in mud and dirt?

Sammie looked behind her.  Her eyes scanned the paths, the shops and food and drynke stands.  She looked in every nook and cranny she could think of.

“I’m here, Sammie,” Vaughn whispered.  “Don’t worry, baby.  I’m right here.”

There had to be some way he could signal her.  There had to be some way to let her know he was still there with her.  There had to be something he could do without getting caught.  He couldn’t get out of the brush.  If the Sheriff turned around at all…

Jameson knew Vaughn’s face all too well.

Sammie’s eyes fell on the brush he hid in.  He rustled it gently.  Anybody else might have thought a gust of wind had gone through the area.

But Sammie smiled.  The fear in her face was washed away.

Jameson started to move again.  He yanked Sammie behind him, and she very nearly ran into his back again.  Vaughn stood and followed.

Where in the blazes was he taking her?  Surely he was taking her back to the bedroom in the break room?  But he wasn’t heading towards the upper level of the festival.  He wasn’t yanking Sammie up the Hill Street faster than her asthma could handle.

Were there other places that the Lord High Sheriff and his constables took prisoners?  Would this Tudor faire have the facilities to hold prisoners?  Vaughn had been sent to the stocks half a dozen times last season…  Where was he held after his arrest?

Something grabbed Vaughn by the arm.  Had a constable finally found him, ready to take him to the block or the stake?  Or would they kill him immediately?  He turned.

There was no constable.  Not unless one had disguised him as a mud beggar and covered themselves from head to foot in mud.

“What hath thou done, Puck?” Forarin asked, taking a great bite from a turkey leg.  “Word hast spread of thy crimes.  ‘Tis good fortune I did find thee.  Kaiser wouldst have thee in the most strong grips of the Lord High Sheriff if it had been him to come across thee.”