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.
Callanfound 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.
When she nodded, cheeks pink, and eyes bright, Callan found it difficult to breathe as they stepped onto the dance floor, moving together. The world narrowed down to the two of them, everything else forgotten.
As the music changed, he pulled her close, so close he could see there were dark blue flecks in the lighter blue of her eyes. She looked up at him, lips parted, and just as their lips were about to meet, a loud laugh startled them, making her jump.
Flustered, she stepped back, cheeks flushed. “I... I think I need some air,” she stammered.
Aye, so she felt the same.
Callan simply nodded. “Shall we walk?”
The night air was warm, carrying the distant sounds of laughter and music as they found a quiet spot away from the bustling crowd, a secluded area where the light from the pavilion didn’t quite reach, leaving them in a soft shadow under the stars.
