The guy was wearing a peasant costume. He had Rowan’s eyes and build but his nose was way too big and his hair undera ridiculous leather hat was the wrong color. Then there was the weird accent.
Rowan McCrae—old friend, current television hero—burst into laughter as he clapped Ben on the back. Ben and Rowan went back years, to a time when they were both a couple of nerds busking their way up the Ren Fair food chain until Ben became a blacksmith and Rowan became a jousting knight.
“Well met, friend, well met,” Ben said as he pulled Rowan into a one-armed hug. “I wasn’t expecting you today. I didn’t recognize you with this.” He tapped Rowan’s fake nose.
“That’s the whole idea. I wanted to have a chance to bum around without being spotted,” Rowan said, dropping the fake accent. “And I want to introduce someone to you while the crowd’s thinned out.” He looked over at a couple of women admiring a rack of blouses outside the costume shop.
Ben followed his gaze and froze.
One of the women was Charlie.
She was striking even in the plain clothes that contrasted with the brightly-colored skirts and peasant blouses. Charlie wasn’t looking at him—her attention was focused on the woman beside her.
“I know her,” Ben said, only half-paying attention to Rowan now. Why was Charlie here, and how did Rowan know her?
“Really? Even in disguise?” Rowan looked troubled.
“What? She’s not in a …Oh.” Ben realized Rowan wasn’t talking about Charlie, but the other woman.
“Charlie,” Rowan called, confusing Ben even more. So hedidknow her?
Both women looked up and across the path.
Charlie caught sight of Ben and blinked—clearly just as surprised to see him. Her gaze flicked between him and Rowan. The other woman smiled at Rowan, and they both started walking across the way.
She looked vaguely familiar. If Rowan hadn’t mentioned she was in disguise too, Ben might not have taken a second look. But as she came closer, he recognized her.
The interviews. The red-carpet photos. The stills fromLegends of BattleLorethat had lit up every fan forum.
Vivienne Cross was standing ten feet from his forge.
His brain scrambled, trying to assemble the pieces.
Charlie… with Vivienne Cross… here?
He remembered his last conversation with Charlie when he’d caught her readingSword of Embers.
Just some, uh, research. For a client. I can’t really say who.
Of course. Vivienne Cross had come to Colorado with Rowan, and she needed a bodyguard.
Ben straightened instinctively, then immediately hunched again, annoyed with himself. Charlie didn’t acknowledge knowing him and for a moment he felt crushed. Charlie dealt with celebrities for a living. She didn’t need some blacksmith trying to impress her by association.
Stop it. This isn’t her day off. She’s working.
God, she probably thought he’d kept quiet about knowing Rowan because he didn’t want to look like a name-dropping jerk.
He swallowed, wiped his hands on his leather apron, and focused on Vivienne Cross. She paused in front of the armor stand, her head tilting as she took in the pieces before returning her attention to Rowan. Charlie hung back half a step, scanning the crowd with practiced ease.
Rowan grinned like a kid about to light a fuse.
“This is him,” Rowan said. “Viv, this is Ben Massey. Best metalworker on the Front Range. Possibly the continent.” Rowan ran his hand over the chain mail. “I commissioned this chain mail shirt. Amazing, isn’t it? Better than what the prop department’s done.”
Ben winced. “Rowan?—”
Vivienne’s gaze was sharp and curious. “You made all of this?”
“Yes, Ms. Cross,” Ben said. He ran his hand over his hair, realizing just how sweaty and sooty he must look.
