A Midsummer's Day by Heather Montford Read Free Book Online Page A

Ungar’s board completely.
    But this one…  This one was determined to claim the ultimate prize.
    He was determined.  And hot.  And young.  And blond.  Much more pleasant to behold than some of the older, heavier men she chose from time to time.  This would be one prize she would be happy to reward.
    The tomato exploded in a shower of juice and seeds over Ungar’s face.  The spectators gave the blond a great cheer.
    Sammie clapped with Courtly grace as she crossed the game area.  “Thou hast done thee well, young Knight.  Mine honor shalt prevail, and thy reward thou shalt receive.”
    The young man closed his eyes and puckered his lips.  Sammie leaned forward.
    “Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?  Thou art more lovely and more temperate…”
    She turned just as her lips were about to brush the tourist’s cheek.  The grandest poet of all time stood behind her, reciting to her the words of the most romantic sonnet ever written.
    “My good Master Shakespeare!  What miraculous words!  Methinks thou wouldst seek to claim for thee the snowy white virtues of many a maiden with such beauteous speech.”
    The actor playing Shakespeare, by happy coincidence also named William, took Sammie’s arm and threaded it through his own.  “Dear Lady, your beauty seekest to shame the most glorious words to spill from my quill.  The Goddesses of olden Rome pale in envy at the very thought of your eyes.”
    Shakespeare led his captivated Lady away.  The blond was left in Ungar’s pen.
    She almost felt bad sometimes, leaving her chosen toys forgotten in the dust.  It was almost cruel, the way she teased them and left them.
    But the guilt never lasted long.  Especially not by the time she got to Poet’s Stage.  Guilt was the last thing on her mind when the greatest poet in history recited another love sonnet just to her.

 
    Chapter 7
     
     
    “Away with him.  The cur shalt see the depths of the pond for his continued defiance of my law.”  Johnny handed the man over to his constable.
    It was little wonder that Henry VIII and two of his three children worked to oust Catholicism from England, if the monks of the time were as full of vile and venom as the festival’s resident friar.  Nottingham’s monk was so heinous that it was hard to remember that the man only played a part.
    What time was it?  Johnny had no timepiece on his costume, but it couldn’t have been more than fifteen minutes since he’d left Sammie.  Yet he’d already arrested the monk.  Either the monk had decided not to harass the faery again, or Sammie had dispatched him with easy quickness.
    Johnny smiled.  It was always Sammie.  Her Anne had a sharp tongue, and enough will to use it.
    There were so few strong headed women in the festival.  There were so few who spoke their minds, regardless of the consequences, because there were few such women in Tudor England.  But those who were strong headed…  Those who spoke their minds with impunity…  They went on to become queens.
    Sammie was poised to play Queen Elizabeth one day.
    Johnny’s stomach rumbled.  He’d get some lunch.  He wanted to wait for Sammie…  But she wouldn’t mind if he ate now.
    The workers at the pork-pocket-on-a-sword stand saw him coming.  He had a hot sandwich speared on a plastic sword and a cup of birch beer waiting for him when he got to the front of the line.  He didn’t carry a cup on his belt like Sammie did, so he had to break character just a bit during meals.
    Something about eating roasted meat from a sword, even a plastic one, just made it taste all the better.  He ate slowly, taking his time, savoring every bite of his food.  He didn’t want to get to the Crossroads any sooner than he had to.  He didn’t want to see her play with today’s tourist.  He didn’t want to see how close she would come to kissing the lucky man.  He didn’t want to know if the man was old or young, ugly or handsome.
    The idea of knowing, of