Read Online A Midsummer's Day by Heather Montford - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Heather Montford
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water. The green water was broken by glorious bright blue. She drank in the air. Her lungs screamed with each breath.
The dunkers swung her back to the stage. She wiped the hair from her eyes.
Johnny helped her to her feet. Dear, wonderful, healthy Johnny. Thank God he wasn’t hurt.
Her legs shook violently. She leaned on Johnny as she attempted to put her breathing to rights. What in the hell had happened?
“My Lady Halloway,” Johnny said in his most proper tone. Either he was getting to be a better actor, or the shockwave, and the fact that he had left her below for so long didn’t faze him. Sammie chose to believe the first. “I pray thy time in the pond hath washed clean thy virtue.”
She took a steadying breath. She had a line to say. She’d ask Johnny about the shockwave later. She straightened and looked out into the audience.
Something had changed.
This was not the same audience who watched her go into the water. That audience had been in a rainbow of colors, in shorts and tee shirts and tank tops, the sun reflecting off lenses of digital cameras and sunglasses.
All that was gone.
Her blond tourist and his heckling friends were gone.
Everyone around the pond stood, bored and boiling in the costume of the nobility. Nobody hid back in the trees.
Every person stared straight at her, shooting the proverbial laser at her. This was no longer entertainment. These nobles had come for one reason only. They wanted to witness punishments.
Sammie swallowed hard. She looked at Johnny. Nothing in his face told her anything was out of the ordinary. He waited for her to say her line with a stoic calmness that twisted her stomach into knots and brought tears to her eyes. Whatever happened had gotten to him, too.
“My virtue doth remain as white as snow, my Lord High Sheriff,” she said without her normal enthusiasm. For the first time, Lady Anne’s spirit had been broken by the water.
Relief swept Johnny’s face. Maybe this was part of some elaborate joke, and his hard veneer was finally cracking. He moved to the side, and let her pass.
She should have been defiant to the very end. She should have told the crowd that a woman denying her own heart was a greater sin than casual flirting. From the stage, to where the Dead Road intersected the rest of the festival, she should have held her head up proudly. But the cold, condemning eyes of those watching her pass kept her tongue still.
The end of the Dead Road should have brought some peace. There should have been some sign, any sign, that the tourists from the dunke had been hastily stashed away for the joke she’d just been the victim of. Unruly and unhappy babies in strollers should have screamed. Men should be stumbling out of the Tavern Aragon. There should have been at least one teen girl in a perfect peasant costume so addicted to her cell phone that she didn’t stop texting.
Any sign would have been better than none. Any sign that anything from 2012 still existed would have been better than a sea of peasants and nobles, turning to stare at the newly shamed highborn Lady.
Sammie slipped behind the Tavern Aragon and leaned against the rough wood of the pub’s back wall. She put her hand over her eyes. She wanted to cry. But the tears wouldn’t come. If this was a joke…
It was too cruel, too unnecessary. And Johnny…
Maybe she’d hit her head when she was thrown back in the chair. Maybe a concussion raged against her thoughts, turning everything into the Tudor period she so loved. Everything would be better in the morning.
At this point, a concussion seemed like a godsend.
Before Sammie could resign herself to brain damage, Johnny appeared from around the corner. The seriousness he’d shown on stage was gone. In its place was the sexy, sultry, slightly crooked smile that never failed to send her legs into quivers.
Before she could say anything, before a
The dunkers swung her back to the stage. She wiped the hair from her eyes.
Johnny helped her to her feet. Dear, wonderful, healthy Johnny. Thank God he wasn’t hurt.
Her legs shook violently. She leaned on Johnny as she attempted to put her breathing to rights. What in the hell had happened?
“My Lady Halloway,” Johnny said in his most proper tone. Either he was getting to be a better actor, or the shockwave, and the fact that he had left her below for so long didn’t faze him. Sammie chose to believe the first. “I pray thy time in the pond hath washed clean thy virtue.”
She took a steadying breath. She had a line to say. She’d ask Johnny about the shockwave later. She straightened and looked out into the audience.
Something had changed.
This was not the same audience who watched her go into the water. That audience had been in a rainbow of colors, in shorts and tee shirts and tank tops, the sun reflecting off lenses of digital cameras and sunglasses.
All that was gone.
Her blond tourist and his heckling friends were gone.
Everyone around the pond stood, bored and boiling in the costume of the nobility. Nobody hid back in the trees.
Every person stared straight at her, shooting the proverbial laser at her. This was no longer entertainment. These nobles had come for one reason only. They wanted to witness punishments.
Sammie swallowed hard. She looked at Johnny. Nothing in his face told her anything was out of the ordinary. He waited for her to say her line with a stoic calmness that twisted her stomach into knots and brought tears to her eyes. Whatever happened had gotten to him, too.
“My virtue doth remain as white as snow, my Lord High Sheriff,” she said without her normal enthusiasm. For the first time, Lady Anne’s spirit had been broken by the water.
Relief swept Johnny’s face. Maybe this was part of some elaborate joke, and his hard veneer was finally cracking. He moved to the side, and let her pass.
She should have been defiant to the very end. She should have told the crowd that a woman denying her own heart was a greater sin than casual flirting. From the stage, to where the Dead Road intersected the rest of the festival, she should have held her head up proudly. But the cold, condemning eyes of those watching her pass kept her tongue still.
The end of the Dead Road should have brought some peace. There should have been some sign, any sign, that the tourists from the dunke had been hastily stashed away for the joke she’d just been the victim of. Unruly and unhappy babies in strollers should have screamed. Men should be stumbling out of the Tavern Aragon. There should have been at least one teen girl in a perfect peasant costume so addicted to her cell phone that she didn’t stop texting.
Any sign would have been better than none. Any sign that anything from 2012 still existed would have been better than a sea of peasants and nobles, turning to stare at the newly shamed highborn Lady.
Sammie slipped behind the Tavern Aragon and leaned against the rough wood of the pub’s back wall. She put her hand over her eyes. She wanted to cry. But the tears wouldn’t come. If this was a joke…
It was too cruel, too unnecessary. And Johnny…
Maybe she’d hit her head when she was thrown back in the chair. Maybe a concussion raged against her thoughts, turning everything into the Tudor period she so loved. Everything would be better in the morning.
At this point, a concussion seemed like a godsend.
Before Sammie could resign herself to brain damage, Johnny appeared from around the corner. The seriousness he’d shown on stage was gone. In its place was the sexy, sultry, slightly crooked smile that never failed to send her legs into quivers.
Before she could say anything, before a
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