After defeating five men and getting a free dinner out of the deal, as well as swapping some “No shit, there we were” stories, Knight went back to his tent and slept on the hard ground, shifting into his leopard form so it didn’t bother him too much.
The next morning, he ended up back at the same household, and asked the Duke who ruled the house if he needed another man for the large melee match coming up later that day. He said he didn’t need any help, but suggested he go to the Kingdom of Atlantia since they were looking for people and they were far from home. Knight hadn’t seen people from Atlantia in ages, and hoped none would remember him.
When he arrived at the Kingdom’s stronghold, he presented himself to the Master at Arms there, who accepted him readily and without question. They fed him breakfast. As he sat at the communal table, a woman in a yellow gown stopped and stared at him. “Knight?”
Knight looked up from his bread and cheese and studied the woman. She had long tresses of hair, which he knew some of it was fake; she was pale, and pretty, someone he wouldn’t have passed up if he was single. She walked over to him, her head tilted curiously. “It is you.”
Knight rose as she approached, and he said, “My lady, you have the advantage of me.”
“You don’t remember me?”
The way she said it made it seem that he should, so before answering his cast his mind back as far as would go, during the time he was on the road and hitting every SCA event possible. So many women – and men – he couldn’t keep track of them all. He must have looked confused, because she sat down at the table in front of him, saying, “Do you remember Gulf Wars two years ago?”
Now it came flooding back to him. It was cool in Mississippi. He had kept his beast at bay except when in the battles. He slept in a different tent each night, a different woman or man, and woke up at the dawn before they would wake up, and he would disappear in the early morning fog back to his tent in the Singles Camp, to get ready for the next fight. He would try to avoid the household or the group of people he was with, and considered himself a mercenary, fighting for whatever side would give him food, drink, and company.
He remembered her now, but not her name. Her hair was long and luxurious, he remembered running his hands through her hair, and it was all natural, a beautiful auburn color, not the flat brown it was at the moment. He remembered her dark eyes, closed in pleasure as he let his fingertips wander along her. She was heavier then, also, with more meat on her bones, and what she didn’t have in beauty at that time she more than made up for in exuberance.
“I remember a night…”
She smiled and took his hand. “I remember that night too. I want to show you something.”
He left his breakfast and followed her to a large tent. She put a hand up, having him stand outside for a moment, and then she peeked in. “Tayla? Oh, there you are…” Then she took Knight’s hand and pulled him into the tent. His eyes adjusted to the light, and he saw among the cots and furs and silks, a teenaged girl sitting in a chair, a book on her lap. In front of her was a modern mesh and nylon playpen, with a little blond girl standing up in it, holding a sippy cup.
Knight stared. There was no mistaking the blond hair or the gray eyes that focused on him.
His mind screamed “Oh shit,” and he looked at the woman whose name he didn’t know. She was just beaming at the child. “My little Rosemarie.”
Knight said nothing as the woman went over to the playpen and pulled the child out of it, holding the toddler in her arms. She squirmed, and the woman put the child down. “Horsey, go play with horsey.”
“We’re going to see the horses in a minute, Rosie.” Then the woman looked up at Knight.
Knight gripped the side of the playpen, steadying himself. The woman now looked concerned. “Tayla,” she said, “Mind leaving for a minute?”
“Sure, Caitlyn,” and the girl gathered her book and, with a backwards glance at Knight, left the tent. He could tell that she was just outside of the flap, listening in.
“Kat,” said Knight, as her name was mentioned and he called her by the nickname that he called every woman named Caitlyn or any derivative of Kat. “Kat, I din’t mean t’ get y’ pregnant.”
“You think I’m going to ask you for money, don’t you?”
“Iyah…”
“I’m happily married, Knight, and my husband has adopted Rosie as his own.” She smiled again at the child, as she had wandered to the other side of the tent. “I always wanted a child. Now I have a loving husband, too.”
“I gotta tell y’ some’in,” he said, “An’ d’ ya promise not t’ freak out?”
“Your family has some disorder I should look out for?”
“Y’ could say tha’…”