Free A Midsummer's Day by Heather Montford Page A

take her some rest as she changed back into her proper gown.  A good rest in calmness and coolness should solve her bewitchment.  If it did not...  If her behavior did not improve when they reunited for the Queen’s Processional...
    Well, he would have no choice.
    Anne would have to be punished again.  And more severely than a simple dunking.
    Just as long as it didn’t come to sending her into exile…
    Executions passed smoothly, despite Jameson’s distracted mind.  Those who had born witness to the event moved on to more pleasant distractions.  Those who had been punished today had been dealt with.  Some would meet the stocks.  Servants who had misbehaved would be set aside for the auction later today.  A handful had been banished from the festival by a proclamation signed by the hand of Queen Elizabeth.
    A dozen criminals had been dealt with.  But there were always more.  Always somebody that brought shame upon themselves, Nottinghamshire, and the festival.
    There were always crimes that needed to be remedied.  There was always that which needed to be done. 
    And it was his job to do it.
    He shook the thoughts of Anne from his mind.  The Lord High Sheriff of the realm had no time for such concerns.  He had no time even to enjoy the revelries of the festival as he started his rounds.
    He found himself drawn to the empty Grotto Stage.  It was here that his Anne and two other supposedly respectable Ladies of Queen Elizabeth’s Court shamed themselves by singing for the masses.  It was something that filled him with shame.  To have his own betrothed sing so openly…
    But it was by the order of Queen Elizabeth that this singing group was formed.  Not even he could say no against a direct order from the Queen.  So he turned a blind eye towards the group.  He swallowed the shame and ignored the swelling embarrassment the group caused his name.  He took his frustrations out on the criminals he arrested, and let Anne sing her little songs.
    As it was…  Anne possessed the voice of an angel.  To deny her voice to the world would be a crime in itself .
    “‘Tis a shame, my Lord High Sheriff, that you should be so alone whilst your betrothed recovers with lack of your strong arm to guide her to better humor.”
    She appeared out of nowhere, slippery as the snakes that were her people.  She didn’t have the beauty of his Anne, but she was alluring, this strange Romany.  Instead of charcoal hair and jet eyes that were common among her people, this one had eyes as bright as the sky and silky hair the color of flax. 
    Jameson glanced behind him.  The path was empty.  The short walls of the staged pavilion would hide them from curious eyes.  He smiled freely, here away from the eyes, and tongues, of the world.
    “How dost thou know thee my betrothed recovers, lass?”
    “The Lady Anne is oft in need of rest.  Methinks the heat wouldst wither such a delicate flower.  My Lord High Sheriff wouldst better fare with a woman of greater… substance.”  The gypsy slinked her way ever closer to him.
    “Wouldst thou be that woman, Madam Gypsy?”
    She would not have a chance to answer.  Jameson grabbed the wench roughly by the shoulders and slammed his lips into hers.  With one swift motion he had her skirt pulled up past her hips.
    It was the devil in her that drew him to her in his time of physical need.  It was the devil in her that bewitched him to her bed, and her graces, time and time again.  He should arrest her for witchcraft, but her devilry was too strong.
    Yet he would not call her his mistress.  She was not a woman of his standing, nor did she have the standing of most servants.  So he took extra care not to be caught with…
    “Pray pardon, my Lord High Sheriff.”
    Jameson growled.  He pushed the gypsy away, tearing her fingers from his waistband.  Thank the Lord she had not yet reached his laces.
    “Wouldst you leave me so denied?” she asked, her lips twitching.
    “Silence,