Floral Depravity Read Online Free

figured if people have to carry their own supplies, they’re much less likely to bring in anything that is historically inaccurate.”
    â€œI doubt they need to worry about anybody lugging a generator and a mini-fridge through this jungle. If I have to go much farther, they’re not getting any of these flowers, either. How close are we?”
    I studied the hand-drawn page. “According to the map,” I said, “we’re either almost there or hopelessly lost.”
    â€œSuch fair maidens could never be lost.” Nick Maxwell stepped out of the brush and dipped into a courtly bow.
    I couldn’t help a chuckle. Okay, maybe it sounded more like a guffaw, but I was used to seeing Nick in his white baker’s clothes. Instead, he’d donned tights and a belted sleeveless (but thankfully long) tunic over a blousy work shirt.
    As he rose from his bow, he stopped briefly at chest level, then his face colored. “Audrey, that getup. Are you sure you want to wear—”
    I tugged up the bodice as high as it would go. “All they had. What about you? I thought you said you had your very own set of armor.” When I mentioned I would be providing the flowers for a medieval wedding, Nick had boasted that he was quite involved in the re-creations in college.
    â€œAh, but in these fair woods, milady, knights are in abundance, and we have lords and ladies aplenty. Even a jester or two, but today they were more in need of a humble baker. Who else can prepare the trenchers or the sweet cakes for the great feast afterward?”
    â€œCake?” Amber Lee asked. “Oh, this just got better.”
    â€œDon’t get your hopes up,” he said. “They’re more of a sweet roll, and not very sweet at that, by today’s standards. Traditionally, guests stack them up in a pile to see if the bride and groom can kiss over the top of it.”
    â€œSounds more romantic than smooshing cake in each other’s faces,” I said.
    â€œI always thought that was a horrible waste of cake,” Amber Lee said.
    â€œHere, let me take that.” Nick relieved Amber Lee of her box of bachelor’s buttons. “It’s not much farther. I was just out collecting kindling.”
    â€œKindling?” she asked. “If we’re not getting a proper cake, please tell me we’re having a campfire. I haven’t had a decent s’more in ages, and I know all the words to ‘Kumbaya.’”
    â€œDon’t let the anachronism police hear you say that,” Nick said. “Europeans didn’t know about chocolate in the Middle Ages, so you shouldn’t find any in the camp.”
    â€œThat must be where the evil comes from,” she said.
    Nick raised his brows. “Evil?”
    â€œIn mid-evil. No society can be truly good without the influence of chocolate. I think that’s in the Bible.”
    â€œPreach it, sister,” I said, and high-fived her.
    Nick frowned at us. “I don’t know if anybody explained this, but you might want to limit conversation like that to when you’re alone. Some of the more serious participants are hypersensitive about modern language and behavior seeping into the encampment.”
    â€œSorry,” Amber Lee said.
    â€œAt least a bonfire will be fun,” I said. “Maybe it will drive away some of these insects.”
    â€œThe kindling is for the oven, I’m afraid,” he said. “All period correct. They had to hire me, since I’m the only one who knows how to regulate the temperature without using a thermometer.”
    â€œYou never fail to amaze me,” I said.
    He winked and then led us along what seemed a much more traveled path, which opened up into another time and place. If I were an expert, I probably could have told you the date and location, but the best I could narrow it down to was Europe sometime in the Middle Ages. We’d wandered into a medieval