Sarah glanced around to make sure the event’s queen and her lackeys weren’t in sight before she pulled up her hem to keep from tripping. She trudged up the steep drive between the parking lot and the fairgrounds. The breeze of the early spring day tugged on her skirt and long sleeves.
Sarah had worked this Renaissance Faire a few times. Of all the different reenactment festivals she sold her novels at, this one had the strictest rules. Her Royal Majesty Lady Eleanor de Pompadour of France, duchess of blah, blah, blah, oversaw this faire with an iron hand. The woman took her two day pretend role entirely too seriously. All vendors at this ren. faire, paid for the privilege but had to remain in character speak in an antiquated accent, cover the ankles, wear costumes without modern conveniences like zippers and snaps.
It all seemed a bit silly for the few sales Sarah ever made. She toyed with the thought of this being the last one she attended as a vendor.