One Knight Only

"Help you?" A tall man in colorful medieval clothing walked up to Tad. "This is staff only, bud."
Tad nodded. "Yeah, I know. I'm looking for Ashford. A.J. Ashford. We had an appointment. The Hatfield attorney sent me."
"Ah, okay. Whatever." The man shrugged, sending ripples down the tunic he wore. There were some serious muscles under the loose cotton shirt, realized Tad.
"This way."
Carefully watching their footing, they picked their way across a paddock to a large barn, which was now being used as a stable. The Medieval Hulk led him inside and Tad's nose immediately twitched at the strong and pungent smell of horse. Up close, it was very distinctive, overriding the scent of food wafting throughout the grounds.
Tad had learned to ride years ago, cherishing the secret ambition of slapping on a Stetson and a pair of Colt 45s. Or whatever cowboys had used. Sadly, the riding community in Magnolia, north of Boston, was more into dressage and polo than recreating the gunfight at the OK Corral. So his riding career had been briefer than he'd anticipated. No tears were shed, since his nasal passages had never completely accustomed themselves to the fragrance of sweaty equines. He supposed one got used to it, but for his part he'd rather not. These days, his horses of choice were the ones under the hood of his Audi.
"Yo. A.J." Mr. Chatty hollered into a stall. "You got company. Some lawyer."
Tad didn't bother correcting him, just waited for A.J. Ashford to emerge. He was envisioning some sort of squire-type-cum-stablehand. So it was an enormous surprise when a small blonde figure emerged wiping her hands on a grubby cloth.
"Where?"
"Over there." Muscles gestured with his chin toward Tad then looked down at her. "You done with Moses?"
"Yep. He's okay, Joe. Just go easy on him. I still don't like the look of that saddle sore, but it's healing and I've dressed it. Keep your armor away from it, if you can."
A grunt seemed to end the conversation and Tad found the strength to close his mouth, which had fallen open at the elfin vision before him. She was petite but rounded, her voluptuous shape revealed by a tight gown, cut low in front. Her blonde hair flew every which way, long fronds seeming to dance around her head and through the flowers and ribbons completing the magical look. Her dress was blue and there wasn't a speck of dirt on it—a miracle in and of itself, given the surroundings.
But all these things registered as vague and insubstantial details on Tad's consciousness because he had a growing suspicion he knew who A.J. Ashford was.
She stopped short as she got her first good look at him. "Oh my God. Tad?"
Recovering from his temporary mental paralysis, Tad attempted a smile. "Drina? Is that you?"
It seemed as if the little faery creature grew in stature as she squared her shoulders, tossed the cloth aside and marched toward him.
"Yes, Tad. It's me." She tensed. "You motherfucker."
Her left hook to his chin came out of the blue and knocked him flat on his ass.