"What are you thinking?" I ask.
"Only that I am becoming quite attached to you," he says. "It worries me a bit."
"Why?" I turn over on my side to face him. "I mean, isn't it a good thing that your feelings for me have grown?" Eesh, what's wrong now? This guy has more issues than a politician on the campaign trail. And he doesn't know the half of it! Imagine if I told him that I'm living eight hundred years before I'll be born.
He shrugs. "Mayhap," he says. "But still I ask, what do I have to offer you?" He rakes a hand through his chestnut hair, loosening the ponytail. "I am nothing but an outlaw with no home. There's a price on my head. I could be killed on any given day. And I cannot even admit to my own men my adoration of you." He turns to look at me, and I see tears in the corners of his eyes. "Why would you have any desire to love someone like me? You, who are so beautiful and good. You deserve so much more than I can ever hope to give."
I frown. "I haven't asked you for anything."
"I know, I know." He reaches out and fingers a loose strand of my hair. I close my eyes, enjoying his soft touch. "But it does not matter. I look at you and see all that you merit. All that another could give you so much more easily than I. You deserve fancy dresses, jewels—to sleep in a real bed. You could be a lady of the court. Instead you choose to live a squalid, difficult existence in the forest because you care for me."
"You're right about that. I care for you—not courts and jewels and dresses," I insist. "You're more important to me than material possessions. Not to mention that my life here is more fulfilling. I mean, look at all the good we do together. How we've changed the kingdom. With you by my side I feel like anything is possible. How can you say that's not giving me all I deserve?"
He pulls me into an embrace and I crumble into his arms. He strokes my hair and kisses me on the top of my head.
"I am truly blessed that you feel that way," he says. "And can only hope someday I will prove worthy of your affections."
"You already are worthy, More than worthy. You truly are."
"It's strange," he says. "I feel so close to you, yet I do not really know anything about you. Where do you come from? How did you get here? Why do you speak with such a strange tongue?" He laughs. "For all I know, you could be a spy of Prince John's, one who will be my demise."
I make a face at him. "Of course I'm not. Don't be stupid. Besides, before I came you guys weren't even doing anything worth spying on, remember?"
"True," Robin agrees. "But even still. You know everything about me and I know nothing about you. Why you talk so strangely. Where your home is and what it is like. Why are you so reluctant to reveal your past?"
Uh, because it's the future? That'd be one reason. But it's not one I can exactly explain to him.
He's staring at me with an expectant look. I'd better come up with something fast.
"I, well—once I had a husband,” I begin slowly. I guess he'll have to be okay with half-truths, at least for now. "Danny."
"Aye. You told me you were a widow. How did he die?"
"Er, actually, I was sort of stretching the truth on that one. I mean, I wish I were a widow. Actually my ex-husband is still alive and well, and living in my homeland."
"He is alive? And he let you go?"
"Please. He did not let me do anything! I left of my own accord." I think back to the day I packed my bags and said I was out of there. Danny begged me to stay. He told me it was all a big, bad mistake and it'd never happen again. Problem was, I didn't believe him... on either account.
"Why did you leave? Did he hurt you?" Robin asks, face darkening and hands balling into fists.
"No. Well, yes. I mean, not like you think." I try to clarify. "He didn't beat me. But he cheated on me. He, um, had sex with another girl and I caught him in the act."
Robin narrows his eyes and shakes his head. "How could anyone choose another over someone like you?"
I smile. "It's nice to know you have a high opinion of me, Rob. But it's not a universally shared one, trust me."
"Then the world is truly insane," he declares. "For you are beautiful and smart and fascinating and everything a man could hope for in a mate."
"Ditto," I say, leaning over to place a kiss on his nose.
"Ditto?"
“It means I think the exact same of you,” I explain, realizing I'd inadvertently lapsed into my movie allusions again. Luckily Robin's no ghost in Whoopi Goldberg's body. "You're handsome and smart and fascinating and everything I have always imagined a man could be."
Robin smiles and then reaches over to pull me close into his arms, and he cuddles into me, cheek caressing cheek. I relax in his embrace, knowing I'm breaking my own rules but no longer caring.
Because, at the end of the day, secret or not, right or not, impossible or not, I am falling in love with this man.
Chapter Eleven
We wake up the next morning still entwined in each other's arms. Robin tells me that we'd better get back to camp before we're missed, so I sleepily gather my things and we exit the love nest.
"Don't worry, my dear," he says, reaching over to squeeze my hand. "We can return soon. Tonight, if you wish it."
"Oh, yeah. I wish it. I wish it a lot."
Robin goes on ahead, instructing me to follow in a few minutes so we're not seen wandering in together, doing the medieval version of the walk of shame.
I watch him as he heads down the forest path, my heart filled with joy and affection. Who knew I'd have to travel eight hundred years into the past to find my soul mate? If only we didn't have to keep this pesky secret, then everything would be perfect.
Suddenly my phone rings.
"Hello?" I ask, as if I can't guess who's on the other end. There's only one person who calls me in medieval times, and I don't need caller ID to know who.
"Is he back yet?"
"Why, hello Kat! It's great to hear from you too. I'm doing quite well. Thank you for asking."
"Sorry," Kat says, not actually sounding all that apologetic. "Hi, how are you, how's bow-and-arrow world, all that jazz. But really, Chrissie, don't hold me in suspense. Is King Richard back from the Crusades yet? Did you get the Holy Grail? Can Nimue get us back from the future?"
"Don't you think I would have called you if something had happened?" I ask, though technically I'm not sure if this phone is equipped to make outgoing calls to the future. You probably need a different minutes plan. Like a Century Plan or something—with no “time" limits. Hardy, har, har.
"Yes, I suppose you would. So that means he's not? Where the hell is this guy? How long does it take to capture the Holy City of Jerusalem anyway?"
"Um, actually I think he's currently rotting away in a prison in Austria," I say, trying to remember my history. "Captured on the way back or something."
"Grr," Kat growls into the phone. "Well, someone had better free him quick. Is anyone working on that? Hey, I know. Maybe you could head down there and try to get him out or something? Speed things up a little? Maybe Rob and his boys would be able to help. Just think, you'd all be heroes of the land."
"You want me to stage an international jailbreak of one of the most famous prisoners in history? I can barely manage to survive in Sherwood Forest."
"Well, it was just a thought," Kat huffs. "I mean, I'm desperate here. Guen's hooked up with this guy that she thinks is the reincarnation of her husband King Arthur, but the dude has a wife! Of course, I think the wife might be having an affair with this hacker named Lance, which could totally bring down the entire company if it's true. Anyway, it's all very weird. And strangely déjà vu-ish too, for some reason. In any case, I think it'd be a lot better if we could just all get back to the twenty-first century."
"Kat, you're just going to have to sit tight. Try to stay out of trouble for once in your life. There's nothing to do but wait."
"Fine, fine. I guess I have no choice, huh?" She pauses, then adds, "How are things going for you, anyway?"
"They're... interesting
."
"Oh?"
"Well, first off, Robin Hood's figured out I'm a girl."
"Did he kick you out of camp? Are you on the streets? Er, or paths, or wherever the hipster homeless hang out in the twelfth century?"
"No. We, um, have sort of, well... I guess we're dating." Dating. That sounds so lame. Like dinner and a movie instead of wild, hot sex in a flower-strewn meadow. Still, that's a little TMI to tell someone like Kat. Even if she would enjoy all the juicy details, I'm just not a kiss-and-teller.
"Uh, okay. But, well, I thought you were married. What about Danny? Is this one of those 'what happens in Sherwood Forest stays in Sherwood Forest' type things? Don't worry. You can trust me to keep a secret."
Ugh. I forgot I didn't tell her that yet. I swallow hard. "Actually, Danny and I split up before I came back in time. I found him... well, I mean, we just weren't getting along."
"He cheated on you?" For someone so dense and self-absorbed, sometimes Kat could be very perceptive. "That bastard!"
The lump forms back in my throat. So annoying, that even with this new, wonderful affair I still can't help but choke up when I think of what happened to my marriage. "Yeah," I say, after swallowing it back down. "So we've been separated a couple months now."
"And now you're back in time, getting it on with Robin Hood!" Kat concludes. "How freaking awesome is that? Good for you, Chrissie. Don't let the bastard get you down. Have wild and crazy sex with a legend instead. It's good for the soul. I should know. Been there, done that."
"Yeah, well it's a bit more complicated," I say.
"Oh, yeah. It always is. Lance and I had to keep our relationship a total secret. Pretend we were brother and sister. And so the knights thought he was actually sleeping with Guenevere. Isn't that ridiculous? Then through this whole case of mistaken identity thing they concluded that the two of them were having an affair instead of me and him, and they sentenced Guen to burn at the stake. Of course Lance and I totally rescued her, but still—it totally destroyed the whole kingdom of Camelot. Way messy, let me tell you."
"Wow." And here I thought hiding our relationship was hard. Sounds like Kat had it a lot worse. "But in the end... ?"
"Oh, well, happily ever after, really. Lance and I are thick as thieves. And we don't have to hide anymore, which rocks. We're PDA-ing all over the twenty-second century, let me tell you."
"Sounds nice."
"So what's your deal again?"
"I have to pretend I'm a guy."
"Oh yeah, the whole eunuch thing. I remember now. That must be fun. Not."
"They all signed some stupid sacred oath. No women in camp. And if the men knew he was breaking his own rule by hanging with me, it could really mess with his leadership. And we're doing so well now with the robberies and stuff. The kingdom is thriving. The poor are getting food. It'd be a shame to ruin all of those good things just for the right to kiss him in public." I sigh. "But still..."
"It's hard. I know. You feel like he's ashamed of you. That the relationship isn't important enough to risk his job over. Lance had very much the same issue. King Arthur wouldn't allow his knights to date. I mean, how lame is that? Not that many of them followed that rule. Gawain had a different damsel every night. But Lancelot was so good and pure." She laughs. "Until he met me, obviously."
"I can only imagine."
"Anyhow, try to think of this as an adventure. Isn't sneaking around kind of exciting? I mean, it's like the thrill of an affair without another woman being hurt."
"It'd be more fun if the stakes weren't so high. It's not like his job has an unemployment plan if he's fired for sleeping with me."
"Right. Well, hang in there, Chris. Things could change at a moment's notice. Just be true to yourself and your own feelings. And hey, enjoy the sex! How is our legendary outlaw in the bedroom department, anyway? I figure it's Robin Hood—he's got to be packin' something decent in his tigh—"
"Oh, Kat? Hello?" I tap the phone against my palm. "Can you hear me now? I think you're breaking up."
"Yeah, right. Bullshit. You just don't want to go all TMI. Fine, fine. Keep the juicy details to yourself."
I laugh. "It was good to talk to you, Kat," I say, and am surprised I mean it. Somewhere in all her crazy babble the girl does talk some sense. Who would have thought?
"Good to talk to you too, Chrissie. I'll call back soon. Go start staging that Austrian prison break. I know you could pull it off. You gotta have faith, faith, faith—"
I click the End button to cut short her butchering of the George Michael song and stuff the phone back in my bag. Time to head back to camp before Robin comes back looking for me.
As I approach the vicinity, I hear excited voices.
"Robin! Take a look at this!"
I follow the sound of the voices and come across several men, including Robin, all hovering around Will Scarlet, who holds an unrolled piece of parchment in his hands.
"What is it?" I ask.
Robin looks up from reading. "An archery competition," he says, his eyes sparkling. "At Prince John's castle. The prize is a golden arrow."
"A golden arrow?"
"The shaft is made of solid silver and its head of solid gold," he explains. "Could feed a village for a month."
I scrunch my eyebrows and wrack my brain. This sounds all too familiar. "I think it's a trap."
The four men stare at me.
"A trap?" Robin asks. "For who?"
"For you, duh. To get you back for all the recent robberies. Everyone knows you're the best archer in the land, so why not tempt you with a competition to bring you out of the safety of the forest and into the open? You win the tournament and your prize is a jail sentence."
"That seems a bit of an elaborate plan to snare me."
I sigh. How do I explain that I know what I know? It's not like I can say I read about it in a book that's yet to be written. I'm all of a sudden feeling a very strong Cassandra complex here.
Then again, should I really be trying to talk them out of things? I'm not trying to change history here. And if history proves correct, Robin cleverly escapes anyhow. All's well that ends well.
"You could win this," Will Scarlet says, looking back down at the paper. "There is no man better with a bow than you, Robin."
"Aye," Robin agrees. "I think I shall enter."
"Um, hello?" I say, waving my hands in front of his face. "Earth to Robin! You can't just waltz into the castle courtyard. They'll arrest you. Hang you."
"You worry too much, Chris," Robin says, " ‘Tis simple. We shall wear disguises. Will, allow me to don one of your scarlet cloaks. The Prince and his sheriff will expect men in green."
A red cloak? That's his big disguise? That's as bad as Superman fooling everyone with Clark Kent glasses. I mean, Duh, Lois Lane. You'd think she'd totally know.
"Well, I'm coming with you," I interject. If he's going to go be all foolish and stuff, he needs backup. And I'm the only one in this stupid camp sensible enough—well, at the very least knowledgeable enough about how it's all supposed to play out. Not that anyone ever listens to me.
Robin scowls. "I do not think it is safe for—"
"For what?" I ask sweetly. "I am one of your men, am I not?" Heh. Sometimes this eunuch disguise can work in my favor.
He shoots me an exasperated glare, but of course he can't say anything in front of Will and the other guys. "Fine," he says at last. "Let's go win this tournament."
Chapter Twelve
Tournament day is bright and sunny, the air crisp and cool—perfect weather for a New England harvest festival or apple-picking adventure. However, I can't enjoy any of it because I'm so nervous.
While Locksley Castle was just basically a medieval McMansion plopped in the middle of a field, Nottingham Castle has a whole city built around it and is actually quite impressive. Houses, inns, and pubs flank narrow but bustling streets. We pass a blacksmith hammering horseshoes into shape, a bread maker kneading his dough. We walk through a market s
quare packed with makeshift wooden stands selling everything under the sun. Luckily, Robin seems to know the way. I'd be totally lost.
Finally we come to a large courtyard adjacent to the castle itself. You have to go through a second set of guards to get in, but luckily they're not checking IDs or anything. A good thing, too—Robin's great disguise is not much more than Will Scarlet's red cloak pulled far over his head. Not the best cosplay in the world, not by a long shot. And it feels weird to be here without the other merry men. But Robin was worried that showing up with an entourage might attract too much attention. My role is to play his servant and watch for any signs of recognition amongst the sheriff’s men.
The place is packed: peasants, noblemen and women, knights in shining armor, the works, all milling about chatting amicably with one another. There's an excitement in the air—like the kind you find before a football game—and I half expect souvenir stands with big foam fingers and number jerseys for the Sheriff of Nottingham.
Robin motions for me to follow him, and we head over to the stand where people sign up for the tournament. I watch as he pays some silver, and the guard tosses him a quill to list his name on the roll of parchment. I squint to try to make out what Robin's going to choose as his special top-secret tournament name, but I can't quite make out his scrawl. There sure are a lot of names on the list though. Guess the golden arrow is a pretty big prize. Hope Robin's up for the challenge. Then again, I already know that he wins this—I've read the book. So why am I so freaked out?
Once signed up, we head to a small, unoccupied corner of the courtyard. Robin takes his bow from me and inspects it critically.
"Think I can do this?" he asks under his breath.
"Definitely," I say with a confidence I don't entirely feel. Not that I think he won't be able to hit a bull's-eye; I'm just afraid that he won't be able to hit a bull's-eye without getting caught for who he really is. "You'll kick their butts. Especially that stupid sheriff. But be careful of performing too, too well. After all, you don't want them to figure out it's you."
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