What if I really am back in time and I just murdered Robin Hood?
Without giving common sense the time of day, I dive off the log and into the river, paddling as fast as I can with the weight of my clothes dragging me down, trying to catch up with him. In the distance, I can see his head bobbing up and then disappearing into the foamy waters.
As I finally reach him I grab him from behind, my arm wrapping around his solid chest as they used to do on Baywatch. I start the struggle to pull him to shore, which isn't an easy task by any means. My slippered feet find it nearly impossible to get a grip on the slick river rocks, so I kick them off and attempt to gain purchase barefoot.
Midway there, Robin, or whoever he is, regains his senses, turns around and grabs me. I scream, struggling to get away. Is he trying to drown me? Then I realize he's laughing.
"By God, you fight like a tiger, boy," he says, as he plants his feet on the river floor. I realize then that he's tall enough to effortlessly walk to shore. And here I thought I was saving his life. D'oh.
"I kicked your ass, didn't I?" I say grouchily as he proceeds to dump me unceremoniously on the riverbank. At least I'm on the other side. Soaking wet and in major pain, but on the other side.
He grins and looks down at his privates, which I can't help but notice stand out rather prominently beneath his soaking wet tunic and leggings. Has he stuffed a sock in there or what? "I wish you had. ’Twould have hurt a bit less.”
My face heats as I realize exactly where my back-handspring kick made contact. But still, he asked for it. Trying to tax a log? Puh-leeze.
"What is your name, boy?" he asks, wringing out his tunic.
Hmm. He still thinks I'm male. Okay. Distressing, yes. But probably a good thing. Especially since I'm getting the sneaking suspicion that, like it or not, realistic or not, insanely crazy or not, I've somehow been sent back in time.
I'm going to kill Kat if I ever see her again.
I realize the man's waiting for an answer. "Uh, Chriss ... tian," I tell him, making it up on the fly. Christian is a close enough boyish equivalent to Chrissie, so I'm sure I'll have no trouble answering to it. "Christian Hayward. What's yours?"
"Why do you want to know?"
I frown. What's with the secrecy here? "Er, I don't know. You asked me mine. Just trying to keep up ye olde conversation."
The man pauses for a moment, then says, "You may call me Robin." He pauses and, as if measuring my reaction, adds: "Of Locksley."
My eyes widen. Robin of Locksley? Could it really be? Could the man I just bested in this fight actually be the legendary Robin Hood, for real? I mean, we're in the right time period. He's dressed all in green. And heck, how many guys besides Batman's bestie go by the name Robin?
Should I ask him if he's who I think he is? Or will that totally freak him out? After all, he is an outlaw. Probably has to keep his true identity on the down-low. I'd want to as well if I were a regular on the medieval version of America's Most Wanted. Yes, best not to push him.
I take a moment to study him closer. He's certainly as handsome as I imagined Robin Hood to be. Much better-looking than Kevin Costner, though that's not saying much. And what do you know, he actually speaks with a British accent (unlike Mr. Costner).
"Look, Robin of Locksley,” I continue, emphasizing the Locksley part. "I need to find King Richard. You got any idea where he is?"
Robin's eyes darken and the laughter fades from his face, replaced by a scowl. "Do you mock me, lad?" he asks.
Huh? "Uh, no," I say carefully. I certainly hadn't been expecting that reaction. "I really need to talk to the guy. Can you direct me to his castle?"
"To his castle, aye," Robin says with a sigh. "I could direct ye. ‘Tis not far off, in fact. But you will scarce have luck in finding His Majesty, the King of England, behind its walls."
"What, is he on vacation or something?" That'd totally be my luck.
"Nay. He is lost. Gone a year too long from the crusades in the east. He left to fight in the Holy War, taking with him England's finest men, and has ne'er been heard from again."
Oh, that's just freaking great. Nimue sent me back in time to the wrong year? I mean, we all know that King Richard shows up eventually. Comes back and boots the sniveling—and thumb-sucking in the Disney version—Prince John from his throne. But how close am I now to that time? Does this mean I'm stuck here until the King shows up? That completely blows. I mean, I can't be hanging out in the Middle Ages for the next year. I have things to do. Anorexic models to photograph. A cheating husband to divorce. An apartment to get evicted from.
Okay, maybe it wouldn't be so terrible to spend a few months away from my present-day hell. I hope Kat's cool with being stuck in the future a bit longer....
In any case, what am I supposed to do now? Go to the castle and hang out there, wait for the King to come home? That seems potentially on the dull side. I mean, if I've really traveled back in time, I should go exploring, have adventures, right? Maybe take some photos. I wonder how much photos of the real-life Robin Hood would fetch on eBay? Oh shoot, I left my camera on the other side of the river. Have to remember to go get that.
I turn my attention back to Robin. "If you seek an audience with Prince John," he is saying, "I will gladly direct you to the castle. But I cannot offer you escort to its gates. You see, I am an outlawed man and less than welcomed." He laughs, a bit bitterly. "Well, my head would be welcome, forsooth, but I cannot guarantee 'twould stay attached to my body come sunup."
"I guess there's no reason to go to the castle if the King isn't there," I tell him, making up my mind. "How about I come hang with you in Sherwood Forest instead? Meet your merry men and all that jazz." After all, how many chances does one get to chill with a living legend? Like I said, if I'm stuck back in time, I'm going to take full advantage. I could even write a Robin Hood biography when I got back to the 21st century. Get a book deal. Retire.
Robin's face darkens. "How do you know about my men?"
Oh, good one Chrissie. He hasn't mentioned his men yet. "Uh, well, I just assumed, I guess. Though, I suppose we all know what assuming does. Makes an ass out of you and—"
"Who are you?" the outlaw demands, rising to his feet. "Did the Sheriff send you to spy on us?"
"What? No!" I cry, completely taken aback. "Of course not! I'm one of the good guys. And totally for the old 'rob from the rich, give to the poor’ concept. After all, I'm a Democrat."
"Rob from the rich?" Robin repeats, looking completely confused.
"Yeah, you know," I say, scrambling to my feet. "The whole Robin Hood legend thing."
"Lad, I tell you true, I know not of what you speak. Nor am I familiar with the name Robin Hood."
I raise an eyebrow. "You mean to tell me you don't steal from rich people and give the money to the poor?" Did I get it wrong? Is he not the infamous outlaw after all?
No, he has to be. He's Robin of Locksley. He's wearing green, he lives in Sherwood Forest, he has merry men. I've got to be right. Maybe he just doesn't want to admit it in front of me. He does suspect I work for the Sheriff, after all.
"We are not thieves, no matter what the Sheriff might brand us. We forage from the land and keep to ourselves in the forest," Robin insists.
"Okay. My bad. Never mind then."
He fixes me with a stare. "But you have not answered my question. Who are you and from whence do you hail? You dress strangely and speak with the oddest tongue."
Hm. How am I supposed to answer this one? And should I tell him I'm actually a girl? I mean, it would be easier to come clean about my rightful sex. Then again, I know nothing about this guy except that I think he might be Robin Hood. What if I'm wrong and he's really Robin the Rapist or something? That would be bad, to say the least. Better to hide the truth a bit longer, I think.
"I come from a kingdom far, far away," I say at last. "The kingdom of... Hoboken. English is not my first language, which is why I speak it so badly." There, that ought to explain the A
merican accent and improper Ye Olde English terms and phrases. I just have to hope he doesn't ask me to speak my native tongue or it'll be a lot of Leasepay ontday askay emay nymoray estionsquay.
"And how did you find yourself in the forest Sherwood?" he asks. Phew.
"I um, ran away. From... the church." The church was pretty powerful back then, right? They'd be someone you ran from. I still run from those Hari Krishnas in the airport. They wanted to make me an altar boy. Er, I mean, a choir boy. They—"
"Made you a eunuch?" Robin gasps.
Ewww. Isn't that a guy who got his you-know-whats cut off? Like what’s-his-name from Game of Thrones? What makes him think I'm one of those? As I remain silent, Robin adds thoughtfully, "A choir boy. I thought perhaps you were actually a woman. You stand tall as a man, yet have no hint of a beard. Your voice is fair sweet..."
I decide to run with his suggestion. "Ha, ha, ha!" I slap my knee in hysterics over his ridiculous statement. "Me? A woman? That's a good one. How could anyone think I'm a woman? Ha, ha, ha!" I hawk a loogie into the river and let out a loud belch. "Nope, I’m about as manly as they come. Well, as manly as anyone who got his balls cut off by the church." I fake a dispirited look.
Robin pats me on the back. "Indeed you are, lad, I meant no insult."
Suddenly a scream cuts through the forest. Robin's body tenses and he motions silently toward the bushes. We dive in and take shelter underneath the thick overgrowth. I can hear my heart pounding as fast and heavy as the horses' galloping hooves. What now?
Suddenly a young boy dashes past us, stopping at the riverbank. He can't be more than ten years old, barefoot and dressed in gray rags, with a shock of blond hair atop his head. He looks a little like Macaulay Culkin from the Home Alone era. Strapped to his back is a crude bow and arrow. His eyes are wide and frightened as he realizes he's trapped.
The horses show up next. Coal-black steeds, three in all, that remind me of Black Beauty, Atop the horses are soldiers, each dressed in chain mail with a scary-looking sword strapped to his waist.
One of the soldiers, the biggest and ugliest—(since we’re on Game of Thrones, think that Mountain guy)—urges his horse forward. He draws his sword and points it at the boy's throat. "It seems the hounds have snared this hart," he says with an evil-sounding chuckle. The other two men laugh appreciatively at what I guess they consider a joke. I glance at Robin. He puts a finger to his lips, warning me to be silent.
"Now answer me, boy," the soldier continues. "Did ye or did ye not kill the king's deer?"
"I was starving, sire," the boy protests in an adorable little English accent. Like the kid in Oliver Twist. Or Tiny Tim without the crutches. "We all are. I dunna mind going without, but me sister is sick. She needs food and we 'aven't any."
Well, I'll be darned. I totally remember this scene from the Robin Hood stories. They try to cut off the kid's hand and then Robin comes dashing in to save him. I glance over at the outlaw, grinning in anticipation. Adventure number one, coming right up. I can't wait to see this.
"Do ye know the price of your trespass?" one of the other guards asks. His mouth twists in a sinister smile. "By order of the Sheriff of Nottingham, thieves like you are to have their hands severed from their arms. 'Twill prove rather difficult to shoot a deer with one hand, will it not?"
Yup. Just as I remembered it. How very cool to be living a legend. I can't wait to see Robin swoop in to save the kid's day. This back-in-time stuff is almost better than vegan food trucks.
Go for it! I mouth.
"Please. I beg you!" the boy sobs. He falls to his knees, hands clasped together, pleading for mercy.
The soldier with the sword looks impatient. "Hold out your hand, boy, or I will run you through."
"Aye. Be quick about it. We've wasted enough time already."
Seeming to gain some resolve, the little boy bravely rises to his feet, sticking out his hand, palm up, unmasked defiance on his face. The soldier chuckles and turns to his friends.
Um, okay, Robin. Any time now would be good.
"Who would like the honor?" the man asks.
I look back at Robin, who for some reason doesn't seem to be rearing into action. "Aren't you going to do something?" I hiss.
Robin gives me another stare of disbelief. "Risk my life to save the hand of a peasant boy?"
I stare at him for a moment, not sure I heard right. Could Robin Hood actually be refusing to help the helpless? In order to save his own neck?
"So, let me get this straight," I whisper back. "You not only don't do the whole 'rob from the rich, give to the poor’ thing, but you're refusing to help this helpless kid?"
He shrugs. "He will surely live with one hand. If they catch me, 'twould be my head they sever from my body."
"Oh, you're pathetic!" I can't believe how lame the real Robin Hood has turned out to be. "Well, screw you. If you won't do something, I will."
I search the ground and find a good-sized stone. I wrap my hands around it and, just as the soldier starts his blade's descent, I huck the stone as hard as I can. It slams into the man's horse's flank, and the beast bucks in surprise and pain, dismounting his rider.
The other two guards stare in the direction of my throw.
Damn. I don't think I quite thought this through.
"Nice," Robin says, with more than a hint of sarcasm. He grabs my hand, drags me to a standing position, and motions for me to start running. "Congratulations. Now you're an outlaw like the rest of us."
Chapter Three
Way to go, Chrissie. Real smooth.
We race through the forest, dodging trees and diving into bushes. Brambles scrape my face, my arms, and rocks stab into my bare feet, but I can barely feel them, I'm so scared. I can hear the soldiers' cries as they attempt to follow. Luckily the underbrush is so thick in this part of the forest, where Robin leads, the horses seem to be having a hard time navigating through it. Otherwise we'd be so dead right now.
"This way," Robin says, grabbing my arm. Maybe it's due to my frazzled emotions or the lack of breath in my lungs, but his fingertips burn my skin and the whole thing suddenly seems oddly romantic. Not that he intends the gesture that way, I suppose, seeing as he thinks I'm a guy. I mean, I can accept the fact that the legendary outlaw hasn't lived up to all my expectations so far, but I'm still pretty positive he's hetero.
We take a sharp left and then Robin stops short. He glances from side to side, searching for something, then his eyes light up and he pulls back some hanging vines. Behind them lies a dark, tiny cave cut into the hillside, not even big enough to stand up in.
"Get in," he instructs.
I stare at him, wide-eyed. "I can't go in there. I'm claustrophobic."
"They will kill you if you do not." He shrugs, as if my state of existence doesn't mean jack to him. Which it probably doesn't, now that I think about it. In all honesty, I've ruined the guy's peaceful morning and forced him to run for his life. Yup, he's psyched to have me around, I'm sure.
"Fine." I stomp into the cave, realizing I'm acting as spoiled as a five-year-old who's been denied Wedding Dress Barbie. The only reason we're here is because of my foolish heroics. And, like the method or not, Robin is trying to save my life.
He ducks in behind me and pulls the vines down over the entrance. We're now stuck in a damp darkness that clings to my bones and twists my stomach into knots. I try to steady my breath with those yoga breathing exercises again as the blackness seems to close in.
I can feel Robin squashed beside me, breathing hard, and for some reason this makes me feel a little better. He shuffles to crouch in a more comfortable position and his leg brushes against mine. Again, his touch sends electric sparks up into me and I suppress a shiver. Just great. The first guy I'm attracted to after my cheating husband is a legendary outlaw from the 12th century who thinks I'm a guy. I sure know how to pick them.
"Which way did they go?" The soldiers' cries get louder as they grow nearer. My heart pounds triple-time as I re
alize they're now right outside the clearing. I can see their horses' hooves stamping from behind the vines. I swallow hard, fear of caves replaced by a much more rational fear of evil medieval men-at-arms with big scary swords.
"This way, I think," says one of the soldiers, who sounds a bit further off than the others. "I see some trampled branches."
"Excellent." The first soldier urges his horse on and gallops away, leaving Robin and me to squat in silent relief.
"We’ll stay here a bit longer," he whispers. “To be sure they do not come back around."
For a brief moment, I feel exhilarated by our daring escape and don't even mind staying crouched in cramped darkness with a sexy outlaw for a few more minutes. Then I have to pee and suddenly the situation seems a lot less comfy-cozy.
I suppress my bladder's urges as long as possible before speaking. "Um, Rob? You think the coast is clear? 'Cause I got to pee like a racehorse."
He laughs softly. "You speak with the strangest tongue, lad." He pats my knee. "I will check. Stay here." He crawls out of the cave, giving me a good view of his muscular backside. I know I shouldn't be staring, but trust me, if you saw a butt like this guy's you'd stare too.
"Are we good?" I ask, crossing my fingers for an affirmative answer. There's no way I'll be able to hold out much longer.
"Aye," he says.
Grateful, I pop out of the cave and dive into the bushes to pee. I wonder if eunuchs usually pee standing up or sitting down. I would assume still standing up, right?
I glance back at Robin. He's got his back respectably turned, so I decide to squat. I grab random leaves to wipe, praying that none of them are medieval species of poison ivy. I'm deathly allergic to the stuff and there's no cortisone here to bring down the swelling.
When finished, I approach Robin.
"So you think we're safe?" I ask.
He shrugs. "For now." He paces a few steps, then turns to look at me. "You have put yourself in danger, boy. If either of those guards remembers your face, they will put a price on your head and declare you an outlaw."