13
July 18, 1193
Sherwood Forest
Jill’s first thought when she woke up was of the kiss she and Robin had shared the night before. She didn’t regret their display of affection, but she wondered how she was supposed to act this morning. Had the kiss been a one-time deal? Were they a couple now?
No, that was probably taking their relationship too far too quickly. Had anyone else seen them? How would her association with the rest of the band, as well as her status among them, be affected by the special attention she was getting from Robin? Little John had referred to her as Robin’s lady. That could be a good or a bad thing. It could mean the men recognized the attraction between her and Robin and had no problem with it, or it could mean they thought of her as Robin’s conquest and laughed at her behind her back. If only Joanna was here! She’d be able to help Jill sort this out.
Jill ran her fingers through her hair, wishing she had the opportunity to use shampoo, a brush, and a blowdryer to look her best. It was easy to feel even more self-conscious about how she looked when she hadn’t had a proper shower in three days now. She could probably bathe in the stream, but privacy would be challenging and baths were never as good as showers. Even worse was being without a toothbrush. She was making do, but her teeth felt like they wore sweaters. What must her breath smell like?
This was far too much thinking and self-doubt for having only been awake a few minutes. Her attention should be focused on the raid of the bishop today. Still amazed that Robin had allowed her to create the plan, she marveled at how easily she had taken to the life of an outlaw. Only two days with Robin and she was planning heists for him. To be fair, she was no criminal mastermind. She just watched too much television.
When Jill returned to camp after using the privy, she saw Robin sitting at the fire with Will, Little John, and a young stranger whose red hair matched Will’s exactly. Robin motioned her over.
“Good news, Jill. Stutely and Lester found your sister’s horse. They have it stabled at the same place we have yours. And I’d like to introduce you to a visitor. Jill, meet Gripple, Will’s younger brother. Gripple and his mother Elaine are my strongest supporters back at Locksley. He’s talked with Joanna and she’s safe. Gripple, tell Jill what you told us.”
Gripple related the story of Bess’s murder and how Joanna had been appointed investigator. Jill tried to imagine Joanna solving a murder and could only shake her head in response.
“There’s more,” Robin continued. “Gripple overheard Guy and Roger talking. They plan to take Joanna to the tournament tomorrow and use her as bait to draw me out as I suspected. However, with the right plan, we could rescue her and keep all of us out of the dungeon.”
“What about plan 14 and the rotten teeth?” Will inquired. “We’re still using that, right?”
“Haven’t you learned anything?” Robin scoffed. “The situation is different now and we have to adapt. Jill, do you have any suggestions?”
Robin winked at her and she blushed. But then, remembering that people were watching, she composed her features into a face she hoped looked business-like.
“If we could get Joanna away from Guy at the tournament, then we could have another set of clothes waiting for her to change into. We could slip her out of the tournament area, just like Guy slipped her out of Nottingham Castle. Gripple, if I gave you a message for Joanna, could you get it to her?” When Gripple nodded, Jill turned back to Robin. “Where should we have her meet us?”
“The mason’s tent. That should be easy enough to remember and find. I can convince him to leave the place to us for a while.”
“I’ll make sure Joanna knows,” Gripple said.
Jill wished she could write Joanna a letter to tell her what was going on in more detail, but committing the plan to writing endangered everyone. Jill would have to trust that Gripple and Elaine would do their job. She also had to trust that Joanna would keep her head and stay out of trouble until tomorrow afternoon.
After Gripple left, Robin gathered all the merry men for the briefing of the day’s raid. Jill again drew visual aids in the dirt and detailed the role each man would play as well as the verbal cue for when they should jump out of the trees. After a few clarifying questions, all the men seemed to understand the plan and looked excited about the afternoon’s adventure. She wanted to conduct a dress rehearsal, but Robin dismissed the idea. They’d never practiced before, he argued, even if those schemes weren’t as complicated as Jill’s.
The briefing over, Robin dismissed the men to practice their archery and keep a sharp lookout for the bishop. As the outlaws dispersed, Robin drew Jill aside and presented her with a dagger, a bow about four feet tall and a quiver of arrows.
“You asked me yesterday about weapons. You can keep the dagger in your belt for emergencies, although I hope no one dangerous will be close enough you have to use it. This bow is intended for a boy. There’s no offense meant. I’m not sure you’ll be able to handle a greater draw weight than this.”
“No, this is good,” Jill assured him, excited at the prospect of shooting. She tucked the dagger into her belt and followed Robin out of the camp. She expected him to take her to the band’s shooting range in a clearing nearby, but instead he led her to a secluded spot in the woods. He set their gear against the trunk of a huge oak and motioned for her to stay there while he counted out what looked like twenty yards and tied a white rag around a tree trunk.
Jill squinted with concern. While she had shot a bow before, it had been a recurve ten yards in front of a three-foot foam target, not twenty yards from a four-inch band on a tree. Her groupings weren’t that consistent. Still, the journey back in time had been going very well. She had surprised herself with her ability to ride a horse, leap off tall buildings, and fight men bigger than she was. Maybe she would be as naturally successful with archery.
Robin produced a glove with all but the index and middle finger cut out to protect her fingers when she drew. Jill slid it on the glove, grateful she wouldn’t have to rub the pads of her fingers raw.
“Let’s see what you already know,” Robin suggested.
Selecting an arrow from the quiver, she moved to notch it on the bow string but saw no nocking point on the string. There was no arrow rest on the bow either, and Jill realized she knew a lot less about medieval archery than she thought she had. What was she supposed to do? Hold the arrow with her finger?
She cut her eyes to Robin’s face. He looked like he was trying to be patient, but his desire to help her couldn’t have been more obvious. Grateful that he hadn’t offered advice right away, she debated if she should shoot on her own or ask for his assistance. She wasn’t used to asking for help. But if Robin was here, wanting to help, shouldn’t she let him? Maybe this was what you did after you kissed a man—you let him teach you something.
“Will you help me?”
Robin grinned eagerly. “Certainly.” He took the bow from her and stepped back. “Put your hands together in front of you and form an opening. Good, now look at me through that hole.”
Modeling what he demonstrated, Jill held up her hands, palms forward, and brought them together until she could see Robin between the small opening formed between her fingers and thumbs.
“You favor your right eye. So, hold the bow with your left hand, and draw the string with your right.”
In the middle of the long bow was wrapped a piece of leather, laced up on the side facing away from the string. Jill gripped the leather-wrapped portion tightly against her left palm like she had seen archers do in the movies.
“No, no, don’t hold it like that.”
Robin stepped in front of her and touched her hand.
“You’re holding on too tightly. Move your arm more at an angle so your elbow is away from the bow. See how the bow rests more on your fingers instead of your palm? You want your arm to naturally angle away from you so the bowstring doesn’t strike your forearm.”
Jill tugged at
the bowstring with her right hand to test the hold. She would need a lot more hand strength to shoot this way. She was used to letting her stiffened arm take the weight when the bow sat in her palm.
Robin touched his finger to the space between her knuckle and the bow shaft. “This spot is where you rest your arrow. Notch your arrow on the string so it’s level with that spot.”
He stepped out of the way while Jill with clumsy fingers finally got the arrow level and drew until her fingers reached her mouth. She was sighting down the arrow when her hand slipped, dislodging the shaft resting on her knuckle. The released arrow twanged loudly and thudded to the ground only a few feet away. She growled in disappointment.
“It’s all right,” Robin consoled. “That was only the first one.”
She kept the next arrow balanced on her knuckle, but as she drew, the bow slipped back into her palm. The arrow traveled a little father this time but veered toward the left. Her left forearm smarted where the bowstring had slapped the skin. She tried to shake it off, hoping Robin wouldn’t notice. Firing a third time, she managed to keep her left hand steady and the bow resting on her fingers, but the string twanged loudly when she released the arrow and she could see the shaft swivel left and right through the air.
“I think you’re holding the string too far back on your fingers,” Robin suggested. “It’s preventing a clean release. Keep your right hand steady at your mouth when you shoot. The only thing moving when you release should be your two fingers on the string.”
Jill tried to follow his advice over the next four shots, but her arrows didn’t hit any closer to the target. She would have to accept the fact that any natural talent she had at archery would be developed with practice. But how much patience would Robin or the rest of the gang have with her? Alan was the only member of the gang who didn’t shoot, and she didn’t want to be thrown into the same category with him.
“Are you getting tired?” Concern was evident in Robin’s voice.
Jill debated what to tell him. “Frustrated.”
“You only need practice. Try again.”
Jill notched her arrow, drew, and sighted down the shaft.
Coming up behind her, Robin put one hand on her elbow to lower it and held the other at her waist. “You should never shoot in haste or when you’re angry. Relax.”
Intellectually, she understood what he said. However, relaxing while pulling at least forty pounds of draw weight and feeling Robin’s warm breath on her neck was impossible. The arrow whipped away and sounded with a ping and crash as it glanced off a tree to the right of the target and fell into the underbrush. She turned her head slowly to face him and closed her eyes as he leaned in for a kiss. Their lips were millimeters from touching when Little John’s voice punctuated the silence.
“Robin! You have to see this!”
Robin groaned as he pulled back. “John, I gave you very specific instructions about privacy.”
“I know, but, we have a child prodigy on our hands.”
“I’ll come in a moment. We need to retrieve the arrows.”
Little John’s brow furrowed. “There’ll be time for that later. You have to come now.”
With a resigned sigh, Robin smiled an apology to Jill. Slinging her quiver over her shoulder, she followed Robin and Little John through the trees to the shooting range, a natural clearing about fifty yards in diameter with knee-high grass. Ten men from the band stood at one edge of the glen behind a line of rocks.
Round wooden shields painted with concentric red and white circles sat in rudimentary tripods fashioned from saplings. The distance to the target was probably forty yards. The group of men parted when Robin appeared, revealing Lester who drew a long bow as tall as he was.
As they approached, Lester loosed an arrow which implanted itself in the target to the left of the bull’s eye. The men applauded.
“That’s well done, lad,” Robin said. “But let’s see how you do at seventy-five paces.”
Will jogged to the target and moved it back into the trees, counting aloud as he took each step. Lester notched an arrow, frowning in concentration. As Robin watched the boy, his face was stoic, but Jill noticed Robin flexing his own shooting fingers.
When Will returned, Lester shot, placing the arrow in the dead center of the bull’s eye. The men roared their approval. Robin, nonplussed, ordered the target moved to one hundred paces. When this had been done, Robin removed an arrow from his own quiver and shot it slightly below the bull’s eye. Lester shot as well, hitting high of the bull’s eye.
“He’s as good as you are, Robin,” Will observed.
Jill noted Robin’s frown with amusement.
“One hundred fifty paces,” Robin ordered.
As Stutely jogged to the target to move it even farther away, Robin addressed the group.
“I don’t want any pranks or jesting. Some of you may because of a sense of loyalty to me feel obligated to rig this contest in order to preserve my dignity. However,” he raised his voice above the snickers, “I assure you I have the situation well in hand and don’t need your well-meaning interference.”
“You admit Lester is better, then?” Little John teased.
Robin glared at Little John but didn’t reply.
Lester stepped up and drew for his final shot at the target. He held the draw as he took two slow breaths. Jill marveled at the muscle power necessary to manipulate a bow with a draw weight of at least a hundred pounds. Although most eyes were on Lester, Jill focused on Robin, noting his white lips and narrow eyes. She heard rather than saw Lester’s arrow release, and a second later heard the cheer go up. Lester had shot a perfect bull’s eye. The men congratulated Lester, slapping him on the back and laughing. Only Jill noticed Robin wipe sweat from his forehead.
As Robin stepped up to shoot, his expression was grim with concentration. But when he drew and shot, she marveled at how easy he made it look. She didn’t immediately look to the target but focused on Robin, his hand still hovering near his mouth where he had released the bow string. His gaze flitted momentarily in Jill’s direction and he winked.
Stutely and Alan carried the target back to the waiting group so the shots could be examined more closely. While Lester’s arrow had indeed hit the bull’s eye, Robin’s arrow had, almost impossibly, hit the same spot, shaving wood off Lester’s arrow in the process. Not exactly a split arrow, but close enough in Jill’s opinion.
“Fine shooting, Lester,” Robin proclaimed. “You’re as good a shot as I was at your age.”
“Actually, I think he’s better,” Will joked.
Jill felt the pieces of a new plan snap together in her brain. “I’ve got it!” She didn’t realize she had said the words aloud until Robin turned to look at her.
“Got what?”
“An idea for the tournament. Everyone thinks you’re going to try for that golden arrow, right? Let’s use that to our advantage. Gisbourne will never see this coming.”
Robin’s face lit up with understanding. “It could work.”
A whistle sounded through the air and a signal arrow landed in the field.
“The bishop is coming,” Robin announced. “Places, everyone!”
■ ■ ■
A tree, fallen that morning with the help of a few axes, blocked the eight-foot gap the outlaws referred to as a road. The men milled about the tree line while Robin and Jill waited in between the wagon ruts by the log.
Robin stood, legs apart, hands on his hips, and posed for the imaginary bishop. “How does this look?”
Jill frowned as she scrutinized his body language. “Put one foot on the tree.”
Robin complied. “What should I do with my hands?”
“Put them on your hips, thumbs back. Lift your head a little. Yes, that looks good. You know what you’re going to say?”
A bird call interrupted his response. Robin grinned at Jill. “Let the show begin.”
Jill slipped into the forest, taking her position behind a tree,
and marveled at the way the other members of the gang effortlessly disappeared into the foliage. She would have felt better if they had rehearsed this. Her reputation as a member of the band was riding on this mission being a success.
Seconds later the bishop and his party rode up. There were six soldiers on foot in front, one soldier driving the carriage, and six more soldiers marching in the rear. When the men in the procession saw Robin at the fallen tree, they stopped and held their pikes ready. As the carriage behind them slowed and stopped, the bishop stuck his head out of the window, demanding in a loud to voice to know what was going on.
“Welcome to Sherwood Forest.” Robin gestured broadly with an air of ownership. “My name is Robin Hood. I am the defender of the weak, the champion of the poor, and the loyal servant of King Richard. I hereby exact a toll from you for passing through my territory.”
“I don’t have any money,” the bishop protested. “Only the funds from the poor box!”
“Oddly, that is indeed money, and I will accept it.”
“But that money is for the poor.”
“Then allow me to assist with the distribution.”
“Absolutely not!”
“Very well, then. I’ll take it by force. Seize him!”
Nothing happened.
Jill panicked. Where is everyone? They missed the cue!
Robin looked around him uneasily. A shadow of panic passed over his face, but he masked it by throwing back his head and laughing.
“You simple man! You have no idea the powers at my command. You and your men will cower in the presence of my forest band. Outlaws, seize him!”
The attack party materialized from the forest, their bows trained on the soldiers who put down their pikes without offering any resistance. Little John and Will Scarlet went straight for the carriage. Jill, her own bow drawn, stood next to Robin and hoped she wouldn’t have to hold the draw for long as her shoulders still ached. With her aim, she was more likely to take out one of the merry men in the trees than any of the bishop’s entourage. John opened the door to the carriage and pulled the bishop out by the scruff of his neck. The clergyman’s face was white as he looked up at Little John’s leering visage.
“The Lord will not forgive you for this,” the bishop blustered. “I condemn you all to hell.”
“Thank you.” Robin bowed slightly. “Always nice to get a personal invitation.”
Will hopped into the carriage, rummaged around, and came out with a small chest, which he set at Robin’s feet.
Little John shook the clergy man menacingly. “Should I kill him, Robin?”
“No, my good man.” Robin’s exaggerated tone revealed how completely he had embraced his role. “If we kill him, we won’t be able to steal from him again. Release him.”
Little John dropped the bishop who, once he had pulled his quivering body off the ground, retreated inside the carriage.
“You may continue, Bishop.” Robin stepped off the road and gestured toward Nottingham.
The procession didn’t move. Both the soldiers and the outlaws stood silently for several awkward seconds.
“I said, you may continue.” Robin again gestured toward the road.
The soldier driving the carriage pointed at the tree blocking the road. Jill cringed. This was why she had to insist on dress rehearsals in the future.
Handing Jill his bow, Robin drew his dagger and strode toward the carriage. Reaching into the window, he grabbed the front of the bishop’s cassock and pressed his dagger against the skin of the man’s throat.
“Close your eyes and count. I have archers in the trees, ready to shoot an arrow through your eye if any of you so much as pick your nose before you reach two hundred.”
The bishop and all his soldiers closed their eyes and began counting in unison. Robin continued to hold the dagger at the bishop’s throat, motioning with his head for the merry men and Jill to depart. Jill waited inside the tree line until Robin released the trembling churchman and dashed into the forest to join her.
The two laughed as they jogged to catch up with the rest of the gang on the walk back to camp.
“That,” Will declared, “is what I call a success.”
“Nice speech, Robin,” Little John added. “I especially enjoyed the part where you threw your head back and laughed.”
“I was stalling for time.” Robin threw up his hands. “I gave the cue, but no one came. Where were you?”
“We couldn’t hear you,” Will explained. “The leaves deaden the sound. We should establish a louder signal for next time.”
Jill pointed at the horn hanging from Robin’s belt. “I can’t believe we didn’t think of using that. I’m sure we would have if we’d rehearsed.”
“Next time,” Robin assured her.
“I hope there is a next time.” Little John rubbed his hands together. “I have so few chances to pretend to be really mean.”
“It would have been more satisfying to draw the encounter out longer,” Robin mused. “Have a little brawl…invite the captive to dinner on the king’s deer, perhaps.”
“We could jump out of the trees to stop them next time,” Will added. “Then we wouldn’t have the roadblock problem.”
The outlaws were catching on. Laying out the plan for them had taken some effort, but now that the band had seen the benefit of careful and coordinated planning, they were already creating ways to take their performance to the next level.
Robin put his arm around Jill. “This robbery was a smashing success compared to my first plan. Well done, Jill!”
“What happened with your first plan?
“A little mishap involving flaming arrows.”
“The family Herbert?” Jill remembered what the sheriff had said at the execution about burning down Tinterly Manor.
Robin’s face reddened. “Yes, well, enough about that. With this robbery, now we can pay the Widow Tinsley’s taxes and help some other people too. But I’m concerned that if we provide assistance once, people will start to expect it.”
Jill opened her mouth to reply when Alan-a-dale interrupted.
“What an incredible experience! I was so moved by your performance, Robin, that I’ve written a new ballad—”
“No.”
“No? What do you mean ‘no’?”
“How would you like it,” Robin stated with menacing composure, “if I punched in your nose so you could lick the snot from your nostrils with the tip of your tongue?”
“I wouldn’t like that very much.”
“Then no more ballads.”
Alan’s lower lip protruded. He motioned for Jill to hang back. She reluctantly excused herself from Robin and slowed down so that Alan could speak to her privately.
“Is he serious about no more ballads?”
“It sounded like it.”
“He hasn’t said anything to you, has he, about wanting me out of the band? I worry I’m not contributing enough. My ballads are all I have. Without them, the band might send me packing back to the sheriff.”
“I think Robin’s tired of you singing the same song all the time and making fun of him.”
Alan’s look was incredulous. “That can’t be true.”
Jill shrugged. “Maybe if you wrote something to a different tune and made sure the words said something nice about Robin…”
Alan snorted. “Everyone’s a critic.”
Back at the camp, everyone was curious to discover what great treasure lay inside the bishop’s chest. Little John, who had carried it from the scene of the robbery, set the locked box ceremoniously by the fire pit as the gang gathered round. John pummeled the padlock open with a stone then stepped back.
“Jill,” Robin declared, “you should have the honor of being the first to survey our treasure.”
She knelt in front of the small chest and licked her lips in anticipation as she opened the lid. The immediate glitter of gold elicited cries of approval, but as she began to pull the items out of the che
st, the excited chatter quieted into silence. Instead of containing gold coins, the chest held two golden challises, a necklace of silver and gold, and several bracelets. The final item was a golden cross mounted on a stand and probably designed to be an altar piece. Embedded in the precious metal at the ends of the arms and near the base were diamonds. Robin cursed.
“I don’t understand,” Lester said. “Why aren’t we happy? Isn’t this gold?”
“It’s gold all right,” Will conceded, “but this will never pay any taxes.”
“Why not?”
Robin rubbed the back of his neck. “These pieces are too distinctive—especially that crucifix. We can’t give these to anyone. If the Widow Tinsley were to pay her taxes with one of these, she’d be hanged for stealing. And we don’t have time to melt them down.”
“But the bishop said he had funds for the poor.”
“He lied.” Little John patted Lester on the shoulder.
Jill slammed the lid shut in frustration. Her success was slipping through her fingers. Robin would stop listening to her—everyone would—and then the pleasures she had experienced over the last twenty-four hours would be taken from her. She should have known it couldn’t last.
Robin crouched beside her. “You had no way of knowing what was inside. None of us did.”
“How can I help you,” she pondered aloud, “when I can’t seem to get things right myself? I’ve been hard on you for your mistakes when I’ve failed miserably.”
Robin rubbed the back of his neck. “‘Failing miserably’ is rather harsh. We were operating with the knowledge we had. We thought the bishop was carrying gold, and we were right, but we didn’t know the gold would look like this. The only way we could be sure to get actual gold pieces would be to steal them from the sheriff’s treasury.”
In a flash, hope returned. Jill saw a new plan forming in her mind. “Then that’s what we do. How do you feel about another robbery?”
“You already know the answer to that. Tell me more.”
Jill and Robin spent the rest of the afternoon refining their plan. At the campfire that night, they explained it to the rest of the gang who agreed that Gisbourne and the sheriff would never anticipate this latest scheme. Later, while feasting on yet another meal of venison and bread, since that was all the outlaws ever seemed to eat, Jill asked Robin the question she’d been pondering since the shooting match with Lester this morning.
“You’re sure you’re all right with someone else being in the spotlight?”
“My turn comes later when I pay those taxes.”
He reached for her hand and took it in his. When her sleeve fell back to reveal the bruise covering her left forearm, he frowned. “Archery practice?”
She shrugged.
“This is my stupidity in allowing you to be hurt. I’ll see to it you have an arm guard in the future.” He stood and gently pulled her up with him. “Let’s go for a walk.”
He offered his arm, which she took, and they walked into the forest, stopping by the stream to sit on a rock. The stream gurgled and reflected the light of the stars shining brightly above them.
“You’re an amazing woman, Jill,” Robin said. “But there are many things about you I don’t understand. The way you speak and dress and act, the coin of E-R-2 you carry, as well as what Little John told me your sister said, lead me to believe your arrival in my forest is something miraculous.”
“That’s one way of looking at it.”
“Jill, are you truly from the year 2009?”
She had hoped to avoid this conversation. But the earnestness in his eyes would not allow her to lie, regardless of the consequences. She nodded.
“Then the future must be a bleak place,” Robin concluded, “because I have the impression you don’t like it there very much.”
This was a new idea, but as Jill checked it against her feelings, she knew it was true. “I hadn’t thought about it until I came here. You don’t get to pick when you’re born or the times you live in. But since I’ve been here, I’ve known this is where I’m supposed to be. I was always looking for an adventure, but I was never satisfied until I joined up with you. The adventure never stops here.”
“And it’s increased for me since your arrival.”
“Then I must be where I’m supposed to be, even though it didn’t happen the way I thought it would.”
Robin rubbed his chin. “Am I famous in your future?”
“You could say that.”
“Is that why you wanted to meet me?”
“Not exactly.” She stared up at the stars and wished there was a way for Robin to know everything without her having to tell him.
“Who hurt you, Jill?”
“What makes you think someone did?”
“Am I wrong?”
She let several long seconds pass as she pondered how to respond. If ever she was going to tell anyone about Brian, now was the time. Why would she consider telling a total stranger what she hadn’t even told her sister or her parents? Because there was something freeing in being able to tell a person who had no preconceived notions based on her past. Plus, she wanted to tell the story to someone. She was tired of holding it inside. She had a feeling that letting go of Brian was one of the many things she was meant to accomplish during this journey.
“His name was Brian. We went to school together. We spent a lot of time together studying and even went on a few dates. He told me he liked me because my brain worked the same way his did. He said he wanted to marry a smart woman, one who could do quadratic equations and understand string theory—well, as much as anyone can understand string theory. We were perfectly matched, and I cared a lot about him, but he didn’t think of me that way. He fell in love with a waitress. They got married and I didn’t even receive an invitation to the wedding. But the experience taught me something valuable. Joanna can throw her heart around and pick herself back up when she gets hurt, but I can’t. I think I only have it in me to give my heart away once, and if that didn’t work out…”
She let the sentence trail off.
“Your heart might be bigger and stronger than you think,” Robin said softly.
Jill had a pretty good idea what he hinted at, and it frightened her. “I have to focus on rescuing Joanna and getting us home.”
“Yes, but after that, you could stay here with me.”
“You’re saying this because you feel sorry for me.”
“Pity has nothing to do with it,” Robin assured her. “I understood almost none of what you said. Maybe sometime you can explain to me what’s so difficult to understand about string. But I do know this. You’re a beautiful woman who is afraid she will never be loved. There’s no need to fear that, though, because you’re already loved right here…by me.”
Jill caught her breath. Had he said love?
He took the medallion off his neck and pressed it into her hands. “Life doesn’t always happen as we wish it would. Sometimes it’s better. If I hadn’t lost everything except this, I never would have met you. You make all the hardship I’ve experienced worth it. Please, wear this for me.”
“But this is the one thing you have left of your mother’s.”
“That’s why I want you to have it. That way you know I’m serious.”
He cupped her chin in his hand and kissed her gently. So, this was what it meant to have a man love her, want to be with her, and willingly give her everything that was his? Now she understood why she hadn’t met anyone suitable in the twenty-first century. Her perfect match had lived almost a millennium before. By means she didn’t understand, she had found him, and the great adventure of her life was only beginning.
When Robin finally pulled back from the kiss, she was breathless. With a smile, he hung the medallion around her neck. The action carried a weight of solemnity and promise with it that she didn’t fully understand. He kissed her again. Then, he gently pulled her to her feet.
“We have to make an early start in the morning.”
r /> Jill ran her fingers over the pendant. With a deep breath, she concealed it underneath her blouse. “I don’t want it to get lost.”
He looked disappointed. “Of course.”
They walked back to camp holding hands. When they reached the edge of the camp, Robin kissed her again. Once in her hut, Jill pulled out the necklace and traced the pendant design repeatedly with her finger tips.
He loved her. Did she love him?
She liked him. A lot. Being with him felt good, but did it feel like love? What was love supposed to feel like? Had she loved Brian?
Probably not.
Was she in love now?
Hard to tell. She didn’t have anything to compare it against.
If only Joanna was here! Joanna would have some words of wisdom about what all this meant and what Jill should do.
Jill lay awake for a long time, thinking of Robin. Being close to him felt like belonging, like the answer to all the questions she hadn’t known to ask. But could she give up life in the future to keep this feeling? Could she actually choose not to return to her parents, to cause them the pain of never seeing her again? Could Joanna return to the present without Jill? Could Jill be separated by choice from Joanna forever?
Why were matters of attraction never easy? In the heat of the moment, Jill had been positive living with Robin was her future. But now, was she sure?
She pushed the doubts away and focused on how Robin made her feel. She expected to dream of him all night. Instead, she had a recurring dream of quite another type. In it, she stood on a tall castle tower and one by one pushed her mother, father, and Joanna off the edge into the blackness below.