3
July 16, 2009, 9:30 a.m.
Edwinstowe, Nottinghamshire, England
As she stepped out of the cab, Jill brushed back the hair that clung to her damp cheek. She was dressed for the day in jeans, a green V-neck T-shirt, and hiking boots with her Eagle Creek purse slung across her shoulders. Putting her hands on her hips, Jill surveyed the scene of the stables before her and felt her cheeks tighten into a broad grin.
Clouds hung low over the green tips of the great oaks on the edge of Sherwood Forest. Normally, Jill didn’t care for poetry, but the moment seemed as close to a poem—a good, rhyming poem that an average person could understand—as she could imagine. The gray air, the mist, and the green trees peaking in and out of the fog promised mystery and adventure that the trip up to this point had not provided.
Joanna’s voice from inside the cab interrupted her thoughts. “Jill, do you have five quid on you?”
Jill unzipped the back pocket of her bag, pulled out her wallet, and retrieved the bill which she passed inside the cab.
“We’ll give you a call,” Joanna told the driver before he drove away.
Joanna was dressed in khakis and a button-up pink blouse. She gripped the strap of the purse slung across her shoulder with one hand as she held a business card in the other. Usually, her open expression implied earnest intensity. The prospect of a horseback ride made her look more guarded than usual. But even as her features pulled together, creating furrows in her forehead, she had an innocent look that Jill hoped was not mirrored in her own face.
“What’s that?” Jill pointed to the card.
“The driver’s phone number so we can call him for the ride back. He said he knows a good pub when we’re done.”
“You two had quite the conversation.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Do you share your life story with every man you meet?”
Joanna scowled. “I like to be friendly.”
Mentioning that sharing too much information early in a relationship might be contributing to Joanna’s turnover in boyfriends didn’t seem like a good idea, so Jill settled for saying, “Next time, share your story all you want, but leave me out of it.”
Joanna rolled her eyes and deposited the business card in the pocket of the small journal she kept in her purse.
“You’re bringing your journal?”
“I might want to write something down.”
“On horseback?”
“I like to be prepared.”
“It’s three hours, Jo. Three hours. What could you possibly need?”
“Sunglasses.”
Jill pointed to the sky. “Cloudy.”
“A compact mirror, a comb…and lipstick.”
“Seriously?”
“And pens. I might run out of ink.”
Several possible options for responding danced in front of Jill’s head like the flow charts she produced so often at work as she debated which response was more appropriate. But she didn’t want to argue today. So, she sighed and said, “Whatever.”
“This would be a good place for a picture,” Joanna commented. “Too bad cameras aren’t allowed. Whoever heard of horses getting spooked by the flash? Couldn’t I just turn it off?”
“You’re not hiding a camera in your purse, too?” When Joanna shook her head, Jill sighed. “I’m kind of glad there are no photos. It takes the pressure off, you know? We can focus on enjoying the moment.”
“I don’t know.” Joanna tucked her bobbed hair behind her ear and took a deep breath. “The moment smells like manure. Remind me why we’re doing this again?”
“Because,” Jill said, working hard to keep her voice even, “I stood in line with you for four hours at the doors to the Globe so you could lean against the stage during the performance of Hamlet. Very, very hard on the feet, not to mention boring. We’re doing this for me.”
Joanna frowned and nodded.
Jill tried to shake off her irritation. She couldn’t think of anyone else in the world she would rather be traveling with than Joanna, but even the best of friends (and twins) could get on each other’s nerves, especially after the lack of sleep, stress of a new environment, and stimulation of travel.
“Looks like a lot of people are here already,” Jill observed, noting the other cars in the lot. “Let’s go register.”
“You think these are like camp horses?” Joanna suggested as they walked toward the barn. “Fat and half dead?”
“I hope not.”
Jill strode confidently toward the barn while Joanna lagged behind, turning around slowly as she walked, the lines in her forehead deepening.
“You coming?” Jill heard the edge in her own voice as she unlatched the gate that led into the horse yard.
Joanna paused at the side of the gate and pointed. “Check this out.”
Mounted to the fence was a white sign, hand painted in thin, black letters, with two twelve-inch skeletons dangling from each side:
Ride at your own risk.
Not all who come out go back.
“Creepy,” Jill decided.
“Indeed. The wording’s a little strange. If I’d written it, I would have said, ‘Not all who go out come back,’ although, of course, that’s even creepier.”
“Maybe it’s a British thing, like ‘take away’ instead of ‘takeout.’” Jill sighed as she caught Joanna scribbling in the journal. “Really? You’re writing it down?”
“It’ll just take a second.”
“Let’s get in there before they leave without us.”
“Heaven forbid.”
Spotting a gathering of people by the barn, Jill headed toward them. A short, elderly woman with gray hair that hung in long, curly tendrils moved toward the sisters as they approached the group.
“Reservation?” the old woman asked. Her face was tanned and leathery, making it impossible to determine her age. Steely blue eyes burned underneath the curls that hung over her face. Although she was considerably shorter than Jill and Joanna and more petite, the old woman’s presence commanded respect and obedience.
“It’s under the name Mason. I’m Jill. This is Joanna.”
The woman’s eyes darted between the two. “What sort of riding experience do you have?”
Jill cocked her head toward Joanna apologetically before saying, “I’ve ridden a few times. My sister’s not very fond of horses.”
“I got kicked by one once,” Joanna explained.
“Hard for them to kick you if you stay on,” the woman stated.
“I was coordinating a wedding on horseback. The bride’s horse went a little nuts.”
“A horse can sense when you’re frightened.” The old woman shook a knobby index finger at Joanna. “They take advantage of that.”
Jill pondered this thought. She didn’t want any anxiety or nervousness to show through what she hoped was a calm and in-control demeanor.
Joanna, on the other hand, bit her lip, and stepped back. “Maybe I shouldn’t go.”
The old woman leaned forward, bent her claw-like fingers around Joanna’s arm and pulled her closer to the barn. “No need to let a little fear ruin your holiday.” Her leathery face crinkled into a smile. “I’ve selected a special horse for you.”
“Special how?”
“Specially chosen for reluctant Yanks. And for you,” the woman looked at Jill, “something fast, I think.”
Jill grinned. She could hardly wait to get out into the countryside and experience what the ordinary tourist did not. Joanna could survive a little discomfort while Jill, for a few hours, could forget everything about her current life and have a grand adventure—she could even imagine she was traveling back in time.
On the other side of the barn, the stable hands brought out the horses and helped the other riders mount. Jill counted fifteen people on the ride, mostly British tourists who nodded politely but didn’t converse with the twins at all. The old lady whispered something to one of the stab
le hands who disappeared into the barn and returned with a sleek black gelding for Jill.
“Mount up,” the old woman ordered.
Noticing the lack of pommel on the English saddle, Jill planted her left foot in the stirrup, curled her fingers under the lip of the saddle, and pulled herself up. The horse sidestepped a little and then relaxed as Jill sat up straight. She looked over at the old woman who nodded in approval.
Tapping the horse’s flanks with her heels, Jill directed him around the yard. She held her knees firmly, avoiding pressing too hard but wanting to cement herself to the saddle. She recognized how easy it would be to slip off.
One of the guides walked his horse next to her. “You look like you’ve done this before.”
“Thanks.” Jill didn’t want to admit that she could count on one hand the number of times she had ridden a horse, nor did she plan to disclose how many Westerns she had watched. Still, she felt natural on the back of the horse as though she had been riding all her life.
The guide flashed a toothy grin as he went to check on another rider.
He’s cute, but what ugly teeth!
Jill immediately dismissed any ideas of being friendly with him. Maybe if she and Joanna took the taxi driver up on his offer and went to the pub up the road, the guide would be there, too. She shuddered. All the more reason that after the ride they should return to the hotel in Nottingham as soon as possible.
“Are you sure this one is special?”
Jill turned her horse in the direction of the comment and saw Joanna standing near a dun-colored English draught horse. The old woman held the reins and motioned for Joanna to mount.
“Picked him out just for you.”
One side of Joanna’s mouth curved downward.
“Do you need a step ladder?” the old woman asked.
Joanna shot her a dirty look. “I got it.”
Jill watched her sister pull herself into the saddle. Joanna was obviously miserable, and Jill knew she would pay for making her twin do this. Still, Jill was entitled to some fun of her own. Everything would be fine.
The old woman attached a lead rope to Joanna’s horse and held onto it as she deftly sprung onto her own horse.
“Only till we get out in the clearing,” the old woman commented. “Then I’ll let you loose.”
Joanna’s face reddened. Jill looked away before catching Joanna’s eye. She wasn’t going to let Joanna’s sour face or mood ruin her good time.
The clouds hung even lower in the sky as the group started off. Jill’s horse fought for the front and Jill gave him his head. Only a guide and two other riders remained in front of her. Jill glanced over her shoulder to look for her sister. Joanna rode at the back of the group alongside the old woman who still held the lead rope. Joanna’s mouth moved. No telling what story she was relating. Joanna always talked too much when she was nervous.
After a few minutes of riding down the narrow, asphalt road, the tour group reached the edge of the forest and a path marked “Bridleway.” The male guide with the bad teeth drew up his horse and waited for everyone to gather round.
“We’re entering the legendary Sherwood Forest.” His voice was monotone and slow, as though he had recited the speech many times and disliked it more each time. “This is the land of the outlaw Robin Hood. Legend has it that almost a thousand years ago, in the time of King Richard the Lionheart, a nobleman became an outlaw and stole from the rich in order to help the poor. He and his band of merry men lived in the forest, which was much larger then, and held council under a large oak tree. If we had been travelers in his day, we wouldn’t have been able to ride through this forest without paying his toll. As we pass through these ancient oaks, perhaps we can catch a glimpse of the ghost of Robin Hood.”
Jill scanned the trees, trying to take everything in, the twisted trunks, the gnarled bark, the dead leaves covering the path. Her face felt taut with joy and excitement. She had waited for this experience the entire trip. Now, if only she could ride a little faster to get her blood pumping. She tuned out the sound of the occasional car zooming down the nearby road and focused instead on the birds singing. She didn’t know enough to distinguish any songs or species, but the forest teemed with life and sound.
“We ask that you stay on the designated path,” the guide continued. “Many of the trees are very old and can be damaged by the foot traffic of horses and tourists. And please stay in queue, one behind the other. This is a popular walkway and we’ll be passing people on foot.”
Why had the stables bothered to post warning signs and hang skeletons if all the tour entailed was walking through the forest caravan-style? Disappointed as she was in how low-key the trip was turning out to be, Jill tried to make the best of it. She had an active imagination and could still have some fun in her head.
As if on cue, a fog settled in as the line of horses in front of her rode into the cloud. Jill turned to catch a glimpse of Joanna but could only see outlines of riders behind her through the mist.
No one can accuse England of having good weather. Riding through the fog felt mysterious and romantic, although she’d never tell Joanna that the word romantic had come to mind. As the fog enveloped her, Jill felt her ears plug as though she were on an airplane. She pinched her nose and blew into it, then yawned. Her ears popped, but when they did, what she heard surprised her. The bird songs had stopped. Instead, off to her right, metal clanked and rang, reminding her of how sword fighting sounded on television.
“Did you hear something?” she asked, hoping the rider before or after her would respond, but no one did. It was as though no one heard her.
Now there were distant shouts mixed in with clanging metal and the sound of something beating its way through the forest undergrowth. Then, a horn rang through the morning air: seven notes—a long, high note, followed by six alternating high and low notes in a warm tone that echoed through the forest.
Someone at the back of the group shrieked, and with a sinking heart, Jill knew it was Joanna. In the thickening fog, Jill couldn’t see her sister until her horse rushed passed. Hunched over the horse’s neck, Joanna wobbled in the saddle as though she would fall off any second.
“Help me!” Joanna screamed as the fog enveloped her.
Leaning forward, Jill pushed her knees into the horse’s shoulders and goaded it into a gallop with her heels. It was only a matter of time before Joanna fell off, and Jill had to be there to pick up the pieces. They were twins, after all, and no one would separate them…at least not for long.
Within seconds the metallic sounds became louder and seemed closer. Jill leaned back in the saddle and slowed the horse to a walk. Although the fog began to clear, she was riding blind into the forest and a possible combat zone. Best to go slowly and use caution, especially since she was alone.
Or was she?
Shouts arose to her left and right along with the sounds of men grunting, swords thudding against shields, and wooden staffs clacking together. Jill came to a stop as an arrow whizzed by her head and burrowed into a tree.
Spooked, Jill shuddered, startling the horse that pranced in fear and threatened to bolt. Standing in the stirrups, she held on and kept the reins tight. The horse sidestepped and stumbled but appeared to be calming down when a dark figure materialized from behind a tree. Her frightened horse reared.
Jill’s heart raced. She was determined to stay on that horse, not only because falling off was dangerous but also because it was embarrassing. The reins grasped tightly in her right hand, she wrapped the fingers of her left hand in the horse’s mane and gripped the horse with her knees. Her mount pawed at the air for three interminable seconds before its forelegs returned to the ground.
Suddenly, a strong arm curled around her waist and pulled her from the saddle. She had no time to react. She couldn’t see her attacker, only a flurry of red fabric and dirty brown boots. As soon as they hit the ground, she bounced up, ready to escape, but her attacker had risen just as quickly and pinned her
arms behind her. Knowing her best option was to conserve her energy and wait for a chance to break free, Jill tried to relax and take note of her surroundings. She stood in the middle of a forest of tall trees with thick trunks covered in gnarled bark. The tree canopy rose at least twenty feet higher than it had before, and the trees looked healthier and younger. This was not the same forest. It couldn’t be. She thought of the twisted, rotting trees she had seen only a few minutes before and compared them to the hearty oaks and birches surrounding her. Ferns covered the ground. The air, now almost clear, still smelled damp. Sharp pain traveled through her right arm as her assailant twisted it higher on her back. He smelled of the outdoors, sweat, and musty fabric.
The man who had startled her horse stepped forward and grabbed the bridle, reaching up to rub the horse’s muzzle and quiet the skittish animal. He wore a hooded, green cloak that reached his ankles.
“I’ve got the lad,” Jill’s captor declared, his mouth right behind her ear.
The man in front of her looped the reins of her horse around a tree branch and stepped closer to her. He pulled back his hood, revealing curly, dark blond hair, a short beard, and bright blue eyes. He removed the cloak with a flourish (and a bit more bravado than Jill thought appropriate), revealing a white shirt, green doublet, and leather leggings on a tall, wiry frame. He wore a quiver of arrows on his back and carried a longbow. Tossing his cloak and longbow onto the ground, he walked closer to Jill and looked her over, starting at her head and working his way down to her shoes. Jill felt her chest tighten. He stood only a few feet in front of her. What should she say?
But before she had time to consider a greeting, the man’s face paled and he swore.
“I beg your pardon?” Jill reprimanded.
“Odd clothes, aren’t they?” said the voice behind her. “Ever seen a man dressed like this?”
With another oath, the man growled, “Will, you incurable idiot! This is a woman.”
The arm holding Jill relaxed and her attacker, a redhead wearing a burgundy tunic under a green cloak, moved in front of her. Will’s mouth dropped open as he surveyed Jill. “Why, Robin, she…”
“Yes.”
Jill felt her face grow hot under the men’s scrutiny.
“Who are you?” the man asked.
“Jill.” She cleared her throat so her voice wouldn’t squeak. “Jill Mason.”
“Mason, you say?” His face was tense.
“Yeah. Jill Mason.”
He nodded slowly. “I’ve known many yeoman of that trade, although I deal more frequently with millers and potters.”
Jill moved to cross her arms but thought better of it and let them hang limp at her sides. Her right arm still ached so she shook it out and rubbed her bicep.
His bright blue eyes studied her for several long seconds and she wondered if he could see right through her. But then, he smiled, and Jill felt her heart flutter as he flashed perfectly aligned white teeth.
“Allow me to present myself. My name is Robert Locksley, Earl of Huntingdon, also known as Robin Hood. Welcome, Jill Mason, to Sherwood Forest.”