A Hoboken Hipster In Sherwood Forest (30 page)

Robin nods his head slowly. "You know, Chrissie, that could actually work."

The men and women nod and murmur in agreement. Robin squeezes my arm. I feel a sense of pride well up inside me. For the first time in my life I feel a strange sense of confidence. Like William Wallace, aka Mel Gibson, speaking to his men on the Scottish moor before the battle of their lives.
Although, come to think of it, that didn't end so well. Obviously, old Bill the Scot had needed me and my movie plots.

"They may take our lives," I yell, suddenly inspired. "But they'll never take... our freedom!"

I wait for a following whoop of cheers, but all is silent. I stop screaming "Freedom” and scan the crowd. They're looking at me skeptically. Hm. Maybe it's the lack of blue war paint. Oh well.

"Are you with me?" I demand. "Are you ready to join forces and fight to regain all that has been taken from you? Well, not fight exactly. More like... sit. Are you ready to ... sit... to regain all that's been taken from you? Are you ready to sit to save country and king?"
Hm, maybe this would go down in history as the Armchair Revolution.

"You are all free people," I add. "Making the decision to join us on this quest to sit. If you are not fully ready to... sit... please leave now. Go home to your warm beds and do not think about the opportunity you missed... to sit for... FREEDOM!"

A few scattered cheers this time. Hmm. I've got to get these peasants on the Braveheart bandwagon.

"Doesn't the word 'freedom' mean anything to you?" I ask. "Does the idea of slavery and oppression turn you on instead? Would you like to be under Prince John and the Sheriff of Nottingham's rule forever?"

"Nay!"

"No! We want to live freely."

“Down with Prince John. And his lousy sheriff!"

“Right," I say. "So, um, when I say 'freedom,' that's your cue to shout and scream and rally the troops. Okay?"

Nods of agreement all around.

"Okay, let's give this a try." I draw in a deep breath. "Freedom!"

A few cheers, a smattering of claps. I sigh.

"Freedom!" I cry again, raising my fist this time.

More people. A dull roar of cheers.

"I said... freedom!" I try one last time. "And, um, a chicken in every pot.
and a... horse... in every... um, stable!"

Now the crowd erupts in cheers. Who'd have thought they'd be more turned on by Herbert Hoover than William Wallace? I can't believe these people would rather eat chicken than taste freedom.
Sad, really. But hey, at this point, whatever works.

Robin squeezes my arm and I turn to look at him. He's gazing at me with loving eyes. "You're magnificent," he whispers.

"You should really be doing this," I tell him. "I'm not a leader...."

"What are you going on about, woman? You have rallied your people. You have suggested a plan that could actually work." He leans over to kiss me lightly on the cheek. "You are truly wonderful. And I am honored to be under your leadership."

I smile, for the first time in my life feeling confident and valued. Robin is right. I do make a kick-ass leader. I feel like I was born to do this stuff. Maybe the gypsy knew something I didn't when she told me my destiny lay in another era.

'Cause I certainly can't imagine going back to the 21st century now.

The thought troubles me, and I turn back to my makeshift army. "We march now," I inform them. "And make camp a ways off tonight. First thing in the morning, when the men are brought out to the courtyard to be hanged, we sit on our butts."

Everyone yells
their assent, and we start walking. Robin and I lead the group. But the joy of accomplishment I had moments before is permanently dampened. Because all I can think of, suddenly, is the idea of going home. My true home—in the 21st century.

If we survive this, if King Richard returns, if I get the blood from the Holy Grail, what then?
I'm assuming the next step is me being transported back to the 21st century to hand it over to the gypsy, right? And that means leaving here. Leaving Robin. Maybe without warning.

I glance over at him and my heart aches. I love him so much.
More than anyone ever. Danny was nothing compared to what I feel for Robin. How can I leave him? And what will I be going back to? My empty apartment with bills stacked from floor to ceiling that I can't pay? Messy divorce proceedings? A superficial job that I hate? In the 21st century I'm no one. Here I have a role. A place in history. A man who loves me.

What am I going to do?

"What are you thinking about?" Robin asks, reaching over to take my hand in his. His thumb strokes the back of my palm.

"Nothing," I lie. How can I explain this to him? That I'm still not exactly who he thinks I am? What would he say if he knew I came from another time? "Just about how much I love you," I add, smiling at him. He squeezes my hand and smiles back. My heart plummets. What am I going to do?

We make camp at nightfall. Some of the villagers have tents, but others make themselves at home on the ground. One village leader offers Robin and me a tent, which at first I refuse. Then he tells me it's his honor to supply it and would be greatly offended if we didn't take the thing. So we do, setting it up a small distance from the rest of the camp.

Robin's exhausted from his ordeal and falls asleep almost immediately. I'm restless though, still thinking about the future, and I toss and turn, wondering what I should do. As if on cue, my cell phone starts vibrating. How does that thing still have battery power?
Nimue must have cast some spell on it. I hope if I do have to go back to the 21st century I can keep that spell... I'm always forgetting to charge the stupid thing.

I slip out of the tent so as not to wake Robin, and walk out into the field, and answer it.

"Hey, Kat," I greet, for who else could it be?

"Hey, Chrissie. How's it going? Did you work everything out with Robin? Are you still doing the love that dares not speak its name thing, or are you out of the closet, so to speak?"

Wow. I almost drop the phone. "Aren't you going to ask me if King Richard's back with the Holy Grail?" I ask, slightly incredulous.

Kat laughs. "You must really think I’m a selfish bitch, huh?" she says.

I immediately feel bad. "No. Well, actually I used to. But not anymore. Since I've been talking to you via time-cell continuum... well, you've sort of become a friend, actually." And I mean it, too. Though whoever would have thought Kat and I would become bosom buddies?

"Thanks, Chris. That means a lot. I think you're pretty cool yourself. After all, you left everything behind to rescue me, even though you didn't even like me. Not many people would do that and I'm grateful."

"No problem," I say, feeling it isn't the time to explain that I was sort of forced into going on this mission. "Actually, Kat, I love it here. I'm glad I came."

"Yeah? That's cool. I liked Camelot okay too. But I'll be happy to get home to my own bed. It's been way too long."

"Not me. If I could stay here forever, I would."

"Really?" Kat exclaims. "You like it that much?"

"Yeah. And there's Robin, too. I can't imagine leaving him." I briefly explain all that happened over the last few days. Maid Marion, the battle, me channeling Mel Gibson and Thoreau.

"Wow. You've been a busy girl!"
Kat says, sounding impressed. "And now you're leading an army to besiege a castle? Eesh, I thought I was productive learning how to ride a horse!"

I laugh. "Yeah, well, for some reason medieval life agrees with me."

"Well, hm. Maybe you could stay? I wonder if that's allowed. I mean, it seems stupid to come back to the twenty-first century if you like it there better, right?"

"But what about the Grail? I have to bring a drop of blood from the Holy Grail back to
Nimue so she can bring you back to the twenty-first century."

"Oh yeah. I forgot about that little detail." Kat's silent for a moment. "I mean
, I don't want you to ruin your life to save mine, but still. Things are pretty hairy here in the twenty-second century. I don't know how long before we've worn out our welcome." She sighs. "Ugh. What to do?"

"Well, don't think of it now," I say. "I'll continue on this mission. Who knows, I may die in this rescue attempt tomorrow and
Nimue will have to get someone else to retrieve the Grail."

"Don't say that, Chrissie. You'll be great, I'm sure. It sounds like you've got a terrific plan there. You'll knock the sheriff on his fat ass."

"Uh, nonviolent protest, remember? Meaning, without violence. No ass-knocking allowed in this campaign." I laugh. "Though, maybe I should make an exception for our dear sheriff. After all, he's probably still sore from that arrow I shot into his butt."

"Right." Kat giggles. At least she thinks I'm funny. "I totally think you should. In any case, I'll call you tomorrow night. I want to hear all the gory details. Well, maybe not the gory ones. But some details. I think." She laughs. "Anyway, good luck."

We say our good-byes and I hang up the phone and head back to the camp. I crawl into our tent, hoping for sleep. But Robin's awake.

"Where did you go?" he asks sleepily.

"Just for a walk," I say, slipping my phone in my bag.

"Come here," he says, stretching out his arms. I crawl into his embrace and he wraps himself around me. I allow myself to melt into him, to take his strength, his love.

He finds my lips and starts kissing me gently. "I have thanked the Lord a thousand times today that he spared your life in the attack."

"Actually, it wasn't the Lord. It was that guy at Locksley that I told you not to kill," I remind him, wanting to force my point home about avoiding senseless murder.

"Fate weaves a complex web indeed," Robin says, separating my curls with his fingers. "And you have great foresight."

"Nah, I'm just a softie," I say.

"Aye, soft and fair." Robin presses his nose to my shoulder and breathes in. "And sweet. So sweet."

"I don't know about sweet." I chuckle. "I could definitely use a bath."

Robin silences me with a kiss, his lips moving against mine, exploring, tasting, sparking an intense ache deep inside me. We haven't made love since that first time in the field. But there's no reason to hold back any longer. I trust him. I love him. And I know he loves me.

He eases me down, laying my head on the coarse, makeshift canvas pillow. Propping himself on his side next to me, he continues to cover my face with soft kisses while his hand traces my body, lightly running over every inch of skin. I moan in pleasure as his touch evokes an exquisite torture between my legs. I've waited so long for another chance to feel his caress.
Too long.

He helps me out of my dress, pulling the garment over my head so I'm naked and open to him. Exposed. Vulnerable. But I don't feel any shame. Because the way Robin's eyes take me in, the way his breath catches in his throat, all convinces me beyond a doubt that he thinks I'm the most beautiful girl in the world. And at that moment, I feel like it too.

His fingers trace my hips, graze my stomach, find my breast. He circles the tip, coaxing it into his power. I arch my back at the electric sensation now coursing through me, trying to enjoy the moment but impatient to feel him deep inside of me. For us to become one. He leans down, finding my other breast with his mouth—licking, tasting, savoring. I squeeze my eyes shut and toss my head back. It's almost too much.

"I must have you inside of me," I murmur, not caring if I sound too bold. I've been afraid too long in my life. Now I know what I want and am not too shy to ask for it.

"Mmm," he agrees, reaching down to pull off his trousers. I yank open his belt and lift his tunic over his head, running my fingers down his now exposed perfect six-pack abs.

His face contorts from easy pleasure to determined passion. He pushes me back to the ground, forcing my legs apart and climbing on top of me. Robin is not a fumbling boy, awkward and shy. He's a man.
In control. Ready to take what he needs.

And I'm so ready to give it.

He presses himself inside me and I let out a cry as our bodies join. That precious moment. The ultimate power of connection. The feeling that together you can accomplish anything.

Robin steadies himself for a moment, his face a mask of concentration as the sensations must overwhelm him. I smile up at him, encouraging and loving. He relaxes and grins back, reaching up to tame a wild curl from my face. Then he leans down, crushing my lips with his, demanding possession of my mouth.

We rock against each other, moving as one, physical pleasure only trumped by the sweet singing tingles of love, trust, and devotion. God, I want to be like this, one with this man, for all eternity.

Suddenly he pulls away, opening his eyes for a moment, ceasing his thrusts. He looks at me, capturing me with his glow-in-the-dark emerald eyes. Studying my face with an intense curiousness, longing, and love. They say a picture is worth a thousand words. His gaze must be worth ten million. Then he smiles, the most sweet, gentle, loving smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners. He playfully leans down to kiss my nose.