Making Marion (29 page)

“He was acting!”

Grace smirked. “That was not acting. He never ogled Erica like that when she was Marion. Or any other time either.”

I slumped down on my caravan sofa, hoping to press the yummy treacle lid back down to keep the gooey feelings from taking over again. I pointed one of my index fingers at each girl.

“You and you. Both of you, be quiet. You, go home and wait for your boyfriend. You, put your shoes on; Jake'll be here in a minute. And if you mention this again I'm not coming. You'll have to explain to the clipboard man why there's no Maid Marion.”

 

The banquet took place in a huge marquee, in an area of the forest usually closed to visitors. It had been an emergency relocation after the unseasonal rain flooded the Hall. Inside the tent, benches flanked rows of long tables laid with goblets, spoons and wooden plates. Oak leaves had been strewn on the floor and the tent poles festooned with greenery to give the impression of dining in the forest. A group of minstrels squeaked and rattled out a tune almost drowned out by the excited hum of a hundred hungry Robin Hood fans.

I had to suffer a heralding fanfare and a steward calling out my name; evidently slipping into my seat unnoticed was not an option. Jake stayed outside, leaving me to ensure Valerie got settled with the Hatherstones. Robin Hood waited for me at the top table, wearing another billowy white shirt with a lace-up front panel instead of buttons. He had on Lincoln green trousers and brown boots. He'd let his beard grow, to give the effect of a tough, wild man of the forest. It worked. He stood and gave a courtly bow as I took my place beside him.

“Lady Marion.”

“Robin.” My eyes stayed firmly fixed on the guests in front of us.

“I trust you had an enjoyable day?”

“It was most pleasant. Although I am a little tired. It can be quite draining, hosting such a grand event. Especially when one is new to such occasions. I only hope I performed adequately. As you know, such things are not my forte.”

“I heard you did really well.”

Reuben's voice was soft and deep. My eyes couldn't help flitting back to find his dark gaze on me. I felt like a massive ice-cream. With chocolate sprinkles and caramel sauce.

Stay down, lid!

The banquet commenced with a rousing speech from Robin Hood, and dozens of serving wenches appeared, loading up the tables with the feast. I chatted to the merry man who sat on the other side of me, a professional historical re-enactor who spent his year travelling between events, switching centuries and characters accordingly. I was happy to sit back and hear his stories while Robin mingled with the guests.

Although I felt the black hole on the bench next to me when he wasn't there, every time he returned it sent me off-balance. I grew clumsy and red-faced, sure my stilted replies and flapping demeanour came across as unsubtle as if I had swung from the fake chandelier shouting out, “I am not a brilliant actress! I really, really fancy him for real! And not just Robin Hood, but the real-life Reuben!”

I had to get a grip.

“Is Erica working tonight?”

“I don't know.” He furrowed his brows “I think she probably just couldn't face coming. It would have been pretty awkward.”

“I suppose it can't be much fun sat watching your boyfriend having to pretend to be with someone else.”

“Boyfriend?” Reuben shook his head.

At that moment, the huge double flaps at the far end of the tent were ripped open. Sheriff Jake, along with six heavily armed soldiers, burst in. Jake was riding a horse.

“Where is that foul and fiendish villain, Robin of the Hood?” He swung his sword around the top of his head in a circle.

Reuben ignored the interruption. He had his head bent down close to mine, his black hair flopping over his face. “Marion, you know we're – ”

“Stand and face me like a man!” Sheriff Jake bellowed across the marquee. The crowd fidgeted as one, waiting for their hero to respond. Their hero swore under his breath. He frowned at me again, before grabbing his bow, pulling an arrow out of the quiver on his back and leaping on top of the table in one smooth motion. Several of the maidens present fanned their hands in front of their faces and swooned. I swooned a tiny bit, but I don't think anybody saw. Surely Maid Marion was too feisty to swoon?
Get a grip!

Robin Hood grinned across the hall. “Come to join us, Sheriff? Supplies running a bit low in the castle? I heard you were having some money trouble.”

He sent the arrow whistling into the wall, six inches above the Sheriff's head.

“After him!” Sheriff Jake roared, as he leapt off the horse. On cue, the merry men rose to defend their leader, the soldiers rushed forwards, and some sensible soul led the poor horse back outside.

For the next few minutes, the tent overflowed with slashing blades, grunts, shouts, flailing arms and a hundred pairs of eyes riveted on the spectacle happening around them. The noise was
incredible, the effect of having the battle in and out of the marquee, on top of and under the tables, both terrifying and thrilling.

I wondered if Lady Marion was supposed to join in, but then Friar Tuck tipped over the bench where I hovered, saying, “Here, my lady, hide behind this,” before diving back into the fray.

As expected, the merry men soon had the upper hand, pinning all of the soldiers to the walls or cornering them under tables. Robin Hood, chest heaving under his ripped shirt, held an arrow in his bow, an inch from the Sheriff's throat. This was my cue. I stood up from behind the bench. A serving wench clipped a microphone to my bodice and gave me a thumbs-up. This was it. I breathed; sent an arrow of my own straight into the heart of the mute ghost still trying to hang around in my throat. Pow! Gone.

“My lords! Must we always suffer this terrible fighting? Look…” I pointed at Will Scarlet, whose tunic now glistened red to match his name, with a big splatter of fake blood. “I invited these good people here to sup with me this night, and you have betrayed my hospitality with your brutality, dishonouring my name and that of my house. Will you not lay down your weapons for one night? For the sake of these noble, honest citizens? Can we not dine together in peace?”

Robin Hood gazed across at me, his stare unwavering, his eyes sapphires in the lamplight. I shivered. Ice-cream-like.

“Would you ask me to risk my life, and the life of my men, for the sake of your supper? I have caught a rat, and rats must be dealt with. Do you ask me to forget what has passed between us? He will cut my throat even as it swallows your good wine.”

I dragged my eyes away long enough to look at Sheriff Jake. “Well, Sheriff? Do you swear by my life to drop your charges for one evening? To grant your fine citizens a few more hours of revelry?”

He nodded. The whole thing was ridiculous, but the people had paid to see it.

“Aye, my lady. For the sake of my people, I shall grant this outlaw one night's grace. Yet be warned: at dawn he shall be mine.”

Nobody moved. Robin Hood sighed and shook his head. “Not for these overstuffed, overdressed peasants shall I withhold from shedding blood here this eve.” He slowly lowered his bow. “Dear, sweet Marion, I shall do it for you.”

Over the roar of the guests, the foot-stamping and spoon-banging, came the hoarse croak of Bryan Adams's overly long number one hit, “Everything I Do”, blasting from speakers disguised as bushes. Robin and the Sheriff shook hands, and the festivities recommenced. All was well.

For about, oh, maybe four minutes.

T
here was a brief lull in the chatter as Robin Hood and the Sheriff stood side by side at the top table. Sheriff Jake waved his hands about to get everybody's attention. As he opened his mouth to speak, a ye-olde profiterole whizzed over the heads of the guests and smushed right into the centre of his forehead. Jake slowly put one hand up and picked the flattened ball off his head.

A second pastry-missile zinged across, smacking into his authentic body armour. The culprit stood up, her medieval cone hat tilting at a forty-five degree angle on top of her shimmering white tresses. Her nimble, magic, eighty-year-old hands clutching more food bombs, Ada pointed her chin at the dome of the tent and guffawed.

“Those wet, wimpy whippersnappers might give in to try and impress a girl, but we will never surrender!”

She launched another profiterole.

The rest of the guests, most of whom had no idea if this crazy old bat was part of the show or not, waited to see what would happen next.

What happened next was that Katarina scooped up a large blob of whipped cream on the end of her spoon and catapulted it at the nearest soldier.

The hall erupted.

It took about fifty-seven seconds for my beautiful, cheap, tacky, elegant dress to become splattered with a smorgasbord of desserts.
An overenthusiastic jester tipped a tankard of lemonade down my back, and something soft and squishy got mushed into my hair.

Food fights sound like fun. They are not fun. Not unless you think having elbows and knees rammed into your organs, a table tipped onto your slippered foot, fruit juice squeezed into your eye and ending up entirely covered in sticky, yucky, squished-up food is fun.

Herded into a corner of the tent in all the mayhem, next to a bald man launching cherries over the top of an upturned table, and two of Valerie's college friends, who had painted strawberry sauce war stripes across their cheeks and noses, I hunkered down behind a chiffon net covered in flowers, covered my head with my dripping wet arms and prepared to wait it out.

A few minutes, or possibly hours, later, I felt someone step in behind the curtain. Removing my hands from my face, I saw Reuben. One smear of powdered sugar across his cheek appeared to be his only battle scar.

“Hi.”

“Come on, get up.”

“Why?”

“I'm rescuing you.”

“Wow. Thanks.”

He had fought his way across the war zone to rescue me.

“No problem. It's my job.”

Oh. Okay.

He led me about a sixth of the way around the edge of the tent to a fire-exit flap. In the few short seconds it took us to get there, a dollop of custard hit my neck, I stepped into a puddle of chocolate sauce and somebody stuffed a portion of cheesecake into my cleavage. The mysterious force-field that sees any good guy run through a hail of bullets and survive ensured Robin Hood remained untouched.

I fell through the flap into the startling quiet of the forest at night. Reuben pulled the flap closed behind us. He grinned at me. I flicked a chunk of pineapple off my shoulder.

“Does that happen every year?”

“Only when Ada manages to sneak a ticket. She's been banned for life. The last time was worse. She started before the Sheriff had arrived, ruining the schedule. The guests only got their first course and the managers had to give everybody a refund.”

He stopped to examine me more closely, suddenly feeling very near.

“Are you okay?”

“Urgh. I'm not hurt. Just gross.” I tugged at my bodice. The cheesecake slid down my torso and plopped out onto the ground underneath my skirt.

“Actually, you smell delicious.” Reuben sniffed, mock-seriously, and took half a step closer. I flushed hot and cold all at the same time. At least three of my vital organs flipped over. He slowly lifted a strand of hair that had sprung out of its flower clip and peered at it. “How did you get so completely covered from behind a curtain?”

I couldn't answer. I think I swallowed my tongue when he looked straight at me. His eyes were almost black in the darkness, and I had the feeling again that they could see right into the very essence of me. Into the old fear, and the shame, and the sorrow, hope and joy. And the box of treacle tipped over, spilling its contents into every far-flung corner of my body.

He mistook the cause of my trembling as the wet and cold. It was late August, and the temperature had dropped sharply with the sunset.

“I think you need to get out of that dress. You're sodden.” Reuben turned his head away then, shifting awkwardly. “I mean, have you got a change of clothes?”

“It never crossed my mind that I would need one. I just came in this.”

“Here.” He removed his green jacket and handed it to me, leaving him in his ripped shirtsleeves. “You can change in the staff cabin.”

“It's still open?”

“It should be. It's somewhere for the soldiers to hang around in, and get cleaned up after the fight.”

He walked me the short distance through the trees to the cabin. I made the foolish decision to walk straight in without warning any occupants of my arrival. Half a second later I reversed out again.

Reuben raised his eyebrow.

“It's already in use.”

“I'm sure you can ask them to leave for a minute.”

“No, I don't think so. I'm fine, really. I'm drying out already.”

“You're turning blue. Who is it? I'll ask them to leave if you're too polite. They have to obey me or I'll shoot them.”

“No! It's fine. Please don't. Don't go in there, Reuben! Stop!”

He paused at the entrance, one hand on the doorway.

“Your parents are in there,” I muttered, unable to look at him.

Reuben closed his eyes and shook his head. He thumped the wall with one fist. “You're intolerable. That's the staff cabin.
The staff cabin.
”

“I can just go behind a tree. But I need someone to undo the back.”

“Do you want me to get Val?”

“No.” I didn't want anyone else here to break the spell. I didn't want Reuben to disappear inside and leave me in the dark depths of the forest. And I definitely didn't want to go back inside, into the combat zone. “It's not as if you haven't seen it all before.”

“That was different. It was an emergency. I was rescuing you.”

“Isn't that what you're doing now?”

I turned around, and after a lot of tugging and fiddling, some yanking and muttering, Reuben managed to loosen my bodice.

Standing there in the night, the trees all around us, the muffled whoops of the banquet in the background, it was the single most nerve-tingling, heart-stopping, sexy moment of my life. I could feel his breath on my back as he stooped to see what he was doing; sense the warmth of him through the small distance between us.

He cleared his throat. “Listen, what you said before, about Erica.”

Well, wasn't that name a bucket of ice-cold water drenching my stupid, stupid, wrong, wrong, wrong, stupid thoughts and stupider feelings! I stepped forward quickly, the dress slipping as Reuben let go.

“That's fine, thanks. I can manage the rest.” I waved him away, my back still turned, hiding my mortification.

Five minutes later, I was covered from shoulder to mid-thigh in the jacket. My legs were freezing in thin tights, but it would do. Stepping out from the treeline, I couldn't see Reuben anywhere. I had probably driven him away with my cringy, fawning lust. How many times would I end up semi-naked – or completely naked – in front of this man? I was shameless! Brazen! He probably couldn't wait to get away before I jumped him.

In one of the deep side-pockets of the dress was my phone. I would have used it to call for a taxi, except that deep in the depths of Sherwood there was about the same quality of phone reception as in the furthest corner of the Amazon rainforest.

Could I look for Jake, wearing nothing but Reuben's jacket? With Reuben having done a runner? I don't think so.

No problem. I would walk home. I might even jog. I just needed to follow the path to a road, and then figure out the way to the campsite. And if the sole of one of my satin slippers had already ripped open, no big deal. I could run barefoot. Grass is nice and soft and spongy.

I half ran, half hobbled back to the marquee, hoping to find the right path on the other side. A hand grabbed me, and I screamed loud enough to silence the din from inside the tent.

“Hey! It's me. Where are you going?”

Reuben spun me around to face him, his white shirt glowing in the fake candlelight leaking through the marquee wall. He was clutching something. I followed the leather strap through the dark to find the horse. It bobbed its head, and chuffed.

“I thought it would be rude of Robin Hood not to steal the Sheriff's horse if he got the chance.”

“Not to mention an unforgiveable break from tradition.”

“My people love tradition.”

“It's what they would expect. No. It's what they deserve.”

And his people, investigating the scream, had begun to gather. They formed a huddle a short distance away, leaving plenty of room to enjoy the show.

Reuben climbed onto the horse with all the ease of the son of a lord. He stretched out his hand to me. “Lady Marion, will you ride with me to safety?”

I hesitated, flapping about a bit. “I've never ridden a horse before. I'm not sure I could even get on it.”

He beckoned me closer, grinning. “Trust me. And please get a move on, before the Sheriff arrives.”

Suddenly I felt very much like a woman dressed in a man's jacket and laddered tights, with cake in her hair, who was considering riding off into the night with somebody else's boyfriend. I felt tired, and confused about what was real any more. And that horse looked at least ninety feet tall.

“It seems the fight's ended. I can wait and get a lift back with the others.”

Reuben frowned. His torn shirt fluttered in the breeze. “That's not how it's meant to end. You getting a lift home with the Sheriff.”

“No. But I think it would be the best thing to do, under the circumstances.” I laughed, but I sounded more like a strangled piglet. “I'd never get up there anyway.”

Reuben jumped down. He stepped right up close to me, angling his body so that the crowd wouldn't hear what he said. “Come with me.”

“Why? For them?” I gestured at the crowd, which had shuffled a tiny bit closer. “This isn't real, Reuben.”

“What do you mean?”

“I've had enough pretending.” I tried to walk away, but he pulled me back. “And I don't want you to rescue me any more.”

His hand gripped my arm. “I'm not pretending.” His face was set hard. Like flint.

“Really? Does Erica know that?”

He shook his head. “You know I finished with Erica months ago. What's she got to do with this?”

“I saw you together. At the funeral.”

“When I was asking her about Grace getting sponsorship? Erica wouldn't take me back even if I begged. She knows how I feel about you. She knew before I did.”

“How… how do you feel about me?”

And then he gently placed his hands either side of my face, leaned down and kissed me.

Now
that
was real. The orchestra of violins, the shooting stars and the rollercoaster I wasn't so sure about.

I gave myself permission to swoon.

The crowd cheered. All except for one, who yelled out, “What the heck is going on? Is that my horse?”

I pulled away. “I need to get my bag from inside.”

“Don't be long. I'll meet you round the front.”

I hurried back into the tent, still glowing and giddy and gobsmacked. There were a few guests dancing in among the aftermath of the food fight, but it felt as though the party was winding down to a close. I found my bag tucked behind a bench, and left by the front entrance. A large woman dressed in a full-length cloak swayed by herself in the clearing just in front of me.

“Oh, hellooo.” She waggled a bottle of beer in my direction. “Want some?” Then she peered closer at me. “Who are you?”

Who was I? I still wasn't completely sure, but then are any of us?

I was the manager of the most peaceful, piggish campsite in the forest, if not the world. I was the makings of a businesswoman. A cook. A strong, fit runner. A friend. I was the daughter of a good man, and a mother doing her best. I was loved. I was home. I was proud of myself and the life I was living.

My pride was somewhat dented when it took several hands shoving at my tights-clad backside to help me onto the horse.

It was worth it.

I actually somehow ended up riding off into the night on the back of a horse. Not with Robin Hood but with Reuben Hatherstone. Where we would end up, I had no idea. But right then, I knew I was headed in the right direction.