Mojitos with Merry Men (29 page)

Another steps forward, a boy, probably only fifteen. "We are not warriors, sir. But we are many. And we will fight with everything we have to help rescue your men."

The woman nods. "You have taught us that we can fight back. That we can make a difference."

"And we're ready to make that difference now. To throw the Sheriff of Nottingham out of power and restore England to its rightful glory!"

The bearded man raises a fist in the air, and the crowd cheers. The noise is almost deafening. Did I say there were a hundred people? It sounds like nearly a thousand.

Robin stares at them, tears rolling down his cheeks. He gets on his knees, humble, and bows his head.

"Thank you, Lord," he says in prayer. "Thank you." Then he rises to his feet, jumps on a nearby boulder to get some height, and starts addressing the crowd.

"I welcome you all," he says. "'Tis a proud day for England indeed. Now here's what we're going to do."

In a video game I used to play with Danny they called it Zerging—named after a little creature called a Zergling that's cheap to make and can be sent, in massive quantities, to rush an enemy's base, defeating them with sheer numbers rather than strength of arms. Danny used to always create a million of the tiny buggers, bringing down my carefully constructed space stations every time.

But Zerglings are made of pixels, not people. And so Robin's suggestion that we basically storm the castle and rescue his men is not one I can comfortably go along with. "Too many people will die," I whisper into his ear. "There have already been enough wasted deaths today as it is."

"Then what do you suggest?" he asks.

I think fast. How can we stage a castle rescue with no casualties, launch a war even Gandhi would approve of?

That's it! Wow, what would I do in the Middle Ages without movie plots to fall back on? "We'll do a sit-in," I announce. "A peaceful protest."

Robin and the rest of the villagers look at me as if I'm absolutely bonkers. "What do you mean?" he asks.

"Look," I say. "There's a lot of us here, but there's no way we're going to be able to storm a castle on our own. No offense, but you guys are mostly farmers armed with pitchforks. You can't go up against trained, armed guards. And I like you all. I don't want to see you get killed trying to help us. So, instead, we'll go sit outside the castle and shout stuff. Dance. Play instruments. Whatever."

"A siege? You want to try to starve them out?" Robin asks. "That could take a long time. And the hangings are tomorrow morning.''

"No, no." I shake my head. "The sit-in is just a distraction. All the guards are going to be watching us, waiting for us to make a violent move. In the meantime, a few men will go around the back. Remember that castle wall you told me about, Robin? The one you climbed to find Marian? You can lead our most trained men in through there and rescue the prisoners. Since most of the soldiers will be keeping an eye on the ruckus outside, there likely won't be a huge guard contingent to deal with."

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 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-butt 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, 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 witch, 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 Marian, 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 21st 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 21st 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 22nd 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 behind."

"Uh, nonviolent protest, remember? Meaning, without violence. No butt-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 rear end."

"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. 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.

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 sweetest, most gentle, loving smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners. He playfully leans down to kiss my nose.