

Quivers and Quills

Time-Traveling Twins Book 1

Michelle Lashier

**Text copyright © 201** **5** Michelle Lashier

Cover Art and Design by Ebook Launch

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# _Table of Contents_

Join My Readers Club

Acknowledgments

About the Author

_For Nadine_

# 1

## April 10, 2009

## Columbus, Ohio

Jill Mason's life was far too predictable. As she studied the birthday cake she shared with her sister Joanna, Jill knew exactly how the situation would play out. Dad would tell the twins to lean over the dining room table and get closer to the cake for the picture. After the first photo, he would take another. Dad never liked anything—or anyone—on the first viewing. Mom would sing "Happy Birthday" off key while Dad's mustache twitched—the closest he ever came to smiling.

And that's exactly how it happened.

Someone in the world likely longed for such familial bliss and tranquility. But grateful as she felt, Jill couldn't help wondering if she had been born for more than this.

Atop the cake sat two molded candles spelling out twenty-five. After wincing through the birthday song, Jill automatically leaned toward the number two. Having been born three minutes after her sister, Jill's designated candle since the twins turned ten had always been the lower number. The system, created by her mother, eliminated arguing over the birthday cake and had worked quite well except for the twins' eleventh birthday when special clarification had been required. After that, birthdays sank into another routine without even the adrenaline rush of arguing over a candle flame.

Jill didn't make a birthday wish. What was the point?

Seated at the dining table in her parents' home, Jill, Joanna, Mom, and Dad ate the cake in comfortable silence. Jill picked up the camera and flipped through the digital images her father had taken. She marveled again at the resemblance between her and her sister, a similarity all the more amazing since as children they hadn't looked anything alike. People expected all twins to look identical, even fraternal ones, and had been surprised the girls were twins after noting the five-inch height difference when Joanna towered over Jill at age 13. But now, Jill understood why people mixed them up. Their shoulder-length hair, dark like their father's, differed only in that Joanna parted her hair on the left and Jill the right. Beyond their almost identical trim figures, both had endured years of careful orthodontia resulting in perfectly straight, white teeth and too-broad smiles, even when they were unhappy.

Noting the differences required more careful study. Joanna's nose sloped to a sharper point, but more freckles adorned Jill's nose and cheeks. Jill had her mother's blue eyes, Joanna her father's brown ones. Joanna wore every emotion on her face, especially her eyes, although Jill imagined Joanna hid her feelings better around strangers. In the photo, Joanna's discouragement leaked out the corners of her mouth and eyes in a drooping effect. But the sight of Jill's own eyes in the photo disturbed her more. The sparkle of mischief she treasured had faded to a sad, glassy expression that revealed how bored she felt.

"It's so nice to be the four of us, isn't it?" As Mom smiled, laugh lines spread around her eyes. Her hair, which became blonder every year, framed her delicate features. "Although I do love when you bring friends home, too."

"It _would_ be nice to have grandchildren someday." Dad took a bite of cake without making eye contact with anyone.

"Dad!" Joanna shot him a dirty look.

Dad enjoyed getting the family worked up, something he had started for his own amusement years ago as a way of coping with a household of women, Jill imagined. His joking didn't bother her too much, but it made her think. She had never brought anyone home to meet the family. Only once had she considered it, but the relationship dissolved before she could extend the invitation. On the other hand, Joanna's parade of boyfriends resembled a Hollywood casting call for Mr. Right, but no one got the part. Behind Joanna's back, Jill and her parents created secret monikers to keep her male interests straight. Chris the Psychology Major had looked promising for a while, especially in comparison to Sam with the Nose Piercing and Ricky from New York. Mark the Writer positioned himself as a serious contender, but he had dumped Joanna a month ago, and she was the only one surprised.

"Twenty-four was a rotten year." Joanna raised her glass of milk. "Here's hoping the next one's better."

Joanna was in one of her dark moods. Jill did a quick self-assessment and assured herself that despite her own discontent she still felt much happier than Joanna. Love and competition between the twins had been intermingled for so long they were almost the same thing.

Jill raised her glass and clinked it against Joanna's. "I'll drink to that."

"Jill, how's your self-defense class?"

Mom deftly changed the subject, but her topic choice was unfortunate. Jill wished she could say, "Fine," and move the conversation on to something else, but her mother was too good a therapist for that to work. Honesty and brevity were the only responses that would hold off a deeper inquiry.

"I stopped going. I sort of beat up the instructor."

Mom's eyes opened wider. "This I have to hear."

"He wanted a volunteer for sparring." Jill shifted in her seat. "He showed us how to spot an opponent's vulnerable areas, and I noticed his pretty quickly. He told me he wanted me to hit him as hard as I could, so I did. And he cried."

Mom and Dad both chuckled.

"Get this," Joanna added. "After she made him cry, he asked her out. But she didn't go."

Mom folded her napkin and ran her finger along the crease. "Why not?"

"Jill's holding out for someone rich."

Nothing could have been farther from the truth. However, Jill suspected Joanna fantasized of a wealthy patron who would fund her writing and rescue her from a string of bad jobs. Recognizing the opportunity to shift the focus of the conversation to Joanna, Jill said, "Jo, have you told Mom and Dad about what happened in your writing group?"

Mom took the bait. "I loved those two stories you wrote. What did the group think?"

"They kicked me out."

"What?"

"They hated the medieval story." Joanna's voice took on a tone she probably meant to sound nonchalant but instead came across as bitter. "They thought it lacked 'authenticity.' All plot and dialogue with no description that pulled them in."

"That's ridiculous!" Mom scoffed. "I thought the story had beautiful description."

"Not the kind they wanted, apparently." Joanna shook her head. "You know what bugged Gordon? The doorknob. He said that if I have a character open a door, the reader has to see the knob. He said I shouldn't write about anything unless I can describe it in detail."

"Doorknobs?" Mom made a hissing sound to show her disgust. "As if those are important! Who looks at doorknobs?

Joanna blushed. "I went to three home improvement stores and checked out what they had."

Jill felt her right eyebrow rise. "They have medieval doorknobs at the Home Depot?"

"Well, no, but I thought I could get an idea of the mechanism."

"I guess you'll have to leave that part out of the story," Jill said.

"But it's bothering me now. I looked up a bunch of stuff on the Internet, but nothing really describes exactly how the door opened. If I ever had the chance, I'd study a medieval doorknob until I knew exactly how it worked."

"Sounds enthralling." Jill glanced at Dad after she made her comment and saw his mustache move.

"Do you know how a plane is able to keep you in the air?" Dad asked.

Joanna frowned. "Something about the air across the wings creating lift. I should look that up."

"And yet, you managed to get on a plane today and fly here from Minneapolis. How's that possible?"

"You're saying I don't have to understand exactly how something works in order to use it?"

"Now we're getting back into your mother's territory," Dad replied. "I don't do psychology."

Mom rolled her eyes. "Your father's got a point. These doorknobs sound like an excuse to avoid writing."

"Excuse or not, they got me kicked out of the writing group." Joanna sneered as she took another bite of cake.

"So the doorknobs weren't the only problem?"

Joanna blushed. "They said the 'love conquers all' storyline was overdone and hackneyed. I was mortified."

One look at her father told Jill that he hadn't the faintest idea what _hackneyed_ meant, and neither did she, but Joanna's tone communicated the word was definitely an insult.

"Then they told me my wedding planner story read like a bad romantic comedy. Gordon said the main character—and everyone knew it was me—had superhero fantasies because there was no way a wedding planner could solve a case of mistaken identity, settle a family feud, and still get the bride down the aisle in time."

"But that's exactly what you did."

"Apparently, reading my work is like eating cookie dough—too many spoonfuls made people sick. Twenty-first-century writing calls for sex, profanity, darkness, and despair—and possibly an appearance from the undead."

"Well, phooey on them," Mom said. "Someday when you're a best-selling author, you can look down your nose at them."

Joanna's wan smile indicated her lack of belief in her mother's prediction.

Mom turned to Jill. "And someday when you're running a company, all those people at work who don't listen to you will have to."

Jill appreciated Mom's attempt to keep the future predictions equitable, but Jill had no intention of running a company. She didn't really know what she wanted to do except go on an adventure—and corporate America didn't offer many opportunities for her style of excitement.

After the twins helped clean up the kitchen, Joanna and Mom retired downstairs to check out bedroom curtains on the Internet for Mom's plotted redecoration project. Jill excused herself from weighing in on the decision (she had never developed an interest in home décor) and settled on the couch at an angle from her dad who sprawled in his leather armchair reading his tablet computer.

"I found something you might be interested in," Dad said. "It's the press release on your company's new vice president. Have you seen it?"

He passed her the computer, and Jill read the headline: _Goodwin new VP at Houston's GDB Oil_ _._

"It was sent to the company yesterday."

"What do you think of him?"

She passed the tablet back to him. "Hard to tell from an article."

"The writer makes it sound like he's some sort of entrepreneurial prodigy. But I'd bet anyone whose father was a billionaire shareholder in the company can buy whatever credentials he wants. Did you know he was British?"

"It's a British-owned company, Dad."

Her father shook his head. "I don't see why they can't hire an American. After everything that's happened in the Gulf, it's hard to believe anyone from England could appreciate our resources. We have 300 million people in this country, and they couldn't find one American qualified to run the site? Didn't we learn anything from taxation without representation?"

"Afraid the queen will try to retake the colonies?"

"Don't forget your ancestors were patriots. Zachariah Mason fought under George Washington."

Jill flashed back to vacations of her childhood when her father used to drag his wife and daughters across Boston's Freedom Trail in ninety-degree weather, all the while reciting family history.

"'The Mason family has always played an important part in history.' Isn't that what you always say?"

"It's the truth. I've been working on our family tree."

"Find anything interesting?"

"I'm just getting started. But I suspect that our family has been at the center of everything important that has happened in the western world."

"Obviously, Dad. Obviously."

Dad looked like he was pondering the level of sarcasm in Jill's response when Joanna and Mom returned to the living room.

"Joanna likes the _purple_ curtains." Mom's emphasis indicated Dad had supported a different choice.

He snorted. "She doesn't have to look at them every day."

Mom curled in her floral armchair next to Dad and faced the couch where Joanna had joined Jill. "Are you ready for your presents?"

When the twins nodded, Mom looked expectantly at Dad, her smile fading at the seconds of silence ticked by.

"Frank? The presents?"

"What presents? I don't remember presents."

Mom shook her head in frustration. Dad's mustache twitched as he slid two envelopes out from underneath a lamp on the table and handed them to the twins. Jill passed Joanna the one with her name on it.

"You have to open them both at the same time," Mom instructed.

Used to the ritual, Jill watched Joanna out of the corner of her eye to ensure their motions of opening the flap, pulling out the card, and reading the front were synchronized. On the inside, after the birthday message, Jill read this handwritten note:

_Redeem this card for $300 toward a plane ticket to the destination of your choice._

Jill didn't know how to respond. Her parents didn't have a great deal of money, especially to give both twins such a gift.

"We want you to take a trip together," Mom explained. "Since you're spread out between Minneapolis and Houston and you don't get to see each other very often, we thought the two of you might enjoy a little outing."

"If you're willing to fly at odd times, that money could get you to Disney World," Dad suggested.

"Or New York," Mom countered. "Wherever you could have an adventure."

_Adventure_. Jill's heartbeat quickened.

"We thought about planning the trip for you," Mom said, "but your father and I couldn't decide on the destination."

"You did love Orlando when you were kids," Dad offered.

"But you could have some great shopping adventures in New York," Mom argued.

"I like the idea of a trip." Jill met Joanna's eyes and knew Joanna already agreed where they were going. The twins had kept this secret for a long time. While the money wouldn't pay for an entire plane ticket, it provided the motivation to actually do what they had been planning for years.

"Orlando and New York are great ideas," Joanna ventured, "but Jill and I want to travel out of the country. We both have our passports already."

Mom blinked. "Well, that's great!"

"You're not going to Cozumel, are you?" Dad asked. "I read an article about women getting kidnapped down there."

Joanna laughed. "We have someplace much more civilized in mind—England."

"Lovely!" Mom exclaimed. "They speak English there."

Jill looked at her father to gauge his reaction. His mustache remained still.

"There's a simple psychological principle at work here, Frank," Mom teased. "You've railed against the Brits for so long that it's had the opposite effect you intended."

Dad grunted. "All they've got over there is a bunch of old rocks and hot dishwater that passes for the national beverage. I don't see the appeal."

"Oh, come on, Dad," Joanna teased. "I was an English major for crying out loud."

Dad's lips pursed. "If it's what you want, you should go."

Jill and Joanna would have gone even without their dad's blessing, but having him agree to a scheme always made everyone's life a little easier.

"I'm glad you're getting this out of your system," Dad continued. "I won't worry about you over there. Once you see what England's really like, I'm fully confident that you'll never want to stay."

# 2

Joanna hung her damp towel on the rack in the bathroom and combed her wet hair. Studying her face in the mirror, she sighed. She was gaining weight. No one had mentioned it this weekend, but Joanna had been keeping a careful eye on her own figure in comparison to Jill's for years. Jill was definitely thinner.

But the problem lay deeper than expanding cellulose. It lay in unfulfilled ambition. On Joanna's fifteenth birthday, she had promised herself that she would have her first novel written and published by the time she turned twenty-five. S.E. Hinton and Mary Shelley had experienced literary success before the age of twenty, but Joanna knew not everyone who wrote found fame as quickly, which was why she had allowed herself five additional years. Her birthday loomed before her as yet another missed deadline. She cringed, remembering the bragging she had done in front of her fellow college students who were now published while Joanna's portfolio included not novels or short stories but photos from the weddings she had planned. If she had pursued her writing with the same tenacity she pursued men, would she be published by now? Would she have found fulfillment? Would she feel any less lonely?

The one thing she wanted to do more than anything was write books, but she had abandoned eight attempted novels before finishing them. Stacked in her closet were enough false starts to wallpaper her townhouse.

If only she and Mark had worked out. The security of a husband and second income would have allowed her to produce literary greatness. But no man wanted her. Every morning she looked in the mirror and recognized the great failure staring back at her. If only she could curl up in her old bedroom and hide for the rest of her life!

The money from her parents was a nice surprise, but Joanna had weddings booked through June, so the trip would have to wait a few months. When she got back to the office on Monday, maybe she could work a deal with one of the other wedding planners to get a weekend free in July.

Pulling her robe around her, she walked to the living room where Jill sat in Dad's chair, watching television with the sound low as their parents had already gone to bed. Joanna curled up in her mother's chair and pulled a blanket around her.

"What are we watching?"

Jill's eyes didn't leave the television. "I started with this cheesy sci-fi movie about time travel, but it was so unrealistic I couldn't stomach it. Now I'm watching _Prince of Thieves_. It's half over."

Joanna tucked her legs underneath her. "I think we read or watched everything we could about Robin Hood when we were kids."

"Was that before our western craze?"

"Yes, and before the World War II obsession." Joanna smiled at the memories of all the twins' make-believe games. "Didn't the 1940s thing start after you watched _The Great Escape_ and fell in love with Steve McQueen?"

Jill chuckled.

"It always starts with a good looking guy," Joanna commented, thinking of her writing group.

Jill didn't reply.

The movie came back on. Joanna had seen the film multiple times so felt free to comment over the dialogue. "Robin Hood comes off a little bland."

She checked Jill's expression to see how she received the critique. Jill had always been protective of any actor's portrayal of the famous outlaw.

"Here's hoping he was much more dynamic in person," Jill conceded. "Have you ever wondered if he was real or not?"

"Sure I have." Joanna thought of the shelf of books on Robin Hood, castles, and medieval history in her home office. "Do _you_ think he was?"

"I want to think so. But my engineering brain gets me into trouble. He seems a little too good to be true. Could one guy really be noble, self-sacrificing, heroic, intelligent, clever, an excellent shot, charming, and good looking? I doubt it."

Joanna shrugged. "I guess the legend could be a conglomeration of the best traits of several different men that meshed together over time."

"I guess. Or maybe it was something more calculated."

Joanna noticed the thoughtful expression on Jill's face and asked what she meant.

"Maybe he was good looking, charming, and noble, but some of the other stuff he had help with. Like, maybe he had a savvy advisor who helped him build his image. The guy's a medieval superhero. You don't get an image like that from being a decent person."

"And you think I'm cynical!"

Jill frowned. "Something as genius as a righteous outlaw doesn't happen by accident. There's got to be somebody behind the scenes shaping things."

Joanna knew her sister didn't reveal her opinions or speak this passionately about anything unless she had spent a lot of time in consideration.

"Anything in particular get you going on this idea?" Joanna asked.

Jill paused before replying. "Do you ever wonder why we're here?"

Now this _was_ unusual. Jill rarely got philosophical.

"Are we talking religion?"

"I'm talking our purpose in life. There has to be more to our existence than getting up, going to work, and coming home to watch TV."

"Agreed."

"So what is it?"

Joanna grimaced. "The two things I've always wanted more than anything are to write books and be in love with the right guy. But since neither one of those has happened, I'm not sure I'm serving any purpose at all. What about you? What do you think your purpose is?"

"I don't know."

"Are we talking about your job, true love...what?"

"Falling in love isn't the complete answer. I've seen enough bad relationships to know I want more than that."

Joanna immediately thought of Mark and felt defensive. Jill had never approved of any of her boyfriends. "I'm guessing my life has been a cautionary tale for you since day one."

"That's what you get for being older."

Joanna waited to see if Jill would bring up Brian, Jill's boyfriend in college, but Jill had made it clear several years ago the subject was off-limits.

Pulling the blanket tighter around her, Joanna leaned back in the chair and allowed her thoughts to turn to Mark since Jill didn't seem interested in further discussion. Joanna should have seen his betrayal coming. He read from the same script most of her other boyfriends had: he flattered her, lied to her, cheated on her, and she was surprised every time. She knew she'd had a good guy or two in the mix, but somehow the relationships never seemed to work out. Apparently, she couldn't inspire commitment in the opposite sex. Certainly she had initiated some of the breakups, but being dumped this time was particularly painful since Mark did it via text message. _Classy_.

No one in the family knew that when Joanna joined her writing group, she had done so out of attraction rather than a desire for constructive criticism. Joanna had met Gordon at a downtown coffee shop when he posted signs about a writing group. With his dark-rimmed glasses, spiky hair, and soul patch, she imagined him a Romeo and literary genius, her ticket to romantic and publishing success all wrapped up in one brooding-but-attractive package. She had joined the group to catch his attention, but after the first meeting, Mark, a fellow attendee, was why she stayed. Mark's sandy blond hair, blue eyes, square jaw, and genial nature were infinitely superior to anything Gordon had to offer.

The chemistry between Joanna and Mark sparked immediately. After the first meeting, they arranged to meet privately to read each other's manuscripts. The experience fulfilled every fantasy she had treasured while reading _Walden_ in her college library and checking out good-looking guys who walked by. She and Mark drank coffee, read pages fresh from the computer printer, discussed writing techniques and famous authors until late into the night—yes, Mark had been _the one_. But he skipped writing group the night her stories had been critiqued—the coward—and broke up with her the next day.

Retreating to her home to lick her wounds after the writer's group kicked her out, Joanna burned all the manuscripts with the snide comments in red, blue, and black ink. She could still see the flames leaping from her barbecue as she dropped page after page into the fire.

"Mark sold a book," Joanna said, not worrying if Jill would follow the new discussion thread. "Some gritty drama that was all style and no plot. I even proofed it for him before the breakup."

"Ouch."

"What hurts," Joanna continued, "is that I'm a better writer than he is. At least, I think I am. But the rest of the world doesn't agree."

"Forget the rest of the world. You're still writing, aren't you?"

Joanna shrugged. "Writer's block."

Muting the television volume, Jill inhaled as though she was about to speak, then closed her mouth.

"What?"

Jill pursed her lips. "You don't need a man to write."

"But every breakup kills my confidence, and trust me, you've got to have a lot of confidence to fill a blank page with words."

"Doesn't it also take a lot of confidence to start a new relationship after a breakup?"

"Sure."

Jill raised her eyebrows and spread her hands as if to say, _There you have it_ _._

"I get what you're saying," Joanna admitted. "I've been trying to have both the brilliant writing career and torrid love affair. But I can't have everything—or any of it, for that matter."

"No," Jill said, "because then you wouldn't be tortured like all writers are supposed to be."

Joanna turned back to the television. She felt Jill's eyes on her but did not look her way. They watched the movie on mute for several seconds before Jill spoke.

"Dad took the news about England pretty well, didn't he?"

"Especially since he thought we'd choose Disney World. Poor Dad! He can't see us as adults yet, much less exploring the streets of London."

"We're going to see more than London, I hope."

"What did you have in mind?"

Jill grinned almost devilishly. "A little adventure in Sherwood Forest."

The word _adventure_ had caused Joanna a great deal of trouble throughout the twins' childhood—the zip line they built in the backyard that snapped the minute Joanna got on it, the bike ramp that collapsed and resulted in seven stitches in Joanna's scalp, the riding lawn mower that got out of control and knocked down a section of fence. Jill's propensity for adventure always leaned toward acts of physical danger. Joanna preferred to get her own adrenaline rush pursuing adventures of the heart.

"What exactly do you mean by _little_ adventure?" Joanna queried, warning bells going off in her head.

"There's this place I found on the Internet that specializes in horse tours of Sherwood Forest, complete with running commentary on the Robin Hood legend."

"Sounds cheesy." Joanna did not want to admit that the idea of riding a horse made her extremely nervous. She still had nightmares about the Bartoski-Olson wedding fiasco. "Plus, you know Sherwood Forest isn't really that big."

"If I'm going to stand for three hours at the Globe to watch Shakespeare with you, you can handle a little pony ride through a park."

"Fair enough." Joanna knew further arguing was hopeless. "I'm going to bed. You staying up?"

"No. I'm turning in, too." Jill used the remote to shut off the TV.

"Sleep well then," Joanna said, folding the blanket and hanging it on the back of the chair. "May you have pleasant dreams of the handsome men you'll meet in England."

"Men _you'll_ meet, you mean."

"You never know," Joanna replied, already fantasizing about a dark, handsome stranger who spoke the Queen's English. "You never know."

# 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. Usually, 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 peeking 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 over 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 on 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 flowcharts 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, the stress of a new environment, and the 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 crooked 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 stable 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, so 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 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 the 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 yeomen 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 limply 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."

# 4

## Sherwood Forest

The corner of Jill's mouth turned up as she studied the man before her. Nice hair, a crisp British accent, and a lean physique all contributed to a package worthy of a magazine cover. Whether he was an actor, Renaissance Faire performer, deluded homeless man, or the real Robin Hood, she didn't know, but she decided she could stare at him all day without getting tired.

"I apologize for the inconvenience we've caused in detaining you. These woods are dangerous, especially with idiots such as Will Scarlet here. Are you all right?" Robin's eyes flitted to her sore arm.

"I'm fine. I'm trying to find my sister. Her horse bolted, but the two of you stopped me before I could catch up to her."

"How unfortunate!" Robin shot a reproving glance at Will before turning an apologetic gaze to Jill. "When did you lose her?"

"A few minutes ago. She was headed east."

Robin held out his arm. "As a gentleman of the forest, I'll assist you with your search."

Jill slipped her hand shyly into the crook of his elbow. They took exactly two steps forward before a slender figure crashed through the trees ahead and darted toward them. Robin dropped Jill's arm and stepped in front of her, presumably to protect her from approaching danger. Struck by his gallantry, Jill allowed herself to feel disappointed when his arm, which had paused protectively in the air before her, dropped to his side as he recognized the intruder.

The new arrival, a beardless young man with a bowl-cut of thick, dark hair, couldn't have been much older than a teenager. With his thin cheeks, slender hands, and lack of a weapon, Jill doubted this boy was a warrior, even though he was dressed just as Robin was in a white shirt, green doublet and leggings, and brown boots. The teen breathed heavily, bending over and resting his hands on his knees.

"What is it, Alan?" Robin sounded annoyed.

"It's Little John!" Alan gasped for air. "He's been captured...by the sheriff."

Little John and Alan-a-dale were two more characters from the Robin Hood legends. This was getting interesting.

"How did it happen?" Robin demanded.

"A woman fell off a horse. She was injured so John stopped to help her. When he did, the foresters surrounded him." Alan took a long deep breath that didn't appear to calm his panting. "They took the woman, too."

Joanna was injured and captured. Jill had to find her. She stepped out from behind Robin to confront the boy. "How badly was the woman hurt?"

Alan, who seemed to notice Jill for the first time, gasped and fell backward. He pointed at Jill as he stammered, "Robin, this seductress is the very woman Little John attempted to save!"

_Seductress?_ No one had ever called her that before.

Robin, his eyes narrowed, turned to Jill.

"That other woman is my sister," Jill explained. "We're twins. Alan, how badly was she hurt?"

"I saw blood, but then I looked away. I have a weak constitution."

Fighting down the panic, Jill moved toward her horse that was still tethered to the tree, but Will blocked her way. She held out an open palm and gave him what she hoped was her death stare.

"Will, give me my horse."

"How stupid do you think I am?" Will's voice held unmistakable mockery. "I captured a spy. I'm not going to let you run away."

"I'm not a spy. I'm rescuing my sister."

Robin eyed her with suspicion. "Why were you riding through Sherwood?"

A flow chart of potential answers appeared before Jill's eyes. The absolute truth wouldn't work. If she made something up, and storytelling had never been her strong suit, Robin would know she was lying. Did a correct answer exist?

"Your silence condemns you," Robin declared. "How much did Guy of Gisbourne pay you to trap me?"

"You've got the wrong idea about me—in more ways than one."

"The more I consider this, the more curious—and suspicious—I am." Robin crossed his arms over his chest. "Your attire, for instance. Quite different from anything I've seen before. And your speech—it's not a dialect I'm familiar with. You say you're a mason, but whoever heard of a woman mason, and with such soft hands as well?"

"I can explain."

But could she? Did she have any idea what was going on? Maybe this was some elaborate live action role play she had stumbled into. Maybe it was part of the horse tour. Or _maybe_ she had traveled through time.

Was Jill Mason, engineer and the self-proclaimed realist of the family, truly considering time travel as a viable explanation?

Robin tapped his foot.

"My sister and I were traveling through your forest," Jill began. "We were looking for _you_ , but not to spy. We wanted to join your band."

Her own forthrightness surprised her, but she didn't regret what she said.

"How did you know to come here?"

"Everyone knows Robin Hood lives in Sherwood Forest."

He broke into a scornful laugh. "Will, doesn't it strike you as odd that a woman who looks like _her_ appears in the forest at a time we know the sheriff and Guy are present and asks to join us?"

"It does."

"I think so too," Alan added.

"Shut up, Alan." Robin didn't even look at the boy when he spoke.

Who did she look like? A wife? A girlfriend? Jill's heart sank a little. Of course, Robin couldn't be attracted to _Jill Mason_. She reminded him of someone else he loved— _Maid Marian_ _._ Where there was a Little John, a Will Scarlet, and an Alan-a-dale, there had to be a Marian.

"Must be a coincidence," Jill suggested.

"I don't believe in coincidence," Robin protested. "Everything happens by design. If not mine, someone else's. Where do you come from, Jill Mason?"

Several times on the trip, Joanna had commented that Jill didn't need Joanna, that Jill could take care of herself in any situation, but at this moment, Jill desperately needed her sister. Joanna would know what to say, would make up a good story, would be able to explain how they came across the ocean from a continent Robin had never heard of, and people would believe her.

Robin leaned in to speak in her ear. He smelled like fresh air and campfire smoke. She was grateful he must have bathed more recently than Will. "Guy knew I'd be taken by your beauty, but he didn't teach you how to answer."

Joanna was bleeding somewhere, captured, and needing help. No man, no matter how handsome or flattering, was going to waste Jill's time with these silly games.

"I don't think you're interested in the truth." Jill felt her anger rising.

"I agree." Robin pointed to Will. "Take her purse."

"It's a bag," Jill corrected. "I don't carry purses."

"Of course you do," Will mocked. "Everyone has a purse. What do you have in there? Gold? Silver?"

If Jill pulled out her money and threw it at them, maybe they would be distracted long enough that she could jump on the horse and ride away. She opened her bag slowly and pulled out her leather change purse that held a twenty-pound note, two one-pound coins, and assorted denominations of pence. She dumped the coins into her hand and threw them into the air, but no one jumped for them. Instead, all three men let the coins fall to the ground. So much for that plan! Now she wouldn't have the coin to use at the Nottingham train station pay toilet—if she ever got back there.

Robin, Will, and Alan stared at her in stony silence before Robin finally knelt down and picked up a one-pence piece. His brow furrowed. "Puzzling. Is this a woman's face on the coin? E-R-2?"

She could kick him. With a transfer of her weight to her left foot, she could complete a front kick to his chin which would throw him backward and give her a chance to run. She could find another horse if she had to leave this one behind. Shifting her weight, she kicked, but to her surprise, Robin caught her leg in his hands and held it. She lost her balance and fell backward, the wind knocked out of her. Robin hovered over her before she could breathe, pinning her arms to the ground.

Jill heard the blood pounding in her ears and felt the heat rising in her neck. She stared at him, willing her breath back, as she squeaked, "What happened to protecting the weak and unfortunate?"

Alan laughed. "Intriguing idea."

"Yes, it is," Will agreed. "At present, it's all about revenge."

Robin gave Will a dirty look.

Noting his distraction, Jill lifted her knee, intending to impact his stomach or groin, but he dodged and laughed. Moving closer until his lips were inches from hers, he taunted in a half-whisper, "Do that again."

Jill had never had a man on top of her before. She equal parts hated him and wanted to make out with him.

Alan cleared his throat. "If Jill Mason is to be a member of our band, shouldn't we have a proper contest?"

"She is _not_ joining our band." Robin's eyes never left Jill's. "She's _infiltrating_ it."

"Either way," Alan said, his voice tentative, "what you two are doing right now..."

"If you need privacy," Will offered, "say so."

With a growl, Robin pushed himself away from Jill and stood up.

Jill's face felt hot. She rose slowly to her feet, noting that no one extended a hand to help her.

Robin rubbed the back of his neck. "Alan, what do you suggest we do?"

"An epic battle. A woman should fight for the opportunity to join your band. As for weapons, swords perhaps, or staffs, lifted high in challenge."

Will snickered, but Robin ignored him and said, "Yes, I see where you're heading."

Staffs were a lot like broomsticks. Jill had defeated her self-defense instructor with a broomstick. She might have the same luck with this outlaw. She'd like to bring him down a peg or two—or make out with him. But since kissing didn't seem likely at the moment, she would be satisfied with humiliating him. He might have the advantage of strength, but if she could demonstrate her agility, she might have a chance.

"We need to create a sense of theater, set the scene," Alan continued. "Too bad you've already thrown off your cloak, Robin. Did you flair it out the way I showed you?"

Robin blushed.

"I choose staffs," Jill declared.

"That's been done," Will interrupted. "Little John, you know."

"No, no, I like it." Alan nodded several times. "You could only fight with swords if you mistakenly believed she was a man, which you don't, and it's not very gentlemanly either. The staff's symbolism is amusing. We need a different setting, though—something more dangerous to heighten the adventure."

"I know a stream with a fallen log over it." Will pointed north.

"A slippery log?"

"No, just a log."

Alan shrugged. "That could come in the embellishment, I suppose."

Robin picked up his cloak and longbow. "Come on, then," he said to Jill.

"Hold on a second." Jill put up a hand. "If I'm going to fight you, I need to know what the stakes are."

Robin frowned in thought. "If I win, which I most certainly will, I get your purse—and you."

"And if I win," Jill countered, "I join your band, I get to keep my bag, _and_ you have to help me rescue my sister." Asking for a kiss seemed too forward. Hopefully, that would happen organically later.

"Agreed."

"Regardless, you'll both be immortalized in song," Alan promised.

Rolling his eyes at Alan, Robin lifted the horn that hung at his belt and sounded the seven notes Jill had heard in the forest right before Joanna's horse broke loose. Within seconds Jill heard footsteps and rustling in the brush. Men and teenaged boys one by one stepped out of the forest, all of them clad in green and brown, until close to thirty of them stood in a loose circle around Robin and Jill.

Robin pointed to a short, stout man with a dark beard. "Stutely, get us two staffs."

Stutely scanned the crowd of men and called two over, ordering them to surrender their staffs. After judging the size and weight of each to be equal, Stutely delivered them to Jill and Robin. Twisting the staff in her hand, Jill compared it to the broomstick and found it a little heavier and thicker, but not enough to make her uncomfortable.

Robin waved his hand to the gang. "To the stream!"

Watching to see what became of her horse, Jill saw Will pass the reins to a teenaged boy with curly brown hair. Depending on how this fight went, she might need to make a speedy escape on that animal.

Concern for Joanna and what might be happening to her paralyzed Jill for a second, but she pushed the thought away. Joanna would be all right because Jill would get to her in time and save her. But first, Jill had to defeat Robin Hood and convince him to lend his resources to the rescue. His strength presented a problem, and their fighting on a log would seriously impede her maneuverability. But men had a habit of overlooking or underestimating her, and she could use that to her advantage. She had bested her self-defense teacher, and Robin wasn't any taller or stronger than he was. Plus, literature was on her side. If she remembered her Robin Hood lore correctly, the outlaw was often beaten by aspiring members of his band.

When the merry men reached the stream, the gang parted, taking up positions on the bank to better see the spectacle while Robin approached the stream bed which was about fifteen feet wide. A large tree, at least two feet in diameter, had fallen across the chasm, its bark worn almost smooth from foot traffic. The flat surface was hardly dangerous if a person crossed in peaceful circumstances, but it looked like a gauntlet of death to Jill. Six feet below the log, the stream surged. While the water probably wasn't more than three feet deep, Jill knew someone could get seriously hurt in such conditions. Whoever fell off this log—and there was at least a fifty-percent chance it would be her—would have a hard, wet landing.

Robin clamped his hand on her shoulder and pushed her, almost gently, away from the log, saying, "I'll be the gentleman and cross to the other side. Then, when Will blows my horn," he tossed his horn to the redhead, "we begin fighting. Whoever reaches the opposite side dry is the victor."

Robin set his quiver, bow, hat, and cloak on the ground. Slowly, Jill pulled off her bag and stashed her wristwatch inside before laying her things next to Robin's, noting the unlikely juxtaposition of her black Eagle Creek bag next to his medieval implements.

Robin mounted the log first, nimbly trotting to the opposite bank. He didn't even look down. But as Jill stepped onto the log, she could only see the water swirling below, rising up to meet her and engulf her. She felt sick. If she fell, she could break a leg, her back, even her neck. Heaven only knew what sort of primitive medicine was available in this place.

"Are both parties ready?" Will called out.

Robin banged the butt of his staff on the log in response. Jill did the same a split second later, hoping no one noticed she was figuring out the rules as she went.

Will blew a short blast on the horn to signal the start of the match.

Jill gripped the staff in both hands, wondering if she should make the first move. Without hesitation, Robin advanced, shouting, "On guard!"

# 5

## July 16, 2009, 10:15 a.m.

## Edwinstowe, Nottinghamshire, England

Joanna had not felt so humiliated since she was eleven and the perm her mother gave her turned out too curly. Joanna had draped a sheet over the bathroom mirror for three days until she could stand to look at herself and figure out how to tame the Afro on her head. Now, as she perched on top of one of the biggest horses she had ever seen, she felt like a child at a pony ride. Everyone else in the group had control of his or her own horse. But not her. No, she was being led around by a woman who looked old enough to have greeted William the Conqueror when he invaded Hastings. The other riders must think she was an idiot.

Up ahead, Joanna observed Jill's confident posture in the saddle, a stark contrast to Joanna's humiliation. Of course Jill would leave her back here. _Fine_. Joanna would make Jill pay later.

Suffering was good for the author's soul, or so Gordon used to say before he kicked Joanna out of the writing group. With all the suffering she felt now, she ought to be able to write a Pulitzer-prize-winning novel.

"What kind of horse is this again?" Joanna asked the old woman. "It reminds me of a Clydesdale."

"It's an English draught horse."

"Not all these horses are draught horses, though."

"No." The old woman flicked her eyes in Joanna's direction. "Draught horses carry the heavier riders."

Joanna held back a groan. Did the entire world think she was fat?

"They're temperamental as well," the old woman added.

"I suppose that's why you have the sign out front with the skeletons. Nice joke, huh?"

"I don't joke."

Was this the famous British irony at work or was the old woman serious?

The guide at the front of the line recited some piece about Robin Hood. Joanna didn't bother to listen. This horseback ride had been an awful idea. Was there any way Joanna could slip off this horse and walk back to the stables? She didn't want to be here anymore.

But the tour group was moving again. She was stuck. At least, she hoped she was stuck. She didn't want to fall off the horse and be trampled or paralyzed from a spinal injury. A fog seemed to come out of nowhere. Joanna's ears felt plugged. She looked ahead to realize she could no longer see Jill.

"Never let go of the reins," the old woman warned, her voice sounding farther away. "When you fall, the horse will run back to the stables, but you'll never get home without the horse."

_When_ you fall?

Joanna still hadn't wrapped her mind around that comment when the old woman unhooked the lead rope on Joanna's horse. "You're on your own now."

Although Joanna had longed to be left alone, now that freedom was hers, fear replaced embarrassment, and she considered turning the horse toward the stables. But before she could act, a horn sounded—one long note followed by six shorter ones—and her horse reared. She wrapped her fingers in his mane and curled herself against him. The horse leaped into a gallop and Joanna shrieked for help. The other riders passed by in a blur. All she could do was cling to the horse as it charged into the fog.

She couldn't see anything with her face buried against the horse's pulsing neck. When she finally gathered the courage to sit up, she saw the approaching tree branch, but she couldn't dodge it fast enough. A bright light blinded her as she had the sensation of hanging in midair. Then everything went dark.

Joanna came to lying flat on her back. She couldn't tell yet if she was hurt, but as she raised herself up on her elbows, she took an inner inventory and came to the conclusion she was still alive and without any broken bones. However, she might have a concussion. Her head swam, and her stomach felt queasy. She touched her fingers to a hot, wet spot near her hairline.

"Are you hurt?"

From the woods emerged a man so tall he reminded Joanna of a basketball player, except that he was built like a football linebacker. His soft features stood in contrast to his massive frame. Despite his formidable size, his expression was sympathetic and kind. He wore a green tunic with no shirt underneath, green leggings, and boots that went up over his knees. A leather skull cap appeared to cover a bald head.

"I saw you take that fall. You're lucky, lass. You could have poked your eye out when you hit that branch."

She studied the blood on her fingers. Her luck was certainly open for debate at this moment.

Even when the man bent down to help her and reduced his height by half, Joanna still felt small in comparison. She stood up, but as she rose, she felt dizzy and swayed. The big man took her arm to steady her. As he did, he seemed to notice her face for the first time and gasped.

"Is my cut that bad?"

The big man shook his head as if trying to cast off a thought, but he didn't look like he succeeded. "No, but you look like...never mind. What's your name, lass?"

"Joanna. Any possibility you could take me to a first-aid station?"

"I've not heard of such a place." He pulled a dirty rag out from under his tunic. "Here, dress your wound with this."

"Um...thanks, but I'm fine. You haven't seen my horse, have you?"

"Your horse ran off."

She groaned. "I forgot to hold the reins. Now I'll have to walk back."

Even as she said it, Joanna remembered what the old woman had said, that if she lost the horse, she wouldn't be able to get back. Joanna pushed the thought away, unable to deal with it or the sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. If she gave in to the fear, she would black out again.

"My name is John Little, but I'm called Little John. This place isn't safe. Come with me."

The giant kept hold of her arm. She wanted him to let go but feared she would fall.

"Little John? You're kidding, right?"

John's face reflected his apparent confusion. "I have no goats. Please, you must come with me to our forest hideout."

"I've got to find my horse and my sister so I can get out of here."

As Joanna spoke those words, soldiers, their bows drawn, emerged from the brush and surrounded Joanna and John. A man in a red tunic with a gold chain around his neck stepped forward. His long nose and pinched face reminded Joanna of a squinting ostrich.

"What have we here?" The ostrich man's voice sounded like it came through his nose. "Little John, I see."

"The Sheriff of Nottingham." Little John didn't bother to hide his sneer.

"How long has it been? A few months, at least, since the last attempted execution? If I'm to believe Guy of Gisbourne, Alan-a-dale was scheduled for capture today."

_Scheduled for capture?_ Joanna rolled her eyes. These guys needed a better scriptwriter.

The sheriff pointed a fat finger at her. "Who is this?"

"My niece, Joanna." John kept his hand protectively on Joanna's arm.

The sheriff stepped closer. He reeked of wine and body odor.

"Uncanny resemblance!" the sheriff exclaimed. "Gisbourne, come tell me what you make of this wench."

A tall, thin man dressed in black stepped forward from the shadows. He had short, light brown hair, smoldering gray eyes, and a scar that ran from the outer corner of his left eye to his ear. His brow hung low, indicating a predisposition for brooding. This must be Guy of Gisbourne. He was always the bad guy—or one of them—in Robin Hood lore. Joanna swallowed hard. Guy was precisely the sort of man she found attractive.

Guy, who had been scanning the forest, presumably for signs of an ambush, turned to Joanna. As he saw her, the blood drained from his face. Joanna got the distinct impression he gazed through her at someone else. She shivered, both in fear and anticipation. This scene could have come straight from a gothic novel.

"Remarkable, isn't it?" The sheriff laughed. "I've never seen you so shaken."

Guy turned away. "On closer inspection, she's nothing like _her_."

The sheriff studied Guy with suspicion. "You would know best." He shrugged. "Back to the castle!"

Soldiers prodded Little John and Joanna forward. John kept hold of her arm for several minutes until he seemed confident she could walk on her own.

_I might be dreaming_. With a head injury, Joanna might still be unconscious. Jill had wanted an adventure, Joanna had gone along with the plan, and now Joanna was hurt and in trouble. Everything was on schedule for how their adventures usually went except that this was the part where Joanna blamed Jill for everything. But if Jill's adventures led to such eye candy as Guy of Gisbourne, Joanna was game for two or three more horseback rides.

"Mind the road!" Little John whispered.

Joanna looked down in time to avoid stepping in a pile of fresh manure.

For the next thirty minutes, when she wasn't dodging smelly obstacles, Joanna distracted herself with thoughts of Guy, wondering whom she resembled and why she had affected him so profoundly. Maybe Guy was the dark, romantic hero who would rescue her and take her to his castle where they would find love at the top of a gothic tower in the moonlight.

But even this attractive fantasy couldn't mask the fatigue and discomfort that overwhelmed her in the hours that followed. Her head ached. Her feet hurt. She was thirsty. Manure littered her path. The fantasy quickly lost its charm, and she realized all she wanted was a hot bath, a cold drink, and an ice bag for her aching head. The fall from the horse had humiliated her—even more than having the old woman lead her around. Why had her horse bolted the minute he'd been set free? Where had the horn come from? Why was Joanna's horse special? What did _special_ mean? The sign at the front of the stables said, _Not all who come out go back._

_Go back...in time?_

_Surely not._ She must have hit her head harder than she thought. She would wake up lying on her back with all the other tourists staring down at her, having a good laugh at her expense.

Guy, who rode near the front of the procession behind the sheriff, turned around to steal a glance at her. He appeared to have good teeth, and a man had to have good teeth and decent breath if she was ever going to kiss him. She probably shouldn't be thinking of kissing when she was being held hostage, but if she was trapped in the past, she'd have to look on the bright side. How many novels had been written about unsuspecting women traveling back in time and having torrid love affairs? Probably a lot more than Joanna had read, but that didn't lessen her glee at the idea of a good romance. It would be appropriate compensation for that blow to her head.

"John, what year is this?"

"The year of our Lord 1193."

A host of information flooded Joanna's mind. The Crusades. Prince John. Richard the Lionheart. Unbelievable! The subconscious really was amazing. All that time she had spent reading and researching was paying off in the most realistic cognitive escape she had ever experienced—even more real than when she started dreaming in Spanish after taking a semester-long class of the language. Would Jill appear in this dream as well? If this was a dream, there was no cause for concern. Jill would get a kick out of this story when Joanna told it to her. It might even make a good novel.

Joanna's captors stopped for a rest after a couple of hours. One of the men offered her a smelly skin of ale. Joanna refused, curling her lip in disgust. Little John took it, drank, then pushed it toward her.

"Drink something. You need it."

Reluctantly, Joanna accepted the ale skin. She wiped the mouthpiece off with the tail of her shirt and tried to pour the liquid into her mouth without touching anything with her lips. The skin stank, and the ale tasted bitter and burned all the way down.

Joanna grimaced and coughed. Her voice hoarse, she whispered so only John could hear, "What about Robin Hood?"

She assumed where there was a Little John, there had to be a disgraced Earl of Huntingdon.

"Not now." John nodded toward Guy who stared at them.

The sheriff's men and his prisoners continued walking for what felt like hours. Joanna was so tired now that she couldn't even think. She spent every ounce of energy staying upright and moving. What did it mean if she felt sleepy while dreaming? She had looked this up in a dream dictionary once. It meant she was unwilling to accept reality. What situation was she blind to, though? Joanna was the most self-aware person she knew.

When the procession paused at the top of a hill, Joanna saw a small village of authentic twelfth-century huts and a castle in the background.

It couldn't be.

But then she saw the hill, the river, and the castle. Even though the land was undeveloped and the village much smaller than modern-day Nottingham, the natural landmarks she and Jill had seen in their walking tour of the city couldn't be missed.

_Time travel._

The truth of her situation hit her so suddenly that she lost her breath and swooned. She told herself later that the blow to the head, the heat, and the dehydration caused her to collapse, which was why she let Little John carry her through town to the castle and into the dungeon. Weakness under those circumstances was forgivable.

# 6

## July 16, 1193

## Sherwood Forest, England

Jill rocked her right foot inside her boot to test the surface of the log—not slippery, but narrow. Fighting off a male assailant proved challenging on level ground. How could she expect to do so on a fallen tree trunk? One false move and she'd break her neck.

_Keep your cool_. _Don't look down._

But she did, of course, and the sight of the water flowing swiftly below reminded her of how much she hated heights. Several days ago when Joanna had leaned out over a cathedral balcony to take a picture, Jill had almost vomited while watching her.

But she didn't have time to think about that now. Robin approached, swinging his staff. She blocked him several times but couldn't get in a blow of her own. He focused more on force and less on precision. While she couldn't hold him off forever, she wanted to keep the fight going long enough to assess his weakness.

She grimaced as she blocked another blow and pain shot through her wrists and elbows. He was playing with her—not taking her seriously—and _that_ was his weakness.

He struck again, his blow a little harder this time. She caught the gleam in his eye and recognized that he was picking up the pace. Although it pained her to do so, she let him rap the knuckles of her left hand to make him think he was winning. He laughed when she backed up to shake off the pain.

Robin raised his staff to salute his men who laughed in response. While he was distracted, Jill swung, but she miscalculated the distance and missed him.

"You're doing very well," Robin teased. "That one almost hit me."

"Want me to try again?"

"Please! I'd hate for you to feel like a failure."

Jill swung again with greater force. To her dismay, Robin blocked her blow easily.

"Is that the best you can do?" he mocked.

He left his torso wide open. She swung the staff, hitting him in the chest with a crack that might have broken a rib.

The blow knocked Robin off balance. One of his feet slipped off the log. He leaned precariously, his arms waving to prevent a fall. But he regained control and brought his staff back for the swing Jill knew would send her plunging into the stream below.

She ducked and only a split-second later smashed her staff into the side of his knee. He yelped in pain and fell with a splash into the water.

A cheer mixed with laughter went up from the merry men. An overwhelming sense of power helped Jill ignore her smarting knuckles as she rested one hand on her hip. But her pose of triumph was short-lived. A glance at Robin sputtering below triggered her height-induced nausea. Clenching her teeth, Jill retreated to the bank.

Robin dragged himself, dripping wet, out of the water. She held out a hand to pull him up.

"Intolerable," Robin sputtered, accepting her hand. "Absolutely intolerable."

"You all right?"

"I've only hurt my pride. Besting me seems to be the new rite of passage for every upstart in England—and wherever it is _you're_ from." He gave her a begrudging nod.

Reaching for her bag, Jill slung the strap over one shoulder. Robin's eyes followed the movement, spending a few seconds longer than necessary on where the strap crossed her chest.

"Do you still want to join this pathetic gang?" Water dripping from his nose, he gestured with laughable dignity toward the men.

Jill nodded.

"Then welcome, Jill Mason, to our outlaw band."

"Three cheers for Jill Mason!" Will called.

When the huzzahs had ended, Robin rubbed the back of his neck. "As I recall, I made a promise to help rescue your sister, and I plan to keep that promise. But let's return to camp first. I can't think clearly when I'm wet and cold."

He picked up his gear, smiling at Jill out of one side of his mouth. "Follow me."

Robin headed toward the tree line with the rest of the men, including the youth who led Jill's horse. Jill caught sight of something glinting in the sunlight where Robin's gear had lain. Parting the grass, she knelt to get a closer look. On a chain hung a medallion the size of her palm, the pendant round with green stones embedded around the outside. In the center, intricately cut pieces of semi-precious stone formed the crest, an open gate with a falcon flying through it. In its talons the falcon clutched a sword and bundle of arrows.

"I think you dropped something," she called. "Robin?"

She could no longer see him and thought with alarm that if she didn't hurry, she would be left alone. Although she possessed a good sense of direction, these trees would start to look the same very quickly. If she lost Robin now, she would never find him again. Stuffing the medallion into her purse pocket, she jogged after the last man as he slipped into the foliage. It took her a few moments of jogging and dodging low-hanging branches to reach Robin who walked in the middle of the group.

"You'll have to keep up if you don't want to get lost, Jill," he chided. "I don't expect you to remember your way to the camp at first, but you'll have to pay attention." He pointed toward a diagonal slash cut into the trunk of a nearby birch. "The signs are subtle. Soon, you won't even have to watch for them. You'll just know how to get back."

She nodded but must not have looked convinced because he added, "It's easier than you think."

They walked a few more minutes, Robin pointing out the different landmarks Jill should watch for, until finally he parted the brush and they entered a clearing lined with shelters made of sticks, branches, and thatch. The ceilings of the shelters were low, the doors even lower, so short a person had to bend over to enter. Several of the makeshift huts only had two sides and a roof. At least one resembled a foxhole dug into the ground with a thatched canopy. The shelters reminded Jill of something soldiers might construct while on bivouac. In the center of the clearing, a fire pit smoldered under a blanket of woven leaves. Stutely removed the covering and blew the fire back to life while the rest of the men pulled off their gear and stowed the implements in their lean-tos. Three fallen trees formed a loose triangle of seats around the fire. Another member of the gang Jill had not seen before brought out stakes for the spit while two more carried a haunch of venison skewered on a wooden pole. Stutely built up the fire and sat down to rotate the meat.

Time travel, implausible as it sounded, seemed the most likely explanation for where she found herself. She wasn't sure what year she had landed in, but that was more a matter for curiosity than practicality. Several tunics hung on a clothesline, one of them white with a red cross—the sign of the Crusade.

"Did you serve with King Richard?" she asked Robin.

"I don't have time for fighting in the Holy Land. I have too many of my own problems to solve. Friar Tuck was a warrior monk for a while—although he didn't get much past Iberia."

His confirmation that Richard was king put the date somewhere in the late twelfth century, she guessed. "Where's Friar Tuck now?"

"He's in York. Some sort of pilgrimage."

"To a pub," Will clarified. "He won't be back for a week. He's very devout, you know."

"Devout and drunk," Robin said. "Come with me, Jill. We need to find you more suitable clothing, and I need to change. Wet leather is highly unpleasant."

Following him to a small hut on the far edge of the camp, she stayed outside while he went in. Within seconds he came out with a pair of boots and a pile of clothes the same color as the men's.

"I'm fairly certain these will fit." He pointed her to the hut next door. "That one's unoccupied at present. You can make it yours. I'll have Will see to your horse. We have a friend in the village who can care for it. After supper and a tankard of ale, I'll decide on the rescue plan."

Jill ducked into her hut and closed the twig door behind her, thankful for the modicum of privacy and shelter it provided. In winter the cold wind probably whipped through the cracks in the wall, but for now, the weather was warm, and the temporary walls provided a place where she could be alone, even if she couldn't stand up straight.

Once hidden inside, she allowed herself a frantic chuckle. This was all too good to be true. Sure, she worried about Joanna, but couldn't Jill enjoy herself for a little while? A rescue plan was in the works, after all, and Jill couldn't do anything to save Joanna by herself, especially now that she was in the Middle Ages.

Removing her twenty-first-century clothes and folding them carefully, Jill stowed them in a corner of the hut. When she returned to the present, she'd need them again. She sorted the new costume into the order she thought she should put each item on and slid the leggings on first, marveling at how loose and baggy they felt compared to modern hosiery. Next was the white shirt. Fortunately, the green bodice laced up the front. After she shifted the shirt to wrinkle in the most flattering places, she laced up the bodice only to discover that the woman these clothes had been designed for had a smaller bust. Jill fiddled with the shirt and bodice until she felt acceptable, but there wasn't enough lacing to secure the top of the bodice with a bow. Instead, she knotted the ends of the leather so they wouldn't slip through the grommets and cause the bodice to pop if she took a deep breath or bent over.

She slipped her bag over her shoulder, unwilling to leave it unattended. While she didn't have much in it except her wallet, a credit card, and the keys to their hotel room in Nottingham, this bag was the one thing connecting her to the twenty-first century. If she found a way back, she didn't want to leave this behind. Since the night was chilly, she pulled on the cloak, tying it loosely at her neck. Then, she slid her feet into the boots. They were a bit big but not uncomfortably so.

Wishing in vain for a mirror to check her appearance, she ran her fingers through her short hair and longed for a comb. Joanna had one. Jill could use a compact mirror and a little lipstick, too. Looking one's best when with a legendary, handsome outlaw was important. But hygiene items might be hard to come by for a while, so she'd have to make do. Ignoring the feeling that she was perfectly dressed to go trick or treating or to attend a comic book convention, she stepped from the hut into the camp.

The men closest to her stopped what they were doing to stare silently. The silence caught on until every man in the camp gaped awkwardly in her direction. Her face felt hot. As she began to retreat into her shelter, Robin appeared. He waved at the men who slowly returned to their tasks, and the buzz of conversation resumed.

Jill swallowed. "Is there something wrong with the way I look?"

Robin rubbed the back of his neck. "Their problem, not yours. Let's eat."

Will, Stutely, and three others had already started the meal. Robin motioned for Jill to sit on a log close to the fire. As she did, he cut her a piece of venison and brought it to her on a slice of bread. She nodded her thanks.

"We'll see about getting you some weapons," Robin said between bites. "Can you draw a bow?"

Jill envisioned herself dressed in her current costume shooting arrows at the sheriff's men. She was thankful for the archery classes she had taken at summer camp years ago. "Sort of."

"Most of my men have been drawing bows since they were four or five."

Alan, who sat strumming his lute on the bench opposite theirs, sniffed.

"Do you shoot as well, Alan?" Jill asked.

"I'm satisfied when my poetry and music hit their targets."

Jill smirked but didn't respond. Years of living with a twin who wrote poetry had taught her to be tolerant of such statements, even if they still amused her.

Robin leaned close to whisper, "He's occasionally useful. At the very least, we enjoy ridiculing him."

Alan sat up straight and cleared his throat three times before he appeared satisfied with the number of eyes staring at him. "Jill, I will honor you with one of my own compositions, a tale of the valiant lady who defeated Robin Hood and became a member of his band."

Remembering the hours Joanna would spend on a single poem, Jill commented, "You wrote that pretty quickly."

"That should tell you something of the quality," Robin quipped.

Alan strummed three chords and hummed four or five different notes, searching for his key. Jill cringed in anticipation. Accompanying himself on the lute, Alan began to sing in a solid tenor voice:

_While Robin Hood lived in the_ _great_ _forest green,_

_He met a young lady as fair as a queen._

_Jill, she was called, of the guild mason's clan,_

_Who fain would join Robin Hood's famed outlaw band._

_"I challenge thee, Robin, to cross o'er this tree,_

_High o'er the river that's deep and chilly._

_In a battle of staffs, the victor be I,_

_For you shall fall in while I shall stay dry."_

While the details differed from the actual circumstances of the fight, and the rhyming of _tree_ and _chilly_ was weak, Jill decided she came out looking pretty good.

_"A woman!" quoth Robin, "'twill be no fair fight,_

_"_ _I'll_ _best in battle and bed her to—"_

Before Alan could finish the rhyme, Robin leaped from the log and snatched the lute from Alan's hands.

"That's enough!" Robin's red face avoided eye contact with the group as he stashed the lute out of Alan's reach.

"I am appalled you would sing something so bawdy with a woman present." Robin smiled apologetically at Jill. "I should have prepared you that I'm the only gentleman in these parts."

The men guffawed.

"At least let Alan finish the chorus," Will cajoled. "That's my favorite part." Then, Will began to sing:

_Oh,_ _tra_ _-la-la-_ _lilly_ _and la-di-da-dum!_

The rest of the men, except for Robin, joined in:

_The life of an outlaw is a lonely one._

_But weep_ _not,_ _my_ _laddies_ _, our courage won't fail._

_We'll drown all our sorrows in tankards of ale._

The men cheered at the end of the song, raised their tankards and all took a long drink.

"The chorus is always the same," Robin explained. "Gives the men a good excuse to drink—as if they needed one."

Someone handed Jill a tankard of her own. As the ale flowed, so did the stories, all of them revealing secrets Robin found increasingly embarrassing, judging by his body language. Many of the tales Jill had heard some form of before, such as Robin goading Friar Tuck into carrying him over the river only to have Tuck drop Robin in the water. As the storytelling continued, the evening digressed into a roast of Robin with the men piling on insults. Jill nursed a single tankard while most of the men went back for multiple cups, Robin included.

As the night wore on, noting Robin's body language and morose face, Jill bumped him gently with her shoulder.

"They wouldn't tease you if they didn't like you."

"Small comfort, but I appreciate the thought." Robin stood and interrupted Will in the middle of a story about Robin and a nun from York.

"And now," Robin announced, "we must discuss our rescue of Little John and Jill's sister. I've decided we'll use rescue plan 47. Will, you're the executioner this time."

"Me? But that's always your part."

"Jill requires my assistance to find her sister. I can't be in two places at once."

"Perhaps," Will conceded, "but this does throw off the balance of things."

"You worry for nothing. Everything will be fine. Now then, to bed. Morning comes early in the forest."

"What's attack plan 47?" Jill asked.

"We slip into the castle wearing our cloaks with the hoods pulled over our faces."

"Won't someone notice us?"

Robin's eyebrows knit together. "They never have before."

"But if the hood's pulled over your face, how do you see?"

"Jill, rest easy. We've used this plan many times. I eliminate the executioner and take his place at the execution. When the moment arrives, instead of cutting off the prisoner's head, I split his ropes—it requires deft handling of the ax. Will, mind Little John's fingers. He needs all ten."

Will raised his tankard to show he understood.

Robin continued. "Once the ropes are cut, the men cast off their cloaks and create a diversion while the prisoner—whoever he is—and I make our escape via the back gate. This time, while the charade distracts the sheriff, you and I enter the dungeon and rescue your sister."

"What if she isn't in the dungeon?" Jill asked.

"We know what we're doing," Will assured her. "In fact, last month when I was captured, this plan worked like a charm."

"They even used it to free me in October," Alan offered.

"No," Robin said. "That was plan 19 where I posed as a suitor to the sheriff's wife."

Alan sighed and clasped his hands to his chest. "There's a great deal of my poetry in that one."

Robin rolled his eyes. "Once we're out of the castle, I raise my sword in defiance before we vanish into the forest."

"Don't forget the bold statement of rebellion," Will reminded. "If you can think of one this time."

Alan-a-dale cleared his throat. "I've been working on a poetic line..."

"It has to be short, Alan," Robin insisted. "When I'm running for my life, I don't have time to recite a poem."

"Forgive me for stating the obvious," Jill interrupted, "but what about 'Death to tyrants and long live King Richard'?"

Robin nodded. "I like it. While I'm not fond of our absent sovereign, he is superior to that incompetent younger brother of his. It makes our political stance clear but also reveals our inherent patriotism. Well done, Jill. Let's get some sleep."

"Aren't you going to draw a layout of the castle in the dirt?" Jill asked.

"Why?"

She thought about all the movies she had seen where elaborate plans were illustrated with models, maps, and various avatars to represent all the players involved. "Visual aids can be helpful in making sure everyone knows what to do."

"Everyone does know what to do."

"I don't."

"Stay close to me."

"But how do you know the execution will be tomorrow? Maybe the sheriff shipped the prisoners off to York."

"You worry too much."

"All the same, I'd feel better if we sent a spy ahead." Although Jill spoke to Robin, she glanced at the other men in hopes of gaining an ally in the argument. "I need to get the lay of the land."

"We don't need a spy." Robin's tone sounded patronizing. "Little John is there, and he'll know exactly where your sister is. No one pulls anything on Little John."

Confident the day's plan was ready, the men headed to their beds, Robin included. Jill remained by the fire, anxious for a few quiet moments to think. She didn't want to tell Robin how concerned she was about the lack of planning for the rescue tomorrow. Part of her wanted to trust that all would work out, but she had observed too many important moments go wrong due to half-baked efforts. She needed to think through the day's events and collect her thoughts before trying to sleep.

Where was Joanna? Was she all right? Blessed with at least a little of that sixth sense those who have shared a womb often possess, Jill would know if something had happened. She had to believe Joanna was still alive.

How had this happened? Had the twins slipped through a wormhole or entered a portal? If so, how would they get back home? Jill did not allow herself to explore the possibility that they might never get back to 2009, although it stuck in the back of her mind as a persistent undercurrent to every direction in which she tried to steer her thoughts.

She had never been anywhere as quiet as this place. Even the campsites she had enjoyed as a child had not felt as remote as this little spot in the forest. From the corner of her eye, she saw Robin approach. He paused at the edge of the firelight, watching her, before he sat beside her. They watched the fire in silence for several minutes before Robin spoke.

"Is everything all right?"

Had she not been so tired, Jill might have lied. But given her level of fatigue, she only had the strength to be honest. "I've lost my sister. I may never see my parents again. I have no idea how I got here, and I don't know how to get home. This isn't the way I planned to spend my vacation."

She considered the museums and sites she and Joanna had planned to visit after Nottingham and grinned out of one side of her mouth. _Come to think of it, this is better than the vacation I_ _planned_ _—except for losing the family, of course._

"Life rarely happens as we plan." Robin's voice held a gravitas that made Jill wonder what was behind it. "Where's your home, Jill?"

She wished she had Joanna's way with words. "Where I come from, we tell stories about things like what happened to me today, but no one actually believes them."

"A land of doubters?"

"I guess. No one back home would believe I beat you in a fair fight."

"I'm glad to know my reputation remains intact somewhere."

Robin shifted in his seat, and when he spoke, his voice held a tentative tone. "I suppose some husband or suitor waits for your return?"

"No husband. No suitor."

Jill might have imagined it, but Robin seemed relieved.

"What about you?" she countered, amazed at her own brazenness. "Wife or girlfriend?"

The clothes she was wearing belonged to someone. If he had someone, like Maid Marian, she wanted to know about it before she got her hopes up. But what was Jill thinking? She wasn't capable of pursuing a relationship with a man from her own time period, much less a medieval hero.

"No."

Jill heard an edge in his voice that confirmed a history behind his answer. She wanted to know more but lost her courage to press for information.

"Do you and your sister get on well?" Robin asked.

"Yes, we're close. She can lose her head in stressful situations. It's always been my job to get her out of trouble—although she'd probably argue that I'm the one who gets her into trouble in the first place."

"Has she been in danger of losing her head before?"

Jill chuckled at his response to the idiom. "Depends how you look at it."

"If you were about to lose your head, would she come for you?"

"Of course."

Robin rested his arms on his knees and interlocked his fingers. "When I first saw you, I was overcome by how much you looked like someone."

"What's her name?"

"Marian."

_Darn._ "Where is she?"

"She was killed two years ago."

"I'm sorry."

That was a lie. While Jill felt bad for Robin's loss, she wasn't sorry to have her main competition gone.

"Jill, are you certain your sister is worth rescuing?"

"You have to ask?"

"I have a brother—a half brother. I admired him, trusted him, loved him. My father was old when I was born and died when I was a boy. My brother is the one who taught me to shoot, to fight, who gave me my first sword. I admired him greatly. But then, he betrayed me. After my mother died, he stole my title and my land. The bond I thought we shared didn't exist. Every happy family moment we shared was a lie to cover his greed and selfish ambition. But the loss of all I owned was nothing compared to when my brother stole Marian, the love of my life, from me. He framed me for a crime I didn't commit, and when the sheriff pursued me and I hid in the forest, my brother wed Marian for her money and killed her."

"Why did she marry him if she loved you?" Jill asked.

Robin shifted uncomfortably. "I thought she loved me. I struggled to make my feelings known. In hindsight, I can see how I might have neglected to share my true intentions with her or ask her how she felt. My brother knew of my feelings, of course, as I confided in him, and he timed his destruction of my life so perfectly that I was an outlaw before I could declare my love for her. He stepped in and...well, women are weak creatures."

"Not all of us." Jill wanted to say that Marian sounded like a flake for falling for another man so quickly, but speaking ill of Robin's lost love didn't seem like the right choice if she hoped to gain his affection. "So these clothes I'm wearing belonged to Marian?"

"Yes, but she never wore them. When we were children, she made up stories of forest folk who wore green and brown and hid among the trees. I had this costume sewn as a present for her. When I became an outlaw, I took up the colors myself as a way to remember her—not to mention the fact that they provide excellent camouflage."

"Yes, they do."

"So, now you know everything, and perhaps you can understand why I ask about your sister."

"I'm very sorry that happened to you, but Joanna hasn't done anything like that to me. Sure, she annoys me, but she deserves to be rescued, and I'm going after her, with your help or without. Preferably _with_."

"I gave my word. I wouldn't allow you to go into danger by yourself."

Jill's cheeks grew warm. Accustomed to taking care of herself (and Joanna when warranted), she hadn't realized what a relief it was to have someone else to lean on.

Robin's hand fluttered at his chest as though he was looking for something. He sighed. "All I had left of my vast inheritance was a medallion with our family crest. It was my most precious possession. But I lost it in the river today."

His medallion! Why hadn't she thought of this before? Reaching into the pocket of her bag, she pulled out the necklace. When she held the chain and let the medallion swing in the firelight, it twinkled and flashed. Robin sucked in his breath but didn't speak. Reaching slowly for the medallion, he took it carefully from her hand, kissed the crest, and hung the chain around his neck. "Thank you."

Jill nodded and rose. "I guess I should go to bed."

Robin walked her back to her shelter. When she opened the door, she paused, wondering what she would do if he tried to kiss her. She might actually let him, and the idea of this so terrified her that she crossed her arms.

Robin moved back ever so slightly in response to her body language and smiled with closed lips. "Good night."

Jill wanted to scream in irritation with herself. She was an absolute idiot. She gave all the wrong signals. Did this mean she wanted to give off the right signals? Once inside with her door closed, Jill lay on the lumpy earthen mattress, wrapped in her cloak as a blanket, and tried to visualize how the rescue plan should go so she wouldn't think about that missed kiss. She should sleep, but every time she closed her eyes, she saw Robin's face. She couldn't be falling for him. She didn't believe in love at first sight. But no man had made her feel this way before. Jill didn't want the infatuation to end.

Dad had predicted the twins would never want to stay in England. But he was wrong. Right now, Jill wasn't sure she ever wanted to go home and leave this dashing outlaw behind.

# 7

## July 16, 1193

## Nottingham Castle, Nottingham, England

To Joanna's credit, she had only passed out twice in her life before this day. As a child, she had locked her knees while saying the pledge of allegiance, knocking her chin on a desk when she fell. In college, a day at the beach with no sunscreen resulted in a severe sunburn that left her nauseated and dehydrated. Her roommates assumed she had collapsed in drunkenness when they found her prone on the bathroom floor. Now, as she awoke to a dull headache, Joanna wished the pain _had_ come from a night of drinking—that would mean that time travel was a hallucination.

But as the dark room slowly came into focus before her, she realized this was no dream. The damp air smelled like black mold, rodents, and unwashed bodies. Odors this pungent would wake the dead. Where was she? How had she gotten here?

The last thing she remembered was passing out and being carried by a greasy giant down a hill toward a medieval village. Joanna writhed in embarrassment and threw her arms over her head.

"Now, now, it's all right."

Joanna lowered her arms to see Little John's big, soft face leaning over her. Her favorite fantasy until today had involved falling off a horse, being mildly injured and then rescued by a romantic hero. But Little John was no dashing hero, and head injuries, even if they weren't severe, hurt. Blood and concussions were anything but romantic.

Pushing herself up to a sitting position, she moved her head to scan the room but stopped when the pain reminded her not to do anything too quickly. "Where are we?"

"The sheriff's jail at Nottingham Castle."

Little John's large frame filled the small cell they shared. Fighting claustrophobia, Joanna closed her eyes and took several deep breaths, trying to prevent herself from panicking. The stench did little to calm her nerves.

"How do we get out of here?"

"We don't."

"But how did you escape when you were captured before?"

John leaned back against the bars. "Robin prefers rescues in the courtyard. He likes to have an audience."

"How many times have you been in here?"

"Five in the last three years. Will held the current record at six, but with my capture today, we're tied."

Joanna touched the gash on her head. The bleeding had stopped, but the dried blood formed a glob in her hair. She resisted the urge to dislodge it. "And how many times has Robin been captured?"

"None. It wouldn't look very good if he was taken, would it? His being the leader and all. Not to worry, though." Little John patted her leg. "We have a way these things are done. Leave everything to me."

"What's the 'way' things are done?"

"We'll be called before the sheriff tonight. He'll sentence us to death."

"Wait a minute." Joanna held up her hand. "Did—did you say _death_?"

"I've done two beheadings and a hanging. I remember one burning at the stake, but the fire never got lit. My first execution, though, was in a cage on the side of the castle. Luckily I didn't hang there very long. Quite cramped, if you know what I mean. I'd bet on a beheading this time. Anyway, we'll be taken before the sheriff tonight while he's feasting in the great hall. He'll make a speech about how wonderful he is for capturing us, I'll say something defiant, and then he'll order us executed in the morning. After that, I'll have a pretty good idea of what plan Robin will use."

"How?"

"We have a whole book of plans, numbered in the order we thought of them. We're up to 53 now. The low numbers were rather childish and certainly not theatrical. For plan one, we knocked on the castle gate and asked for the prisoner's release. My nephew, Alan-a-dale, is our drama consultant, and the plans have gotten more elaborate since he joined our gang. We're improving with practice, too. The plans are usually determined by the execution method. Once the sheriff declares that for certain, I'll be able to walk you through the likely rescue. Stay close to me. The fact that we're in the same cell right now is a good sign. I doubt the sheriff will separate us. Once Alan and I were captured together—Alan is the son of my second youngest sister—I have seven sisters, six of them older. Last time I counted I had thirty-two nieces and nephews, although it might be thirty-four now because my third oldest sister is expecting, and the midwife is fairly certain she's having twins. That will take her up to ten children. She's the breeder of the family—"

Joanna raised her hand to interrupt him. "What are the chances I can talk the sheriff out of trying to kill us?"

"The sheriff enjoys dramatics more than Robin. He won't like it if you challenge him or talk more than he does. If he gets angry enough, he might execute you right away."

This was just great. She was stuck. But Joanna had been stuck before, and she knew the best way to get unstuck was to do more research. She may not be writing at the moment, but she could ask questions and take notes. She reached for her shoulder bag, but it wasn't there.

"Where's my purse?"

"Guy took it when he threw us in here."

If Guy had her purse, he had her journal as well. She couldn't lose that. It held all her notes from the trip so far, her random musings, a few story ideas, and far too many pages about Mark. At least half of it was still blank. She needed those pages to record this experience. How would she survive without writing everything down? What if she forgot something? A comb and some lip balm would have been nice, too, but the journal held far more importance.

"I see you're upset about the purse," John commented. "I'm sorry for that."

"It's hardly the worst thing that's happened to me today," Joanna conceded.

"Now you sound more positive." Little John smiled. "A fall from a horse and being captured by the sheriff isn't so bad."

"That's not the worst of it. John," she paused, searching for the right words, "I'm not from here."

"Obviously."

"I don't know how I got here either."

"I carried you."

"Thanks very much for that." She put her hand on his arm. "But what I mean is, I'm not sure how I came to this time. This morning when I mounted my horse, the year was 2009."

Little John blinked but didn't respond.

"A horn spooked my horse, and next thing I knew I ran into a tree—well, my horse ran me into it. Then you found me, and I discovered the year is 1193. Somehow I've traveled a little over eight hundred years back in time. So, you see, it _has_ been a dreadful day. All I want is to get out of here, get back on my horse—I can't believe I said that—and go back to 2009. I'll leave you and the sheriff to play your little games."

Little John shook his head. "Don't tell that story to anyone else—especially the sheriff. No one will believe such nonsense."

Joanna sighed. "Tell me about Robin Hood, then."

She needed names, players, plans. She needed information on the sheriff. She needed to know more about Guy of Gisbourne. Sure, she knew the Robin Hood legends, had read books on the outlaw, and had done plenty (although clearly not enough) of amateur research into the Middle Ages for her medieval love story. However, now that she was smack dab in the middle of ancient history, she couldn't take any of that information at face value. Joanna felt tired thinking of all the questions she needed to ask.

But her day was about to get worse. Before she could decide which question to ask first, the dungeon door opened and the jailer, a small man with long, stringy gray hair, entered the corridor with six soldiers behind him. Little John rose to face them. Joanna didn't feel steady on her feet yet, so she pulled herself up by gripping the bars of the cell.

"The sheriff wants to see you." The jailer's malicious grin revealed a set of crooked, rotting teeth.

Joanna cringed. If she were listing the miracles of the modern world, penicillin and daily showers would be high on the list, but dentistry and orthodontia would be close behind.

After two soldiers unlocked the door of the cell, they pulled Little John and Joanna out and bound their hands behind their backs. The dark hallway between the cells was lit only by two torches. As she left the dungeon and climbed a winding staircase into the halls of the castle, she lost her bearings. Jill would already know the way out by instinct, but Joanna's head throbbed. She couldn't think straight because of the fatigue, injury, and stress.

As they entered the courtyard, Joanna saw that night had fallen. How long had she been unconscious? Shouldn't she be receiving some sort of medical care? She took a deep breath. Acting like a hypochondriac wasn't going to do her any good. As she stumbled across the cobblestone courtyard, she caught the outline of stone towers against the twinkling heavens. So many stars! She had never seen that many in one patch of the sky before.

The group halted abruptly, causing Joanna to bump into Little John. He nodded toward the wooden door before them. "Leave all the talking to me," he whispered.

The smell of the great hall assaulted Joanna first, a notable observation given that everyone and everything in this castle stank. In the stench she detected body odor, smoke, tallow, rotting meat, and feces, perhaps from the enormous mastiffs that approached the group and sniffed at Little John and her menacingly.

As she stepped into the hall, her feet sank into the rushes spread across it. Particles of food and dog droppings littered the dried vegetation. The high ceiling was framed by dark timbers. The room was smaller than great halls appeared in the movies, smaller even than the halls of other castles she and Jill had visited during their trip. Tallow candles impaled on the spikes of black candelabras lit the room dimly and contributed to the smoke that hung in the air. Against the side wall opposite the entrance, a fire burned in an arched opening with a rounded plaster hood. The soldiers pushed Little John and Joanna into the room so they stood at the back with a wooden screen behind them.

Pushed forward by the soldiers, Joanna and Little John walked through the center of the room, past the tables covered in stained, off-white tablecloths where servants and soldiers sat on benches. The conversation ceased as the prisoners were paraded to the front of the room where the Sheriff of Nottingham along with a plump woman and four men sat at the high table. Joanna noticed Guy of Gisbourne right away. He sat at the sheriff's left, swirling his wine in a pewter goblet.

This was going to be a tough audience. If her life was a book, she made a pathetic heroine. She wasn't beautiful, she certainly wasn't dressed appropriately compared to the elegant yellow dress the woman beside the sheriff—presumably his wife—wore, and she didn't know martial arts nor could she shoot any weapon. Jill was a much more appropriate protagonist. Joanna fought back the threat of tears as she thought of her sister.

The sheriff dropped the drumstick he had been gnawing, ( _How trite!_ ), wiped his hands on the tablecloth, and leaned back to examine his captives. "John Little, the _illustrious_ outlaw." The sheriff's tone indicated his irony. "And this woman..." He waved his hand.

"She's my niece," John replied. "She's not part of our band. She was coming to tell me that her mother, my third-oldest sister, is ill and in need of my aid."

"Is that so?" The sheriff yawned.

Joanna opened her mouth to speak, but Little John said quickly, "Indeed it is."

"Where are you from, woman?" the sheriff asked.

"She can't speak, Sheriff," John said before Joanna could answer. "She's mute and simple-minded. She injured her head, as you can see, and that has addled her brains even further."

"If this was true," the sheriff said, "I'd be doing her a favor by putting her out of her misery."

While Joanna appreciated Little John's attempts to take care of her, the sheriff's mention of her execution reinforced her doubts in John's verbal prowess.

"Little John doesn't speak for me." Joanna addressed the sheriff but kept an eye on Guy of Gisbourne. She could tell he was more interested in her than he was letting on. "I'd like the chance to explain. There's been a terrible misunderstanding."

"I suppose you want to beg for your life."

"I'd rather tell you a story."

The sheriff turned to Guy. "What do you think, Gisbourne?"

Guy shrugged. "She could provide some amusement."

"Then let's hear this story."

The sheriff waved his hand to the guards who pulled Little John off to the side, leaving Joanna alone before the high table.

"Could you untie my hands?"

The sheriff rapped his fingers on the table impatiently.

Joanna ignored her sinking heart and began her tale, trying not to let her arms jerk as she unconsciously attempted to gesture.

"My name is Joanna Mason. I come from a land across the sea, a land where people can fly, talk to each other over long distances, and send messages at the speed of light. I come from a people who have journeyed to the moon and left their mark there."

"The moon?" The sheriff snorted. "Preposterous!"

She pulled at the ropes, trying to loosen them. She couldn't get into the right speech rhythm without moving her hands.

"I came to England on a great silver ship with wings that flew over the ocean in less than a day. I came because I greatly admired your people and wanted to see what your life was like so that I could go back and tell my people about you."

"You're a spy."

This came from Guy of Gisbourne. His interruption unnerved her. She had hoped he would be an ally instead of a heckler.

"I'm an ambassador of goodwill, a..." (she searched for the word) "a visitor from the future."

"The future?" said the sheriff's wife. "Are you a witch?"

"Oh dear, no! I'm from a land where technology is more advanced than it is here. When I traveled to England, I sailed not only through the air but through time and space. I was actually born about eight hundred years in the future."

Guy set down his goblet and leaned forward. "What could someone from the future possibly want with us?"

"Record keeping from your time period isn't always reliable. I'm here to do research so I can take back accurate information. I'm sort of a mystery solver."

"And what mysteries have you solved?" Guy's eyes narrowed.

Joanna swallowed and glanced at Little John who shrugged in response as if to say, _You talked yourself into this, you can talk yourself out._

"Mysteries about...life and love," Joanna began, but when she saw the immediate ill response, she added, "and death."

"Death, did you say?" the sheriff asked.

Why had she said that? The only thing she knew about death came from watching television. She wouldn't even view the deceased at a funeral. Jill would say Joanna's melodramatic side was taking over, and she would be right.

"Death of love, actually." Joanna's voice cracked with nervousness. "I know a lot about that."

Everyone was quiet for several long seconds, and then the laughter began with a soft chuckle behind her, spreading from person to person until the noise became a raucous, mocking howl from the crowd.

"If you're from the future, wench, tell me what I'm going to do tomorrow." The insult came from a large, obese man whose black beard crawled up his face almost to his eyeballs. The man sat at the high table on the other side of the sheriff's wife.

"Sir Horace, you aren't important enough for anyone to know anything about," retorted the sheriff, which caused even more laughter.

Sir Horace turned red under his beard. "What _is_ important enough for someone from the future to know?"

Joanna thought of the notes she had written in her journal and hoped she had the dates correct. "I know Henry II rebuilt this castle about twenty years ago, and since then it's been an important royal residence. However, I doubt it looks this dirty when the king is here."

The sheriff's wife hid her face behind her hands. Joanna was treading on dangerous ground, but she needed to convince the sheriff she really was from the future in the hopes her knowledge would be perceived as valuable and her life would be spared. Mark Twain had made the technique work in _A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur's Court._ Surely she could too. She considered sharing that King Richard would take Nottingham Castle by siege in a year's time but decided such a statement was too inflammatory.

Instead she said, "In the year 1651, the king will give permission for this castle to be destroyed."

"And how does this happen?"

Joanna winced. "If I had my notebook, I could tell you. I wrote it all down."

The sheriff turned to Guy. "What is the book she speaks of?"

"No idea. The woman's a lunatic." Guy leaned back in his chair and took a sip of wine.

"I've come to a different conclusion," the sheriff replied. "Any woman who can utter this much nonsense needs to be silenced."

Joanna's heart dropped.

"What's the best way to silence a woman?" The sheriff looked around the room for an answer but didn't wait for a response. "Bed her. Let a strong man break her spirit, and I'll wager she won't open her mouth again unless he wants her to. Since she's my prisoner, I expect recompense from the man who wants to tame her. Who will teach this shrew to mind her tongue?"

"Four shillings!" a man behind her called out.

The bids came in quickly. Joanna's head began to spin. She tried to remain calm, telling herself that these men had good intentions and some kind soul would buy her and set her free. Isn't that what would happen if she was writing this story? She stared at Guy of Gisbourne and willed him to bid, but he sipped his wine and ignored her.

"Sold," the sheriff declared, "to Sir Horace! Enjoy the ride, my friend."

Sir Horace stepped down from the dais and approached Joanna, his lust evident. She shuddered at how repugnant he was. When he grabbed her arm, she recoiled and struggled out of his grasp, but Horace struck her cheek with the back of his hand. In the sudden clarity brought on by pain, Joanna wondered if all victims felt this way before they were assaulted or killed. She had a perfect picture in her mind of how it would happen. She felt cold all over. She could hear nothing but the ringing in her ears from the blow. She smelled his foul breath, cringed at the bits of meat in his dark beard, tasted the bile rising in her throat. She would have to be quiet and calm, act compliantly, and then, at the appropriate moment, maybe she could get away.

In the seconds that followed the initial shock, her cheek began to smart so much that her eyes watered. She choked back her tears and allowed Horace to drag her, hands still bound behind her back, out of the hall. Black shapes that must have been towers and parapets blotted out the stars, but she had no sense of where she was or where Horace was taking her. A looming black object turned into a stone tower as they neared it. She searched in all directions for something she could use to defend herself as they entered, but Horace dragged her away from the tower toward a dark corner where he pinned her shoulders against the wall and jammed her bound wrists into the stone.

"Horses have to be ridden hard to be broken," Horace whispered, his stinking breath hot in her face. "Prepare to be ridden."

Joanna tried to knee him in the groin. This move always worked in the movies, but Horace dodged easily and laughed. With her arms pinned, she couldn't slap him. She had no idea how to get away, so she did the last thing she could. She spit in his face. At first, Horace chuckled, but then he gasped, and his breath began to gurgle as his face contorted in pain.

Horace's eyes rolled back in his head, and he slumped against her, revealing Guy of Gisbourne standing behind him. Her shock was so great she couldn't even scream. Guy seized the fallen Horace by the collar and shoved him away from her. She watched Horace's body crumple to the ground. The evil man was dead. When she looked up, Guy held the bloody dagger in his right hand.

He was going to kill her next.

Blood rushed from her head, causing a black outline to form around everything. She fought to stay conscious, fearful of what might happen if she didn't keep her wits about her.

Guy grabbed her arm and spun her around to face the stone. He would slit her throat and let the blood splatter hit the wall. She felt a sharp tug, and then her hands were free. She turned, rubbing her sore wrists. Guy wiped his dagger clean on Horace's tunic and sheathed the weapon in his belt.

"Come with me if you want to live."

She nodded but couldn't move. He seized her forearm and pulled her toward the entrance of the tower they stood near. He led her up the circular stairs so quickly she tripped and banged her shins against the stone steps.

After ascending a flight of stairs, Guy opened a wooden door and pushed her in. The small, circular room was cleaner than she had found the great hall. The stone walls were covered in white plaster with no adornments or tapestries. A fire burned in the fireplace opposite the door. On her right stood a wooden canopy bed with red curtains. To the left sat a table and two chairs near the fire. The table was covered with a clean white tablecloth. But what caught her attention and held it was the sight of her purse.

She stepped closer to the table in anticipation of snatching her bag when the door made a clicking sound as Guy locked it. Joanna turned as he seized her by her upper arms and kissed her forcefully. So, he had killed Sir Horace to have her for himself? The scum didn't even have the decency to pay good money for her. Guy's lips felt cold and hard, and Joanna's head and cheek ached from her injuries. She pulled back as soon as she could and wrestled free, slapping him across the face.

Guy put his hand to his cheek and rubbed it.

"You should have killed me." Joanna raised her chin in defiance. "I'll kill myself if I have to, rather than have you force yourself on me."

Guy chuckled. "No need for dramatics. I prefer my women to enjoy it."

"Then what was that?"

"Sampling the goods."

He rubbed his cheek again and walked toward the fire. Joanna felt some satisfaction knowing she had hurt him.

"What?" Guy asked. "No witty retort? You disappoint me."

Joanna weighed her options and decided silence was the best choice.

"Perhaps if I gave you a quill, you might spill all your words into this." Reaching into his doublet, he pulled out a small black book that Joanna recognized immediately as her journal.

"That's mine! Give it back!"

Guy thumbed through the book. "The writing is a different character than I'm used to, but I can make out most of it."

Her face flamed with embarrassment that anyone should be privy to her self-absorbed ramblings. She wanted to crawl into the floor. But then, a thought occurred to her.

"If you've read my journal, then you believe I'm from the future."

"I believe in two things. This," he patted the hilt of his dagger, "and I'll let you guess the other. The rest is irrelevant."

He tucked the journal inside his doublet, sat down at the table, and motioned to the empty chair. "Sit down."

She sat. Suddenly chilly, she rubbed her palms against her bare arms for warmth. Her purse was within her reach, but his dagger was within his. She couldn't take the chance. Guy poured wine into two goblets and placed one in front of her.

"Drink. I'm sure you're thirsty."

She _was_ thirsty. Taking the goblet, she did her best not to gulp, fully aware that being in a drunken state wouldn't help her escape.

"You're very good, you know. Anyone but me would believe you're a lonely, helpless woman in a world she doesn't understand."

"You don't?"

"I'm well acquainted with pretense."

"Who do you think I am?"

"Who you are doesn't matter as much as who sent you. Robin Hood."

"Never met him."

"Careful. The truth would be better. If you can't figure out how to tell it on your own, I have ways of convincing you."

Joanna shivered. "I just saw you kill a man. I believe you're capable of about anything. But you can't force information out of me that I don't have. Believe me, if I knew anything, I'd tell you rather than get stabbed or raped. I've never met Robin Hood. All I want is to find my sister and go home. That's it."

"Your sister?"

"Yes, my twin. Her name's Jill, and we look a lot alike. I'm not sure if she traveled into the past with me or not. But if she did, I have to find her."

Sliding back in his chair, Guy steepled his fingertips. "Perhaps I can be of service to you."

"You've decided I'm not a spy?"

"You'll forgive me for being cautious. Robin Hood has been trying to steal my land and title for quite some time. He'll stop at nothing to ruin me, even sending an assassin who looks like my departed wife."

_Wife?_ Joanna didn't remember anything in the legends she had read about Guy of Gisbourne having a wife.

"Hood has tried to deceive me before. I suspect he's infiltrated my castle with spies." Guy shook his head sadly. "I've been waiting for him to attempt a new tactic. He's a master of discovering men's vulnerabilities and preying upon them. However, I've obviously misjudged you. I'd like to make amends. Come to Locksley Castle with me. You'll have food, clothes, and protection. I'll find out what I can about your sister and help you reunite. In return, I have a mystery or two you could solve for me."

Joanna swallowed. If she accepted Gisbourne's help, what was she getting herself into? But what other options did she have? Maybe Guy wasn't all that bad. He had saved her life and her reputation from Sir Horace, after all. Plus, he was very handsome. What author in her right mind would turn down an offer to stay in a medieval castle? What woman who had almost been raped and witnessed a murder would refuse protection? She had to accept. There was no other choice. At least Guy was handsome and clearly intrigued by her. Finally, some aspects of this time-travel nightmare were aligning with her fantasies.

"I can also throw you into the courtyard," Guy reminded her, "and let the next knave who walks by take you home."

Joanna eyed her purse. If she was powerless to retrieve an item sitting right in front of her, she was even more powerless to escape or find Jill. She chose her words carefully. "If I come with you, you'll protect me and help me find my sister?"

Guy nodded, a bemused expression on his face.

"Can I have my purse and book back?"

"When you've given me what I want."

Joanna's stomach twisted at the implied request. She wished she had time to think about it. But she didn't have that luxury. Jill would say this was a terrible idea, but Jill wasn't here. Joanna had to figure it out on her own.

"It's a deal."

Guy stood, picking up her purse as he went. "There's one more thing I'll need from you—your clothes."

Joanna felt the blood drain from her face. "Why?"

"If we're going to smuggle you out of the castle, you'll have to wear a disguise. You'll find a sack of clothes underneath the bed. Leave yours on the chair. Roger de la Rouche, my man at arms, will escort you to my castle tonight."

Left alone in the room, Joanna's head swam with what had happened. She sat on the lumpy bed and tried to calm herself. If only Jill were here! Jill would know what to do. Jill could take care of herself. Joanna was the helpless maiden, and she had never hated that role more than she did right now. What good were organization skills or writing abilities when one's life was at stake? Guy of Gisbourne was no Prince Charming, but he was as close as she was going to get in this adventure. If she wanted to survive, she'd have to go to his castle and figure out a new plan from there. _Jill and her_ _stupid_ _adventures_ _!_ Like always, Joanna was the one who suffered. If only she hadn't gotten on that horse in Sherwood to begin with, then she wouldn't be in this mess. Getting lost in the past seemed an occupation that Jill was much more suited for.

Reaching under the bed, Joanna retrieved a brown sack full of wrinkled clothing that smelled of sweat. The rags might be infested with fleas or lice. She couldn't put those on. After everything she had suffered today, something as silly as clothes shouldn't make her cry, but that didn't stop the tears from spilling out. Giving in to the emotion, she lay on the bed and sobbed.

# 8

## July 17, 1193

## Sherwood Forest

"Jill? Are you awake?"

Robin's voice from outside Jill's hut pulled her out of a dream in which Robin sat with her in the college library while she did calculus homework. He was telling Jill all about Marian. As he rambled on about Marian's beauty, Jill felt nauseated because she knew she would never have Robin for herself.

"Jill?"

"Yeah, I'm awake."

She sat up, feeling her bones creak. The twigs, moss, and leaves had done little to protect her from the cold ground or cushion her body from the hard earth. As much as she looked forward to bragging about "roughing it" later, right now she wanted a soft, warm mattress. The library dream began to fade as her bizarre reality settled in. Robin hadn't been in college with her at all. She was thinking of someone else, but she wouldn't say his name, not even in her head.

"We leave soon for Nottingham."

Jill opened the door and stooped through the opening. The men moved about the camp, preparing for the trip. Pulling her cloak around her for warmth, Jill headed for the camp privy. She felt better after washing her face in the cool stream water.

When she returned, Robin was waiting for her. Not everyone was coming apparently. She caught sight of Will, Alan, Stutely, and eight men in addition to her and Robin.

"This is everyone?"

"All we'll need for now," Robin assured her.

As they started the cold trek toward Nottingham, Robin passed Jill a piece of bread and hunk of smelly cheese.

"I thought you might like something. You didn't eat much last night."

She nodded, irritated he would comment on her eating habits, but as she ate the bread and cheese, she decided she might be over-reacting a little. She was hungry, and it was thoughtful of Robin to bring her something.

As they walked in the dawn, Alan began to hum. "I'm going to call this song 'The Ballad of the Thirteen.'"

"Thirteen?" Will turned to Robin. "Did you think to count before we set off?"

Robin shrugged. "Twelve men, one woman. It's auspicious."

Now that the adrenaline from yesterday's adventures had worn off, Jill wanted and needed more rest, but adventure didn't come to those who stayed in bed. Anyone who enjoyed a soft mattress on a regular basis predetermined her life to be boring. But Jill's life wasn't boring anymore. She had joined Robin Hood's band and was about to rescue Joanna.

But what would happen after the rescue? If Joanna joined the band, Jill wouldn't be special anymore. Joanna was the man magnet who drew all the attention. Joining Robin's merry men was _Jill's_ fantasy, and she didn't want to share it with anyone, least of all her greatest competition. Wasn't there a way to ensure Joanna's safety without endangering Jill's special situation with Robin Hood?

If Joanna were here, she wouldn't enjoy sleeping on a bed of moss and twigs. Perhaps some elderly woman in a nearby village would let Joanna live with her while Jill cavorted in the forest. Then, the twins could be together but separate. No, that didn't seem right either. They had taken this vacation to be together _,_ hadn't they? Jill was being far too introspective. Best to focus on Joanna's rescue and deal with the need for boundaries later. Jill turned her thoughts to the mission, wishing she better understood the plan they were about to execute.

"I think you forgot to give me a weapon," Jill reminded Robin, noting the bows and daggers the twelve men carried.

"You'll be with me. Isn't that protection enough?"

If he knew anything about her—which he didn't—he would know Jill could never be the wilting damsel in distress. She was going to be part of the action. He should have realized this about her, especially after she beat him in the staff challenge. The fact that he didn't irritated her.

An hour later, the gang paused in a clearing overlooking Nottingham. The castle, its six turrets and massive gatehouse gleaming silvery white in the sun, dominated the top of the hill across the valley. Outside the stone walls lay a walled city that dribbled down the hillside. Studying the castle towers, Jill pondered which one held the dungeon. Was Joanna in there now, crying for rescue? Jill couldn't let her claustrophobic sister rot in the sheriff's jail, just like Jill had no intention of climbing any of those turrets. Even the thought of such height made her queasy.

"Everyone understands we're using rendezvous C this time?"

The men nodded in agreement. Robin put his arm on Will's shoulder.

"Good luck, Will. You'll make an excellent executioner—as long as you can see what to swing at."

Robin pulled up his hood to cover his face. Jill and the other men did as well although she failed to see the point. Wouldn't a group of hooded figures entering the town on execution day be suspicious? Who would fall for such a childish disguise?

As the men dispersed, Robin put his hand protectively near the small of Jill's back. "You and I are after information. There's a baker I know who owes me a favor."

Following Robin as he turned through the narrow streets, Jill marveled at how little room there was to pass between the shops. Buildings with small foundations grew another two feet wide at the second story, meaning that although the streets were narrow, the space between the upper-level windows of each building was narrower still. People on opposite sides of the street standing at their second-floor windows could shake hands. Feeling exposed and vulnerable, Jill wished the entire business was over so they could return to the forest where she could draw a breath without smelling human waste or body odor. However, the hooded disguises seemed to be working. So far, no one had pointed at them or identified them as members of the outlaw band.

After weaving through so many streets that even Jill lost her sense of direction, Robin stopped in front of a shop that emanated heat. The smell of baking bread made her stomach growl. Robin stepped up to one of the windows which was propped open on a board laid out as a counter. He motioned for Jill to stand behind him.

A fat man with a red face and brown hair tied back in a ponytail at the neck leaned across the windowsill and clapped Robin on the shoulder, leaving a flour handprint on the outlaw's cloak.

Robin's voice was jolly. "Sander, my friend, how's business?"

Jill lifted the edge of her hood to glance around the street. How could anyone see out of these things? Hiding her identity severely limited her peripheral vision.

"Everyone needs bread," Sander replied, "but not everyone can afford it."

"These are hard times." Robin pulled out a coin and slipped it to the baker. "One of your finest loaves."

"For this, one of my worst. A man has to make a living."

As Sander went back for a loaf, Jill wondered at Robin's lack of funding or generosity. She would have to say something about that later.

Sander returned with a long, cold loaf, probably from the day before. Robin broke it and gave half to Jill.

"I'm also wondering if you've heard anything," Robin's voice lowered, "about Little John's execution."

"High noon." Sander spoke out of the side of his mouth. "They're planning to chop off his head."

"Have you heard anything about a woman taken with Little John?"

"Aye. Seems Guy of Gisbourne identified her as one of your spies. He's been torturing her for information."

Jill felt her stomach flip. _Torture?_

"I heard Guy's man, Roger, bragging about it at the tavern yesterday afternoon. Now that Guy's had his way with the woman, he plans to let her die in the sheriff's dungeon."

"Thank you, my friend. I'm in your debt."

"That you are," Sander agreed, "with what you pay me for a good loaf of bread."

Robin took Jill's arm and led her away from the bakery into an alley. She leaned against a beam of the building behind her, willing herself to breathe...to think. Logic and common sense had guided her through many a difficult situation. They would direct her now. But that knowledge didn't quell the churning in her stomach. Resting her hands on her knees, Jill counted her breaths to make sure she actually took them. Robin placed a hand on her shoulder. The pressure and warmth didn't stop the panic but did lessen it some.

"Jill, I've known Gisbourne's man, Roger, since I was a boy. Roger is a braggart without any proof to back up his lies. He's always gloried in Guy's reputation. This is more of the same."

"He said torture _._ " Jill shook her head. "If Joanna's hurt or..."

"Men say a lot of things they don't mean when they've been drinking."

Jill thought of the night before and wondered how much the ale had influenced what Robin had told her. "Then how can we trust any of the information?"

"Any lie worth its salt has some element of truth in it. We already knew from Alan she was hurt, so that's no surprise. She's likely still in the dungeon. But we'll rescue her and take her back to the camp where you'll both be safe."

Logic and common sense won out. Standing up straight, Jill nodded her readiness. Robin's smile caused her heart to quicken. When he looked at her, did he actually see Marian? She wasn't interested in being a proxy for his dead lover. Again she pushed this out of her mind as she and Robin walked purposefully toward the castle courtyard where the execution was to take place. Robin ate his bread, but Jill gave hers to a child who ran by. She no longer had an appetite.

When they reached the castle inner bailey, they milled about with the other townspeople gathered to see Little John beheaded. Jill noticed many of the merry men, still hooded, and wondered that no one else could pick them out of the crowd. She and Robin inched their way toward the keep so they could sneak into the dungeon when the guards were distracted.

The sound of a trumpet—not a flourish as much as two or three sharp notes—signaled the sheriff's arrival. Surrounded by guards to separate him from the crowd, the sheriff sauntered out of the great hall into the courtyard to stand near the gallows. Robin frowned.

"Something wrong?" Jill asked.

"Gisbourne isn't here. That's unusual."

"Good people of Nottingham!" the sheriff began. "Today you are gathered to see justice served to an outlaw, a man accused of harboring the murderer Robin Hood, that dastardly villain who burned Tinterly Manor to the ground and killed Herbert and his family."

Jill shot Robin a questioning look.

"Only partially true," he said.

"Which part?"

He pointed to the sheriff. "Pay attention."

Jill raised an eyebrow. Her doubts about the success of this mission were growing exponentially.

"Today," the sheriff continued, "we will execute Robin Hood's accomplice, the giant Little John, a man of exceptional cruelty and avarice. Let it be known that anyone who allies himself with Robin Hood will come to the same end. Bring out the prisoner!"

The crowd shouted when the dungeon doors opened and Little John, his hands tied behind his back, emerged surrounded by soldiers. He squinted in the light, but as he looked at the crowd, his expression communicated pleasure.

"He's pleased with the turnout," Robin guessed. "This is a larger number than for Will's last execution. We're drawing bigger audiences these days."

Little John mounted the steps to the platform but halted when he saw the executioner. The guards had to prod him on and force him to kneel.

Jill bit her lip. "You're sure that's Will in the executioner's hood?"

Robin shrugged. "We'll know in a minute."

The sheriff raised his arms, and the drum roll began. The executioner raised his ax in preparation. With a theatrical gesture, the sheriff threw down his arm, the drum roll stopped, and the executioner took a great swing. But instead of cutting off Little John's head, the ax sliced the ropes binding his hands.

"Death to tyrants!" Alan yelled from the audience. The boy's shouting voice was almost as good as his singing voice. "Long live King Richard!"

The merry men pulled off their hoods, brandished their weapons, and the melee began. Will removed his executioner's hood and kicked two soldiers crawling onto the platform. John grabbed a pike from one of the soldiers Will had kicked and thrust it at three soldiers who attacked him. Pockets of fighting broke out in the crowd as the remaining members of Robin's gang took on at least two soldiers each. The fight had a comic quality to it, reminding Jill of B-rated action movies from the 1940s. The scene in no way matched the brutality and physicality she had expected from a medieval battle. Could this even be called a battle? It felt more like a well-rehearsed stage play at a Renaissance festival.

"Jill, this way!" Robin directed.

After pushing their way through the crowd, Robin and Jill descended the steep, stone stairs into the dungeon. Robin knocked out the guard at the inner door without too much fuss. The smell of rotting human bodies assaulted Jill. How had Joanna endured the stench?

Jill hurried through the dark passage, ignoring the hands reaching out of cell doors as she called Joanna's name. Halfway through the hall, Jill peered through the grates of a cell door and caught sight of a pink shirt in the corner.

"Robin! In here!'

Robin unlocked the door with the keys he had confiscated from the guard, but even as he was doing so, Jill knew something was wrong. The hunch of the shoulders, the wild brown hair—this wasn't Joanna. The door open, Robin pushed past Jill and pulled the figure upright. But when he caught sight of the prisoner's face, he recoiled.

"Is _this_ your sister?"

Before she realized what she was doing, Jill pinned the ugly boy wearing her sister's clothes against the wall, using her forearm to crush his windpipe. "Where's my sister, you little creep?"

"I don't know," the boy squeaked. "I was paid a shilling to put on these clothes. I never saw any woman."

The boy's accent was so thick that Jill could hardly understand him. He mangled his words and sawed off important consonant sounds, even in simple sentences.

Robin stomped his foot in frustration. "Jill, it's a trap. "

"Thank you, Captain Obvious," Jill said as she released her grip.

The boy gasped and held his throat. "Take me with you, please!"

Robin motioned toward the door. "Keep up, then."

Three soldiers entered the dungeon through the entrance from the bailey. _One and a half for each of us_ , Jill thought, _not counting the boy_. Robin slammed his fist into the jaw of the biggest man. Jill used a roundhouse kick to stun the second and pushed him into a wall, wondering at the force her adrenaline gave her. When the third soldier moved in, she kicked him in the knee while Robin, who had dispatched his man, came down with an elbow strike on the back of the soldier's head.

Jill's eyes met Robin's over the fallen soldiers, and her chest tightened again. Jill Mason and Robin Hood made a good team. Noise at the top of the bailey stairs indicated more soldiers approached. Robin tipped his head toward the other side of the passage. "There's another way out."

The prisoners continued to call out as Robin, Jill, and the boy ran by.

"Can't we free them?" Jill asked.

"There's no time," Robin called over his shoulder, unlocking the other entrance.

Jill hesitated. To have the means to free the prisoners but fail to do so was hardly heroic behavior. She wouldn't stand for it, regardless of the danger. "Throw me the keys!" she demanded.

Frowning, Robin tossed her the keys which she caught and placed in the hand of the nearest prisoner, hoping he could figure it out from there.

The boy in Joanna's clothing pushed her toward the stairs. At the top, Robin opened a large wooden door to reveal a dark inner corridor lined with pillars. He took two steps into the room then stopped suddenly when he saw the sword point inches from his chest.

Jill would have rushed to his aid, but the boy pulled her behind a pillar. She peeked out to see Robin frozen before his assailant—a tall, lean man, dressed all in black. He had sandy brown hair, bright blue eyes, and a scar between his eye and ear.

"Plan 47, was it?" The man in black laughed, inching his sword closer to Robin's heart.

"I'm going to kill you." Robin's voice was tight.

"You aren't capable. I see you found my decoy."

_Decoy?_ Jill pondered the word. Did this man have Joanna? Stepping from behind the pillar, Jill heard her voice echo in the corridor as she demanded, "Where's my sister?"

The eyes of the man in black darted to Jill, and his face paled. His expression communicated recognition and surprise. Robin saw his chance. He knocked the sword from his opponent's hands and dashed past Jill and the boy toward a doorway on the right.

"Come on, Jill!" Robin called.

She could hear the soldiers stomping up the steps from the dungeon. The man in black stared at Jill in surprise, unable or unwilling to retrieve his sword. Once again, the boy pushed Jill after Robin, through the doorway and up a circular staircase. They climbed two flights of stairs before Robin opened the door onto the wall walk.

Her head a little clearer, Jill closed the tower door behind her and barricaded it, knowing she would only slow the soldiers temporarily. But her efforts were already pointless. Looking ahead to the other end of the wall walk, she saw soldiers advancing, their swords drawn.

Robin peered over the edge of the wall toward the village below. "We'll have to jump."

He couldn't be serious, could he? Jump off a wall that was easily four stories tall into...into what? She looked over the edge and felt her stomach flip. A hay wagon sat below. _How convenient!_

No, she was not going to do this. Jill Mason, who had been afraid of heights her entire life, was _not_ going to jump off a castle wall into a hay wagon. She would rather be captured. She would rather be killed. Better to die by the sword than plunge to one's death willingly.

Robin leaped onto one of the openings in the wall and reached for her hand, pulling her up with him. "We jump together on the count of three."

Jill shook her head. "No way!"

He wrapped her hand in his. "One...two...three!"

The soldiers burst through the door of the wall walk as Robin leaped off the wall, pulling Jill with him. She heard a high-pitched scream and realized it was coming from her. She _never_ screamed. But then, she had never jumped to her death before.

As the ground rose up to meet her, Jill felt like she was falling in slow motion. She had the strangest feeling that she wasn't in her body at all but floating outside of it. A series of images from childhood flashed through her mind: playing with Joanna in the sandbox, Dad tickling her with his mustache, Mom's apple pie, road trips with the family, her twenty-fifth birthday dinner. Was this how her life was going to end? She'd come here to rescue Joanna, but instead Jill would die, and Joanna, Mom, and Dad would never know what happened to her.

An impact that knocked the breath out of her brought her back to the present. She lay immobile in the hay cart, her ears ringing. Someone shouted. Strong arms yanked her from the wagon bed. She landed on the ground on top of Robin as the boy fell into the hay.

"Jill!" Robin's voice sounded like it was coming from far away. "We have to run!"

Why did everyone have to keep pulling and pushing her? She needed her personal space. She shrugged off Robin's arms and held her ground. She needed to breathe and get her bearings. How far had she fallen again? She gazed unsteadily at the castle wall above her, noting with detachment the archers swarming the walls. What was the range on those bows?

"Jill, _run_!"

An arrow dug into the ground next to her, bringing adrenaline-induced clarity. She would die if she didn't get moving.

Focusing on Robin, she ran behind him, unaware of what she passed or where they were going. She required every ounce of strength and concentration to keep pace with him. She lost track of how long or how far they had run, knowing only that she would drop from exhaustion soon, and then she would die. How ironic would it be for her to survive a four-story jump only to get an arrow through her chest?

When she had run so long that her legs felt like they were made of rubber and her lungs couldn't bring in enough air, Robin finally stopped for a rest. Jill leaned against a tree, worried that if she tried to sit she would fall down. Robin, Jill, and the boy panted heavily. As her breath returned, Jill felt emotion taking over. If she had come this close to dying twice in a few minutes, what might Joanna have been through?

Might Joanna be...dead?

A weight that felt like lead dropped in her stomach, pushing Jill to the ground. What should she do now? Jill always had a plan. _Always_. But here she was in a situation she never could have imagined with no possible way out.

Robin crouched beside her. "Are you well, Jill?"

Her eyes stung. As she drew in her breath, the intake was ragged. Then, her face crinkled and her eyes began to water. _No! No crying allowed!_

"No, I'm not _well_ at all!" she retorted, channeling the emotional energy into anger. "You almost got me killed back there. What were you thinking?"

Robin looked confused. "I saved your life. We escaped."

"You call that saving?" Her entire body vibrated with anger. "This was a half-baked plan from the beginning. But then, it's pretty clear you have _no_ idea what you're doing. Your plans are stupid, all you think about is revenge, you're stingy with your money, you didn't free the prisoners, and you pushed me off a wall without my consent."

"I think pulled would be a more accurate term."

"Don't talk to me right now!" Jill punctuated the air with her index finger and wished it was an arrow piercing Robin's brain.

Robin's shoulders slumped as Jill brushed past him toward the stream where the boy, still clad in Joanna's clothing, knelt. Hoping cold water would cool her flaming face and throat, Jill bathed her face in the water.

She was mad at the entire universe right now, Robin most of all. If only she had a staff, she'd knock him flat on his face in the stream. The boy looked at her shyly. With his thin limbs and gaunt face, Joanna's clothes hung on him like tents. This boy had never eaten well. She took a deep breath to temper her anger. "What's your name?"

"Lester."

"Where's my sister?"

"I don't know."

Robin joined them at the bank and drank a little water himself. "We still have some distance to travel. If we stay here too long, the sheriff's men will be upon us."

"Fine." She spit the word out.

Robin avoided looking her in the eye as he motioned for her and Lester to follow him. Jill fought back the thoughts of Joanna that kept surfacing. How was she going to explain to Mom and Dad that she hadn't saved Joanna? Would she ever see Mom and Dad again? Those questions threatened tears again, but Jill reined them in. As long as she moved and focused on where to put her feet and how angry she was with Robin, she could keep it together. Finally, the forest began to look familiar. Jill followed Robin through a passage of thick brush and found herself at the camp. Will Scarlet, Little John, and the other men Jill recognized from the rescue party were already at the fire.

"This is rendezvous C?" Jill asked, her voice heavy with sarcasm. "The camp?"

Robin shrugged and walked toward the fire. Noting the way her legs shook, Jill hung back by the barrel of ale and uncorked it to pour herself a cup. Lester, who still stood at the edge of the camp, refused to come any closer to the merry men. Jill filled a second tankard and took it to him. He drank it eagerly. She tried to lift her own cup to her mouth, but her hand trembled so violently she couldn't bring it to her lips. Instead, she held it in both hands and wondered when the physiological reaction to the stress of the day would pass.

From the looks of Little John, Jill wasn't the only one who was angry.

"Robin, you changed the plan! This blind bat," (Little John pointed to Will) "almost cut my hands off!" He brandished a bandaged wrist. "I could have bled to death."

Will, whose red face now matched his hair, sneered. "I only shaved off a bit of skin."

"You could have shaved off my entire arm. Robin, _you_ were supposed to be the executioner."

Will pointed at his black eye. "I got this when I tried to knock out the executioner. I finally had to strike him with a steel kettle."

"Why didn't you poison him?" Robin asked.

Will threw up his hands. "I wish you'd mentioned that. Then I would have actually brought poison with me."

"You can't blame me that you were all too stupid to think for yourselves." Robin kicked a stone at his feet, sending it rolling toward the fire. "Everyone should have known what to do."

Will rolled his eyes. "And we might have if you'd followed the plan."

John opened his mouth to protest, but he paused when he caught sight of Jill. "Joanna?"

John's mention of Joanna's name triggered the emotional response inside Jill that she had barely held in check. She felt her face crinkle, her eyes squint, and a hoarse moan that didn't even sound like her came from her throat. Her mug of ale fell to the ground and drained into the grass as she was overcome with tears. She stood in front of thirty men, sobbing uncontrollably. Jill didn't cry often, but when she did, the effect was like living through a hurricane rather than the frequent sprinkles of tears her mother often exhibited. Such an effect was bad enough when she weathered it alone, but breaking down in front of an all-male audience was the ultimate humiliation. As she gasped, sobbed, and waved her hands wildly, every man in the camp stood frozen. Lester backed away from her like she had the plague. Little John's face paled. Robin rubbed the back of his neck and avoided eye contact. Jill had to get out of here. Still crying, she trotted toward the stream. Once out of camp, she settled herself in between the roots of a tree, wrapped her cloak around her, and surrendered to the sobs and dark thoughts.

_No Joanna. No return to the present. No family._ And now, she had humiliated herself in front of Robin. There was no hope—only gale-strength tears that showed no signs of abating. This was a lousy, good-for-nothing century and she was sorry she'd ever ended up here.

# 9

## Nottingham Castle

When Joanna's tears had stopped, she wiped her face and nose on the bed linens for lack of something better. Roger would be coming for her any minute, so she needed to change clothes as Guy had ordered her to do. Sadly, her research had not prepared her for how to put on medieval garments. She struggled first into the chemise, then the skirt, which was so big she had to knot the waist to keep it on. The shoes resembled men's work boots and were far too large. She was tying the front of the bodice when a man entered. He had a round-chest, thick biceps, and features that had been baked hard in the sun and creased with wrinkles. His eyes were cold and communicated nothing except irritation with her.

She blushed as she fumbled with the cords. "Are you Roger?"

"Are you finished?"

"I guess." Joanna looked down at her clothing. She was a mess. She knew red splotches must be covering her face beneath her swollen eyes.

Roger reached for her arm, but she pulled back.

"I'll cooperate. You don't have to drag me down the stairs."

Scowling, he motioned for her to follow him. She lifted her cumbersome skirt so she wouldn't trip as she descended the stairs. Her knees wobbled with every step.

In the courtyard, a groom held the reins of two saddled horses. Joanna hesitated. She was getting farther and farther away from where she had left Jill. Would her sister be able to find her?

"Mount up."

Joanna reached for the saddle but knew she couldn't pull herself up. Her arms were shaking so that she couldn't fit the large boots into the stirrups.

"I can't do it."

Roger growled as he gave her a boost into the saddle. Once she was on, he did not pass her the reins but held them to lead her horse alongside his as they rode out of the castle. The night was dark, and in only a few minutes they were traveling down a road Joanna couldn't see.

She marveled at the sky alight with stars. Electricity had deprived the modern world of the night sky as it was meant to be seen. To think these same heavenly bodies stared down at her every night in Minneapolis but she rarely took the time to look back at them, and even if she did, they wouldn't be visible from all the light pollution. She stared up until her neck ached.

"This is what I get, you know, for wanting more out of life," she mused, not realizing until the words left her mouth that she had spoken aloud.

After a momentary pause, Roger grunted. She took that as an invitation to continue.

"My sister convinced me to take this trip because it would give me an escape from my everyday life, and it's done that, but not quite the way I hoped."

"Life rarely works out the way we hope it will."

"That's true," she agreed.

Neither she nor Roger spoke after that. In this exact situation, Jill would probably be plotting her escape, but Joanna was not Jill. What could Joanna do? Wrestle the reins away from Roger and take off on this horse to who knows where? She had a feeling Guy would come after her anyway.

Since an escape attempt was a waste of time and energy, Joanna kept herself awake by imagining the book she could write after this experience, the recognition she would receive, the opportunity she would have to rub her success in Mark's face. Of course, this was assuming she ever found a way back to the twenty-first century. As the night dragged on and her fatigue increased along with her headache, she wondered if this was all a vivid dream that would disappear when she woke in her own house or the hotel in Nottingham.

Eventually, a dark shape blotted out the stars on the horizon. Joanna imagined the shape was a castle, but she couldn't be sure. Roger dismounted to knock at the gate. He spoke to the porter, and then a door, large enough for the horses to go through, opened for their entrance.

Roger led her horse inside the castle and then motioned for her to get off. Too tired to control her descent, she slid off. Roger had to catch her before she collapsed. She had no idea if she should fear him or not. Probably best to be afraid of everyone given what she had experienced in the last eighteen hours.

Inside the castle, all was dark except for the torch the porter had given to Roger. Joanna followed Roger to a large building and stumbled behind him up a circular staircase into a dark hallway. Roger unlocked a door, lit a candle inside, and then closed the door behind him. Joanna heard him lock it before his footsteps faded.

She was a prisoner again—and no toilet in sight.

Using the candle, she snooped around the room in search of a chamber pot. The bed had curtains and a table and chair. She felt under the bed until she found a wide bowl. This wasn't her ideal circumstance for answering the call of nature, but it was better than nothing.

Once she was feeling better, she stood to remove her clothes and noticed she swayed on her feet in the chilly, damp room. With fumbling fingers, she unlaced the corset and stripped down to her chemise. She crawled into bed, too tired to think about bed bugs or who might have slept on the linens before her, and fell asleep, thinking as she drifted off that no mattress had ever been so lumpy.

Ever a light sleeper, Joanna woke when she heard a key turning at the door. Her first thought was that Guy was here to take what he wanted from her. Her heart beat loudly in her ears. She had left the bed curtains open. Pulling the blanket up to her nose, she trembled underneath the covers as she waited to see who would enter.

When the door opened, a heavy-set woman walked in. She wore a brown, sleeveless dress of coarsely spun fabric, a white chemise underneath, and a kerchief that covered faded red hair. On her left arm she carried a pile of multicolored clothing. Behind her followed a young girl with light hair dressed similarly to the older woman and carrying a pitcher.

They stopped at the side of her bed and stared at her. Unnerved, Joanna slowly pulled down the covers to reveal her face. The older woman crossed herself. The younger woman's eyes grew twice their size. She put both her hands on her abdomen and looked at Joanna like she'd seen a ghost.

"Um. Hi, there." Joanna waved her fingers in greeting. "I'm Joanna. Is it morning?"

The older woman recovered first. "Mid-morning."

Joanna nodded and sat up. "Who are you?"

"Call me Elaine." The older woman pointed at the younger one. "This is Bess."

Bess nodded, and Joanna thought she detected disdain in the serving girl's demeanor.

Joanna put her hand to her head and felt the scab which had formed. She had a headache, too. "I must look like a mess."

"Or a ghost," Bess replied.

"Who is it I look like?" Joanna asked.

Elaine pursed her lips before speaking. "Sir Guy's late wife. You're almost her spitting image although she was thinner."

_Of_ _course_ _she was._ "Is Guy here?"

"He's due back this evening."

Bess started a fire in the fireplace while Elaine set the dresses she had been carrying on the bed.

"I'm not sure which one of these will be suitable."

When Elaine held up a red dress, Bess looked up, her eyes full of admiration. "That's a pretty one."

Joanna thought it was hideous and silently hoped she wouldn't have to wear it.

"Yes," Elaine agreed, "but I think it's too small."

"I wish I could wear something like that." Bess's voice took on a dreamy quality.

Elaine laughed. "You're not a lady."

"I might be."

Joanna imagined the older woman must have been thinking, _Dream on!_ Elaine held up a royal blue dress and frowned as she studied it. "This one should do."

The dress didn't appear to be very figure-flattering. It definitely wasn't as elaborate as the Renaissance festival costumes Joanna had seen (she had done a few Renaissance weddings, after all), but the color was nice, and she decided she could live with wearing it although she doubted she had any choice in the matter.

"A bath first," Elaine ordered. "I've worked too hard keeping these nice since Lady Marian died to have anyone soil them."

"Wait a minute!" Joanna heard warning bells ringing in her head. " _Marian_ was Guy's wife?"

Elaine's glance communicated how stupid she thought Joanna was. "Of course."

Wasn't Marian supposed to be Robin Hood's true love? This was troubling and meant other parts of the legend might not be true at all. She would have to be careful not to make too many assumptions until she knew exactly what was going on.

"I had the boys start the water a while ago. Bess, go look after it."

Bess shot Joanna a dirty look, indicating she blamed Joanna for the hard work of setting up the bath, and stomped out of the room.

"There's too much passion and fire in the young ones," Elaine said after Bess left. "They haven't learned to accept the hard terms of life."

"I'm still working on that one myself."

"You'd better adjust quickly," Elaine replied. "You're in Locksley Castle now."

Joanna could sense the gloom, even through the closed shutters. "I'm not sure what you've been told about me."

"Very little, but I can guess a few things."

Curious, Joanna encouraged Elaine to share.

"You're alone with no family," Elaine began. "You're incapable of taking care of yourself. You're some kind of foreigner. You got into a bad scrape, by the looks of you, probably with a man. Sir Guy saved you and offered his protection. Add to that your resemblance to Lady Marian, and it's quite clear why you're here. Sir Guy's had a string of women in his bed since his wife died under mysterious circumstances. You're merely the latest."

"I have no intentions of getting into bed with anyone."

Elaine tapped the side of her nose with her forefinger. "Play the innocent if you wish. But I've decided to like you, so I'm going to give you a warning. Sir Guy doesn't keep his women very long. He uses them, and then they disappear. We had a young one here named Daisy who disappeared in the middle of the night a year ago and was never heard from again. Sir Guy is cursed, and the women he beds come to evil ends."

"Then I guess the best way to stay alive is to stay out of his bed."

Elaine chuckled darkly as she sorted out a chemise from the pile of clothes then picked up the remaining dresses. "Once you're dressed, you're free to roam about as you wish, although you won't go far."

Joanna wanted to argue that she could run away, but given what had happened to her in the last twenty-four hours, she knew this wasn't true.

"I don't mean to be a bother," Joanna said, "but I'm hungry. I haven't eaten anything since yesterday morning."

"I'll see what I can do."

After Elaine left, Joanna ventured out of bed, feeling her body creak and groan. She had spent too much time on horseback recently. She hobbled to the shuttered window, anxious to get her bearings. She wasn't sure she could trust Guy, but she did hope he had news about Jill. What had happened to Little John? She hoped the big oaf was all right and had avoided execution. Had Robin come for him as Little John believed he would?

Joanna opened the shutters. She squinted in the sun as she looked out over farmers' fields with a large forest behind. The men laboring those small plots looked bent and moved slowly. Although the sun shone, Joanna felt a gloomy air about the place. She shook her head in disbelief. She really was in the past. The opportunities for research were astounding!

But it was time to be honest. Joanna didn't want to write a gritty, historical novel grounded in details of everyday medieval life. She wanted to tell stories of love and adventure. She wasn't going to waste time getting lost in minutiae. Since she was living in a medieval castle, she was going to explore and make the best of it. She'd never have such an experience again. Unless, of course, she was stuck here.

But never mind that. If Joanna wanted to find a way back to her own time, she would. _Where there's a will, there's a way, right?_ Yes, with a little sleep, she was already feeling more positive than she had yesterday. She looked forward to cleaning the blood out of her hair and washing away her own stench. Her cheek felt puffy from the slap Sir Horace had given her. Forcing the image of his death from her mind, she wondered what people used for soap in the Middle Ages.

Bess returned with another girl carrying a large wooden tub, which they set in the room.

"The water is almost ready." Bess gave Joanna a cutting look before leaving.

Worried about all the trouble she was causing, Joanna decided to help out. She pulled the blankets on the bed, smoothing the surface and tucking the ends under the mattress. As she finished, Elaine entered, carrying a small platter of smelly cheese and bread and a mug of ale. Although this wasn't the full English breakfast with tomatoes, mushrooms, potatoes, runny eggs and toast Joanna had dreamed of, she was hungry enough to eat it. She sat on the bed and stuffed her face while Elaine settled in the room's only chair and watched her.

"What did you do to this bed?" Elaine asked.

"I made it." Joanna's mouth was crammed with bread. She wasn't usually this rude, but the smell of the food made her suddenly ravenous.

"No, it was here well before you came."

"I mean, this is what we do to beds where I come from when we're not sleeping in them."

"Well, now," Elaine commented, her tone indicating the situation was anything but well. "Where do you come from?"

Given how Joanna's poetic but misguided information download had gone with the sheriff, she should probably be vague. "I came to England with my twin sister. We were riding through Sherwood Forest and were separated. The sheriff captured me and sold me to Sir Horace. Guy killed Horace and offered me his protection."

"What happened to your sister?"

"I don't know. Guy promised to help me find her if I would do something for him."

Elaine's face was guarded. "What did he ask you to do?"

"He wants me to solve a mystery for him."

Elaine laughed derisively. "That mystery is in his bedroom, although he'll tell you differently."

"You think I'll end up missing like Daisy."

"Or dead. This castle is haunted. Ever since Lady Marian died, her ghost haunts the tower."

Joanna didn't believe in ghosts and wondered what had caused Elaine to think one existed. "Have you seen it?"

"I haven't, but others I trust have. Guy has the tower sealed. If anyone goes up there, the ghost will drag the poor soul straight to hell."

"You think Marian's in hell?"

"A ghost is a ghost," Elaine said, as though that settled everything.

"Was Marian evil? Why would she be haunting the place?"

Elaine leaned forward. "Because she was murdered." Satisfied that this news had sufficiently captured Joanna's interest, Elaine continued.

"Marian and Guy used to have terrible arguments. They'd be passionate one minute, throwing things and shouting the next. Marian herself had the devil's own temper. She'd box a servant's ears for the simplest mistakes. Many of the young girls were afraid of her. I think she angered Guy and he pushed her off the tower."

"You saw it happen?"

"No, but Maude and I were the first to get to her body. Maude's served here as long as I have, and the preparation of the dead usually falls to her since many in the castle don't have family nearby."

Joanna knew very well that Guy was capable of murder, but she wasn't sure he would kill a woman. She had been afraid he might kill her back at Nottingham Castle, but in retrospect, he had probably been mocking her. As she finished the last of the ale, the door opened and Bess entered, carrying two buckets of water. Behind her followed several more girls, all carrying steaming buckets. While none of the women looked happy, Bess's flushed face seemed especially sour as she poured in her two buckets of water.

Elaine frowned. "Bess, what's gotten into you?"

The girl shrugged. "I'm not like feeling myself today."

"Sit a moment and catch your breath. I'll see the rest of the water is brought up."

Elaine followed the girls out, shooting a prompting glance at Joanna that she didn't completely understand. Left alone together, Joanna watched Bess while the girl sat, willing to stare at anything in the room except Joanna.

"Are you sure you're all right?" Joanna asked.

"I apologize, miss. You look so much like Lady Marian that it gives me gooseflesh."

"You knew Marian well?"

"I was her lady's maid."

Bess's manner didn't invite further questions, which gave Joanna time to study her. Bess was thin with wavy blonde hair tied at her neck. Her bodice, made of the same coarsely woven fabric Elaine and the other girls wore, was laced loosely especially at the bust and stomach, reminding Joanna of the photos on the covers of romance novels. She had a feeling the bodice didn't fit like it was supposed to. What caught her attention, though, was the one accessory that didn't seem to go with the outfit. A long silver chain hung around Bess's neck, dipping in between her breasts.

"That's a pretty necklace."

Bess clutched the chain in one hand, and from the way it hung, Joanna got the impression something big and heavy dangled from it underneath Bess's clothing.

"Is it a family heirloom?"

"A gift from my lover. I'm not supposed to show it to anyone. He'd be very angry if I did. We can only meet in secret, you see."

Given her recent experience with Mark, Joanna hoped Bess would wise up before she got into trouble. The poor girl was being taken advantage of and was too young and inexperienced to realize it, or she had such low self-esteem she thought she deserved it.

"Is he married?"

Bess gave Joanna a sharp look. "Why do you say that?"

"When a man wants to keep love secret, it usually means he's committed to someone else."

"That's not it at all."

"I only say this because I just got out of a relationship in which my boyfriend was seeing at least one other woman besides me. I'd hate to see you get hurt like I was."

"It's different for me." Bess protested, although her voice trembled.

"I didn't mean to offend you, but if this man really loved you, he wouldn't have any problem with the entire castle knowing."

"I know you mean well, miss, but you don't understand Locksley." Bess grew paler by the moment.

The entrance of more women carrying the rest of the water put an end to the questioning. Elaine followed, puffing a little, and laid the linens on the bed, all the while casting concerned glances at Bess.

"We'll let you bathe," Elaine said to Joanna. "Then one of us will be up to help you dress."

"I can manage by myself."

Elaine pointed to the blue gown on the bed. "Not unless you've got another pair of arms growing out of your back."

When she was alone, Joanna eased herself into the hot water and soaked her aching bones. She had bruises all over her shins and her arms. Ducking her head under the water, she did her best to clean the blood out of her hair. She must look terrible. If only she had her purse and could use the mirror to see how deep the cut was or if her cheek was bruised. Lipstick and a comb would be nice as well. To be stuck in the past without even basic toiletries irritated her. Having her purse out of her reach highlighted how vulnerable she was.

The soap was different than she had imagined. Rather than a hard bar, it was a yellowish white ball of tallow mixed with soap. She rubbed a little on her skin, but it burned, so she washed it off as quickly as she could. The stuff was powerful enough to whiten bones. Probably best to leave it alone. As she relaxed her aching body, she took stock of the square room. The tub sat in front of the fireplace that now crackled with a good fire. To her left light poured in through the window. The heavy bed with dark blue curtains and brown blankets took up most of the opposite wall. On the right were the door, a table and a chair. The wooden floor had been swept clean, and the plastered walls were white with blue _fleur de_ _lis_ spaced about eighteen inches apart painted in a repeating diagonal pattern. Where did the door lead? Last night, she had climbed stairs to get here, but given the darkness and her fatigue, she had no idea what part of the castle she was in or whose room this was. As far as accommodations went, a girl could do a lot worse. The mattress was lumpy, but being a kept woman in a medieval castle was infinitely better than sleeping on the ground somewhere in the forest. At least she had privacy and maids to wait on her. She was, in a way, finally living out her own gothic romance. Unable to hide her grin, Joanna ducked under the water, ashamed that such a thought would go through her mind while she was a prisoner and Jill's whereabouts were unknown. But since Joanna couldn't do anything about finding her sister at the moment, she had better make the best of the situation, especially if it fulfilled a girlhood fantasy or two.

The memory of Bess's face cut short her exuberance. That girl was in trouble. Joanna wished she could do something about it. If Joanna kept working on her, perhaps Bess would share enough about her lover that Joanna could help her end the relationship before she got hurt.

Joanna stayed in the bath until the water cooled. After she dried herself with the linens Elaine provided, Joanna slipped on the clean chemise and rang the bell Elaine had left on the bed. Almost immediately, Elaine entered. Joanna hadn't required help dressing since she was a child. But now she was utterly dependent on someone else to make her look decent. Elaine fussed and pulled and tied the various garments, all the while clucking her disapproval at Joanna's measurements.

When Joanna was dressed, Elaine brought out a brush and motioned for her to sit down. "We've got to do something with this wet mess. The dress makes you look more respectable, but your hair is cut like a boy's. Were you ill?"

Joanna's cheeks felt hot. "This is in style where I come from."

Elaine tugged at Joanna's hair, and Joanna cried out a few times as the brush ran over her cut.

"How'd you get that wound?" Elaine asked.

"I ran into a tree."

"Try not to make a habit of that."

After several painful minutes, Joanna rubbed her forehead as Elaine stepped back and surveyed her with a critical eye.

"How do I look?" Joanna feared the answer but had to ask anyway.

"You'll do." Elaine went to the door. "I have chores to finish."

After Elaine left, Joanna stared at the door, debating her next move. What would happen if she opened it? Would someone be standing guard outside?

Joanna lifted her arms and admired the tight sleeves that laced under her arm and attached to the bodice of her dress with more lacing. Her chemise peaked through the square neck of the bodice which felt tight on her chest. The skirt was long and touched the floor. How would she ever walk in this? She balled some of the fabric in her hand and lifted it to view her leather slippers with thin soles. Knowing her, she would step on a nail or stub her toe before the day was over. She would have to be careful.

Dropping her skirt, she practiced walking around the room and almost tripped on the front hem of her dress. _Great._ All she needed was to fall face down on the wooden floors, or worse yet, the stairs. If only she had safety pins or duct tape to bring up the hem!

Time to go exploring. As she approached the door, her heart quickened when she saw the lock. Her opportunity to research an authentic medieval doorknob had arrived!

An examination of the door revealed her first error because no doorknob existed. Instead, there was a metal box with a keyhole bolted to the right side of the door. Inside that box was probably a pin and tumbler lock that could be opened with a metal key. A large metal ring that reminded Joanna of a door knocker hung in the center of the door. She pulled the ring and found the door swung easily toward her. There appeared to be no latch on the door except the lock itself. Obviously, Dad had been right that a person didn't have to understand everything about a door to walk through it. She wondered if there was anything else in her life she had been overcomplicating.

The light in the hallway was dim, illuminated by small windows on either end. She saw three more doors in the corridor, one directly across from hers, and two more down the hall. Her curiosity would have led her to open every door and peer inside, but she worried who or what she might find behind them, so she didn't investigate further. Cautiously, she crept toward the dimly lit arch to her right that led to the circular stairs. Decision time—should she go up or down first? Up seemed preferable as it would give her a better view of where she was.

Since Joanna was alone, she lifted her skirts to climb the stairs without banging any more shins. When she reached another floor with six doors in the hallway, her timidity again prevented her from looking around. Returning to the stairs, she climbed ten more steps before she stepped into the fresh air and sunlight and found herself on top of a square building that was probably the castle keep.

Joanna gasped at the medieval panorama before her. While she and Jill had visited a few castle ruins, nothing had prepared Joanna for what it would be like inside an authentic, working castle in the twelfth century.

The square building Joanna stood on was the tallest and largest in the castle. This fact reinforced her belief that it was the keep as she knew from her research the keep was the most defendable building in the castle and the place of last retreat if the castle walls were ever breached.

The castle was laid out in a rough diamond shape with a tower at each of the four corners. The keep marked the northern point of the diamond and gave her an excellent vantage point to study the buildings below. To her right stood the castle gatehouse, two thick towers with an arched gateway in between them. That must be where she and Roger had entered last night. Between the keep and gatehouse was a long, two-story building with a roof that sloped away from the castle walls. Joanna assumed this was the great hall.

A round tower a little shorter than the keep marked the southern point of the castle. This tower was connected to the gatehouse by a wall walk. Underneath it were stone walls with windows. The ground below had stone arches that supported the floors above. A teenaged boy with red hair led a horse out of one of the arches, wrapped the lead rope around a wooden post, and began grooming the horse. Joanna assumed that area was the stables. If she had a chance, she might be able to steal a horse and escape.

At the eastern point of the diamond stood a short tower, and Joanna guessed it might be the chapel. Castle architects often designed chapels to face the east, so the location seemed logical. The tower appeared to be two stories tall, which made sense because building a room on top of the chapel would be considered irreverent. Two stories of wooden buildings lined the wall between the southern tower and the chapel. A group of ten soldiers stood in formation in front of the buildings while another soldier appeared to be inspecting their weapons. The wooden buildings were probably the soldiers' barracks.

The smell of baking bread and roasting meat drifted on the air, and Joanna tried to trace its source. In between the chapel tower and the keep where she stood was a small stone building with a smoking chimney. Servants came in and out of that building regularly, carrying hunks of meat or what looked like produce. That was likely the kitchen.

The inner bailey or courtyard of the castle wasn't as big as Joanna had imagined it would be. She guessed it was about the size of a basketball court. In the center of the bailey, three women with buckets cranked the pulley at the castle well. Now that Joanna knew where the water for her bath had come from, she cringed in guilt at the amount of work she had caused the servants. If she ever got back to the year 2009, she would always be thankful for indoor plumbing.

Which one of these towers was home to Marian's ghost? The taller, southern tower directly opposite her seemed the likeliest choice. Its height also offered a more logical place for Marian to fall to her death. Joanna needed to use her freedom before Guy returned to find out as much as she could about the castle. She still didn't understand why she was here or what was required of her, but Guy's return might impede her ability to research.

She descended the keep steps carefully, again pulling up her skirts and making sure of the placement of each foot before transferring her weight to it. The last thing she needed was to incur more injuries, especially in an era with such inadequate medical care. Hopefully, Jill, wherever she was, wasn't hurt. Although thoughts of Jill brought a catch to Joanna's throat, Joanna ignored them, reminding herself she had work to do.

Steeling herself against her returning claustrophobia in the narrow staircase, Joanna hoped she wouldn't encounter someone walking up while she was going down since there wouldn't be room for both of them on the stairs. Her chest tightened at the thought of such close quarters, but she forced the feelings away. She counted four levels before she reached the open door at the bottom of the steps that opened into the courtyard.

After her eyes adjusted to the brightness, Joanna pondered her next move. She would learn the most by interviewing the castle inhabitants, which wouldn't be difficult. She had always enjoyed talking with people. Jill said once that Joanna could carry on a conversation with a rock if necessary. Joanna would charm these castle people with her winning personality, and they would open their hearts to her.

The three women standing at the well in the bailey presented the best option for a first encounter. Joanna took two steps toward them before her foot caught on the hem of her skirt and she tripped. Fortunately, she regained her balance before falling in the dirt. The women stared with pinched faces as she lifted her skirts to walk more efficiently. Then, their stares turned to disgust, and the women walked away.

Unclear what she had done to alienate herself, Joanna continued to the well and paused there, plotting where to go next. A whiff of manure from the nearby stables reminded her of her horse from 2009. What had happened to him? Would anyone find him? The old woman had said Joanna couldn't get home without that horse. Did that mean Joanna was stuck in 1193?

A change in the wind brought the smell of baking bread to her attention. Perhaps one of the kitchen maids would speak to her. But when Joanna reached the kitchen door, the cook shooed her out with a broomstick as though Joanna were a stray cat.

Joanna rested her hands on her hips and surveyed her options. A group of children played behind her near the great hall. She had always liked children. But as she approached, they pointed at her in fear and ran away. Feeling awkward and embarrassed, Joanna looked for a place to regroup in private. She hadn't explored the eastern tower yet. Keeping her head high, she walked quickly toward its entrance, pushed the door open, and stepped inside.

Before her eyes could adjust to the darkness in the room, a heavy sigh caught her attention. Blinking, she admired the light coming through the stained glass window across from the door. Below it was an altar with a small wooden cross and a kneeling bench before it. On the bench knelt a man dressed in a blue doublet and lighter blue leggings. He sighed again then looked at Joanna expectantly.

"I'm sorry." Joanna felt silly that she hadn't noticed him sooner. "I didn't mean to disturb you."

"It's all right." He got up and brushed off his knees.

"Don't leave on my account. I can go."

The man shook his head. "I've said my peace, but no one's listening."

"It does feel that way sometimes. I'm Joanna."

"I'm Walter, Guy's constable. Did you ever marry?"

"No."

"Good for you. Biggest mistake of my life."

"I hope your wife doesn't hear you."

"She'd tell you the same thing." Walter shook his head. "She's in love with someone else—always has been. I thought I could win her over with time, but...take my advice and join a convent. The entire world would be better off if we left the opposite sex alone."

Walter exited the chapel before Joanna could respond. She followed him out and watched as he walked purposefully toward a young woman, grabbed her arm, and pulled her toward him. When the young woman turned, Joanna caught a glimpse of her face and recognized Bess. Now this was interesting.

Walter and Bess stood with their heads bent close together, conferring in low voices Joanna couldn't hear. Remembering her earlier conversation with the young woman, Joanna wondered if the intimate encounter indicated a sexual relationship.

"By the look on your face, you've had the same thoughts I have."

Joanna recognized Elaine's voice beside her. "So you think they're...?"

"She's sleeping with someone. That girl is playing with fire. Walter's wife, Gwen, is a mean-spirited woman. If she knew what was going on here, you can bet she would take her revenge—and poor Bess wouldn't stand a chance."

"I gathered Bess was having an affair with a married man when I spoke with her."

"I hope you talked some sense into her."

"I tried," Joanna said defensively, wondering why Elaine shoved this responsibility on her. "But I just met her."

"Of course. You'll forgive me. I have frustrations of my own. How are you finding the castle?"

"No one's brought out the welcome wagon."

"We don't take well to newcomers. Comes from living in fear. It didn't used to be that way. When I started in service years ago before Robin was born, this was a happy place."

"Before Robin was born?"

Elaine nodded. "Guy was a boy then, and a sad, skinny little one he was."

"Guy grew up here, too?"

"He and Robin are brothers. Didn't you know that?"

Joanna considered what she had learned about Marian so far. Robin and Guy were brothers, but Marian married _Guy_? The story was getting more interesting all the time.

"Those were the good old days." Elaine looked wistful. "Guy was seven years old when his mother, Lady Marguerite, married the old Earl of Huntingdon. Guy's father was a Frenchman who lost his land and title. The earl had no children from his first marriage, so he agreed to name Guy as heir in his will. Of course, when Robin was born a year after the marriage, that changed everything."

"How did Guy react?"

"He was such a lonely boy. He seemed genuinely delighted to have a brother. He doted on the little one with absolute adoration."

"What changed between them?"

"Looking back, I can see how the earl favored Robin—he was his own blood, you know—and Guy took it poorly, especially since Robin didn't seem suited to running a manor. Dearly as I love Robin, he was more interested in his adventures than his tenants and responsibilities. Guy practically raised Robin himself after the earl died when Robin was eight. All seemed well until four years ago when Lady Marguerite passed away. That's when Guy showed his true nature and the trouble for poor Robin began."

Joanna wanted to hear more, but Guy rode in, dismounting in front of the keep. A stable hand ran to Guy's horse and took the reins. Guy scanned the bailey with a frown, glaring when his gaze landed on Elaine and Joanna.

"I should get back to work." Elaine was gone almost before she finished her sentence.

Joanna wondered what had happened at Nottingham. She didn't know Guy well, but his sneer and narrowed eyes indicated something was wrong. Had he seen Jill? He motioned for her to approach. Lifting her skirts, she jogged toward him.

"What happened?" she asked. "Is there any news of my sister?"

"Oh, there's news and none of it good."

"She isn't...?" Joanna couldn't say the word _dead_.

"That depends." Guy positioned his hand on the small of her back and steered her toward the entrance to the keep. "Come with me."

# 10

Joanna picked her way up the stairs to the third floor and followed Guy to the room directly across the hallway from hers. Somehow she had expected more from the bedroom of an alleged lothario than the requisite bed, chair, table, trunk, and fireplace. The castle was undoubtedly clean, which was a welcome contrast to Nottingham Castle, but it was cold, too, both in temperature and décor. The thought of his room so close to hers concerned Joanna. Maybe Elaine had been right about Guy and his purposes for her.

After Guy closed the door, he leaned against it and studied her. His stare indicated he was cataloging her, noting her individual parts, probably judging her similarities to Marian. Some degree of connection existed between Joanna and Guy. She had felt it from the moment he first saw her. But if Guy was the great seducer Elaine claimed he was, he'd have to turn up the charm.

"I've seen your sister," he finally said. "She's with the outlaws."

"With your brother."

"So that's what Elaine was telling you. Keep in mind what she said is only her perspective. She served my mother for many years and was kind to me when I was a boy, but her affections and everyone else's switched to Robin when he was born. Imagine being a lonely boy, below everyone's notice until my mother married the earl. I finally had a father. It was the happiest time of my life. I was even happy to have a younger brother until everyone decided they loved him more than they loved me."

The sad, vulnerable man before her stood in stark contrast to the murderer she had witnessed yesterday. Which man was the real Guy?

"Our situations have some similarities," Guy continued. "Your sister, much like my brother, has made some very poor choices."

"What do you mean?"

"Little John escaped execution this morning. Robin Hood and his outlaws killed several townspeople. I did my best to rescue your sister. I even had her within my grasp. But Robin has already deceived her, and she refused to come with me. I have reason to believe he may have converted her to his evil cause."

No man could convince Jill to do anything Jill didn't want to. If Jill had joined a cause, it was because she wanted to.

"I overtook Robin as he was escaping the castle, taking your sister with him. I drew my sword to stop him, but the villain used her as a human shield to protect himself. I had no choice but to let them go. Knowing how precious she was to you, I would not allow her to be harmed. I regret, though, that I was unable to immediately reunite her with you as you had wished."

"You said he used her as a human shield?"

"He did. He's a coward."

The idea of Jill being used in such a way didn't fit at all with the woman Joanna had known for twenty-five years. Guy's story lacked credibility, but challenging him might place Joanna in an even more vulnerable position.

"What I've told you isn't the worst of it," Guy continued. "Robin pushed her off the castle wall into a hay wagon as a way to escape the sheriff's soldiers. He almost killed her."

Now Joanna knew Guy was lying. He should have stopped while he was ahead. But that was the way with liars. They always shared too much.

Guy took her hand and bent to kiss it but paused, looking up at her with mournful eyes. "I've failed you, Joanna, and I deeply regret it. But I swear to you that I will get your sister back for you, even if I have to kill every member of Robin Hood's outlaw band myself."

She tried to ignore the warmth of Guy's hand on hers as she considered the situation. Robin Hood had a high likelihood of being handsome, especially since he drew from half the gene pool Guy came from. If Marian was dead, Robin might be a bachelor. Given Jill's attachment to the legend of Robin Hood, she would have allied herself with the outlaw. In fact, being the only woman in Robin's gang was probably a treasured fantasy of Jill's. Guy could say what he wished, but Jill was precisely where she had chosen to be. Joanna had no intention of letting Guy know she was wise to his deception. Her best protection would come from playing along.

"I'm concerned you don't understand the gravity of the situation, Joanna." Guy squeezed her hand in both of his. "Robin is a convicted murderer destined for the gallows. Anyone found with him will be considered a fellow conspirator. Your sister might be killed in battle or even executed. My brother is not as gallant as I am when it comes to women. He's left a string of broken hearts behind him since he was old enough to speak."

"And you haven't broken any hearts?"

"I've taken it as my duty to clean up what Robin has destroyed. He seduced Marian, you know, and then jilted her when another woman with greater fortune captured his fancy. He broke her heart when he turned outlaw and ran off to the forest. I had always cared for Marian but wouldn't have dreamed of taking her from my brother. Once he was gone, I waited the appropriate amount of time before I approached her with my feelings. She rejected me at first. I had to woo her for several months to convince her that I was someone who would be faithful to her forever."

Joanna thought of what Elaine had told her about Guy and Marian and tried to reconcile the two portraits. Since she could not, she asked him what he was going to do next.

"I have the advantage of knowing Robin and his methods more intimately than most, which is why I hold the delicate favor of the sheriff. Given my brother's outlaw status, it's important for everyone on this estate that I maintain a good relationship with the sheriff. Otherwise, he could take these lands in the name of the king and hold them as his own. That, I promise you, would be very unfortunate for all the families both in service and farming. You've seen for yourself the sheriff's a cruel man."

"And you're not?"

"I take care of what's mine. There is no greater duty a man can fulfill."

Joanna pulled her hand away. If she let him continue to hold it, she might enjoy the experience, and that was unacceptable, given his propensity for lying. "So, what about my sister? How do you plan to rescue her?"

"There's a tournament in two days, and Robin will attend. He can't resist the archery contest. That's when we'll catch him."

"He won't suspect anything?"

"Now that he has your sister, he'll be anxious to have you as well. If I allow the news to slip through the proper channels that you will attend the tournament with me and the sheriff offers an appropriately rich prize for the archery contest, Robin will have no choice but to attend. I'll set a trap. Once we have him in custody, rescuing your sister will be easy and perfectly safe. When you cut off the head of a viper, he loosens his grip on his prey."

Joanna shuddered at the faulty metaphor. "And what do we do in the meanwhile?"

Guy gently pushed her hair back from her cheek. "Whatever we like."

Joanna tried to still the rapid beating of her heart. A man—no matter how handsome he was—who lied once would lie again. Mark had taught her that. Guy was dangerous.

Guy leaned in and paused inches before her lips, but he did not kiss her. Instead, he smiled. "It's time for supper. I'm ravenous."

She had no doubt what he was hungry for, but she took his arm when he offered it to her and allowed him to escort her toward the stairs. She had to let go, of course, when they descended the steps since the passage was narrow, but he glanced back at her several times, his eyes smoldering in a way that made her heart flip in her chest. No wonder Elaine doubted Joanna's ability to stay out of trouble.

The great hall was the size of the one in Nottingham Castle, but the floors were clean and covered with rush mats rather than loose rushes. While no ornate carvings adorned the fireplace or windows, the clean lines appealed to Joanna more than the fussy ornamentation she had seen at Nottingham. A fire burned brightly in the hearth against the wall near the dais. The air smelled of roasted meat and bread. Trestle tables had been assembled and were quickly filling with the castle inhabitants. As Guy escorted Joanna to the table on the dais, Joanna noticed Bess seated at a lower table farthest away from the dais. Bess looked away when Joanna smiled at her.

Three people already sat at the high table. Guy claimed the middle chair with the tall back. To Guy's right sat Walter whom she recognized from her earlier encounter in the chapel. Walter had his back turned to a thin woman Joanna assumed was his wife. The woman wasn't what Joanna considered pretty. She had a flat chest, plain face, and braided chestnut hair. If Joanna hadn't already known about the couple's marital difficulties, their body language would have told her everything. Walter's lips curled into a sneer. The woman, whom Guy introduced as Gwen, held Joanna in a severe gaze that communicated Gwen's contempt.

Guy motioned for Roger, who sat in the chair to Guy's left, to move over so Joanna could take his seat. As she sat down, Roger gave her a dirty look as he fiddled with his knife. A male servant poured wine from a pitcher first for Guy and then for Joanna.

No one at the high table spoke. Although she found the silence uncomfortable, Joanna didn't break it. Already feeling out of place, she didn't want to do anything to call more attention to her lack of understanding of the culture. When the food arrived, she didn't look at it too closely for fear she might see what was in it and be unable to eat. It was some kind of stew served in wooden bowls. Since there were no spoons, everyone used bread to dip into the bowl to eat from. Joanna awkwardly followed suit.

To distract herself from thoughts of what manner of liver, kidneys, or entrails she might be ingesting, Joanna studied the people at the lower tables. Bess kept stealing glances at the high table—quite brazen behavior given that Gwen sat right next to Walter. Elaine, who sat closer to the dais, seemed to be intently watching someone in the back. Joanna guessed the object of Elaine's attention was the tall, thin, older man who directed the distribution of the food.

Joanna was finishing her meal when Guy stood, and the room went quiet.

"I've a treat for you tonight," he declared. "This is Lady Joanna, a gifted storyteller. She's agreed to provide us with the evening's entertainment."

Joanna felt her food stick in her throat. It would have been nice if Guy had given her some warning. Then she could have prepared something. But politely declining didn't appear to be an option. She reluctantly got up from the table and walked around Roger to where she could stand in front of the high table and face the crowd. Her brain frantically searched for a story to tell, but all that came to mind was her own medieval story that her writers group had hated so much. What sort of cruel joke was the world playing on her?

With a deep breath, Joanna began her tale of a duke who fell in love with a common servant girl. The duke was married to a wicked woman he did not love. He could not marry the servant girl, but he slipped out of the castle to be with her every night and then returned to his bed by morning to keep their affair a secret. The servant girl became pregnant. When the duke learned of this, he sent the girl away to another land so his good name would not be tarnished by proof of the affair.

As Joanna described the anguish of the poor girl who nursed her baby and watched every day out the window of her remote cabin for the return of her lover, Bess's pale face stared at someone at the high table. Joanna turned to gauge Walter's reaction.

Walter dozed, his head resting on his hands. Guy looked amused. Roger played with his dagger while Gwen's eyes burned bright as coals.

Flustered, Joanna turned back to the crowd to finish the story. While her original version had resolved happily with the duke's return for the girl and her child, the mood of the room suggested her audience would not appreciate a Hollywood ending.

Creating the ending as she told it, Joanna shared how the servant girl raised her child in seclusion until one day word came that the duke had died. The servant girl took her son on a long journey back to the castle where she presented him to the duke's wife. When the powerful woman saw the boy, she could not deny that this was the son of her late husband. The duke and duchess had never had any children of their own. The duchess agreed to raise the boy as her own, but the servant girl would have to surrender all parental rights. The girl kissed her son goodbye then spent the night in the chapel where the duke had been laid to rest. When the doors were opened in the morning, the soldiers found the servant girl dead beside the duke's sarcophagus. Growing on the wall beside his tomb were two roses bushes sprouting out of the stone that filled the chapel with the scent of flowers.

"And so," Joanna concluded, "pilgrims from all over the country flocked to see the miracle wrought by the true love between those who had been kept apart for so long. The pilgrims came there to pray for blessings on their own love. The two lovers who were never able to find acceptance in life finally enjoyed eternity together in death."

What was going on? Were people _applauding?_ Gratified and confused by their praise, Joanna wondered if she had been wasting her time on happy endings when tragedy was her calling all along.

"Tell us another!" Elaine called out.

"Another!" someone else pleaded.

Joanna looked back toward the high table. Walter and Gwen were gone, but Roger was still there, frowning at her. Guy nodded his approval, and Joanna, heady with her success, searched her brain for another story to tell. Given her triumph with the medieval tale, she decided to move on to her wedding story. Perhaps she had been born in the wrong time period. Maybe she was really meant to be a bard of the Middle Ages. People seemed to appreciate her here.

As she looked back at the lower tables, Joanna noticed Bess was gone. Maybe the poor girl didn't feel well. The tall, thin man at the back of the room had also disappeared. Elaine seemed to be searching for him as well.

"Where I come from," Joanna began, "the wedding ceremony is considered by some to be the single most important event in a woman's life. Weddings are so lavish and well-planned that some families spend more money than they could make in a year to throw an elaborate party for their daughter, her new husband, and their guests."

Joanna went on to tell the story of a bride and groom who almost didn't marry due to a misunderstanding. On the day of the wedding, the bride and groom accused each other of cheating and threatened to call off the event. With some sleuthing, Joanna discovered that the maid of honor had been making out with the best man in the restaurant hallway during the rehearsal dinner. Both the bride and groom had seen this at different times and assumed the other was cheating. Once Joanna revealed the attendants' affair, the bride and groom reconciled, the wedding continued as planned, and everyone lived happily ever after.

This story was also well received. When the people at the lower tables applauded, Joanna looked back to Guy at the high table but found his place and Roger's empty.

As soon as the applause ended, people rose and began taking down the tables. Her moment of glory had ended—but what a glorious moment it had been!

Joanna wandered into the courtyard to breathe some fresh air. Again, the brilliance of the night sky caught her attention. She walked toward the well, careful in the moonlight and limited torchlight to watch her step so she wouldn't trip and accidentally fall in the cistern. She shivered at the idea of the long descent to certain death.

When she got to the well, something moved in the shadows.

"Who's there?" she called out, her voice shaky.

A tall, gangly youth, probably no older than sixteen, appeared. Joanna could only make out the faintest hint of his pale features in the dim light.

"I'm Gripple, one of the stable hands. I enjoyed your stories. Do you think you could tell one about a ghost tomorrow night?"

Remembering Elaine's account of Marian's ghost, Joanna's ears piqued. "You like ghost stories?"

The boy shrugged. "I've seen Lady Marian's spirit several times."

When Joanna asked where, he pointed toward the southern tower. "I sleep in the barn, but I come out here in pleasant weather. The ghost always appears in Lady Marian's window."

Gripple sat down facing the south tower, the well at his back, and Joanna joined him.

"What does the ghost do?"

"Sometimes she paces alone on top of the tower. Other times there's a light in the window behind the shutters. Some people say it's because the fires of hell are burning in there."

"And is there any sound?"

"Laughing."

Joanna pursed her lips in thought. "Is it an evil laugh?"

"More quiet, as though somebody's trying to keep it hidden."

An idea was forming in Joanna's mind of what exactly those "fires of hell" were, but it wasn't appropriate to share yet, especially not with a teenager. "Gripple, how many ways are there to get into the tower?"

"Two. One at the bottom. You can see it from here."

As Gripple pointed to the bottom right of the tower, Joanna caught the outline of an arched door.

"The other entrance is from the second floor. The people who have their rooms under the wall walk can go up and down that staircase if they choose, but most of them don't. Sir Guy sealed up Lady Marian's room when she died. Not a soul's been in there. Only a ghost could go through a sealed door."

Joanna suppressed a _yeah, right_ at Gripple's innocence. They settled into comfortable silence. His eventual steady breathing suggested he had fallen asleep. Beginning to feel cold and stiff, Joanna considered returning to her room, but the myriad of stars twinkled so beautifully she couldn't tear herself away. When she returned home—however that was going to happen—she would miss the stars the most. Contemplating the shimmering sky above Marian's tower, Joanna wondered how many of these stars were still shining in 2009. She felt an inexplicable connection to the ancient world, the world she was currently in, and her home. Although her parents and her life in Minneapolis seemed so far away, could the distance really be that far when the stars shone over them all?

But what was this? Two figures whose silhouettes were visible only by the starlight obliterated behind them moved at the top of Marian's tower. Joanna dug an elbow into Gripple's side to wake him up.

"Look!" Joanna hissed. "On the tower!"

Gripple sucked in his breath. "Ghosts!"

The shape of the silhouettes suggested a man and a woman. Although they started out standing very close together, the woman moved away, her body language suggesting annoyance or concern. To Joanna's horror, the man lunged toward the woman. She backed away from him toward the tower wall, and then, arms flailing, fell through one of the openings in the wall. Her scream and the sickening thud that followed would be engrained in Joanna's mind forever and feed her nightmares well into old age.

"It's the ghost," Gripple said, crossing himself.

"That's no ghost." Joanna scrambled to her. "Did you see the man up there with her?"

"No."

Joanna ran to where the body had fallen and knelt beside it without even thinking. No one could have survived such a fall onto cobblestone. The scream had awakened others, and people hurried into the courtyard with candles and lanterns.

"Bring me a light!" Joanna ordered.

Someone leaned in with a candle. Joanna took in the twisted body posture and knew, even though she had no medical training, the woman was dead. Her neck and back bent at unnatural angles. Joanna pulled down the woman's skirt to cover her exposed legs. Even though Joanna had no hope the woman was alive, she knew she should check for a pulse. The woman's face and neck were obscured by her loose, light hair. Steeling her courage, Joanna brushed the hair away and gasped when she saw the sightless eyes of Bess, her frightened face frozen in death.

# 11

## Sherwood Forest

When Jill's tears were spent and all she had left were a swollen face and runny nose, she knelt at the stream and cleaned herself up as best she could. The sobbing fit had been a purely physical reaction—understandable given the adrenaline surge, new surroundings, and impossible situation. She'd had no choice but to succumb to the biology of the moment. Anyone would have. But she felt better now. The cold water soothed her hot face and restored some degree of logic.

Wrapping herself in her cloak, she settled back between the roots of the tree to analyze the morning's events. While the rescue's theoretical concept had been sound, the failure lay in the lack of planning. Robin's charisma and energy came in a never-ending supply. He was undeniably charming. But he had no clear vision, and he certainly didn't give much thought to logistics. In fact, he didn't give much thought to anything or anyone besides himself.

Someone should have scouted the castle in advance. Even better, Robin needed spies who worked closely with the sheriff and Gisbourne and could forewarn Robin of important details such as whether or not the sister they were supposed to rescue had been switched out for a smelly teenage boy. The merry men were so merry they didn't pay attention to details, but details got people killed.

Robin had made a series of wrong moves since Jill had met him, miscalculating how his actions affected others, concerned only with his own affairs, and maddeningly blind to potential consequences. Jill could have died when they jumped off the castle wall. Little John could have been executed. Any one of the merry men could have been captured. And Joanna could be dead...

Jill shifted her position to allow the tree roots she leaned against to press on a different part of her back.

Joanna was _not_ dead. More than likely, she had found an ally somewhere. If Jill had landed with the outlaws and was enjoying a childhood fantasy, perhaps Joanna was savoring similar wish fulfillment—probably protected by some handsome stranger who whisked her away to his castle where he and Joanna engaged in some gothic romance.

Yes, Joanna enjoyed being the damsel in distress who always needed rescuing. Why couldn't she have stayed on the stupid horse and avoided the dramatics? That was what Jill did. Jill had made a lifetime of flying under the radar, plotting her moves both privately and professionally to avoid getting hurt. When the twins were little girls, Jill had always played the daredevil, the one who plotted new adventures and came up with the crazy ideas. But for all her planning, had Jill ever attempted those new schemes first? No, she had let Joanna try first and then judged her own involvement in the scheme based on Joanna's success or failure. This tactic had resulted in multiple injuries and humiliations for Joanna, all the while leaving Jill safe to analyze the outcome.

Until today.

Today Jill had been in the thick of danger and had come closer to death than she ever had before. The result was entirely unexpected—she felt invigorated _._ The last twenty-four hours had been the greatest adventure she had ever experienced. Coming that close to death and yet not dying had produced an adrenaline high she hoped to recreate. Having devoted her entire life to analyzing adventure and keeping the danger under control, how many opportunities had she missed out on?

She could have done so many things differently. But more importantly, she had lied to herself. The entire time that Jill had believed herself to be the greatest adventurer in the family, she ensured she played life the safest. The revelation of this self-deception had the power to change her entire life or ruin it. Maybe the real purpose of her life hid underneath all that.

The world was funny that way. A girl could go through her whole life believing life was a certain way, and then she took a horseback ride into the twelfth century and suddenly all she knew about herself and the world changed. Everything Jill had read about the Middle Ages told her it was a brutal place where a woman on her own couldn't survive for long. But here she was, alive and well, even after an impossible jump from a castle wall.

Jill shifted again, ignoring the damp seeping through her cloak and closed her eyes. At some point she needed to rescue Joanna, address the time-travel issue and figure out how to return to her present. She had to believe all the pieces of the puzzle would come together eventually, but fighting her current drowsiness wouldn't speed up the process. She let sleep win.

■ ■ ■

Even before she completely awoke, she heard someone move nearby. Immediately watchful, Jill opened her eyes to see Robin sitting several feet away, tossing pebbles into the stream one at a time where they landed with a steady _plop, plop_ _._ She felt instantly irritated and physically sore.

Robin's sheepish grin when he saw Jill was awake reminded her of a boy caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

"I made a mess of today's proceedings." He stared at the trees across the stream and snorted softly. "I had hoped to impress you."

He was fishing for comforting words she was in no mood to give. From a spot nearby he retrieved a stack of clothing Jill immediately recognized as Joanna's.

"I thought you might want these now that we've found Lester more suitable attire."

He handed her the clothes and sat down beside her. Jill took the sloppily folded khakis, shirt, and socks along with Joanna's shoes and placed them in her lap. The items would have to be washed before Joanna wore them again.

"What do we know about this kid?" Jill asked.

"Guy paid him to pose as your sister, threatened to kill him if he bungled the ruse, which is why the boy wanted to escape with us. I thought Lester might be a spy, but spying requires intelligence—and he's quite stupid. He's as much a victim as Joanna in all this, so I invited him to join our band."

"Did you make him fight you?"

Robin's brows knit. "Why would I do that?"

"Hello? What about challenging me to a duel with staffs on a slippery log above a stream? You made me earn my place, but you let some stupid teenage boy join you without even a thumb war?"

Robin tugged at his collar, which was already loose. "I suppose I hadn't considered the situation in that light."

Hearing her heartbeat in her own ears, Jill knew her emotions bordered on being out of control, but she didn't care. Robin was an idiot who deserved a piece of her mind.

"Out of curiosity, how do you plan on becoming a legendary outlaw when your membership requirements change according to your mood? How are you ever going to make a difference in this world when you do everything half-baked? You're a grown man, for crying out loud! Start acting like one."

Robin swallowed. "Legendary outlaw?"

"That _would_ be the only part you heard."

"What exactly does being a legendary outlaw involve?"

"A mission, a code, consistency, and focusing on someone other than yourself. Oh, and actually being able to pull off a plan successfully. That would help."

He rubbed the back of his neck. "As bent as I've been on revenge, I see I've missed a lot of opportunities. I watched you do things today that I'd never even considered. You gave a child in Nottingham your bread. You put yourself in jeopardy to free those prisoners. What gave you the idea to release them?"

"They were right there asking for it. Pretty hard to miss."

Robin threw another stone into the stream. "You're right that I held you to a different standard than I did Lester. Him I feel sorry for. But you I wanted to test. I knew you'd handle yourself well. From the moment you stepped into my life, everything started to change. I have a feeling this is only the beginning."

The words _What's that supposed to mean?_ sat on the tip of her tongue, but she didn't speak them because she knew the fearful and defensive tone with which she would say them. But what frightened her even more was how he might respond. She took a deep breath and changed the subject. "Who was that man in black who tried to stop us?"

"Guy of Gisbourne. My arch enemy—and my brother."

_That's a new twist._

"He knew our plan somehow. If you hadn't been there and distracted him, the situation might have ended quite differently." Robin's mouth tilted up into a lopsided, sad smile. "We've been playing this game of cat and mouse for three years. Today, I was grossly unprepared for the new circumstances, and I almost got myself killed. If you hadn't spoken to him..." He took her hand, wrapping his warm fingers around her cold ones. "I need your help, Jill. I don't want my life to be all about revenge anymore. I want to build something that will last, something that will make a difference. Will you help me?"

Jill's memory flashed back to the night of her birthday when she had joked with Joanna about the genius behind Robin Hood's image. Could that genius be Jill? Was it possible she had been transported to the past to teach Robin how to be the legend he was destined to be?

She looked into Robin's earnest blue eyes and knew her answer. "Of course."

"Excellent! Our first mission will be to rescue your sister. With your brains and my strength, we can't fail."

Holding Joanna's clothes in one hand, Jill allowed Robin to pull her up. As she walked with him to the camp, her spirits soared. Things had a way of working out. A plan for rescuing Joanna and returning to 2009 would come to her. Everything would turn out fine.

Jill smelled the roasted meat as she and Robin entered the camp. Most of the men were already eating around the fire. Little John, a head taller than everyone else in the camp even when he sat down, rose when Jill approached. His sad eyes reminded her of a whipped puppy. He hunched his shoulders as he walked toward her, his head down.

"I've upset you, Jill."

"Let's forget about it." Her statement came more from a need to preserve her dignity than from a show of generosity. She would rather everyone forget her emotional episode.

"I can't, though," Little John protested. "You and your sister look so much alike that I see you and think of how I failed her. If any of my sisters had seen the way I let Joanna be taken, they'd beat me with a thorny rod and set me to soak in salt water. Perhaps you'd feel some comfort if I told you how I found Joanna and how we were captured?"

Jill did a mental check to see if she might cry again, noting with satisfaction her waterworks were under control. "Tell me everything."

Little John motioned for her to sit by the fire. Taking a spot where he could face her, he folded his frame until his knees reached his chin. Robin joined them and handed her bread and meat. While she ate, Little John recited everything he remembered from first finding Joanna on the ground after her fall to Sir Horace taking her away. He ended with Guy coming to the dungeon to throw Lester (dressed as Joanna) into a cell.

"In my defense," John concluded, "it was very dark, and I hadn't known Joanna for very long."

"So she's a prisoner of Sir Horace now?" Jill asked.

"Not anymore." Robin rested his forearms on his knees. "Guy killed Horace and took Joanna for himself. From what we've heard this afternoon, Guy sent Joanna to Locksley Castle last night. We were already too late when he got there this morning. There's no way we could have saved her today."

Jill understood the justification Robin was trying to make and held back a smile at his insecurity. She recognized how frequently the name Locksley appeared in Robin Hood lore and asked Robin, "Locksley Castle—do you know it?"

"It's my ancestral home and my birthright."

"Will Joanna be safe there?"

"We still have good friends at Locksley. She'll be well looked after until we can rescue her. No need to worry."

So, at least one castle existed where Robin had an informant. Perhaps he wasn't as incompetent as she thought. But then another thought occurred to her that made her stomach tighten in panic. "Didn't you say that Guy killed Marian? What makes you think he won't kill Joanna as well?"

"His ultimate goal is to destroy me. Now that he knows Joanna has a sister who's part of my band, Joanna will be especially valuable to him. He'll use her as bait to catch us." His look gave Jill the impression he had more he wanted to say.

"What aren't you telling me, Robin?"

"Guy has always been more adept at winning feminine affection than I have. Since I was a boy, he has enjoyed multiple...conquests. And given how much you and Joanna look like Marian..."

"Yeah, I see what you're saying."

Jill debated Joanna's lack of self-control where men were concerned. Up until now, if a man made a move toward Joanna and he was reasonably attractive, she pursued him. But the breakup with Mark had shaken her badly. Would Joanna allow herself to fall for a man who was so obviously bad news? Probably. Joanna kept charging into the same situation over and over. Unlike Jill _._ Jill got hurt once and decided never to love again.

"Jill?"

"We need to get her out as quickly as we can."

Even as she said it, Jill felt disappointed. She wanted Joanna safe but not part of Robin's band. Jill had only begun to understand her own purpose. With Joanna present, the purpose wouldn't be only Jill's anymore. The twins had happily shared many toys, rooms, and experiences in their lives, but Jill had no desire to share Robin Hood's attention with Joanna or any other woman.

Little John rubbed his palms together. "May I ask you something, Jill?"

"Sure."

"Are you from the future?"

Jill felt her guard go up. "What makes you ask that?"

"Joanna told me she was from the year 2009. Then, in the sheriff's hall, she told a story of traveling through the air like angels and demons, putting a mark on the moon. Are all these things part of what is to come?"

Jill hesitated. She was already messing with the timeline by teaching Robin to be an outlaw, but if she already knew him as an outlaw in her own time period, that meant she had already been here and taught him what he needed to know. Still, it didn't seem like a good idea to share too much.

"Joanna's always been a good storyteller," she finally responded.

Little John looked at her a long moment, then shrugged, apparently content to let the matter drop.

A question occurred to Jill, and she wondered why she hadn't asked it before. "John, when you found Joanna, did you see her horse anywhere?"

"No."

Jill turned to Robin. "Could it have run far?"

"It would depend on how frightened it was. Someone has probably found it by now."

"I'll need that horse. Without it, Joanna and I may not get home."

"Stutely!" Robin motioned for the bearded man with the wild, dark hair to approach. "Take Lester and go in search of Joanna's horse. Jill, I assume the horse's tack will be similar to what we saw on your own steed?" When Jill nodded, he continued. "That's good because the horse will be easier to identify. Stutely, I want you and Lester to turn over every bush until you find that animal."

Stutely nodded and exited the camp with Lester loping behind him.

"This is one rescue mission we will succeed in today," Robin declared.

"Attention, everyone!" Alan interrupted. "I've written a new song in honor of today's adventure."

Robin planted his face in his palm. Little John cleared his throat ominously and made a slicing motion at his throat, but Alan seemed oblivious to the nonverbal cues as he plucked three chords on his lute and began to sing:

_The great Robin Hood meant to rescue a maid_

_Whose virtue was threatened by Gisbourne's_ _brigade._

_Fair sister was she to the lass of the band_

_Who'd throttled poor Robin at staffs hand to_ _hand._

_"I'll free thy poor sister," pledged Robin to Jill,_

_"I've naught been denied but one thing '_ _gainst_ _my will._

_While Guy might have stolen my birthright from me,_

_I'll have my revenge when I set thy kin free."_

This piece would end badly. Too bad Joanna couldn't teach the kid a thing or two about writing. Until now, Jill had never appreciated Joanna's poems. Most of them were free verse, but Joanna had written a few rhyming poems Jill kind of liked, and those were Pulitzer-Prize worthy compared to Alan's attempts. When they rescued Joanna, perhaps she could work with Alan. If Jill was going to improve Robin's image for the ages to come, someone needed to record his deeds appropriately. Joanna would be the right person to help.

Alan continued singing:

_But Guy, in his wisdom, showed he would laugh last,_

_For Robin's own arrogance proved him an—_

Alan's song stopped abruptly when Robin's fist met Alan's jaw before the insult could be completed. Alan fell backward off the log with his legs sticking up into the air. The men broke into laughter as Robin rubbed his knuckles then stomped off. Will led the gang in the chorus:

_Oh,_ _tra_ _-la-la-_ _lilly_ _and la-di-da-dum!_

_The life of an outlaw is a lonely one._

_But weep_ _not,_ _my_ _laddies_ _, our courage won't fail._

_We'll drown all our sorrows in tankards of ale._

At the end, as they had done the night before, the men raised their tankards in salute and took a long drink of ale before laughing again. Jill rose, intending to go after Robin, but Little John wrapped his giant hand around her forearm and gently pulled her down.

"Don't, lass. He'll need time to calm down. A man expects to be taken down a peg by his mates. But when his lady is present, that's a different matter. Rescuing your sister would have made him a hero in your eyes. Instead, it's been a day of constant shame."

"That seems a tad melodramatic."

Little John shook his head. "You don't know what he's given up. Playing the executioner is Robin's favorite role—he's always had a flair for theatrics, and he loves a good crowd. But he passed up the role _and_ missed a chance to kill Guy of Gisbourne because he didn't want to endanger you. Now, he's broken his word to you. So you see, the day has been difficult."

Jill wondered what Robin had told the men about his encounter with Guy. From what Jill saw, Guy clearly had the upper hand. Robin hadn't even had time to draw his sword. Only Guy's distraction when he saw Jill had allowed them to escape. Apparently, Alan wasn't the only member of the outlaw gang who embellished the truth when it suited him. But the mention of theatrics caught her attention. Bravado was already an integral quality of the gang. Could she harness that to provide Robin a better "stage" for his performances? She needed to think this through.

Alan pulled himself up, rubbing his jaw. Little John clapped the young man on the back.

"You were justly served for insulting Robin."

"I should be able to sing whatever I like." Alan's lower lip protruded. "I'm a minstrel, and we're expected to provide entertainment."

"It's not a free country, Alan," John instructed. "Play some music without words. That will keep you out of trouble."

John sat down next to Jill as Alan began to play a somber tune. Jill marveled at how tiny she felt next to the giant. His hands were the size of her head.

"Alan is the third oldest child of my oldest sister. He's always had a soft spot for the ladies and getting himself into scrapes. I remember when he was a boy..."

Little John continued the story, but Jill stopped listening. She didn't care what had happened to Alan as a boy and doubted it had any relevance to anything. John had a tendency to ramble about useless subjects, so she quickly tuned him out. Her thoughts returned to Robin. Little John had referred to her as Robin's lady. Did that mean Robin liked her? She blushed at the thought. Regardless of what had actually transpired between Robin and Guy today, Robin had retold the story as though he was defending Jill. Was this because he wanted to look valiant in front of his buddies or because he liked her and wanted to protect her? For a moment, her heart warmed, thinking of a man wanting to look out for her. In her experience, men only pretended to have her back when doing so suited their purposes. When she really needed someone, no one had been there.

She supposed there should be one great event that had made her distrust men so, one evil human being she could blame for breaking her heart and leaving her incapable of emotional intimacy. Truthfully, there was Brian, but as quickly as his name came to mind, she pushed it back into the vault where she kept all her memories of him. Certainly he had contributed to the current state of her heart. But her lack of trust in men came from a much broader experience of tiny slights relating to choices Jill made at a tender age. Early on in the twins' childhoods, Joanna had chosen the liberal arts as her passion. At age four, Joanna was already dictating stories for Mom to write down and commanding an audience with her cute antics. Jill had taken longer to find her passion. At age nine she consciously chose to read a children's scientific encyclopedia because Joanna would never do such a thing. Hence, Jill's separate identity was born, more out of a desire to be different from Joanna than because of personal passion. As the years went on, because Jill studied science, enjoyed math, and found herself in a man's world, the men she worked with accepted her but never saw her. She was their buddy for a superhero movie or the shooting range, but when it came to romance, guys looked elsewhere. A lifetime of being overlooked had made her doubt whether any man would ever look at her and see a woman. Jill had no desire to be the damsel in distress. She wanted to be the Bonnie to someone's Clyde, the _yin_ to someone's _yang_. She wanted a man who would see her as an equal and go on adventures with her. She didn't need rescuing like Joanna. She needed a questing partner, and Robin was the likeliest candidate she had ever met for that type of relationship.

"I see Alan didn't go down for long," Robin said, suddenly beside her.

Jill put a hand to her chest, unwilling to admit he had startled her. "At least he's not singing," she replied.

"His spirit is un-crushable. If only he were better with words."

While Jill had been lost in thought, most of the outlaws had retired to their beds except for Little John and Will who still sat by the fire. "Why do you keep him around then?"

"He used to be a clerk in Nottingham and even played for the sheriff on occasion. But he fell in love with the daughter of one of the sheriff's knights. Her father didn't approve. Alan escaped with his life—and his lute. Given my own hardship in love, I feel compassion toward anyone else who has suffered as well." She felt her stomach flutter as he whispered, "I can't imagine my good fortune that another man hasn't already won you."

Jill blushed.

Little John cleared his throat. "Will we have council meeting tonight?"

"Yes. Jill's our newest member. She has wisdom that will allow us to transcend our present reality and enter the halls of greatness."

Little John and Will blinked in silence for several seconds before Will spoke. "If you want her on the council because you like her, we're fine with that, too."

"Noted." Robin turned to Jill. "Jill, how do you think we should begin?"

"Do what you normally would," Jill assured him, aware of the cost to his ego the concession caused. "You're still in charge here. I'll jump in with a question or suggestion if I have one."

He straightened his shoulders and nodded to Little John who, after exchanging a glance with Will, pulled out a parchment scroll. Jill observed with amusement there were no words on it, only small pictures. It hadn't occurred to her until now that Robin and Alan were probably the only men in the camp who could read or write.

"Tell us what's on the schedule, Little John," Robin ordered.

Although Little John studied his drawings, Jill suspected the information was stored more in his memory than on the page.

"Well, today is Friday. Before Friar Tuck left, he said he wanted us at confession tomorrow. Mid-morning so the priest can see us in secret."

"Better cancel." Robin rubbed his chin. "I want the schedule open for the rescue operation."

"Alan's de-licing is also tomorrow," Little John continued.

"Add Lester to that," Will advised.

"Monday is tax day for the shire," John pretended to read. "But Sunday is the tournament—"

"So soon?" Robin interrupted. "I thought that wasn't until next month."

John shook his head. "You're thinking of the one at Barnsdale, which you're boycotting this year."

"Whatever for?"

"Wasn't someone cheating?" Will asked.

"The Duke of York," Little John confirmed.

"There's so much injustice in the world," Robin lamented. "I wish someone would do something about it." He turned suddenly to Jill. "Wait, is that someone me?"

"Yup."

"I haven't sworn anything about the Nottingham tournament, have I, John?"

"No," John replied. "But you do have a running vow that you won't step foot in the town center during market day again."

"What happened?" Jill asked.

Robin shuddered. "It involved a cart, two barrels of ale, and a fish wife with a whip."

Jill cocked her head, trying to picture what that might have happened. John seemed anxious to avoid further questions about it because he quickly moved on to the next item.

"At the tournament, we expect a poor turnout for the jousting contest since most of the knights are in the Holy Land with King Richard. So, the emphasis is on the sword fighting and archery."

"Really?" Robin's face brightened. "What's the prize this year?"

"A golden arrow."

Robin whistled in appreciation.

"It's probably not solid gold," Will offered. "The sheriff's too cheap for that."

"All the same, it surpasses those withered laurel wreaths I've won in the past. They aren't worth anything. But a golden arrow! With it I could purchase many loaves for hungry children."

Jill grinned her approval. Robin hadn't exhibited a great deal of original thought, but at least he was learning to imitate. That was a start.

Will stoked the fire. "I suppose we'll use plan 25."

"Ah, the traveling gypsies!" Little John smiled fondly. "I love playing the fortune teller."

"No." Robin's tone allowed no negotiation. "We'll use plan 14."

Jill raised her eyebrows. "Plan 14?"

"I compete in the archery contest as a stinking peasant with rotten teeth," Robin explained. "I'll look and smell so despicable that the sheriff and his men won't come anywhere near me. Then I win the golden arrow—"

"While the rest of us roam around in disguises," Will interrupted, "munching on turkey drumsticks and wenching."

"But what does this have to do with rescuing Joanna?"

"Everything. Don't you see, Jill?" Robin clenched his jaw. "While I'm winning the archery contest and attracting a crowd, you grab Joanna."

"If she's there, you mean."

"I'm certain she will be. Guy won't miss the chance to display Joanna and set a trap. When I go after her, he'll try to ambush me. We'll fight—and maybe I'll get to kill him this time."

Jill frowned. "Your plan is pretty vague."

Robin shrugged. "We have two days to prepare the details. I suppose you'll want me to draw a map in the dirt."

"That would be helpful."

"I'll do it tomorrow. I'm getting tired. Let's adjourn for the evening."

"Wait." John held up his hand. "There's something else bothering me. This afternoon I saw the Widow Tinsley. She told me she's behind on her taxes, and if she can't pay in full, the sheriff will turn her out. She'll be homeless."

"How dreadful!" Will lamented. "Someone should do something."

"The world is full of terrible injustice." Robin shook his head. "There are good people like her who are poor as field mice. Then we have rich sinners like the bishop who will parade through the forest tomorrow and flaunt his wealth. Too bad he won't share with those that need it."

"Then why don't you _make_ him?" Jill asked, wondering why no one had mentioned this before. When the three men gazed at her in confusion, she continued. "If this bishop has more money than he needs, you can _help_ him share it with the less fortunate."

"But that's stealing."

Jill would have laughed at this last remark if Robin's face hadn't been completely serious. "You're already an outlaw, and it's not exactly stealing. It's more like redistributing the wealth."

John frowned. "Isn't that morally ambiguous?"

"Of course it is," Jill retorted, "but not as ambiguous as living a life based solely on revenge."

Robin scratched his chin. "Will stealing from the rich to help the poor will make me legendary?"

"I guarantee it."

"Then we'll do it. No rich man will ever pass through our forest again without paying a toll to Robin Hood and his merry men! Jill, I'd be honored if you would assist us in planning the raid."

Jill bit her lip to hold back the swell of exuberance she felt at the idea and forced herself to look serious. "Sure, but first, I need you to walk me through what we already know about the bishop."

■ ■ ■

Two hours later, the new plan, number 54, had been thoroughly discussed and illustrated with multiple drawings in the dirt. A briefing for the merry men was planned for the morning. Marveling at how good it felt to have a group of men listen to her and value what she had to say, Jill didn't notice immediately how much of her personal space Robin had invaded while they walked away from the fire until they stopped in front of her shelter. As they faced each other in the silence, Robin's fingertips brushed back a strand of hair that had fallen across her cheek.

"Has any man ever told you that you're a beautiful woman?"

She swallowed hard. "Not recently." Or, more appropriately, _not ever_.

"You are."

"Is it because I look like Marian?" Although she feared his answer, she had to know he looked at her and actually saw Jill Mason, not the lost love of his youth.

"I'll admit, your resemblance attracted my attention, but you're very different from her. She was proper. I doubt a life in the forest would have suited her very well. But you seem to become more beautiful the longer you're here."

"I'm having fun. Actually, I don't think I've ever had this much fun before."

He leaned in close, and his lips touched hers. Jill's heart fluttered as she enjoyed the long embrace. If kisses were supposed to feel this way, then she finally understood why Joanna persisted in seeking new relationships after heartbreak. The quickened heartbeat and warm, tingly sensations could become addicting.

Robin pulled back long before she wanted him to and wished her goodnight.

Later, as she lay alone in her shelter trying to sleep, she pondered the events of the day. Life certainly had a way of surprising a girl. For so long Jill had craved a purpose for her life, a way to make a difference and find meaning, and someone special to share the adventure with. Now, here she was, almost a thousand years in the past, and she had everything she wanted. Well, almost everything. She longed to be able to discuss the events of the evening with Joanna who had the experience and perspective to help Jill know how to treat Robin tomorrow morning and how far she should let their relationship progress.

No one understood Jill like Joanna did, and Jill missed her sister with an intensity that momentarily overpowered her feelings for Robin. She missed her parents, too. True, she was an adult and didn't need them the way she had as a child, but family had been at the center of every important moment of her life. Was the elation of romantic love and life's purpose worth the sacrifice of the people who had been at the center of her life for the last twenty-five years?

If she were in the movies, the choice would be clear. Movie heroines regularly abandoned everything familiar and familial to pursue love and adventure, hardly stopping for a goodbye or even a wistful tear. But Jill wasn't a character in a movie. She was a real person with a real heart and a real family she might never see again. Even if she felt gloriously happy cavorting with Robin in the forest, what would happen to Joanna? How would her parents feel, never seeing their twin daughters again? Her father would blame their disappearance on the British. Jill had to smile thinking of the international scene he would cause when the twins did not return. But the smile faded away as she considered the loss, grief, and pain her parents would suffer. Mom would never get over it.

Jill would rescue Joanna and find a way back to 2009 because she had to. In the future, Jill would spend more effort proving to her father that the British shouldn't be penalized for how they treated the colonists in the eighteenth century. She could never tell him she kissed Robin Hood, of course, but as she drifted off to sleep, an image floated into her dreams of her father meeting Robin Hood and upbraiding him for having allowed taxation without representation.

# 12

## Locksley Castle

Joanna was going to be sick. She expected to vomit onto Bess's body or the shoes of the man holding the candle. This felt different than seeing Horace killed. Horace would have done unspeakable things to her. She was glad he was dead so he couldn't hurt her or anyone else. But here lay a beautiful girl Joanna had known, a girl whose greatest fault had been falling in love with someone of a more privileged class. Now, this girl was broken and dead, the blood from her head trickling like tiny rivers in between the pavers of the castle courtyard.

"What's happened?" Guy pushed through the crowd until he stood beside the body. When he saw the girl's face, he swore.

"Someone pushed her." Joanna's voice sounded small in her own ears.

"You saw this, Joanna?" Guy's voice sounded frantic.

Gripple cleared his throat. "Joanna and I were watching for the ghost when we saw Bess fall. Joanna saw another person on the tower as well."

Guy grabbed Joanna by the shoulders. "Who? Who did you see?"

"It was a man. I don't know who. He pushed Bess off the tower."

"He might still be up there. You men, come with me!"

Trying to pull herself together, Joanna looked at the body and knew this image would be emblazoned in her memory for as long as she lived. Bess's hair was undone, and the long golden strands teased lightly about her face in the evening breeze. What should Joanna do now? There were no emergencies services to call for help.

"Step back, give us some room."

Joanna heard Elaine's capable voice and felt relief that someone else was here to take charge. Elaine knelt and crossed herself.

"God rest her soul. She was a troubled girl." Elaine closed Bess's eyes and put a hand on Joanna's knee. "We need to move her inside."

Elaine motioned to two men nearby and ordered them to take Bess to one of the rooms on the first floor of the keep. When the body had been removed, Elaine pulled Joanna into a standing position.

"Death comes to us all," Elaine whispered in Joanna's ear. "You can still do her service if you keep your head."

Joanna nodded dumbly.

"There's no one up there." The voice belonged to Roger.

Guy and the men with him had returned to the courtyard. His face was taut with anger as he again seized Joanna by the shoulders. "Did you see his face?"

Joanna felt like she was crawling out of a tunnel as she tried to speak. "Only his silhouette."

Guy cursed again and released her. "I want a roll taken of the castle. We need to know if anyone's missing. Roger, see to it."

"Come with me," Elaine whispered, leading Joanna toward the keep. Another woman, older than Elaine, fell in with them. Joanna followed them into the tiny room where the men had laid Bess on a table. The three women stood staring at the body for several silent moments.

"We should notify her kin," Elaine finally said. "Do you know her family, Maude?"

The older woman nodded. "Her father's a cooper. From Barnsdale, I believe."

"Who could have done this?" Joanna asked.

"I don't know for certain." Elaine sounded as though she was choosing her words carefully. "But I do know we need your help."

"Me? What can I do?" Joanna looked at the body and shuddered. She knew that people in the Middle Ages prepared their own dead, and she wasn't at all interested in being part of that.

"The stories you told tonight in the hall," Elaine began. "They were true?"

"Sort of." Joanna didn't have the heart to be completely honest.

"You solve mysteries."

"Yeah, but I've never solved a murder."

"Then this will be your first." Elaine's tone indicated the matter was settled. "If you don't find the man who killed Bess, he'll kill again, don't you see?"

Choosing to ignore the implication, Joanna crossed her arms. What if she got it wrong? What if Guy was the one who killed this girl? Would Joanna be able to save Jill if Joanna accused him of murder?

"It _has_ to be you." Elaine stared at Joanna as if trying to make her understand. "Guy may have brought you here for his own purposes, but Providence has something else in mind. I'd say it's more than coincidence that when Bess is murdered, we have a mystery solver in the castle."

That didn't make any sense. No one in their right mind would choose Joanna for anything like this, especially if they knew her. She swallowed hard. "We should notify someone with more experience in these things, like the Sheriff of Nottingham."

"Absolutely not!" Elaine's voice was sharp. "The sheriff is looking for an excuse to seize this castle and its land for himself. There are good people here who must be protected. Guy favors you, and that puts you in a unique position to explore this murder and bring the man who killed Bess to justice, no matter who he is."

"Even if it's Guy?"

"Especially if it is."

Joanna covered her face with her hands. She had no idea what she was doing.

"Joanna, there comes a time for each of us when we have to decide how we're going to live the rest of our lives. Are you in control of your life, or are you turning that control over to a man?"

"I'm in control."

Elaine and Maude nodded.

"I understand what you're saying," Joanna conceded. "I can't promise anything, but I'll do my best. What happens to Bess now?"

"Maude will get her fit for her family to see."

"Most people at the castle have no kin here," Maude added. "I've put the dead to rest for forty years at Locksley. I should straighten her before the stiffness sets in."

Maude set to work right away. Joanna covered her face with her hands but watched the process through the spaces between her fingers.

"It's the same as Lady Marian," Maude observed.

Elaine nodded in agreement. "She landed in the same manner as well."

"What do you mean?" Joanna asked.

"Broken necks, both of them." Maude turned Bess's head to examine it more closely. "And broken skulls. You don't forget such a thing as that. Elaine and I were in this very room with Lady Marian two years ago."

Joanna shivered involuntarily. "Who was Bess's lover? If we knew, we'd have a suspect and possible motive."

Elaine frowned. "Whoever bedded her had some funds. She hinted once that he gave her expensive gifts."

"Might he have given her a ring?" Maude asked. "Because that's what's on the end of this necklace." She pulled the chain from around Bess's neck and passed it to Joanna.

It had to be a man's ring. The wide silver band expanded into an oval approximately an inch and a half high. Before the oval on each side of the ring was carved a _fleur de_ _lis_. Inside the oval nested a yellow cabochon inlaid with a red heraldric lion standing on its hind legs and facing left, forelegs pawing the air with claws extended.

"Do you recognize it?' Joanna asked Elaine.

"God strike me if I don't." Elaine crossed herself. "That's the Gisbourne family crest. This ring belongs to Sir Guy."

Joanna felt as though someone had punched her in the stomach.

"He's done it again." Elaine's expression was grim. "He killed Marian and Daisy, and now he's killed poor Bess."

"When Bess and I spoke earlier today," Joanna remembered, "She had this ring hanging around her neck. She said it was a gift from her lover. If Guy gave it to her, why would he kill her? That strikes me as the kind of ring a man only gives someone he cares about."

Maude shrugged. "We've all seen Guy manipulate people."

Joanna thought of Guy's plan to use her as bait to catch Robin Hood. She hadn't thought to ask what the danger would be to herself or Jill with such a plan. Guy might be capable of killing a beautiful woman, or any woman for that matter.

"He killed her." Elaine's tone indicated she did not expect to be challenged on the subject.

"But why?" Joanna argued. "What we know so far doesn't make any sense. We need to know who was absent from the hall."

Elaine rolled her eyes. "Seems a lot of trouble when the answer is clear."

"We can't just see what we want to see." Joanna spoke to herself as much as to Elaine because Joanna felt certain Elaine wanted Guy to be the murderer while Joanna wanted exactly the opposite to be true. "We have to be objective about this and investigate. So, if I was trying to figure out who was in the hall and who wasn't, who could help me?"

"Sirsalon the butler," Maude suggested. "He keeps careful track of everything in the hall."

"And little track of anything else," Elaine added bitterly.

Remembering the way Elaine had watched the tall, thin man with a beak-like nose in the hall that night, Joanna mentally filed away that piece of information for later contemplation.

"I'll go talk to him, then." Joanna tucked the ring into the tie-on pocket she wore.

"I have quite a bit of work to do." Maude picked up Bess's limp hand and laid it on the girl's chest.

Elaine adjusted her apron. "Gripple can deliver the news to Bess's father. He's fast on his feet."

Joanna and Elaine walked out together. As they walked toward the hall, Joanna asked, "Could you help me find something to write with, like quill and ink, and some parchment?"

"Why?"

"I need to keep track of the clues."

"I'll see what I can do."

Joanna found Sirsalon in the great hall directing the servants who were cleaning the room after supper. When Joanna approached him and introduced herself, he stared down his nose at her.

"You strike me as a very observant man," Joanna began. "I doubt anything happens in this castle without your noticing. I'm wondering, did you notice anyone leave the hall early tonight?"

"I noticed _you_ didn't leave," Sirsalon replied.

"Obviously." Joanna held back a sigh of irritation at the way he dodged her question. "Someone was up on the tower with Bess when she fell. I'm trying to determine which people weren't accounted for so I can narrow down the suspects."

"Suspects?" Sirsalon looked indignant. "It was a suicide."

"Is that what you think?"

"This castle is a depressing place to live."

"Suicide seems a little extreme, especially for a girl so young."

"It's the young ones who often commit suicide. They're naive enough to believe there's an escape."

Smart-alecks apparently existed in every time period.

"Elaine suggested I talk to you." Joanna watched his face closely for a reaction, hoping this new ploy would work. She detected a softening in his features at the mention of Elaine's name. "She said you know everything that goes on in this hall. I could really use your help."

"Then let me share this helpful news. I've learned the best way to stay alive is to not say anything at all. Bess should have known that, and if you're smart, you'll learn it too."

He raised his eyebrows significantly and then walked away.

Discouraged, Joanna left the hall, but as she stepped into the blackness, she heard someone whisper her name. She didn't see anyone, so she turned twice before she discovered a figure motioning to her from the shadows. Swallowing her fear that this person might actually be the murderer, Joanna walked slowly toward the shadow. As she got closer, she could see it was a short man with a round face and no front teeth.

"Bunt is my name," said the man in a nasal voice. "I'm the baker. I heard you talking to Sirsalon, and he's not telling you everything. See, he does know who comes and goes from the hall, most of the time, but he doesn't tonight."

"Why not?"

"Because he wasn't there, see?" Bunt chuckled heavily, like a child taking delight in tattling. "We in the kitchens know he's got himself a lady friend, see? Sometimes we catch him whistling to himself or picking flowers. He tries to keep it secret, see, but we all know."

"Who is his lady friend?" Joanna asked, thinking of Elaine.

Bunt's face fell. "Well, we haven't quite figured that out. But it doesn't matter, see, because Sirsalon left the hall tonight, while you was telling that lovely story, and maybe he was the one you saw on the tower with young Bess."

Bess and Sirsalon. Joanna tried out the image of the two of them together in her mind, but she couldn't see it. She was about to thank him and turn away when she stopped. "Did _you_ notice who else was gone from the hall?"

"The whole high table—Guy, Walter, Gwen, and Roger."

Joanna thanked Bunt for his help and decided to go to bed. As she climbed the stairs of the keep, her head spun. Fatigue prevented her from thinking clearly. She needed to write things down, but Guy had her journal and her purse. As she opened the door of her room, she thought longingly of her wedding notebooks full of sticky notes, index cards, removable pages, and photos, all categorized and clearly labeled with printed tab dividers. In the dim light of the fire, a figure stirred. _Guy_.

She pressed her hand to her chest in a futile attempt to calm her racing heart. "You startled me."

"What have you found?"

Thinking of the ring in her pocket, Joanna wondered how much to tell him. "Not much yet. Did you finish your census?"

"Everyone is accounted for but Walter and Gwen. They had an argument, apparently, and now they're both missing."

"What were they fighting about?"

"I don't know."

They stood in silence for several seconds before Guy spoke what she was thinking.

"You think I killed Bess." His expression looked pained. "I wasn't anywhere near the tower when she fell. The story you told—it made me think of Marian. I came back to my room to be alone."

"And were you alone?" Joanna pulled out the ring and gauged his reaction.

His face was inscrutable as he took the ring from her and rubbed his finger affectionately over the crest. "Where did you get this?"

"We found it on Bess's body."

"This was meant to implicate me," Guy concluded. "I lost this ring two weeks ago. I've had the servants turning over the castle for it. It belonged to my father. This coat of arms used to stand for the Gisbourne property in France, but such a place no longer exists. My father died penniless when I was a boy. This ring was all that was left of my father's estate. I would never give it away."

"Not even to a woman you loved?"

Guy snorted. "What would a woman want with such a thing?"

He snapped off the chain the ring had hung on, cast it into the fire, and slid the ring on his finger.

"Did Marian fall from the tower as well?"

Guy was silent for several seconds. "I've never killed a woman, Joanna. Men, certainly—but never a woman."

Joanna wanted to believe him. Guy stood close to her, so close she could feel the heat from his body, and delicately pushed her hair back from her face. Her throat felt tight.

"I need your help, Joanna." His voice was rough. "Clear my name. Find the true murderer, and I'll make him pay for what he's done."

Joanna swallowed hard. "I could work more easily if I had my purse and my journal back."

Guy leaned in and kissed her neck. "Clear my name, and it's yours."

Her head was so foggy that she couldn't think clearly. She wanted him to kiss her again and again. Once she gave in, she wouldn't be able to stop the momentum. That was how it had been with Mark—this same, pleasurable impulse when he was close, the longing for him to touch her. But Guy was even more magnetic than Mark. His air of danger pulled her in and made her want to—

_Wait a minute._ This was how she _always_ got into trouble. She consistently fell for the wrong man and gave in to her feelings instead of what logic told her—that this man was bad news. Hadn't Elaine predicted Joanna would end up in Guy's bed? Didn't women who were involved with Guy end up dead?

Joanna pressed her hands against Guy's muscular chest and pushed him away. "I need sleep."

"Is that all you need?" Guy studied her with smoldering eyes, and Joanna knew that if he approached her again, she wouldn't have the strength to resist. She crossed her arms and tried to look stern.

"For tonight, yes."

Guy grinned rakishly and exited. When he was gone, Joanna collapsed on the bed and breathed a sigh of relief. _That was close._

Elaine sent a serving girl Joanna hadn't met before to help her undress. The girl didn't talk much, and Joanna didn't question her. It was late, and Joanna felt exhausted and achy. But as she crawled into bed, she knew she couldn't sleep. She kept replaying the scene of Bess's murder, and every time she closed her eyes she saw Bess's pale face with her dead eyes staring lifelessly at Joanna.

First thing tomorrow she needed to examine the murder site again in broad daylight. She also needed to get into Marian's room. Having a plan of where to start her day gave her some degree of peace. When she finally fell asleep, Joanna dreamed she stood on top of the tower. Every time she turned around, Guy pushed her off. She tumbled again and again, but right before she hit the ground, she woke up sweating.

# 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 were 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 quickly 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 bowstring 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 longbow 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 farther 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. 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 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 bowstring. 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 clergyman 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 blade 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 chest, 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 altarpiece. 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 something was 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."

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 fingertips.

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 were 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.

# 14

## July 18, 1193

## Locksley Castle

Joanna awoke before the sun rose, thinking about the murder—not surprising since she had dreamed about it all night. Her experience with event planning, stressful as it was, felt trivial compared to the responsibility of solving the murder of an innocent girl. Joanna lacked the life experience and the skills to do this right.

But she knew that despite her shortcomings, investigating this murder had fallen to her. Not because she had asked for it, not because she wanted it, but because the universe had given her the task, and she had to believe she would have the intellectual capacity and the resources to solve the crime.

Without the benefit of DNA, microscopes, fingerprints, or computers, she would have to rely solely on her own powers of deduction, and that was something she did every day, whether it meant revising a story, handling a botched cake delivery or dealing with jilted brides.

Guy, Walter, Roger, Gwen, Sirsalon, and Bess had all left the great hall early last night. If Walter and Bess were having an affair, then the person with the best motive to kill Bess was Gwen or possibly Walter himself. If Bess had threatened to tell Gwen about the affair, Walter definitely had motive.

As the first rays of light peaked through the shutters, Joanna threw off the blankets and shivered. She couldn't stay in bed any longer. She needed to get up and dress—provided she could figure out how to reach the bodice laces.

The door flew open, and Elaine entered. Joanna jumped in surprise.

"About time you were up," Elaine said. "Some of us have been working all night."

Joanna pondered how long Elaine had been waiting outside her door for signs of stirring.

Elaine picked up the clothes Joanna was to wear and motioned for her step into the skirt. "Do you want a fire?"

As much as Joanna did want a fire, she heard in Elaine's tone that there was no time for one. "While that would be nice, I think I should get started with my investigation."

Elaine slipped the bodice over Joanna's head and began lacing up the back, pulling the bodice tighter than Joanna would have liked.

"Aren't there some clothes I could get in and out of myself?"

"You need to dress like nobility to get respect. The peasants won't think much of a lady in servant's clothes investigating a murder."

"I doubt they think I'm a lady, regardless of what Guy said."

"Then there's no need to give them further evidence, is there?"

Once the dressing was done, Elaine motioned for Joanna to sit down so Elaine could brush her hair. Although Joanna's forehead was still sore, she noticed Elaine brushed more carefully around the wound today. Joanna took several sips of the ale Elaine brought her and wished for tea. Breakfast would have been nice, but early morning meals didn't appear to be common practice at Locksley.

"Where will you start today?" Elaine asked.

"Walter and Gwen are missing, so that puts them at the top of my list of suspects. However, I'd like to take another look at Bess and talk to Maude again."

"Maude's been working all night. If you hurry, you should still find her with Bess."

Several minutes later, Joanna entered the room on the first floor of the keep where Maude was tying a rag under Bess's chin to keep the mouth from gaping. Maude had washed the blood away and carefully arranged Bess's hair, tying it at the side with the remaining length curling on her shoulder. Even though Bess's skin had turned a pale gray in death, she looked peaceful. Joanna wanted to remember the girl this way instead of the way she had found her last night.

"You've done well," Joanna said.

Maude shrugged. "We each have our services to give. This at least will give her family some comfort. I had to work all night as there was much to be done. There usually is when so many bones are broken, especially about the head. I did what I could with her hair, given the circumstance. If I have my choice, Bess will be the last woman I care for who's fallen to her death."

The reference reminded Joanna that Maude had also laid out Marian's body. "You said last night that when Marian died, her injuries were similar to Bess's?"

"Yes, with some differences. This is a silly thing to note, but it might be helpful to you. The back hem of Lady Marian's dress was torn, and her ankle was broken. Of course, many bones broke in the fall. But Bess had no torn hem or broken ankle. And there's something else I didn't discover until the benefit of the morning light. Bess was pregnant."

Joanna's mind flashed back to the way Bess had held her stomach yesterday, the way she had seemed easily winded. A pregnancy would make sense. The idea was so tragic, though, that Joanna felt sick and was glad she hadn't eaten breakfast after all.

"How far along was she?"

Maude shrugged. "A few months. She wouldn't have been able to conceal it much longer. The news of this would shame her family."

"I want to be sensitive to their loss," Joanna agreed, "but if we're going to catch her killer, we may not be able to keep the pregnancy secret for long."

After telling Maude goodbye, Joanna stepped into the bailey, now bustling with life as the castle inhabitants went about their morning chores, and worked her way through the crowd toward Marian's tower. She wanted to see what the crime scene looked like in daylight.

She entered the tower door that opened onto the bailey. The door pulled toward her easily when she tugged on the metal ring attached to the center. After a quick glance back at the bailey, Joanna closed the door behind her. Her eyes needed to adjust to the dark before she climbed the stairs. The ground-floor room contained nothing but a table, some chairs, and a few barrels. The tiny slit of light that entered from the arrow loop revealed numerous cobwebs.

The circular stair led to her right. With skirts in hand, she ascended the steps carefully. On the second floor, there were two doors, one to the left and one to the right of the steps. The one on the right was ajar. Through the opening, Joanna saw the long, dark corridor that ran underneath the wall walk and led to the gatehouse. Tiny rays of light peeped through the arrow loops. Someone could have easily slipped into the tower using this second-floor entrance without being visible to anyone in the bailey.

As Joanna continued up the stairs to the top of the tower, she allowed herself a disbelieving laugh at the idea that she was trying to solve a crime based on techniques she had seen on TV. She really could use some help. If she ever had to solve another murder, she hoped she had some sort of law enforcement officer to assist her.

The next floor also had doors on the left and right. The door on the right opened up to the wall walk. The door on the left was locked. Joanna climbed another flight of stairs until she found herself on top of the tower and at the scene of the murder. The stone wall on top of the tower and the castle walls was a sawtooth pattern with openings one could easily see step into for shooting arrows or falling, as Joanna had witnessed last night. She remembered from her research that these openings in the call were called crenels. As she circled the top of the tower, she looked for anything of interest on the stone floor or walls.

Identifying the crenel Bess probably had fallen from, Joanna braced her hands on the stone and leaned out, confirming Bess's landing place in the courtyard. Heights didn't normally bother her, but the blood stains on the cobblestones below served as a reminder of how fleeting life could be. Both Marian and Bess had died here.

Bess had stood about where Joanna was now with the man a bit farther back. Where had he gone after he pushed Bess off the edge? Still looking at the crenel, Joanna took a long step backward to place herself in the killer's position. The floor gave way beneath her, and she fell, landing heavily and sliding on her right elbow as it collided with the wooden floor to save her head.

The pain was immediate, and she let out a choice word. She pushed herself up slowly, mentally taking stock to see what was hurt. Her tailbone was going to be sore, but what really smarted was her elbow. Had she broken it? No, she could flex it. Rotating the arm, she saw the sleeve was torn, and her elbow was bleeding. Elaine would not be pleased. Joanna's foot ached as well. She checked her ankle, but she had only scraped the skin at the ankle bone.

Apparently, a floorboard was loose. She pressed on the board, noting it swiveled both toward her and away from her, probably due to a rotting subfloor. No wonder she had fallen. She rolled carefully to her side, preparing to get up, when she saw a dark brown stain on the wood a few inches beyond where she had scraped her elbow. Perhaps the killer had slipped after pushing Bess, which would explain his sudden disappearance. But how would she prove it? Search the castle for skinned elbows? The killer would have scraped himself up pretty badly to leave that much blood on the boards, which meant he would have a nasty scab, a blood-stained shirt, and a bandage.

Now Joanna needed to find Marian's room. Descending the stairs, she began her search. The door to the third-floor room was locked with spider webs stretched across the door. It hadn't been opened in a while. But the door on the second floor presented a different opportunity. Not only was the doorway clear of cobwebs, but a key was lodged in the lock. Someone had been in this room very recently.

Before entering, Joanna turned the key back and forth. Given the smoothness of the lock and the balance of the door, this room had been opened and closed many times. Removing the key, Joanna entered, closing the door behind her. She knew she was the only person in this tower, but she didn't like the idea of someone being able to sneak up behind her through the open door.

Turning around to take in the room, Joanna realized with horror that she was not alone. The bed curtains were tied back, which meant she had no trouble seeing the dead body of Walter's wife Gwen lying on the turned-down blankets.

Joanna didn't scream. Instead, she stopped breathing for so long that she wondered if she would ever breathe again. Gwen's pale skin and cloudy eyes indicated she had been dead several hours. There was nothing anyone could do for her now. Although Joanna's heart raced, she willed herself to be calm. If she called anyone else, the crime scene would be disturbed, and she might lose clues. Two women were dead in less than twenty-four hours. The killer must be stopped.

But to stop a killer, she had to see a little better. Setting the key on the table, Joanna tried to open the shutters to the inner bailey, but they were stuck. She had to brace her foot against the wall and pull with both hands before they opened. The shutters at the outside window were similarly warped and difficult to open. With sunlight streaming in, Joanna could see no dust had collected on the surfaces in the room. Someone cleaned this room regularly.

Her hands shaking, Joanna approached the body. The face had a bluish tint with multiple bruises forming on the neck, probably indicating strangulation. The skirt Gwen wore at dinner had been removed and cast onto the end of the bed. Her bodice hung loosely over her chemise. Lifting the body carefully, Joanna saw that the bodice had been partially unlaced. Gwen wouldn't have been able to do that herself, so someone else had been in the room with her. Her messy brown hair indicated a struggle. Her fingernails were also broken and bloody. Mixed in with the blood were black flecks Joanna didn't recognize.

Although Joanna did not feel the same level of empathy for Gwen as she did for Bess, the sadness of a life lost lay heavily on her heart. No one deserved to die this way. Confident Maude would provide any further details necessary about the corpse, Joanna turned back to an examination of the room.

At a table set up as a primitive vanity with a hand mirror, Joanna grimaced as she checked her reflection. Her bruised forehead and short hair coupled with a medieval gown looked downright silly. She should grow her hair out. Adjusting the mirror to better view herself, she caught sight of Gwen's body in the reflection and quickly replaced the mirror on the table. Worrying about her own appearance at a murder scene was completely inappropriate.

An untarnished silver hairbrush also lay on the vanity. Someone must be polishing the silver as well. Regular cleaning indicated regular use. This confirmed Joanna's suspicions—there was no ghost, only real women meeting a lover for a night of passion. Picking up the brush, she noticed a long blonde hair in the bristles. Gwen had brown hair. Marian's hair must have been dark like Joanna's given their similarity in appearance. What blonde would have used this brush?

Bess.

Joanna returned to the bed and studied the linens around Gwen's body. A few long, brown hairs lay on the blankets, and the hair color matched Gwen's. But on one of the pillows something glinted in the sunlight—a long blonde hair, identical to the one Joanna had found in the brush. Bess again.

Returning to the trunk, Joanna knelt before it and opened the lid to discover clothes. As she removed the articles, she noticed wrinkles and the occasional food stain. These items must have been worn recently. Joanna sniffed them and detected human sweat. How many women in the castle right now wore pieces of Marian's wardrobe?

After replacing the clothes in the trunk, Joanna peeked under the bed to discover a small chest which, unlike the other items in the room, hadn't been disturbed for some time. When she pulled it out, it was covered with a thick layer of dust.

The unlocked chest appeared to hold odd treasures from Marian's life. Joanna found a few pieces of jewelry which were heavier and uglier than she would have thought possible as well as several ornate rings. As she picked up a heavy necklace, a jewel fell off and clunked to the bottom of the box. She rummaged for it. Her fingertips rubbed something smooth and supple—a piece of parchment. She would hang onto that in case Elaine didn't come through with the writing materials Joanna had requested. When Joanna fished out the parchment, something metallic landed inside the chest beside the jewel—a ring.

It was the strangest ring Joanna had ever seen. The thick band appeared to be a combination of iron and bronze. She slipped it on her forefinger and puzzled over its odd design. There was no gemstone. Instead, a square piece of metal with sharp indentations protruded half an inch from the band and lay parallel to it. Wearing this ring would be very uncomfortable, not to mention unattractive. However, it could do a lot of damage if she punched or slapped someone while she was wearing it. Maybe it was a type of medieval brass knuckle. But why would Marian have one of these?

Joanna held out her hand to study the ring from a different angle. It almost looked like a key. In her research on medieval doorknobs, she had come across an Internet article describing how the third-century Romans wore their keys as actual rings. But the third century was seven hundred years ago. Surely such a practice was outdated by now. Joanna reached for the room key on the table and compared it to the one on her finger. The ring _had_ to be a key. But what did it open? She closed the lid of the chest and tried to slip the key in the hole, but it didn't fit, nor did it fit in the lock for the trunk of Marian's clothes. Joanna slid the ring off her finger and into her tie-on pocket along with the parchment and pushed the chest back under the bed.

The sound of footsteps on the stairs caught Joanna off guard. Someone was coming—likely Gwen's lover or her killer. Joanna needed to get out of sight.

The only safe place to hide was behind the door. Joanna flattened herself against the wall as the door swung open, concealing her in the corner. She heard two footsteps, a sharp intake of breath, and a man's voice letting out an oath that sounded more like a wail. Joanna peaked around the door to see Walter's pale face as he viewed his wife's body. While he might have murdered Bess, Walter's distress at Gwen's demise was evident. He turned quickly to Joanna when she spoke his name.

"What are you doing here?" he demanded

"I found her like this a few minutes ago. She's been dead several hours."

"But how...?" Walter's face hardened. "I know who did this. And he will pay!"

Walter bolted down the stairs of the tower with Joanna following close behind. He must have seen Guy emerge from the chapel the same time she did because he drew his sword and pointed it at his employer, yelling, "Murderer!"

Guy looked genuinely surprised as he drew his own sword, deflected Walter's blow, and quickly disarmed him. Roger leaped to restrain the crazed widower while Guy looked to Joanna for an explanation.

"Gwen's dead."

His wide eyes registered his surprise.

"I went up to check out the tower," Joanna continued. "The door to Marian's room had the key in the lock. Gwen was on the bed. Strangled—probably last night."

"I'm going to kill you for what you've done!" Walter let out an anguished wail then dissolved into heart-wrenching sobs.

"Lock him up before he hurts himself or someone else." Guy's voice held more sadness than anger when he gave the order.

As Roger dragged Walter toward the dungeon, Guy stared at Marian's tower and drew a long breath. "Let's have a look then."

No one spoke as he and Joanna made their way to Marian's room. When he reached the open door, Guy paused to gaze at Gwen's body before entering. If he had killed her, he was doing a masterful job of acting shocked and sorrowful. Joanna marveled at the gentleness with which he closed Gwen's eyes.

"Strangled with hands, not rope." Guy pointed to the bruising on Gwen's neck. "This was done from behind. You can see the marks of the killer's fingers here. He would have encompassed her neck between his thumbs and forefingers, and his fingers would have crushed her windpipe."

As he spoke, he stepped behind Joanna and lightly encircled his hands around her neck, demonstrating the stance. She shuddered, thinking what Gwen must have suffered and moved away quickly. "Why not strangle her from the front?"

"It's harder to resist an attacker from behind. She would have clawed at his hands and arms. From the looks of her fingernails, he was wearing gloves. That's what these black flecks are from."

Guy's knowledge made Joanna immediately suspicious. "How do you know all this?"

"I've seen people strangled before."

"When?"

"Anytime and anywhere men were angry enough to kill but didn't have a weapon."

She wanted to ask him if he had killed in this way, but he looked so grieved over Gwen she didn't have the heart to do so. If she were a real murder investigator, she would ask those hard questions regardless of how people felt. But she was only a wedding planner pretending to be a detective.

Footsteps indicated people coming up the stairs. Two servants entered, saying Roger had sent them to assist in the removal of the body. Guy ordered them to wrap Gwen in one of the blankets on the bed and take her to Maude. With four people in the room, there was little room to maneuver. To get out of the way, Joanna stepped behind the door where she had hidden when Walter came in. She was watching the commotion around the bed so closely that she didn't pay attention to her surroundings and scraped her elbow against the wall. Wincing, she examined the damage. She had rubbed off a bit of the scab and left some blood on the plaster. But what was this? Several inches above her fresh blood stain was another one that had turned black. Bess's killer had stood here, probably to hide if someone opened the door. The stain on the wall suggested that whoever killed Bess killed Gwen.

Elaine, who waited for Joanna outside the tower, noticed Joanna's elbow right away and upbraided her for ruining the dress. She led Joanna to a small room on the second floor of the wall between Marian's tower and the gatehouse, furnished simply with a bed and small trunk. Elaine retrieved a bandage and motioned for Joanna to sit on the bed while Elaine dressed the wound.

Joanna nodded toward a small bouquet of wildflowers resting on the pillow. "Where did you get those?"

"I have a secret admirer. Several nights a week I find those on my bed. For the life of me, I don't know who he is."

Joanna knew exactly who he was, but she didn't want to say anything to Elaine yet. An idea was forming of how to reveal the information in a way that would have the most impact.

"I'd be more impressed with him if he revealed himself," Elaine complained. "Secrets are only good for so long, and then they're a sign of cowardice. Now, tell me about your investigation."

Joanna related the clues she had uncovered about Bess's murder and what she knew of Gwen's death.

"So the man who killed Bess fell and scraped his elbow on top of the tower, hid in Marian's room and then killed Gwen," Elaine surmised.

"Yes, I'm sure it was the same person," Joanna confirmed. "But it's even more complicated. There was a key left in the door. I doubt it was Gwen's—probably the killer's. He walked in on Gwen in the process of changing her clothes. He helped her take off her bodice, which means she would have trusted him. She was strangled from behind. Once she was dead, the killer hid behind the door, in case anyone opened it, and then followed the soldiers back down like he'd been with them all along."

"So, we check the elbows of every man in the castle. The man with the injured elbow is the killer."

"Maybe, but it's a common injury. We need a motive before we make any accusations. Why would someone want to kill Gwen except to keep her quiet? And as for Bess, the only motive for her murder I've been able to come up with so far is aborting her pregnancy. Did anyone know about it?"

"I suspected. Those of us who've had children recognize the signs."

"How many children do you have, Elaine?"

"Two. You've met Gripple. The other boy doesn't live in the castle." Elaine's tone indicated she would not welcome questions about the other son. "I've found the writing supplies you asked for. I had to swipe them from Walter. Not many of us read and write around here."

"Who does?"

"Guy, Walter, Gwen, Felix the clerk, and Sirsalon." Elaine tied the last bit of bandage. "There now. You should be all fixed up."

Joanna nodded and checked her arm, satisfied. "Thank you. So far, Walter's our best suspect, although why he'd kill both his wife and his mistress I don't know."

"I still think Guy did it."

"I know you do, Elaine. But we've got to pursue all possible suspects. I'll go talk to Walter."

As Joanna walked through the bailey toward the dungeon below the keep, she saw Guy and Roger training at sword fighting in the yard close to the stables. Guy certainly seemed to have recovered quickly from the shock of another dead woman in the castle. The two men attacked each other with a vengeance. She supposed such earnest and passionate combat was necessary to simulate the battlefield, but the fight looked a little too real to her. Both men demonstrated incredible strength, but Roger focused more on power and passion while Guy relied more on speed and agility. The confrontation was like a dance they knew well, and Joanna wondered how long they had practiced with one another over the years. Roger, who seemed detached and irritated in all other situations, was engaged and focused as he thrust, parried, and slashed. Guy, on the other hand, looked amused, as though he watched everything and everyone else in the castle instead of Roger. He nodded toward Joanna and smiled rakishly when he saw her staring at him. Embarrassed, she reminded herself to keep moving. She had a suspect to interrogate.

Joanna greeted the guard at the dungeon door. As she descended the steep stairs, she heard Walter weeping and saw him rocking back and forth, clutching his knees. As soon as he recognized her in the darkness, he turned toward the wall.

"I don't want to talk to you."

"I understand you're upset, Walter, but two women have been killed in less than a day. We've got to find out the truth of what happened."

"Are you really interested in the truth?"

"Of course." She hoped she had the courage to expose the killer, whoever he was, and she hoped it wouldn't be Guy. "Walter, where were you last night?"

"Gwen and I got into an argument before supper. She was having an affair with Gisbourne. I'd suspected for quite some time." Walter's voice was edged with bitterness. "I knew when I married her that I wasn't her first choice. Gwen was in love with Gisbourne back when they were young. But he dropped her when he was made Earl of Huntingdon and married Marian a few months later. Gwen never forgave him for it. Marrying me was her assurance she wouldn't die a spinster."

"And you didn't think it was awkward, marrying your boss's former girlfriend?"

"I didn't work for him then. I had land of my own. But I've always had a bit of a gambling problem, and a year and a half ago I lost my funds—had to give up the estate. That was a difficult blow for Gwen and me. Gwen took it harder than I did, although _I_ should have taken it very badly since it was _my_ father's land I lost."

"Who did you lose it to?"

"Who do you think? Guy promised that if I worked for him, I could earn my manor back. I should have seen his scheming then. He took my land and my wife and now my freedom. I swear to you, when I'm released from this cell, I'm going to ruin him."

"How did you know that Gwen and Guy were having an affair?"

"Bess told me yesterday afternoon. She'd hinted before that there were things I should know about my wife and the earl, but I'd ignored her. I didn't want to know, I suppose. But Gwen was acting strangely yesterday, so when I saw Bess, I told her I wanted to know everything. Bess had been cleaning Marian's old room for Guy to use as a meeting place for his trysts. Bess said Guy and Gwen were playing dress-up in Marian's tower, laughing at the people who think there's a ghost up there. Before supper, I confronted Gwen, and she admitted it was true. But while you told your story in the hall, she slipped out, saying she didn't feel well. I went after her. I should have gone straight to Marian's room and pulled her out of there by force, but I didn't have the courage, so I had some wine in our room. I was drunk enough to confront her and Guy in the tower when I saw someone riding away. I thought it was Gwen. I got on my horse and went after her."

"Can anyone vouch for you?"

"No. I was out most of the night, looking for Gwen. I followed the rider toward Sherwood but lost them. I stopped at Nottingham to look without any luck. Then, I gave up and stayed the night at an inn."

Joanna sat down on a barrel. "It looks bad for you, Walter."

"It's Gisbourne, don't you see? The man has slept with every woman in the castle under the age of forty."

"Not every woman."

"He'll get to you, too. He always has his way, and he only keeps people around him who give him what he wants."

"But why would he kill Bess and Gwen?"

"Because he's evil, that's why!"

Joanna pursed her lips in thought. "Why did Bess want to tell you about Gwen and Guy? Were you and Bess sleeping together?"

"I've got better taste than that!"

"But if Gwen was having an affair, you might have looked for satisfaction in other places."

"I've committed my sins, but not with Bess. I've always thought a man got what he paid for."

Walter's allusions of what he did for amusement reminded Joanna that if she weren't in the middle of a murder investigation, she would be uncovering fodder for a steamy novel.

"One more question and then I'll leave you alone. Would you please show me your elbows?"

"Why do you want to see my elbows?"

"Please?"

Shrugging, Walter pulled up his shirt sleeves one at a time, revealing smooth skin all the way up to his shoulders on both arms. She nodded. Despite his rather implausible excuse for leaving the castle, his uninjured elbows attested to his innocence. However, she couldn't recommend his immediate release until he calmed down. The last thing the castle needed was more violence.

Joanna was tired, so tired that she felt sick. If she were home, the only remedy would be to lie on the couch and take a quick nap. The closest she could come to that here would be to go back to her room, recline on her bed, and hope sleep or an epiphany brought some relief.

The door of Guy's bedroom was open as she walked past it on the way to her own. The bare skin of his muscular back caused her to pause and stare. Since he faced away from her, she could gaze appreciatively without his noticing. But as she shifted in the hall to get a better view of his physique, she caught sight of a servant wrapping a bandage around Guy's right elbow.

Praying no one had noticed her, Joanna ducked into her room and quietly closed the door. Everyone in the castle thought Guy had killed the two women as well as Marian two years before. Joanna was the only one who doubted. But now, she had seen his bloody elbow. She had her proof.

Or did she?

Guy wasn't a gentleman by twenty-first century standards and probably not even by twelfth-century standards. He killed people—she'd watched him kill Sir Horace. But Joanna's instincts told her Guy would not kill a woman. Could her instincts be trusted? Guy was undoubtedly a player with a fetish for his dead wife's bedroom and clothes. He probably expected Joanna to be the next look-a-like to join him in his weird little fantasies, but she would never be seduced by anyone that dysfunctional. Despite her track record, she did have standards. Guy had a bloody elbow—that elevated him to prime suspect number one. But Joanna had a bloody elbow, and she hadn't killed anybody. Guy seemed to know exactly how Gwen had been killed. Did that come from life experience or from actually murdering Gwen?

An afternoon nap was no longer an option. Joanna had to sit down and sort out her information. At work she used a whiteboard or corkboard to map out her thoughts. Perhaps she could rig up a similar system here. The table and chair had been moved closer to the fire. On the table lay a linen-wrapped bundle that contained various pieces of parchment, two quills, and a jar of ink. She could write on the scraps and lay them out on the table or the bed. Perhaps a pattern, motive, or suspect would become apparent in the process as it did on her favorite procedural TV shows.

When she removed the first scrap of parchment, she noticed a smaller piece underneath it had been written on. The script was so difficult to decipher that she almost dismissed it until she caught the name _Jill_ , although it looked like _Iill_ since I's and J's were written similarly. The note read,

_At the tournament, meet me in the mason's tent. —Jill_

"Joanna?"

Guy's voice at the open door made her jump. He wore a loose-fitting, long-sleeved tunic that covered both his bare chest and bandaged elbow.

"You startled me." Joanna flipped Jill's note upside down. "I didn't hear you knock."

"That's because I didn't. What have you found?"

He couldn't mean Jill's note, could he? No, he must be talking about her murder investigation.

"Quite a few interesting pieces of information."

"Such as?"

Joanna pointed toward his elbow where the bandage was evident underneath his sleeve. "Did you hurt yourself?"

He gestured at her arm. "I could ask you the same."

Joanna tried to keep the tone light but watched for his reaction. "I fell on the steps."

"Roger got in a good blow when I was distracted by a beautiful woman walking by." He winked at her as he sat on her bed. "Tell me about this interesting information."

"I'm not sure I should. You haven't been completely honest with me."

Guy had the audacity to look surprised. "Me?"

"You told me Marian's room had been locked ever since her death, but that's not true. Bess cleaned that room regularly, so she had access to a key. Gwen also had a key to let herself in and lock the door behind her. The killer had one to let himself in. What's more, I think Gwen was in Marian's room last night because she planned to meet you. What sort of bribe were you using to get her to sleep with you?"

"I don't have to bribe anyone. I told you before I like my women to enjoy themselves, and they always do. As for Gwen, in my experience, a woman doesn't wander into another man's arms unless there's trouble in her husband's bed."

The door opened, and Roger appeared. "There's news of Robin Hood."

_Does anyone in this castle knock?_

She could tell from Roger's body language that he intended to speak with Guy in private. Guy gave Joanna a smile that promised later attention before he followed Roger across the hall into his room, closing the door behind him.

Guy clearly thought he was making progress in seducing her. The air did crackle with electricity when they were together. Perhaps she could use that to her advantage.

Joanna retrieved Jill's note and read it again. There must be a spy in the castle working for Robin. While this idea implied yet another layer of deception, it was also comforting. The spy, whoever he was, provided a connection to Jill. Hoping the news Roger had of the outlaw wouldn't affect her sister, Joanna tucked the note under the jar of ink and took out the quill. Getting the hang of the quill fairly quickly, she recorded the facts of the case. The writing process soothed her, and she spent most of the afternoon at it. Once every detail was recorded and the evidence was laid out on the table, Joanna rearranged the parchment pieces until she had a general timeline of what had happened. Her thoughts hadn't changed since she had talked the murders through with Elaine, but having the facts easily visible helped.

Writing also exposed holes in her timeline. Why was a key left in the door to Marian's room? Gwen wouldn't have left it there because it would have exposed her secret affair. The _killer_ must have left the key, probably because he was surprised to find Gwen there. Joanna had sometimes left her keys in her front door or in her car when she was distracted, so she imagined the killer might have reacted the same way when he opened the door and found Gwen. He had killed two women without anyone seeing him—except Joanna. She had seen his silhouette. It wasn't enough to identify him, but it might be enough for him to consider her a threat and come after her next.

She needed a nap. The fatigue she had fought all afternoon could no longer be denied. She had to rest, but given the way people kept walking into her room, she needed a little protection. Finding the room key Elaine had left her on the table, Joanna locked her bedroom door from the inside.

■ ■ ■

Refreshed from her nap, Joanna attended supper with a new zest for correctly identifying the murderer, even if it was Guy. Justice must be served, and Joanna had been chosen as its instrument. Strange as it was that such a task had fallen to her, she readily admitted solving two murders was more stimulating than helping a bride select flowers. She might even get a book out of the experience. But she had another mission as well. Jill would be waiting for her at the tournament tomorrow. Joanna needed to know as much as she could about what Guy had planned to protect Jill and herself.

Without Walter and Gwen at the high table, Joanna sat at Guy's right and Roger on his left. The mood of the room was understandably somber given the two deaths. Although some of the servants conversed quietly at the lower tables, Joanna, Guy, and Roger ate in relative silence.

"I had a troubling report today," Guy mentioned halfway through the meal. He leaned toward Joanna as he spoke, keeping his voice low. "The Bishop of York was robbed on his way to Nottingham. Robin Hood and his band of two hundred men stole all the sacred relics the bishop carried. This is very out of character. Until now, Robin has restricted his actions to pranks against the sheriff or me."

"What kind of pranks?"

"He makes embarrassing speeches in the Nottingham town square. Or, he harasses the sheriff's men in the forest. Most often, though, he rescues whichever one of his men has been captured. It's all a game to him. He's never been capable of taking anything seriously. But this robbery today is something new. It required strategy and planning I never knew he was capable of, and I know him better than anyone. It's as if someone else is directing him."

Joanna remembered the conversation she and Jill had shared while watching _Prince of Thieves_ on their birthday. _Good for you, Jill. I bet you're having a_ really _good time_ _._

"Who do you think his advisor is?" Joanna asked.

"If I knew that, all my troubles with the sheriff would be over."

"Troubles?"

"The sheriff doesn't trust me, and to be fair, he shouldn't, because if I had the opportunity to win the king's favor and become sheriff myself, I would. Capturing Robin Hood tomorrow would go a long way toward garnering royal notice."

"How exactly do you plan on rescuing my sister? I know you want to use me to draw Robin out, but I feel like I could be more helpful if I understood the greater plan."

Roger snorted in disgust.

"It's quite simple." Guy took Joanna's hand in his and flashed her one of his charming smiles. "I want you to attend the tournament and enjoy yourself. I'll have men in place, watching whoever approaches you. When they see your sister, they'll capture her before Robin has a chance to interfere. They'll bring her back to the castle to await our return."

"What about Robin Hood?"

"Let's see how it all plays out, shall we? For now, you have an eager audience awaiting you. Tell us another story."

That was as far as she was going to get with that line of questioning. Putting her concerns aside for the moment, Joanna returned to her spot in front of the high table on the dais and looked out at the servants and stable hands who quieted with anticipation at the entertainment she would provide. Taking a deep breath, Joanna caught Elaine's eye. A story had been forming in the back of Joanna's mind all day, and she hoped telling it would result in Elaine's secret admirer revealing himself.

Not used to sharing a tale without having made multiple written revisions to it, Joanna worried as she spoke that some parts were too rushed or didn't have enough detail. But the audience seemed to follow her with rapt attention. Having people hang on her every word was intoxicating. When the story ended, the crowd indicated their approval with loud applause. What mattered even more than the crowd's reaction, though, was Elaine's. She left the hall during the applause with Sirsalon close behind her. Joanna hoped he would profess his love. Elaine deserved to know. When Joanna returned to her seat, Guy looked confused.

"Elaine and Sirsalon," she explained. "Didn't you know?"

Roger made a low growling sound that might have been a laugh, but Joanna thought it sounded more ominous as he commented to Guy, "Perhaps you've been too distracted to notice what goes on around here."

"Are you insulting me?"

"No," Roger said, obviously backpedaling. "I only meant that in your grief you might have missed the pain others were in."

"And what pain am I missing?"

Roger twitched in his chair. "I have work to do."

Guy shook his head in irritation as Roger hurried out of the hall. "Roger's been my squire since we were children. Charm was never his strong suit, but I usually ignore his terrible manners because he's a fierce soldier and a cold man in battle."

The servants began to clear the tables. Guy stood and held out his arm to Joanna. "May I walk you back to your room?"

Was this when he was going to seduce her...or kill her? Joanna took his arm, and they walked toward the keep. If he planned to seduce her, maybe he would be more tolerant of her questions, especially the uncomfortable ones.

"There's something I've wanted to ask you," Joanna began. "Today, you admitted you and Gwen were lovers, but when I asked you about Bess, you denied sleeping with her. Do you still?"

"No." Guy opened the door to her room and followed her inside, closing the door behind them. That they were in her room, not his, didn't escape Joanna's notice. He had boxed her in. She had nowhere to run.

"I'm glad you admitted it, especially since I found strands of long blonde hair that matched Bess's on the bed."

"The sheriff should hire you."

"So you _did_ give Bess the ring. Why did you lie and say it was stolen?"

"When a man enjoys the company of more than one woman, he doesn't like the women to know about each other."

Joanna thought of Mark and felt the familiar anger still burning inside her remembering how he had treated her. Surely, if one of Guy's women had found out about the others, she could also be harboring anger perhaps to the point of violence. Time to judge his reaction to another fact.

"Did you know Bess was pregnant?"

Guy froze. "She was?" His voice sounded hoarse.

"Maude confirmed it when she examined the body."

Guy dropped into the chair next to the table. "I wish I'd known. Marian never gave me a son. I've always wanted an heir to leave this castle and my title too. Without a son, all my land will go the sheriff. He's the last person I want to have this place." He sighed. "Why does life never work out the way we plan?"

She wondered the same herself. But his answer hadn't told her one way or the other if he killed Bess. He might have killed her, not knowing she was pregnant, and feel bad about it now, or he might be innocent and genuinely mourning the lost pregnancy.

"What's this?"

Guy lifted a piece of parchment from the table, and Joanna felt a moment of panic. She had foolishly left Jill's message on the table. What if Guy saw it? Then Jill, Joanna, Robin Hood, and the spy would be in immediate danger.

"It's what happens when you don't let me have my journal."

One corner of Guy's mouth turned up in amusement as he continued to read. She had to distract him so that he wouldn't find Jill's note. Joanna ran her hand gently down the back of his head. He tossed the piece he was reading back onto the table and closed his eyes. She moved her hands to his shoulders and began to massage them, noting the hard muscles underneath his doublet.

"That's very interesting behavior from a woman who says she no longer wants a man in her life."

How did he know that? She'd been playing along quite well, she thought.

"I believe the line was, 'Men dally with me like a plaything, but I'll be a toy no more.' That was part of something you meant to be a poem, but poems have to rhyme. The word choice is rather sentimental and awkward, too."

A multitude of responses to his critique came to mind. She could tell him about free verse poetry, defend the line, show indignation that he read her journal or tell him that his behavior proved the point she made in the poem...

"You keep writing about a book you're going to write," Guy continued. "But this journal, as you call it, is really a book in which you write about how you want to write a book. Why don't you write the story and dismiss the self-pity?"

He tipped his head back to look up at her face. She swallowed hard.

"You may think I'm a murderer, Joanna, but time and the facts will prove differently if you care to investigate further. And I suggest you do. I've read your innermost thoughts in your little black book, and I know who you are and what you desire."

Her temper flared. "Do you? And who am I, exactly?"

"At first, I thought you were mad. But you have a presence of mind that suggests not madness but knowledge of another time. I considered sorcery, but if you did possess magical powers, you certainly would have used them by now. No witch would have put up with Sir Horace as long as you did before I had to step in."

"And you certainly took your time," Joanna countered.

"Given your knowledge of Nottingham Castle, you might be a spy for King Richard. If so, rescuing you places me in a position of favor when the king returns and might secure me the title of sheriff. All these things work to my advantage, but there's one fact I can't dismiss. Your book contains a list of future predictions that wouldn't benefit you in any way if you shared them."

Guy reached back for her hand and gently pulled her around to sit in his lap as he studied her with his deep blue eyes.

"You're an intriguing woman," he purred. "You're also heartbroken, bored, and desperate for an adoring audience. I've provided the audience and a cure for boredom. Only your heart is left, and I think you'll find me very adept at mending that as well."

He was good—he was _very good_ , but she wasn't going to fall for it.

"I'm surprised you can remember my name given all the women you've slept with."

"Don't dismiss a connoisseur. All my women come willingly, and you will as well. You're already writing about me, as this table bears witness."

She pulled away to stand by the fire. "I'm not writing about you. I'm writing about the murder."

He grinned rakishly. "I'd prefer a poem." He rose and walked to the door. "And make sure it rhymes."

When the door closed behind him, Joanna let out a growl. She wanted to kick something in frustration.

Someone knocked on the door.

"What?" Joanna called in irritation, half expecting Guy to walk back in.

"Pardon me, my lady," said a young maid Joanna didn't recognize. "My name's Aidelthryd. Elaine's busy, and I asked if I could have the honor of helping you undress. I wanted to meet you in person."

Her first fan. Joanna brightened at this thought and invited Aidelthryd in. With her smooth skin, curly brown hair, and wide green eyes, the girl couldn't have been more than eighteen. How long before Guy seduced her, too?

"You tell the most wonderful stories," Aidelthryd gushed as she helped Joanna with her clothes. "And you lead such an exciting life! Your tale tonight was so romantic—the proud knight who loved the tanner's widow but couldn't tell her! My favorite part was when the widow's servant girl caught the knight leaving the flowers on the doorstep. No...I _really_ loved how the servant tricked the widow into catching the knight leaving his flowers. Then they declared their undying love for each other. I wish I could tell stories as beautiful as that."

Joanna smiled at the compliment. "Where's Elaine?"

"With Sirsalon, of course. That's why I wanted to speak with you. They've been in love for ages but never done anything about it until tonight, thanks to you. I'm hoping you can help me with something like that. There's a lad named Myron who works in the stables. He doesn't notice me. Could you tell a story about him and me and then we can be together like Elaine and Sirsalon?"

"Stories don't always get us what we want," Joanna warned.

"Yours do."

"Elaine and Sirsalon were a special case. They already loved each other. The story told them it was all right to act on that love."

Aidelthryd batted her long eyelashes in confusion. "I don't understand how that's different from Myron and me."

Logic was not going to win this argument, so Joanna changed her tactics. "Are you sure this Myron is the man you want?"

"Of course."

"Does he love you?"

"He will when he hears you tell a story about me."

Joanna shook her head. "It doesn't work like that. A story never made two people fall in love. A story is an act of love, something you tell because you love something or someone...or because you lost that love, and you miss it."

A flash went off in Joanna's brain. She had gotten everything wrong back home. She had used her writing as a way to find love—that was why she'd joined the writer's group after all—when what she loved most, outside of her family, was actually writing. Why had she allowed a string of losers, especially Mark, to let her forget the act of creation that brought her more joy and fulfillment than anything else in the world? Why had she allowed her writing group to dictate her future? She was born to write, and she was going to do it, whether anyone approved or not.

Joanna didn't need a rich husband, a supportive boyfriend, or even a conniving patron like Guy to provide the proper environment or audience. She had everything she needed to write within herself. When she got home... _if_ she got home...she would start writing immediately, and she wouldn't let anything stand in her way.

"Lost love. That sounds so depressing!" Aidelthryd lamented.

"Oh, but it's exactly the opposite! Don't you see?" Joanna's exuberance felt like it would overflow. "It means that when you love a story, that love will never go away or leave you. A story is forever."

By this time, Aidelthryd had folded Joanna's clothes and put them on the chair. "All the same," she pouted as she banked the fire, "I'd rather have you tell a story that made Myron kiss me."

"I've got a better idea. Tell Myron how you feel. Then you'll be writing the story yourself."

The maid looked dubious but nodded and excused herself.

Joanna crawled into bed, still giddy with the realization that the fulfillment she sought had been hers all along. If a story really was about love lost or gained, then she had plenty she could write about from her own experience. Discounting all her unhealthy romantic relationships, Joanna had experienced more love stories than she could possibly record: her mother sending flowers after every breakup, her father changing the oil in her car when he came to visit, her sister calling multiple times a week to talk late in the evening. Joanna had an amazing family. She was on this trip in part because of her parents' financial gift. Her sister was right now plotting how to rescue her from Guy. These were amazing stories that needed to be told, and she wanted to tell them. To do that, she had to go back to the twenty-first century. She didn't want to be telling stories about the love of a family she had lost. She wanted to tell stories about the love she still had.

It was settled. Tomorrow, she would walk away from Locksley Castle and leave with Jill. The sisters would be together again. Joanna wouldn't get her purse back, but it was time to cut her losses. Everything in the purse could be replaced. She needed to escape without anything to weigh her down. She'd been carrying too much baggage anyway.

In her absence, perhaps Elaine, Maude, or someone else would read her notes and use them to find Bess's and Gwen's killer. But there was one piece of information no one should find—Jill's note. Guy had come too close to seeing it tonight. That couldn't happen again. Even if Joanna was gone, Guy might use the note to find Robin Hood's spy within the castle.

Joanna crawled out of bed, relit her candle in the fire, and took the light to the table. After she found Jill's note, she tossed it into the flames. Satisfied it was destroyed, she returned to bed, blew out the candle, and assured herself she had done everything she could.

Although her brain raced, Joanna forced herself to relax. But with the stillness came aches and pains. She took stock of her sore hips from riding a few days before, her wounded head, her elbow, her cheek, and her ankle. What had she done to her ankle? She couldn't understand why it was so sore.

As she felt sleep coming, she expected to dream of her family. Instead, she dreamed she stood on the castle tower with Guy. Millions of stars twinkled in the black night sky, but she didn't feel at peace. She was angry. She shouted at Guy. He reached for her. She stepped back, not wanting him to touch her. But the floor gave way beneath her. She wrenched her ankle and felt herself fall back...back...there was nothing beneath her. Clawing the air, Joanna screamed. Guy reached for her, leaning over the edge of the tower, his face a shrinking mask of horror and shock as she fell into the darkness.

Joanna awoke with a start. Marian's broken ankle was the key to her demise. She must have slipped and fallen off the tower. Marian's death was an accident!

If Guy hadn't killed Marian, he might not have killed Bess or Gwen either. Joanna felt momentary elation at his innocence. She had been right! But if Guy was innocent, then who was the murderer?

She was back at square one with two women dead and their killer at large. If she didn't solve the murders, no one would. How could Joanna run away with Jill while leaving a murderer to kill again?

# 15

## July 19, 1193

## Locksley Castle

Elaine woke Joanna early the next morning to prepare for the journey to Nottingham and the tournament. Although bleary-eyed from lack of sleep, Joanna couldn't miss Elaine's radiant glow. The older woman actually hummed as she built a fire.

"You're in a good mood this morning," Joanna commented. "I take it you had a good night?"

Elaine blushed. "I'm not one to kiss and tell. But it was a fine evening. I owe you my gratitude for solving the mystery of my secret admirer."

"You knew it was Sirsalon all along, didn't you, Elaine?"

"There's a difference between hoping and knowing. Life is uncertain, and the temptation as you get older is to play life safely in the hopes of avoiding the mistakes of the young and impetuous."

"Does it work?"

"You save some grief, but you bring on others. We all need a nudge sometimes to remind us that what's safe or logical isn't always what brings the most joy. Sometimes, we can only do the right thing, regardless of the feelings or the regrets involved. Of course, the right thing to do and the right _time_ don't always coincide."

"What do you do in that case?"

"The best you can." Elaine patted Joanna's shoulder. "If you need _anything_ today, ask. I can be helpful in many ways."

Elaine's face communicated far more than her words could, and Joanna knew somehow that she could count on Elaine to help her find Jill at the tournament.

An hour later, Joanna was still pondering her next move as she traveled with Guy and his entourage toward the Nottingham tournament. Guy, Roger, and Joanna all rode at the front of the procession with Joanna's horse tied securely to Guy's. The symbolism did not escape her: Joanna was next for his bed. She had to leave. But could she really abandon Locksley Castle without finding peace for Bess and Gwen? She pondered this dilemma for the next few hours until they arrived in Nottingham.

The tournament grounds lay in an open field outside the town. The air buzzed with music and hundreds of voices laughing, bargaining, and arguing. Crowds milled about the colorful stalls and tents arranged in a grid pattern on the side of the field closest to Nottingham. The archery field, lined with flags displaying the sheriff's coat of arms, was farther away where the arrows could be shot without danger of hitting passersby. Once the horses were stabled at the paddocks, Guy offered Joanna his arm and led her, along with Roger, Elaine, and Sirsalon, to a large tent behind archery field grandstand.

"We need to pay our respects to the sheriff and his wife," Guy explained.

Joanna slowed at the idea of seeing the man who sold her to Sir Horace like a prostitute. Guy must have sensed her concern because he leaned in close and whispered, "You can trust me."

She didn't believe for a moment Guy was trustworthy, but she also didn't have any other option except to play along with his plans. She trusted the sheriff even less than she trusted Guy. Where her personal safety was concerned, Joanna had for the moment allied herself with the lesser of the two evils. She felt anything but confident as Guy led her up to a blue tent where the sheriff and his wife sat in the shade sipping their wine. At the sight of Joanna, the sheriff's eyes widened.

"I say, Gisbourne, this is an interesting development."

Guy shrugged. "Since Sir Horace had no further use for her, I thought you would have no objection to my taking her to Locksley."

"Sir Horace met a tragic end." The sheriff gave Guy a significant look. "I suppose you know nothing about this."

"Only that I have a delightful companion I didn't have to pay for."

"We all know your fondness for the wenches, Gisbourne. How convenient you managed to benefit from his demise."

"I'm not the only one to have done so," Guy replied. "Sir Horace was childless, so all his lands are forfeit to you now."

"It's true he had no heirs, but Gisbourne, neither have you."

"Something I hope to remedy," Guy assured him, smiling at Joanna.

Remembering Guy's reaction to the news of Bess's lost pregnancy, Joanna wondered if his lack of heir was more important than she had realized.

"My wife was very grieved to hear of Gwen's death," the sheriff commented.

The sheriff's wife nodded in acknowledgment but didn't speak. Of course, Joanna had not spoken either during this exchange. She longed to return to the twenty-first century where women's rights had significantly improved. Being a trophy on a man's arm—especially Guy's—was the last thing Joanna wanted.

"People keep dying around you, Gisbourne," the sheriff observed. "I can't help but wonder when my turn might come."

Guy stiffened but kept a polite face. "You'll be glad I'm here after I capture Robin Hood today."

"Another promise!" The sheriff's tone turned menacing. "Don't fail me again, Gisbourne. If you do, you'll be punished."

Joanna tried to gauge Guy's reaction to the threat, but he only smiled blandly before nodding his head in concession to the sheriff.

"I have recent intelligence that makes my plan foolproof. I'll make everything clear in a moment. Joanna, my success rests on your being visible."

Joanna's heart caught in her throat. Had Guy found the note from Jill? "What about my sister?"

"All in hand, my dear. I've charged Sirsalon to protect you, and I have men stationed all over the grounds to watch for your sister and keep her from any danger."

Guy leaned in to kiss Joanna's cheek in what felt like a possessive move before motioning for her to join Elaine and Sirsalon who'd been standing back out of respect to the sheriff. Joanna joined the couple, glancing over her shoulder to see Guy and Roger conversing privately with the sheriff. How many men did Guy have planted to keep watch for Jill and the outlaws? What exactly was Guy's plan? How much danger was Jill in?

"So, you're my prison guard," Joanna said as she, Sirsalon, and Elaine sauntered toward the merchant booths.

"Before I was a butler," Sirsalon explained, "I was a soldier. I served under the old earl. When I grew tired of battle, he gave me a place in his household. I never stated a preference for Robin or Guy, so when Robin was declared an outlaw, my allegiance was never questioned."

"Which works very well for us," Elaine added. "We women have this situation in hand, but it's always nice to have a man to help."

Joanna nodded. "I agree. I'm glad for the assistance. But would Guy leave me with just the two of you? Won't he have someone following us?"

"Definitely," Sirsalon replied. "I have some helpers providing a little distraction for the next few minutes, so if there's something _special_ you'd like to do, we need to do it _now_."

"Then I'd like to go to the mason's tent."

"Follow me." Sirsalon waved his hand for them to comply. "Women have no sense of direction."

As they walked through the crowds of shoppers, Elaine chided Sirsalon for his poor opinion of women. The two already bickered like a married couple. Joanna hoped they wouldn't wait long before they wed. The loss of life Joanna had seen over the last few days had impressed upon her how important it was to seize happiness when one had the opportunity.

Even though Sirsalon assured her that they weren't being followed, Joanna felt nervous. She wanted to see Jill, but she was afraid. So much had changed in the last three days. How could she explain it all to Jill? And who really needed rescuing—Jill or Joanna?

Finally, Sirsalon stopped at a stall displaying various pieces of sandstone and granite. Sitting in front of the stones sat a beggar, his head covered in a hood as he held out a wooden cup for alms.

Elaine withdrew a coin from the purse at her belt. "Joanna, you may remember I had another son. You're about to meet him." She dropped the coin in the beggar's cup, admonishing him, "Don't spend it all on drink."

The beggar lifted his hood, revealing red hair and an unmistakable resemblance to Elaine and Gripple. "I thought I'd buy my mum a present instead."

Watching the mother-son embrace brought a lump to Joanna's throat as she thought of her own parents.

"Joanna, meet my son William, better known as Will Scarlet."

Will gave Joanna a brief glance and nodded, ignoring her to focus his narrowed eyes on Sirsalon.

"Interesting time to pick a side, Sirsalon." Will made no attempt to hide his disgust.

"I didn't leave a mother and brother to fend for themselves," Sirsalon retorted.

"Mind your manners, both of you." Elaine put her hands on her hips. "The past is past. Will, you haven't even said hello to Joanna."

With effort, Will turned to Joanna and flashed her a grin. "You look like Jill."

"Is she here?"

"She's in the tent."

Joanna stepped through the stall toward the tent set up behind it. Her hands shaking, Joanna parted the tent flap and walked inside. This must be where the stone mason and his family were staying while they worked at the tournament. Joanna saw bedding, food, and a stack of crates in the corner. She whispered Jill's name, anxious to be assured she was not alone.

Jill popped up from behind the crates and walked around the piles to greet Joanna. Joanna noticed Jill's leggings and corset of Lincoln green, her white blouse, and a dark bruise on Jill's left forearm. No telling how she had gotten that. As Jill approached, Joanna caught sight of a chain hanging around her neck, weighted by something heavy hidden inside Jill's blouse, and Joanna was reminded how Bess had secretly worn Guy's ring. As the sisters embraced, relief washed over Joanna that Jill was alive, safe, and standing next to her.

"I should tell you first," Joanna began, careful to keep her voice low. "Guy plans to capture Robin today at the archery contest. He and the sheriff are plotting right now."

Jill waved a hand in dismissal. "Thanks, but it's under control. There's no way Guy will catch Robin at the contest."

"Care to share?"

"It's better you don't know. For your own safety, of course."

"Right." Joanna fought back irritation at being left in the dark. "I guess you're a regular outlaw now."

Jill looked pleased with Joanna's assessment. "I've been having fun. And what's this about you? Solving a murder? That sounds pretty dangerous."

"It's definitely a challenge," Joanna admitted. "But also strangely invigorating."

"I know what you mean. I jumped off a castle wall."

"And here I thought that was a lie!"

"Nope, I did it."

"Robin didn't use you as a human shield, did he?"

"I'd like to see him try."

Joanna chuckled. "Good to know you have limits. That jump must have been quite the adrenaline rush."

"Oh, it was." Jill got a faraway look in her eyes. "I wasn't exactly thrilled at the time, but in retrospect, it was amazing!"

"No more fear of heights?"

"Oh, I'm still terrified," Jill assured her, "but that's part of the adventure."

"We really have time traveled, right?" Even as she said the words, Joanna expected Jill to laugh at her and provide a perfectly logical explanation for the last three days.

"Apparently. It's all a little cheesy, but I'm having a good time."

"Didn't you know? It's a historical fact that the past is cheesier than modern historians believe."

Jill laughed. "That sign at the stables makes sense now. 'Not all who come out go back.' I wonder if anyone else from our tour group came back with us."

"I don't think so. The sheriff would have found them. Or Robin would have. Jill, how did we get here?"

"I don't know. We were riding, there was fog, some sort of pressure change, a horn, and well, here we are. What was with your horse?"

"No idea. As soon as the horse lady let him go, he spooked. I guess he was 'special' in more ways than one. But, I lost him when I fell off. She said I wouldn't get back without him."

"No worries. Robin found him. He's stabled with mine in a safe place."

Joanna allowed herself a deep sigh of relief. "I've been worried about that. So...how do we get back to the present?"

"Not sure."

They sat in silence for several seconds. Joanna pondered what to do next. If she was going to escape, this was the time. But what about the unsolved murders?

Jill retrieved a stack of clothes from behind the crates. From what Joanna could tell, the outfit appeared to be similar to what Jill was wearing. Joanna observed Jill's figure in the leggings and compared that image to what she thought the leggings would look like on her. She didn't realize she was crinkling her nose in disgust until Jill said, "Got a problem?"

"Not _per se_ ," Joanna stalled. "I've gotten used to the dress. More my style."

"You'll think differently when you're trying to run through the forest."

"Is that what you've been doing?" Joanna inquired.

"Among other things." Jill pushed the clothes into Joanna's hands. "Hurry and change. We don't have that much time."

Joanna bit her lip. "So, that's it then."

"Yup."

"Oh."

"What's wrong?" Jill sounded irritated.

"Promise you'll hear me out and not get mad?"

Jill raised a single eyebrow. "I'll listen, but I reserve the right to get mad."

Despite her concern of how Jill would take the news, Joanna knew she had no alternative except to say what she was thinking. "I really appreciate the rescue and all the effort involved, but now that I'm here, I don't think I can come with you. I keep thinking of the women who died, and Jill, for some reason, I'm the one who's been chosen to solve their murders. This is the first really important thing I've ever been part of. I feel responsible for seeing it through. I can't go with you until it's finished."

She bit her lip in anticipation of Jill's response which came after a long pause.

"I have no idea how to respond to that."

"You could come with me. I know I could figure this out a lot faster if you were helping me."

Jill crossed her arms. "I'm sorry for the women who died, really, but I don't want to go to Guy's castle. I've got a good thing going with Robin Hood. I'm an official member of the gang. They're a disorganized mess, and Robin's not the smartest guy in Nottingham, but he's got lots of potential. I can help him become the master outlaw he's supposed to be."

"I knew it!" Joanna exclaimed. "The robbing of the bishop! That was you, wasn't it?"

"Not my greatest achievement, but, Jo, you have no idea how great it feels to have a bunch of guys actually listen to you. It's like I said on our birthday. No man can be a superhero outlaw by himself. He needs an advisor, and that's me."

"Is Robin good looking?"

"Irrelevant," Jill replied, but the way she blushed told Joanna he was. "There's an entire community around Nottingham that needs help, but before I came, it hadn't even occurred to Robin to help the poor. I'm changing the course of history by creating a legendary outlaw. I've actually been thinking how much I could use your help with this. Robin's minstrel Alan-a-dale is a lousy writer. You could write the ballads and stories for him. Think of it! What you wrote would be in literature books back in the twenty-first century. Plus, I can guarantee the merry men would hang on every word you said. Merry _men_ , Joanna. There are plenty to go round."

"Nice as that would be," Joanna admitted, "I've got a good gig already. I've been telling my stories in Locksley hall every night, and they're eating them up. One of my stories even got Will and Gripple's mom together with the man she's been after for years."

"That's great, but I'm talking about more than matchmaking. I'm talking about saving an entire village from unjust taxation."

"And I'm talking about two dead women." Joanna felt her head getting hot. "Bringing a murderer to justice is a lot more ethical than committing crimes and teaching other people how to do them. Who are you? Patty Hearst?"

"At least I'm not falling in love with the villain," Jill retorted. "Can we say 'Stockholm Syndrome'?"

"I am _not_ falling for Guy. What's that hanging around your neck? Is that from Robin?"

Jill pulled out an intricate medallion with a coat of arms in the center. Remembering Guy had given Bess his own heraldric symbol as a token of his affection, Joanna wondered if Jill understood the full import of such a present.

"You're engaged?"

"Oh crap! That _is_ what he meant." Jill flopped heavily onto a crate, looking suddenly deflated.

Joanna sat down beside her, unwilling that the argument should escalate further. "It's okay. Neither one of us has done anything that can't be undone. Despite what you might have heard, I'm not involved with Guy, and I won't be."

"You're right to question this," Jill agreed, touching the medallion. "I'm so stupid!"

Joanna bumped Jill with her shoulder. "Getting engaged isn't stupid. It's just fast, especially for you. How does Robin fit in with your wanting to get back to 2009? Or maybe I should ask, do you even want to go back?"

"Of course I do! Although, Robin wants me to stay. I guess I hadn't understood everything that entailed. It's easy to get caught up in the moment."

Joanna thought of sexual tension between her and Guy that she fought every moment to resist. "Tell me about it. Where does that put us?"

"I can't believe I'm saying this because it sounds so hokey," Jill began, "but we're in the twelfth century for a reason. I've known that ever since we got here."

"But we can't agree on the reason," Joanna reminded her.

"Maybe that's because there are two reasons. Dad always said our family has been at the center of every important moment in history. I guess he's right. While I'd like to see inside a castle besides Nottingham, camping with Robin Hood's gang is more my thing."

"And you know how I feel about camping."

"So back to Locksley for you and Sherwood for me."

"For now," Joanna replied. "Not forever." Noting Jill's sagging shoulders, she asked, "What is it?"

"I thought we were taking this trip together."

"We are," Joanna assured her. "But if we were together every single minute, we'd probably drive each other crazy."

"Yeah, I guess."

Elaine popped her head into the tent. "All right if Will and I come in?"

Joanna motioned for them to enter. As the mother and son slipped in, Will glanced over his shoulder to where Sirsalon was keeping watch outside. "Are you sure we can trust him, Mum?"

"As sure as I am of myself," Elaine replied. "I've been observing him a long time."

Joanna introduced Jill to Elaine.

"How have you been able to work for Guy all this time without him suspecting you?" Jill asked.

"Will and Gripple's father died ten years ago," Elaine explained. "I learned how to take care of myself and my boys. Will practically grew up with Robin, and when the young earl was declared an outlaw, Will ran off to the forest with him. Outlaw life is too hard on my old bones, and Gripple was a boy. I thought I could help my sons by raising Gripple respectably and getting information to Will whenever I could."

"So you're the one who got me Jill's message," Joanna surmised.

Elaine nodded. "Joanna, do you remember my mentioning Daisy, the serving girl who had an affair with Guy and I assumed was dead? She's not. Will has seen her."

"She escaped from the castle and came to us," Will added, picking up the storyline. "She was pregnant and feared for her life, so Robin used his network to find her a safe place to have the baby and hide."

"She was pregnant?" Joanna blinked several times, letting the information sink in. "I need to talk to her."

"I thought you'd say that." Elaine put her hand on Will's shoulder. "He'll make the arrangements."

There were the sounds of a scuffle outside, as well as muffled protests. Joanna's eyes widened, fearful Guy's men had found them. Sirsalon exploded through the tent entrance, dragging a young man in a brown cloak by the scruff of the neck.

"Jill, this one says he's looking for you. If he's not, I'm happy to dispose of him."

"That's Alan." Jill rolled her eyes at Joanna. "He's all right."

When Alan was released, he gave Sirsalon a dirty look before he straightened his clothes and said, "The archery contest is about to begin."

"Then I need to head out." Jill turned to Joanna with a questioning glance.

"Go," Joanna urged.

"Wait a minute," Sirsalon interrupted. "Are you telling me I staged an elaborate distraction for nothing? Isn't anyone getting rescued?"

"Absolutely," Joanna assured him. "But not right now."

Sirsalon growled. "I'll never understand women."

Ignoring him, Joanna embraced Jill, fighting back tears. Now that their separation was again a reality, she worried how long it would last. "I'll see you soon."

"Yeah, soon," Jill replied, her voice gruff.

Elaine kissed Will on the forehead while Sirsalon scanned the area outside the tent and gave the "all clear." As Joanna walked toward the archery field with Elaine and Sirsalon, she looked back long enough to see Jill, Alan, and Will blend into the crowd. Joanna and Jill were both doing the right thing, but that didn't make saying goodbye any easier.

Sirsalon smirked as Elaine took his arm. "I think we're going to see some good shooting today, and if we're lucky, a theatrical spectacle as well. We're being followed now, so everyone, act naturally."

# 16

## Nottingham Tournament Grounds

Jill did not watch Joanna with mournful eyes until she was lost in the crowd. That kind of sentimentality only happened in the movies. But the temptation to glance back for her twin or even run after her was stronger than Jill had expected. Will tugged at her sleeve, urging her forward. Why were people always pushing and pulling her around? Usually, Jill was the one pushing, but something about the twelfth century caused her to be more reflective than she was used to and more in touch with her feelings. Case in point, she was angry.

After all the effort Jill had expended to rescue her twin, Joanna had the gall to refuse. True, Joanna was handling her captivity better than Jill had anticipated, but the wasted effort and apparent lack of appreciation for everything Jill had done to reunite with her sister irritated her. Today's rescue had been the least elaborate part of the plan and the most independent facet, so the other components would proceed on schedule. But the rescue had been _Jill's_ responsibility. After having given Robin such a hard time about the first failed rescue, she didn't want to lose face by telling him she had botched the second attempt. To be fair, _Joanna_ botched it. More than Jill's pride was involved, though. She couldn't help but feel like she had let her family down by not pulling Joanna out of the dangerous situation. Jill's entire presence at the tournament felt like a waste. The only remaining consolation was to see the archery tournament play out the way she intended. She hoped she would at least get that satisfaction.

Once Jill, Alan, and Will reached the archery field, Alan slipped away toward the castle to take his post for message relay. Jill spotted Little John who, with his hood pulled over his eyes, slouched over a pint of ale close to the soldiers who guarded the sheriff's grandstand. Again Jill marveled that hooded cloaks were such effective disguises. Perhaps hoods were the medieval equivalent of a superhero hiding his identity by wearing glasses. Will led her to a vantage point farther down the field where they could safely observe but escape easily into the forest when the time came. Will wasn't her first choice for a bodyguard this afternoon, but by her own design Robin was needed elsewhere. She recalled what he had said to her earlier that morning when Jill insisted she didn't need a babysitter.

"I don't want you alone." Robin's solemn expression communicated his concern. "Too much could go wrong with the rescue. Guy already has Joanna. What if he captures you as well?"

"I've been on my own a long time, and I've done fine."

"But you don't need to do this by yourself."

"It's what I'm used to, and I'm good at it."

"Yes," he conceded, taking her hand, "you're good at a lot of things. But if you have trustworthy people around you, you should rely on them. Life's too short to be alone."

Thinking with disdain of Joanna's years of chasing relationships, Jill replied, "Don't tell me you believe the only happy people are married."

"No. But I do believe I never would have survived as long as I have without my friends. You're part of this circle now, too, Jill."

Her heart warmed at the knowledge that she had finally found a place to belong. If for some reason she couldn't return to the present, embracing Robin's merry men as her new family was an attractive option, especially if Joanna chose to hang out with murderers.

The line of archers stepped forward to salute the sheriff when the herald called their names. Jill was especially interested in the thin, wiry archer called—at her own insistence—Errol Flynn. Using Kevin Costner as an alias would have been funnier, but the name didn't sound medieval enough in Jill's opinion. The hooded Errol held a lot of responsibility for someone she wasn't sure had any original intelligence. If Jill's plan didn't work, the fate of Errol, all the merry men, Joanna, and the villagers who needed money for taxes hung in the balance.

Scanning the Nottingham Castle towers impatiently, Jill finally saw the signal on the farthest tower—a red scarf blowing in the breeze. "They're in," she whispered to Will.

Jill focused her attention on the platform behind the archers where the Sheriff of Nottingham sat center stage underneath a multicolored awning. A plain woman in a yellow dress, probably his wife, sat next to him. She studied her fingernails and sighed. But the man in black at the sheriff's right drew Jill's interest and derision. Guy of Gisbourne. He looked as menacing as she remembered from her encounter with him two days before. Yes, he and Robin bore a family resemblance in the eyes, nose, and hair color, but Guy possessed a sinister air in direct contrast to Robin's charming innocence. If the two brothers lived in the twenty-first century, Robin would be the carefree playboy while Guy would be the smoldering bad boy—definitely Joanna's type. Jill frowned. There was no accounting for Joanna's taste in men.

The trumpet blast indicating the next round of shooting jarred Jill back to the contest. Unsurprisingly, Errol had advanced to the second round. Finally spotting Joanna standing with Elaine and Sirsalon on the other side of the field, Jill saw Joanna grin when Errol's name was announced. Joanna had caught the joke.

Joanna's staying with Guy meant at least one good thing for Jill. She could keep Robin and the merry men to herself. Not that Jill thought Robin's affection would transfer so easily. The medallion that hung around Jill's neck proved he preferred Jill over Joanna. In fact, he apparently wanted to marry her. Was she ready for such a long-term commitment?

The word _commitment_ elicited nausea. She wished her parents were around so that she could get their advice. A wave of sadness washed over her when she thought of never seeing them again. But she and Joanna would find a way back. The old horse lady told Joanna the horses were important, and Jill possessed the horses. Return to the present was still possible. But she had just found a place where she belonged. Could she throw that away? Could she leave Robin behind? Love sure complicated things.

_Love?_ Jill swayed on her feet.

"You all right?" Will grasped her forearm for support.

"Yeah, lost my balance."

She _had_ lost her balance. After knowing Robin for four days, was she thinking she might love him? That was crazy! No one fell in love that fast, especially not her. She was experiencing a biological response to the affection of a man she found attractive. That was all.

"Only three contestants left now," Will commented. "Our boy's doing well."

All her self-analysis was causing her to miss out on the very event she had wanted to witness. She checked the castle tower and winced when she saw the yellow scarf had replaced the red one. "They need more time."

Will groaned. "I guess we'd better stall, then."

Taking a deep breath, he called out in a loud voice, "Three cheers for the Sheriff of Nottingham!"

The crowd never did join in completely. The "huzzahs" were half-hearted, to say the least, but the sheriff sat up a little straighter. Errol nodded, recognizing the signal. Only a few shots were left until the contest was over and Errol's true identity was exposed. Jill resisted the urge to bite her nails in nervous anticipation. Her plan was either going to work brilliantly or get them all killed.

Sensing a good show, the crowd had doubled since the contest began. One of the remaining contestants, an older man with long gray hair, shot quickly, his arrow landing slightly outside the bull's eye. The second, a balding, heavy-set man, wasted no time planting his arrow a hair's breadth closer to the center than the old man's. Errol needed to beat them both to remain in the competition. Jill hoped he wouldn't crumble under the pressure. Given the interest the sheriff and Gisbourne showed in Errol, they would seize him the moment he lost. If he missed and they took him now, her entire plan would fall apart.

Errol shuffled to the shooting line, testing his bow. Before removing an arrow from his quiver, he drew the bowstring and seemed dissatisfied. The crowd groaned as he unstrung the bow and knelt on the ground to restring it. This was going to take a while. While pleased with the delay, Jill watched the sheriff and Gisbourne anxiously. Their heads close together as they spoke, the two men were obviously conspiring against Errol. Jill felt her shoulders tensing.

Finally, Errol was ready to shoot. He held the drawn bow for such a long time that his arm began to tremble. Could he hit the target? His shot landed to the left a quarter inch shy of center—the best shot of the round. This meant the old man was out. Only Errol and the bald man were left. The winner would be decided in the next two shots. Jill looked to the tower. _Still a yellow scarf. Not good._

A few more seconds passed as the target was moved farther back for the final round.

The bald man shot first. While he hesitated longer than he had before, no more than a minute passed. The contest was moving too quickly. What was taking them so long in the tower?

An examination of the target by the judges revealed the bald man's arrow had landed one inch below center—an amazing shot given the distance. Errol would have to do better. The sheriff and Guy both sat forward in their seats. The trap set for Errol was about to be sprung.

Jill could feel the excitement in the crowd as Errol stepped forward for his last shot. He fingered several arrows, eyeing how straight they were until he found one he seemed pleased with. After notching the arrow, he wet his finger and tested the direction of the wind not once but twice. Jill looked to the tower and bit her lip. _Come on! Come on!_

Errol drew his bow and after holding the draw for several seconds, released the arrow high into the air. Although she knew that time was still progressing at a normal pace, Jill thought the arrow traveled in slow motion as it inched through the air. She glanced at the tower and saw the green scarf. _Back on schedule._

Her gaze returned to the target in time to see the arrow plant itself with a thud. How had he scored?

"Time to go," Will whispered.

"I need to know if he won."

While Errol's winning was no longer crucial to their overall success, Jill had banked her entire plan on his ability to shoot. She needed to know she had been right. She had to have something to brag about today.

Jill held her breath as the judges converged on the target and evaluated the results. The sheriff and Gisbourne looked as anxious as she felt. After a short discussion, the herald addressed the crowd.

"The winner of the archery contest and the golden arrow is Errol Flynn!"

The crowd cheered wildly, and Jill mentally gave herself a congratulatory pat on the back. Will put his arm around her shoulder and pulled her back from the crowd. "I promised Robin I'd get you out safely, regardless of what happened. We have to move now."

Reluctantly, Jill followed him, wishing all the while she could watch the drama about to unfold in front of the sheriff and Gisbourne. If only she could see their faces!

# 17

Nagging guilt prevented Joanna from enjoying the spectacle of the archery tournament. Should she have accepted the escape plan? Jill had probably gone to great lengths to plot it. What if Joanna's choice to remain with Guy meant she had lost her chance to go home? What if something happened to Jill?

Sirsalon positioned Joanna near the grandstand so she, Elaine, and Sirsalon would be easily visible. Joanna shuddered to think of what might have happened to Elaine or Sirsalon had she run away with Jill. Guy had nodded in her direction once, so she knew he saw her. However, his attention was focused on the archer Errol Flynn. Joanna smiled at the joke. Robin wouldn't understand the irony of what they were calling him, but then, he had more pressing matters to tend to, such as not getting captured. Surprised Guy didn't rip Errol's hood off right now and expose him, she wondered how Robin would elude capture while surrounded by the sheriff's men.

Watching the contest felt like being caught up in an exciting football game. The reaction of the crowd was so infectious that Joanna couldn't help but get into the competition. She hollered with the rest of the fans as the archers made one excellent shot after another. Errol Flynn maintained remarkable composure as his competitors were eliminated one by one. Joanna hoped her sister and Will got away safely, especially since Guy and the sheriff were about to spring their trap.

When Errol won, the sheriff stood and applauded politely, Gisbourne at his side.

"Congratulations, Errol Flynn!" the sheriff proclaimed when the crowd had quieted down enough for him to speak. "Your aim is exceptional. Please approach to receive your prize."

As the archer walked toward the sheriff, soldiers fell in behind him, boxing him in. The sheriff nodded to Guy who stepped down from his seat and stood before the archer.

"No man approaches the sheriff with his face covered," Guy declared.

In a swift motion, Guy pulled the hood off the archer's face, revealing a gangly boy with messy, shoulder-length brown hair. Guy recoiled. The sheriff sat down in shock, and a murmur swept through the crowd. Apparently, Guy and the sheriff weren't the only ones who had expected the hooded man to be Robin Hood. So, this was why Jill had been so confident! Robin wasn't even in the contest. Joanna could tell from Guy's face that he was having difficulty controlling his rage. Remembering the sheriff's threats if Guy failed today, Joanna wondered if her choice to stay with Guy would put her in even more danger. It was too late to change her mind, though.

The sheriff was the first to recover. "You shot well, young Flynn."

"That's not my name. I'm Lester."

Elaine sucked in her breath.

"Who is that?" Joanna asked.

"He's a new addition to Robin's band," Elaine whispered. "I've heard he can shoot as well as Robin himself. Now I believe it."

Guy looked as though he wanted strike Lester. "Sheriff, a great treachery has been played upon us. If this is not Robin Hood, then that means the real man is somewhere else gaining the upper hand."

"You assured me he would be here, Gisbourne. You said you knew him."

"I do," Guy assured him. "He's here, but he must be after something he considers more valuable than a golden arrow."

"You said he would compete in the archery contest."

"Yes, when I believed the golden arrow was the most valuable thing he could obtain. Is there something more valuable you have that he might want?"

The sheriff turned pale. "The tax money!"

Guy and the soldiers dashed toward the castle, while the crowd started to laugh.

Sirsalon rubbed his hands together. "If you wouldn't mind excusing me, I'd like to see how this plays out."

"We'll be fine," Elaine assured him. "I'll expect a full report when you get back."

Sirsalon trotted off after the soldiers. Joanna turned to where Lester was standing, but the boy had disappeared.

"Lester is lucky he didn't get arrested," Joanna said.

"Guy wouldn't dare. Lester could implicate him in stealing you away from Sir Horace."

As they sauntered away from the crowd, Elaine told Joanna what she learned from Gripple and Will about how Guy had substituted Lester for Joanna in the dungeon that first night.

"One thing I don't understand, though," Joanna said, "is why the sheriff would trust the word of some boy off the street over Guy's?"

"The sheriff has been looking for an excuse to be rid of Guy for quite some time," Elaine explained. "He wants Locksley for himself."

Joanna grimaced. "What would happen to you, then?"

"Gripple's old enough that he could join Robin if he wished, and he probably will soon. I suppose I could live in the forest, too, if it came to it, but I'd rather sleep in a real bed with stone walls around me. Besides, if the sheriff were to take the castle, Robin would need someone to spy for him, wouldn't he?"

Since Sirsalon did not return quickly, Elaine suggested they get something to eat. Elaine bought bread at a baker's stall and roasted drumsticks from the butcher. She and Joanna sat down on the grass and ate their food, all the while talking over the murders, although no new information or interpretations came to light. Eventually, Sirsalon returned and while munching on the food Elaine had saved for him, shared what he had seen.

"When he left here, Guy and twenty soldiers ran into the castle to check on the treasury. When they opened the door, they discovered that four bags of tax coins had been taken. Guy was furious because he knew the sheriff would have his head for this. Believing Robin had gone out through the doors, Guy went to the gate of the castle only to find it locked. When they found the key and opened the gate, Guy chased after Robin but only caught a glimpse of him as the outlaws escaped into the forest. Guy found a horse and followed them, but I don't think he got very far. The forest is Robin's territory."

"Time to change the subject." Elaine's expression warned of someone approaching. "Here comes Roger."

Guy's man at arms, looking more sour than usual, strode over to the three and eyed their leisurely meal with disdain. "Picnic's over."

"We're on our way," Elaine assured him.

As Roger walked toward the paddocks, Sirsalon helped Elaine and then Joanna to her feet. "We'll have a gloomy ride home," he predicted. "Guy will be in one of his black moods."

Guy definitely was in a terrible mood. He seemed to radiate anger and gloom. Even Roger looked uncomfortable and rode behind Guy as opposed to beside him. No one spoke much although Joanna and Elaine exchanged concerned glances periodically. Joanna noticed with some relief that Guy did not take control of her reins this time but left her to guide the horse herself, which she managed without too much trouble given the slow pace. A few hours later, when they arrived at the castle, a soldier jogged up to Guy as he dismounted.

"What is it, Agrub?" Guy demanded.

"It's Walter." Agrub trembled as he spoke. "When I brought him his breakfast this morning, he must have taken the key from my belt. When I realized it was missing, I went back to look for it only to find the door open and him gone. He stole a horse from the stable, too."

Joanna cringed. Given Guy's dark mood, she knew the soldier's punishment would be severe. But nothing prepared her for what Guy did next. He drew his dagger and in a swift motion stabbed Agrub in the abdomen. The soldier wheezed, moaned, and collapsed. Joanna and Elaine gasped in horror.

"Roger," Guy ordered, his eyes dark with anger, "clean this up."

No one, not even Roger, moved until Guy had stomped alone across the courtyard into the keep. Then, when everyone seemed assured he would not reappear, the grooms led the horses away, and Roger lifted Agrub's body onto his shoulders and carried it toward the keep. Maude would have another dead body to prepare tonight. The first floor of the keep was turning into a morgue. Joanna had never been surrounded by this much death before. The fragility of her own existence was clearer to her than it had ever been. Afraid to return to her room since it was so close to Guy's, she accepted the invitation to stay in Elaine's room until the excitement died down.

Silently, the two women climbed the stairs in Marian's tower, turned right on the second floor to the corridor under the wall walk, and slipped into Elaine's tiny room.

"Guy is a cruel man," Joanna declared once they were behind closed doors. "A murderer."

"He is," Elaine agreed. "Only the Lord knows how many ghosts stare back at him from the shadows in the night. No wonder he's had so many affairs. He probably can't sleep."

"Maybe he really did kill Bess and Gwen. Maybe I've been making this too complicated."

"We're women," Elaine said with a sad smile. "It's what we do."

# 18

## Sherwood Forest

Jill and Will Scarlet arrived back at camp first, followed closely by Lester and Little John. While Will and Little John exuberantly recounted the day's events to each other and congratulated Lester on his shooting, Jill watched for Robin. Every time a new member of the gang broke through the tree line, Jill stood in anticipation of seeing the outlaw leader. But each time her hopes were disappointed, she returned dejectedly to Will and John's conversation.

As the hours passed, her concern grew. Robin had to take the long way around the forest to avoid the traps the merry men had set for the sheriff's soldiers. By Jill's design, Robin had been the first to leave and last to return due to his circuitous route. No chances could be taken once the money was in Robin's possession. The lives of too many people depended on it. But as more men checked in, Jill withdrew to sit by her shelter and observe, worried her mood would dampen the general enthusiasm.

As much as she detested self-analyzing behavior, Jill knew she had to untangle the feelings jumbled inside her. The process felt like sorting cooked noodles—messy, unpleasant, and pointless—but another storm of tears threatened to break if she didn't address her emotions, and she had no intention of breaking down in front of everyone again.

First and foremost, Jill was angry with Joanna. Even though Jill conceded that Joanna had a legitimate reason to remain at the castle, the decision seemed irresponsible and dangerous. Joanna—who couldn't find her own car in a parking lot—was trying to catch a murderer alone. This was stupidity and madness! Joanna had once again abandoned common sense and family to pursue a scheme that would only get her hurt. It was like when Joanna moved to Minneapolis. After the twins attended separate colleges, Jill had dreamed of living in the same town with Joanna so they could be together regularly. But Joanna had followed Chris the Psychology Major to his new graduate school, only to be stuck in a lease and bad job when he dumped her. Moving near Jill had never entered Joanna's mind. But Joanna didn't think about Jill. No, Joanna ran after her heart without any regard for anyone but the idiotic man she was pursuing.

That wasn't completely true...at least not this time. Joanna said she wasn't involved with Guy, and Jill believed her. The twins had agreed they both had a purpose to fulfill before they could return to the twenty-first century. Solving the murder was what Joanna had to do. Still, if Joanna were here right now, Jill wouldn't be struggling as much to sort through her feelings. Joanna had a way of asking the right questions to help Jill navigate emotional territory. Jill hadn't even realized Robin had proposed until Joanna pointed it out today.

Yes, the proposal was bothering her, too. She liked Robin a lot, enjoyed his attention, and had fun when she was with him. But she wasn't sure she loved him or even what romantic love was supposed to feel like. She knew her parents loved each other, but they had been married thirty years and were more likely to show affection through gentle bickering—a stage Jill and Robin were far from reaching. Jill had mentally tried the word _love_ on for size during the archery contest and found it didn't fit very well.

She couldn't get comfortable with the idea of being together with Robin forever. Intrigued and enamored as she was with him, he made Jill feel a little embarrassed and off balance. Mom used to remind the twins that no matter how much a woman loved a man, she couldn't change him. Dad's qualities that Mom first fell in love with were the ones that she said drove her crazy now. If Robin's quirks made Jill uncomfortable after only four days, how much worse would they be in twenty years...provided he lived that long? He was an outlaw, after all—a profession that didn't exactly encourage surviving to old age. What would happen to Jill when Robin was gone? Would she assume his identity, carry on his work? She had no doubt she _could_ , but did she _want_ to? Making the twelfth century her permanent home held no appeal without Robin.

The lack of sleep, adrenaline of the day, and emotional work left her feeling exhausted. Leaning against her shelter, Jill didn't realize she had dozed off until Will shouted Robin's name. She opened her eyes to see a jovial Robin enter the camp followed by four men, each one carrying a sack of money. She knew she should go to him, but there was no reason to run like a silly school girl and make a scene. Rising, she brushed the dirt off her cloak and sauntered toward Robin, determined to play it cool.

The outlaw, however, didn't share her reticence. He wrapped his arms around her, kissing her passionately. Jill felt the eyes of every man in the camp on her. This was not the time or the place for such a public display of affection. She blushed and pushed Robin away. His face registered brief surprise, but he shrugged it off, his arm still wrapped possessively around Jill's waist as he gestured toward the sacks of money.

"Gentlemen, I present to you the sheriff's tax money!"

The men cheered as the bags were opened to reveal coin of every denomination. Jill sighed with relief. None of this money could be traced back to the sheriff's treasury. He would suspect its origin, of course, but he couldn't prove it, which meant the citizens of Edwinstowe were safe. They and the Widow Tinsley would survive another tax-collection day.

"This plan was a great success!" Robin declared. "Bring out the ale!"

Jill moved to join the rest of the men who gathered at the barrels to fill their tankards, but Robin pulled her back for another kiss. Jill humored him but worried what the others might be thinking. While no dissenting opinions among the gang currently threatened Jill and Robin's happiness, she knew enough of group politics to fear what could happen in the future. She might be excluded from conversations or activities for fear she would tattle to the boss. Any respect the men had for her would evaporate with the knowledge that she was the mistress of the man in charge, the token female of the group. As nice as it was to have Robin care for her, she still wanted to be one of the guys.

"Brilliant plan, Jill," Robin praised, oblivious to her inner conflict. "Today's success belongs entirely to you. Now, I want to meet this sister of yours. Where is she?"

Jill stiffened, wishing she could crawl under a log.

Robin's eyes filled with concern. "Oh, Jill, she's not...?"

"No, she's fine. She decided to stay and solve the murders, so the plan wasn't _exactly_ a success." Jill bit her lip. "You're probably thinking I shouldn't have given you such a hard time for not rescuing her before."

"That thought never occurred to me."

_But it might someday_ , Jill reasoned. Right now he was pleased with her, but nothing guaranteed he would remain so.

"Come on," Robin urged. "The men expect us to lead the celebration."

As Jill and Robin entered the circle around the fire, Little John and Will scooted over to clear a spot for them. Everyone was so anxious to debrief from the day's events and share his side of the story that Robin intervened and designated the order in which the men should speak. As each man had a chance to relate his role in the escapade, the others frequently heckled, correcting the current version with their own perspectives. Anyone unfamiliar with the plan Jill had concocted would have been very confused by the interruptions.

The gang had been divided into five groups: Jill and Will Scarlet to rescue Joanna, Lester to shoot in the archery contest and Little John to protect him, Robin and four men to steal the money, Alan and two of the younger boys to relay messages, and Will Stutely with the remaining members of the gang to watch the castle gates and provide support in the forest as needed.

Since Alan and the messengers had the least exciting role, Robin allowed them to speak first. The younger two relinquished their turns to Alan who spent far too much time discussing the symbolism of the colored scarves.

"Red, yellow, and green," Alan mused. "They're such poetic colors. I can't help but wonder why Jill assigned them the symbolic meanings she did. I would have written a ballad about them, but since my songs have been silenced," (he cut a withering glance at Robin) "I will recite a poem."

"Jill," Robin interrupted, "would you tell everyone where you got the colors so we can move on?"

"They're signs from my country," Jill said with a shrug. "We have a lot of...uh...horses on the road, so these signals are posted where two roads meet to avoid any collisions. Red means stop, yellow means caution, and green means go."

Will looked thoughtful. "Is the people's tax money paying for someone to stand at each road and display those colors?"

Jill pondered how to answer. "Sort of."

Will shook his head. "Maybe when we've got England taken care of we can free your country, Jill."

She held back a smile. "Absolutely."

Lester's turn was next, but the poor lad stumbled over his words so much as he tried to tell his story that Little John had to step in and finish the tale. Jill had witnessed most of the contest, so the only information new to her entailed Little John and Lester's escape.

"You should have seen the look on Gisbourne's face when he pulled Lester's hood off!" Little John shook his head. "The man was white as a ghost. In fact, I've only seen that look a few times, and every time a man was staring his death in the face. When Gisbourne ran toward the castle, I snared Lester by the collar and disappeared into the crowd. From there it was a short run into the forest. But now, Jill, tell us about your sister. Why didn't Joanna come back with you?"

As everyone turned to Jill, she swallowed uncomfortably. She didn't have Joanna's flair for storytelling nor was she anxious to highlight how her part of the plan had failed.

"Joanna is fine," Jill began. "I met her at the mason's tent like we had arranged, but she decided not to come. She went back to Locksley. Will's mother and brother are looking after her."

"Why didn't she come with you?" Little John repeated.

"There's been a second murder at the castle, and Joanna believes the same killer is responsible. She chose to stay to finish her investigation and find the murderer."

"That's easy," Will said. "Gisbourne. End of story."

Jill bristled. While she didn't agree with her twin's decision, Jill had no intentions of letting someone outside the family criticize Joanna's actions. "Joanna's not so sure, and I trust her instincts. If she says she can find the killer—whoever he is—then she will."

"That reminds me," Will interrupted. "Robin, do you remember where we sent Daisy?"

"The convent at Kirklees," Robin answered. "Why?"

"Apparently she knows something that can help Joanna with the murders. My mum asked if we could fetch her so Joanna could question her."

Robin nodded. "Alan, get the message chain started."

"Oh come on! Now? Really?" Alan's shoulders slumped.

"It's for a good cause," Little John encouraged. "If Joanna needs Daisy, then you must send for her."

With a grimace, Alan stomped away from the fire, reminding Jill of a dejected little boy.

"Alan's got no reason to be grumpy," Will scoffed. "I'm the one who had the worst of it today. I discovered my mum has a new lover—Sirsalon the butler."

Robin burst out laughing.

Will scowled. "I don't understand what's so funny."

"They've fancied each other for years, Will. Didn't you know?"

"It's not like I keep up with her love life—or that she's even supposed to have one. Ugh...it's disgusting to think of my mum and Sirsalon together. They're too old! She loved my father. Wasn't that enough?"

"Anyone who finds love twice in a lifetime should be grateful." As he said this, Robin winked at Jill, and she felt her stomach flip.

"Tell us your story, Robin," Little John encouraged. "It's the only one we haven't heard."

Robin passed Jill his tankard before standing to address his men. "Since the foresters were searching for me at the tournament, the castle guard was much lighter than usual. With a little stealth, we slipped past the soldiers and ambushed the two guarding the treasury. We sent young Godric up the tower to send the signals. Then the heist was as easy as swiping the soldiers' keys off their belts while they were unconscious and unlocking the door. Before we left, I checked the bags to make sure they had coins in small enough denominations that the villagers could use them without fear. Once assured of the treasure, we dropped a rope from the window and lowered the money and ourselves outside the castle walls and ran to the forest. I did catch sight of Guy as we entered the trees, but the trip ropes slowed him down, allowing us to arrive here safely."

"A good day's work," Little John concluded. "I could get used to this."

"Here, here!" shouted some of the men, raising their glasses.

Robin motioned for Jill to hand him his ale. "A toast! Men of Sherwood—and Jill—today we entered a new era. We eluded capture while stealing from the rich Sheriff of Nottingham to pay the taxes of the poor people of Edwinstowe. We fooled Guy of Gisbourne with an elaborate and successful plan. And most importantly, our mission and purpose have shifted from revenge to vengeance. From this day forward, we fight not for ourselves but for the poor and oppressed of Nottinghamshire and all of England."

Will raised his hand, cutting off the cheer that was about to begin. "That's all very nice and theoretical, but don't you want to kill Gisbourne and get your name and title back?"

Robin paused, contemplating his answer. "All my life I've been so focused on myself and what I wanted that I never noticed the suffering of those around me. I see it now, thanks to the help of a very special friend." Robin nodded toward Jill. "Whether I'm an outlaw of Sherwood Forest or the Earl of Huntingdon, my purpose from now on must be to assist others. If you wish to remain with me as members of my band, then that must be your purpose as well."

"Here, here!" Little John agreed, and the rest of the men, including Will, echoed the response.

"As we celebrate today's success," Robin continued, "there are two members of our group who deserve special recognition. Lester, your marksmanship, bravery, and composure created the perfect decoy. I couldn't have shot better myself."

"He's right, you know," John said with a laugh. "He couldn't have."

Ignoring John, Robin raised his tankard. "Lester, I salute you!"

Jill and the rest of the men stood and shouted, "To Lester!" before taking a swig of their ale.

When everyone but Robin was seated again, he turned to Jill. "Today's great deeds are the direct result of the incredible intelligence of the most remarkable woman I've ever known. Jill, none of this would have happened without you. We are all better men for having served with you. I thank you and salute you. To Jill!"

Jill blushed as the outlaws rose and toasted her. She felt proud and embarrassed all at the same time. This level of recognition from the people she worked with made her heart soar. If only her associates at GDB Oil could see her now! Maybe she'd get a little more respect. But even as the proverbial spotlight turned on her, Jill shrank from it without understanding why except that Robin had embarrassed her again and she felt...off balance.

"There's one last but very important piece of business to take care of," Robin continued. "The tax money must be divided and delivered before dawn. Little John and Will, you're in charge of distribution."

John nodded. "Last drinks, everyone, if we're to be sober enough to finish the job before daybreak."

As the men returned to the ale barrels for the last call, Robin took Jill's hand and led her away from the fire to the spot by the stream where he had given her the medallion. Jill's throat tightened, anticipating what he might want to discuss. He had already proposed, so the worst had happened. But what if he asked for her answer tonight? Jill tugged at the chain nervously. The medallion was starting to feel very heavy around her neck.

Fingers entwined, they sat silently for several minutes, listening to the water and watching the stars, before Robin finally spoke.

"Do you miss your home, Jill?"

She considered her answer. "Yes. I miss my parents and my sister."

"It must have been hard for you when she didn't want to come with you."

"Sure, but she's doing something important. Neither one of us chose to be here, but we can't help feeling there's a reason for it, and solving those murders appears to be her purpose."

"Those are my people at Locksley, and I should be taking care of them. I didn't know Bess, but I knew Gwen. She was a beautiful woman—although not the wisest or the kindest. I was sorry to hear that she died. Everything Guy touches turns to pain and dust. Although I'm sad you don't have Joanna with you, I'm glad she's seeking justice where I can't."

"If you knew Joanna back home, you'd realize how strange it is that she's 'seeking justice.' I have no doubt she can do it, but it's not exactly something she's suited for in our country."

"Sometimes we have to travel to find ourselves," Robin mused. "I had no idea who I was or what I was made of until I came to Sherwood. For so long, I've felt so lost. But now, I understand what I need to do. A man needs a purpose, Jill. He's not whole until he finds it."

"That makes sense."

"Do you believe you also have a purpose?"

"Sure."

"What do you think it is?"

Jill pursed her lips, reluctant to say what she believed for fear he would take it as a profession of love. "Helping you...putting plans together...something like that."

"If you had the chance to return to your home, would you?"

"I wouldn't go without Joanna."

"I envy you. Even when you disagree, your love for your sister is evident."

"I'm sorry about you and Guy," Jill offered. "If it helps, Joanna and I fight a lot, too, over stupid things like who spends the most time in the bathroom."

Robin shook his head. "I have no idea what you just said."

Jill smiled. There was no response to this. "Thanks for making me feel welcome here, Robin. You've been really nice."

"You know my feelings involve more than being polite."

She did know, but she didn't want to talk about it. "It's been a long day. I'm feeling pretty tired. I should catch a little sleep before we hand out the money."

"Of course."

Robin walked her to her hut and kissed her goodnight. As she lay down, she berated herself for sabotaging the first real relationship she had ever had. But it was moving too fast, and she wasn't ready.

Sleep came easily, but her dreams were troubled. In them, she rode horses with Robin through the forest. They galloped faster and faster toward a cliff. Jill pulled on the reins and leaned back in the saddle, trying to get control of her mount, but the horse only charged faster toward the edge. No matter how hard she tried, the horse wouldn't stop. Jill knew she was hopelessly out of control. Unless she jumped off the horse, she would plunge to her death. But her foot was stuck in the stirrup so that even when she fell out of the saddle, the horse still dragged her into the black cavern below.

# 19

## July 20, 1193, a few hours before dawn

## Sherwood Forest

Robin woke Jill long before she'd had enough sleep. One thing was true in both 1193 and 2009—morning always came too quickly. The early hour today was necessary so that the villagers would wake to find the money at their doors without a clue where it had come from. They needed plausible deniability if they were questioned by the sheriff's men. Will and Little John had divided the money and households among the men for efficient distribution. There was one villager, though, whom Robin insisted on handling himself—the Widow Tinsley.

"She's the kind who won't take it without knowing where it comes from," he explained. "It had better come straight from me or she'll send it back and call me a coward for not visiting her myself."

Jill thought he overreacted and said as much.

"Believe what you like. You'll meet her and judge for yourself."

"I'm happy to go with you, but why do you want me to?"

"If I had my preference, you wouldn't. But she'll want to see you."

Now, as Jill followed Robin through the underbrush, marveling at how easily he divined his way through the dark forest, she wondered about the reason for the widow's interest in her. She needed to know more about this old woman and asked Robin to share what he knew.

"She's small and frail, very old. I doubt even she knows how old she is. There's something about her that's otherworldly. I feel a little silly sharing this with you, but I've seen her appear out of nowhere and disappear into thin air. Some people think she's a witch because she can look into the future and tell you what's going to take place."

Jill stopped, so surprised by this supposed ability that she couldn't process the information and walk at the same time. "The future?"

"Yes. She told me things once, and they came true."

"What did she tell you?"

"She said that you would come and we would fall in love."

Jill felt a chill run down her spine, but she wasn't sure if it was due to the widow's prediction or Robin's mention of love. "I don't understand. What did she say, exactly?"

"Let me start at the beginning. When Marian and Guy married, I was beside myself with grief. I had lost everything important to me, and I didn't even have the strength to think about revenge. I was ready to turn myself in to the sheriff and let him kill me. I was walking to Nottingham Castle when the Widow Tinsley appeared in the middle of the forest. When I say appeared, I mean that one moment I was looking at the empty road and the next moment she was standing in the middle of it. She asked me to see her home safely. I couldn't turn down a frail old woman, especially one who might be a witch, so I helped her back to her hut. I thought I knew most of the villagers in Edwinstowe, but I'd never seen her before. When we arrived at her home, she invited me inside, and then she said, 'The pain of your loss has turned you to stone, but a mason will mend your broken heart.'"

Jill shivered at the word mason.

"At the time, I wasn't impressed," Robin continued. "A good prophecy is supposed to be poetic, but this one obviously wasn't. I also assumed when she said mason she was referring to a man who works with stone, and I couldn't see how that was going to help me at all. It wasn't until a few days ago when I saw you and you called yourself a mason that I understood what she meant."

Jill inwardly debated to what degree Robin might have romanticized the facts of the encounter over the years.

"Everything she said has come true," Robin continued. "You taught me to love again."

"Did she say anything else?"

Robin got a strange look on his face. "We should be quiet. We're almost there."

After a few more steps Robin parted the brush to reveal a solitary cabin in a little clearing. The hut was made of wattle, thin sticks woven together to make a crude wall. Wisps of smoke floated into the starlight over the thatched roof. Jill saw a small, neglected garden and stack of firewood.

As they approached the door, Robin pointed at the chopped logs. "I make sure she has what she needs," Robin whispered. "If she _is_ a witch, I want to be on her good side."

Robin lifted his hand to knock on the door, but before his knuckle touched the wood, the door jerked open, and a tiny, bent figure wearing a hooded cloak poked her twisted walking stick at them. Jill instinctively backed away. The inside of the cabin was dark behind the widow except for a fire in the middle of the room. The flickering light revealed the silhouette of a short, tiny woman draped in a heavy cloak that was too large for her. Long, wiry gray hair spilled out of her hood at the neck in greasy ringlets. Her eyes were shaded, her face obscured. Jill felt a tingling sensation at the back of her neck that might have been fear, might have been foreboding, and might have been the chilly night air.

"Only trouble comes at this time of the morning." The Widow Tinsley's voice was harsh, even when she spoke in a whisper. "Better come in before you're seen."

Robin followed her in the door, drawing Jill after him. The small fire illuminated the room enough for Jill to notice through the smoky air the shutters drawn at the window and the daub on the inside of the stick walls to keep out the light and the cold. The widow moved to stand between Robin and Jill, cocking her head at Robin expectantly.

Sensing his cue, Robin retrieved the small bag of money from his belt and held it out to her. "A gift from us to pay your taxes."

"Put it down there." A claw-like hand emerged from her cloak and pointed to a spot on the ground where Robin hesitantly left the money. "You've brought me a visitor."

"Yes, this is—"

"Jill Mason," the widow snapped.

Jill was about to be impressed at the widow's knowledge, but Robin or any of the men might have mentioned Jill to the widow before today. "Nice to meet you."

"That's a foolish thing to say unless you mean it."

Jill shifted uneasily. "I was trying to be polite."

"Waste of time," the widow scoffed, "especially when we have so little of it. Robin, keep watch. I need to speak with Jill alone."

Robin rubbed the back of his neck but attempted a reassuring smile at Jill as he slipped outside. When the door closed behind him, the widow settled on the floor and motioned for Jill to sit across from her. When the Widow Tinsley pulled back her hood, the firelight clearly revealed her face. It was a visage Jill had seen four days before back in 2009—the horse lady!

Jill put her hand to her mouth. "You were at the horse stables! How—"

She stopped herself before she finished. She had so many questions that she wasn't sure what to ask first.

"Not all who come out go back," the old woman said. "But some do, and they find great adventure. If you're looking for a scientific explanation, you won't find one. There aren't any magic wands, talismans, or machines either. There are only those seeking adventure, and as you've now experienced, those who seek, find."

"I don't understand."

"Of course not! You're an engineer. You plan, experiment, follow the scientific method. But that foolishness keeps you from the business you have to attend to."

Jill had no recollection of ever telling this woman anything about her profession. Maybe Joanna had said something when the old woman was leading her horse.

The widow snapped her fingers. "Focus! Now ask me what business you're supposed to be attending to."

"What—"

"You were brought here to save a life, and that life is still in danger."

Jill felt her throat go tight. "Joanna."

With a _hrumph_ the widow stood, looking miffed, and shook out her cloak. "You don't need me if you have it all figured out."

"Wait," Jill protested. "Once I save her, will you help us get back to 2009?"

"I have my own affairs to handle." As she said these words, the widow cast off her cloak to reveal a calico dress that reminded Jill of how women might have dressed in the American West in the 1800s. Around her waist she wore a gun belt with a small-caliber revolver in its holster.

"What the—?"

"Once again, you're asking the wrong questions."

Jill paused and tried to clear her head. There was too much to process, and none of it made sense. "Okay...how do we get back to 2009?"

"You go back exactly the way you came."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

The Widow Tinsley let out a sharp breath that sounded impatient. "Don't you have any imagination?" She nodded toward the door. "The sheriff is coming."

Jill followed the widow's gaze to the closed door. When she didn't see anything, she looked back to find the old woman was gone. The little bag of tax money lay on the floor where Robin had left it. How had the old woman disappeared? Why was she wearing a pistol? Jill bent over, trying to get her head between her legs before she passed out.

"Jill!" Robin's face peeked in the door. "We have to go."

She nodded.

"Are you all right?" Robin's voice was full of concern. "Where's the Widow Tinsley?"

Jill pointed at where the old woman had been standing. "She vanished."

Robin nodded. "That's how I felt, too, when she did it to me. The shock will pass in a bit. Come on, we need to go."

Robin and Jill had just taken cover in the forest when the first of the sheriff's men rode into the village. Staying to watch increased Robin and Jill's risk of exposure, so they headed back toward camp, slowly at first as Jill recovered from her surprise at everything she had seen and heard from the Widow Tinsley. Nothing made any sense! Jill had so many questions, even more than she had four days ago, but no one could answer them.

However, one thought rose to the surface of her consciousness and for the moment obliterated all the others. Jill had come back to the past to save Joanna, and now Joanna's life was in danger—probably because the killer was still loose in the castle. Jill had to get to Locksley and pull Joanna out kicking and screaming if necessary.

"Are you going to tell me what's bothering you?" Robin asked.

"There's a lot," Jill conceded, "but the most important thing is that Joanna's life is in danger."

"That's what the widow told you?"

"Yes."

Robin breathed what looked like a sigh of relief. "That's good—no, no! I mean it's bad, obviously...very bad. We'll need to regroup at the camp and then go to Locksley as quickly as we can."

Jill gave Robin what she hoped was a very dirty look.

"It's tax day, though," Robin reminded her. "The sheriff's men will be visiting all the surrounding villages to collect the money. We'll need to tread carefully if we're going to avoid them and that might slow us down. But don't worry, Jill. I won't let anything happen to Joanna or to you. We'll get her out if I have to give my life in the process."

# 20

## July 20, 1193, after midnight

## Elaine's room, Locksley Castle

Sirsalon, Elaine, and Joanna were still discussing the events of the tournament and Agrub's death when Gripple knocked on his mother's door, looking shaken.

"Sir Guy's in a terrible temper," he reported. "None of the kitchen maids were willing to take him his supper, so Radley the chamberlain," (Gripple added the title for Joanna's benefit) "delivered it. Guy knocked the tray out of his hands and hit him twice with the blunt end of his sword before Radley made it out the door. Everyone who can stay away from the keep is hiding in the hopes Guy calms down by morning. Even Roger's avoiding him."

"Now that Walter's run away, Guy's afraid the rest of the castle will follow," Sirsalon surmised.

"Is that likely?" Joanna asked.

"He's mistreated a lot of people. Some of them believe the sheriff would be a kinder master, but not all of us are that naive." Sirsalon shared a tired smiled with Elaine. "I'd guess Walter went to the sheriff to accuse Guy of murdering Gwen."

"But Guy didn't kill Gwen," Joanna insisted. "I'm certain of it."

"That doesn't matter to the sheriff." Sirsalon shook his head at Joanna's naivety. "Guy is a dead man, and he knows it."

Elaine frowned. "You think the sheriff will come here, Sirsalon?"

"I do, and that's a concern. As steward, Walter knows all the castle's weak points, including the tunnel. We wouldn't be able to hold out for long."

"What would happen then?" Gripple's face was taut with concern.

"We'd send you to Sherwood," Elaine replied.

"What about you, Mum?"

"You know me. I always have a trick up my sleeve."

"Joanna, you should join your sister," Sirsalon decided. "You wouldn't be safe with the sheriff here. I saw the way he looked at you at the tournament."

Joanna shivered. "I'd prefer never to see that man again."

Elaine took Sirsalon's hand. "We've already sent for Daisy, and she'll have at least one of Robin's men with her—maybe even Will. If they're here when the sheriff comes..."

"We should head them off and keep them at a safe distance from the castle," Sirsalon suggested.

"Is the kitchen tunnel our only way out?" Joanna asked.

"There's another exit in the chapel," Elaine said. "An old Roman tunnel back from the first fortress here seven hundred years ago. But it's been locked for two years, and the key is lost."

"I could watch for Daisy and Will or whoever's with her," Gripple offered. "Then I could come for you when they arrive."

Sirsalon nodded. "I'll go with you. Bar the door behind us, Elaine. Don't open it unless you hear my knock—three raps, then one, then two."

When the men had gone and the door locked, Elaine and Joanna sat on the bed, pondering the danger now before them.

"I'm sorry I didn't go with Jill this afternoon," Joanna said after several minutes. "I thought I could solve the murders, but I'm causing more trouble by staying."

"Nonsense! By morning, you'll be free to move about. I have no doubt you'll uncover the mystery before the sheriff arrives."

"Do you think Guy will calm down?"

"He's always been too wise to lose his temper for long. Now Roger, he's never known when to stop. When he was a boy, the tantrums he threw made me think demons were rising from hell. Lady Marguerite had him beaten soundly after every one of his fits. Why she didn't throw that child out I'll never know."

"So Roger, Guy, and Robin all grew up together?"

"Along with my Will, yes. When Marguerite married the earl thirty years ago, she brought Roger, who I think was five at the time, so a few years younger than Guy, with her as a companion and serving boy to Guy, although I doubt Guy ever cared whether Roger lived or died. Robin was different. From a young age, my Will was Robin's servant and companion. Robin always loved Will as a friend and brother, despite the difference in their social status. It was that friendship that caused Will to stay with Robin in Sherwood."

"How did Robin become an outlaw?"

"That's a story I haven't had the chance to tell very often." Elaine sighed. "It was almost four years ago, a few months after Lady Marguerite died. Robin was Earl of Huntingdon, although he left the running of the estate to Guy. Robin was far more content to pursue adventure than the business of his title, a mistake I'm sure he regrets. At that time, Guy courted Gwen, and we thought he would marry her. Robin favored Marian, but he wasn't ready to settle down yet.

"Robin was a great archer and longed to test himself against more challenging game than pheasants or rabbits. Even as a boy, there was something of the outlaw in him because he was always pushing his mother to see how much he could get away with. Nothing too awful, mind you. Just mischievous. Guy understood that about Robin and planted ideas in his head that he wasn't a fine enough archer to bring down one of the king's deer. One day, for reasons known only to foolish young men, Robin boasted to Guy that he was going to the forest to kill a stag. Guy warned him against it, but as soon as Robin and Will left for the forest, Guy alerted the sheriff to Robin's intentions and where he would be to ensure Robin was caught.

"But that wasn't the worst thing Guy did. Guy—or Roger—it doesn't matter who actually did it—killed a forester with one of Robin's arrows. Robin shot a deer, but when he and Will went to retrieve the carcass, they found the dead forester beside it and the sheriff's men waiting to arrest them."

"How did they get away?"

"They were better acquainted with the forest than the soldiers since they'd spent so much time there. Robin and Will ran until they came to one of their hiding places they used when hunting. The soldiers lost their trail. Robin and Will tried to return to the castle, but the sheriff was waiting for them at the gate. They slipped away to the hills where they entered the tunnel to the kitchen, but the door in the middle of the tunnel was locked, so they had to turn around and conceal themselves while running another quarter mile to where they could access the tunnel to the chapel. But the door into that tunnel was locked as well, and there was no other way into the castle. Their only choice was to hide in Sherwood. The sheriff declared Robin an outlaw, stripped him of his title and land, and put a price on his head. Robin and Will joined with some other outlaws already living in Sherwood, and more have joined them since.

"When Robin was declared an outlaw, the old earl's original will was honored, and the title and lands passed to Guy, which was obviously Guy's plan all along. But he didn't stop hurting Robin. Guy sent Gwen away, telling her he didn't love her anymore. He courted Marian, and by means I never understood won her affection and married her a few months later. Gwen was heartbroken but eventually married Walter. A sad, sad business it was, and I don't know that I ever forgave Marian for giving up on Robin."

"Why _did_ she marry Guy? Didn't she love Robin?"

Elaine shrugged. "Who's to say? As far as I know, no promises were made between them, and she was a proud girl. I doubt the idea of marrying an outlaw seemed very romantic or practical to her. Not many women would choose a life of crime or a marriage bed in the forest."

Thinking of Jill, Joanna nodded. "It's certainly not for everyone."

Elaine looked like she wanted to ask something, but she didn't. Joanna wondered how much Elaine had overheard or been told about the attachment between Robin and Jill. That was Jill's business, though, and Joanna had no plans to discuss her sister's affairs with Elaine.

Elaine must have been as lost in her own thoughts as Joanna because she was quiet. Eventually, Elaine began to snore softly. Joanna dozed off as well. Both she and Elaine awoke with a start when they heard Sirsalon's signal at the door.

"Daisy's waiting outside the castle," Sirsalon informed them.

"Is Will with her?" Elaine sounded hopeful.

Sirsalon shook his head. "No, but that's safer for him. Come with me."

The three of them crept through the dark courtyard into the kitchen. Sirsalon removed a floor mat made of rushes from an empty spot in the corner of the room and opened a door in the floor. He lit a candle and passed it to Elaine, motioning for her to enter first. When Joanna followed, she bit her lip as she descended the steep stairs. The narrow tunnel was barely wide enough for Elaine's bulk, and the ceiling was so low that everyone had to stoop. Joanna fought the claustrophobia that threatened to send her screaming back up the stairs. What if she got stuck? She pushed back the urge to hyperventilate. Passing out would only make the situation worse. If Jill survived jumping off a tower when she was afraid of heights, Joanna could survive walking through this tiny tunnel. She wasn't about to let her twin outdo her in courage, so she pressed on, making herself as small as possible so she wouldn't have to touch the sandstone walls and fear the cave was closing in on her.

About halfway through the tunnel, Joanna passed through an even narrower doorway. The door had been propped open with a stone. She paused in the hopes of studying the lock, but the dim light made an examination impossible.

"Come on, now," Elaine prodded. "There isn't much time."

With a deep but shaky breath, Joanna forced herself onward, focused on breathing regularly, and fixed her eyes on Elaine. Joanna had suffered from nightmares of being stuck in tiny spaces since she was a child. She had no doubt as her panic rose that this tunnel would be fodder for many nightmares to come. After what felt like a long time the floor of the tunnel sloped upward, eventually widening to an opening in the side of the hill. Joanna breathed a sigh of relief, but she feared having to go back through the tunnel to return to the castle.

The sky was beginning to grow gray with the dawn, and its light was enough to silhouette two men standing in the opening. Joanna recognized the tall, thin figure as Gripple. He spoke to the other, a shorter, stouter man with dark hair, and referred to him as Stutely.

A few feet inside the cave entrance sat a young woman with wavy black hair and a heart-shaped face. With her back against the cool sandstone wall, she hugged her knees. Elaine set the candle on the floor and motioned for Joanna to sit so the light would allow the three women to see each other. Elaine patted Daisy's knee reassuringly and introduced her to Joanna.

"I didn't want to come," Daisy admitted, "but what happened to Bess could have happened to me, and I want the man brought to justice."

"I'll do everything I can," Joanna promised, recognizing how empty her assurances were. "I understand you and Guy had a relationship?"

"I was Guy's first lover after Lady Marian died. He liked me to dress up in Lady Marian's clothing and pretend to be her. The whole affair was secret. He never acknowledged me outside the room except to send me little messages through Roger of when to meet him. Guy told everyone the door to Lady Marian's room was sealed and her room haunted so people would stay away. He laughed at me because I believed in the ghost too, but I swear that sometimes when I went to the tower, I felt eyes watching me, and I was afraid Lady Marian was angry at me. I got tired of living in secret and wanted to be Guy's wife. He said he would only marry me if I could bear him a son. A few months later when I told him I was pregnant, he seemed happy about the news, but he made me swear to keep it to myself as long as possible. I was afraid of being publically humiliated, but he promised me that if the baby was a boy, he would marry me and I would be the Countess of Huntingdon. I knew Guy had other women, but once I was pregnant, I believed he would give up the others. I took it as a good sign when Roger started following me around the castle."

"Roger?" Joanna interrupted. "Why was he following you?"

"I assumed it was because Guy wanted me protected. But one night, Roger cornered me in the stables. He grabbed me by the hair and told me he had a right to everything Guy had, including me. I told Roger he didn't dare touch me because I was pregnant with Guy's child. Roger got angry and tried to strangle me, but I used a hoe to hit him on the side of the head, and then I ran away. I didn't stop to take anything or tell anyone where I was going. I ran into the forest until I collapsed. That's when Robin's men found me. I wanted to disappear, let people think I was dead. It was the only way I could be sure Roger wouldn't hurt my baby. Robin found me a place in the convent at Kirklees. That's where my little girl, Holly, is."

"What you've told me could clear Guy of murder and save his life," Joanna replied. "Would you be willing to tell the sheriff what you told me?"

Daisy cringed. "No! I want everyone to think I'm dead. It's the only way my little girl stays safe. I used to dream about Guy coming to us once he discovered I'd had the baby, but he was very clear. He would marry me only if I had a son. I'm dishonored, Joanna. It's better to be dead."

Disappointed, Joanna nodded. "I understand. Thank you for coming here and telling me what you did. It helps."

"Go, now," Elaine urged Daisy, "and kiss the baby for me. You're a brave mother."

Daisy rose quickly, and after a word to Stutely, the two of them disappeared into the dawn. Joanna hoped Daisy and her little girl would be safe. The pieces of the puzzle that had swirled in Joanna's head for the last three days were finally starting to align into a theory of what had happened. But without Daisy, Joanna would be hard pressed to prove it.

Elaine stood. "We should be getting back."

Joanna nodded, fighting back her returning claustrophobia and forcing herself to follow Elaine into the tunnel. With Elaine in front of her and Gripple behind her, Joanna felt boxed in and even more panicked than she had the first time through because she understood what to expect. She had to use all her powers of concentration to avoid a panic attack and continue through the narrow passage until Sirsalon, who was still waiting at the door, helped her up the stairs into the warm kitchen where two cooks worked over the fire. The two older women nodded at the intruders but said nothing as Gripple closed the door and covered it with the mat.

"We shouldn't be seen leaving together," Sirsalon suggested.

Elaine nodded. "Gripple first. Then me, Sirsalon, Joanna. Gripple, you go about your duties as though nothing's wrong. Joanna, meet back in my room."

Gripple slipped out and headed toward the stable. Elaine waited thirty seconds before she made her exit. Sirsalon touched Joanna's arm in a reassuring gesture before leaving a few seconds after Elaine. Joanna counted to one hundred to be safe before she raised her hand in goodbye to the cooks and stepped into the courtyard. The general unrest of the night before seemed to have dissipated with the dawn as the servants went about their morning chores with their normal grim faces although many offered Joanna almost-pleasant looks as she passed. The pink rays of the sun illuminated the top floor of the keep, turning the stones a rosy color. Joanna wondered where Guy was and if he was looking for her. She was nervous to see him, unsure what to say if he asked her where she had been last night.

A trough for washing had been set up near the well in the center of the bailey. Eight soldiers from the castle garrison bent over it, scrubbing themselves in the cold water. All were shirtless. Although she tried not to stare, Joanna couldn't help but watch the men out of the corner of her eye and admire their physiques. These were obviously fighting men whose arm, back, and chest muscles were highly developed from swordplay and drawing bows. When a dark flash among the white skin caught her eye, she slowed to get a better look at it. A three-inch-wide pattern of scabs was clearly visible on the right elbow of one of the soldiers as he scrubbed his head in the trough. The man stood up straight and shook off the excess water like a dog. When he turned, Joanna knew she had found her killer—Roger de la Rouche.

Catching Joanna's gaze, Roger smiled menacingly, and Joanna felt afraid and nauseated at the same time. This must have been exactly how Daisy had felt in the stables.

"Like what you see?" Roger asked, puffing out his chest.

Joanna felt herself disengage from her fear to study the situation. He could kill Joanna if he wanted to, and she had no doubt he wanted to. But he wouldn't. Not right now. A calm came over her as she took stock of the soldiers standing nearby at the trough and the servants milling throughout the courtyard—an audience Roger would not welcome. When he killed women, he did it in secret. For the moment, she was safe. She would use that to her advantage.

"I was looking at your elbow."

"What about it?"

"That's a nasty scrape. How'd you do it?"

While she didn't expect him to tell the truth, she hoped he understood she knew exactly how he had received the injury. After a pause that indicated too much hesitation on his part, he replied, "What do you care?"

"It looks like it bled a lot. I hope that blood didn't spill on anything near where Bess or Gwen was killed."

Roger grabbed her arm and pulled her close to whisper in her ear. "You watch yourself, wench, because if you do anything—and I mean _anything_ —to implicate me in the murders of those whores, I'll skewer you right between the legs and hang you from the top of the keep."

Joanna tried to look confident, aware of the many pairs of eyes watching the scene as she whispered back, "Guy will kill you when he finds out what you've done."

"You think so? He's known me a lot longer than he's known you. If you force him to choose between us, there's loyalty there you can never rival. Do you understand?"

"I understand you killed two women," Joanna said, her teeth clenched. His grip tightened on her arm, but she would not let him know she was afraid. "And I will make sure you pay _dearly_."

With a glance at the soldiers watching them, Roger released Joanna with a laugh. Although she feared tears would erupt any minute, she kept her head high as she walked toward the gatehouse, not stopping until she was inside Elaine's room. The gauntlet had been thrown down between her and Roger, and the loser would die.

# 21

Joanna paced in Elaine's room while Elaine and Sirsalon sat on the bed with wide eyes and open mouths in response to what Joanna shared with them.

"I can't believe it," Elaine finally said. "No...I _can_ _,_ but why?"

"That's what I'm still trying to piece together," Joanna conceded. "Unless I can prove Roger's motive, I'm asking Guy to choose between Roger and me. That's not a choice I feel confident about."

Sirsalon shook his head. "I don't see how you can prove motive at all. Roger is completely mad."

"He wants the women Guy has already slept with," Elaine ventured. "That's what ties all our victims together. When the women don't comply, he kills them."

Joanna frowned. "It's not only the women Guy sleeps with. It's the women he gets _pregnant_."

"Was Gwen with child?" Sirsalon asked.

"I doubt it," Joanna replied. "I think she was in the wrong place at the wrong time. He had to kill her or she would have exposed him as Bess's killer. Daisy said Guy promised to marry her if her child was a boy. He might have made the same promise to Bess, even before he knew she was pregnant. Guy is so desperate for a male heir that he's sleeping with as many women as he can to produce one."

Sirsalon grunted in appreciation. "That's one way of keeping your options open."

"Elaine, you told me that if Guy dies without a son, his estate reverts to the sheriff."

Elaine nodded. "The only way Guy could inherit was because he was named in the will. You'll remember I told you the old earl originally designated Guy as heir since he had no son of his own."

"Except that Robin was born," Joanna added. "Now that Guy is the Earl of Huntingdon, do you think _he_ has a will? Maybe he's identified an heir outside the family in case he doesn't have a child of his own as well."

"Very possible," Sirsalon conceded. "Felix would know. He's been clerk to the Earls of Huntingdon for the last forty years. You'll find him in the treasury on the fourth floor of the keep."

A knock sounded at the door—three raps, then one, then two. Gripple.

"Guy believes the sheriff is coming." Gripple's eyes were wide. "All soldiers are being called to the battlements."

Sirsalon nodded to the women. "I'll have to leave you. But this works in our favor. With Guy and Roger busy, it will be safe for you to visit the treasury."

Elaine kissed Gripple on the forehead and then shared a passionate kiss on the lips with Sirsalon that made Gripple shuffle his feet uncomfortably and Joanna giggle. When the men were gone, Joanna and Elaine passed unnoticed through the courtyard where Guy was ordering archers to their posts on the castle walls and Roger was distributing weapons. Joanna and Elaine climbed to the fourth floor of the keep and knocked on the last door on the left. The treasury door opened a crack to reveal a cloudy blue eye peering back at them.

"Felix, we need your help." Elaine's tone indicated she expected compliance.

"This is no time for clerk's work, woman!" Felix's voice was shaky and raspy with age. "We're under siege."

Elaine pushed against the door, widening the opening to reveal Felix's sagging jowls and thick nose. "It's about the murders of Bess and Gwen. We need to prove Guy's innocence. If we can, there may not be a siege."

After a brief pause for reflection, Felix stepped back from the door, allowing them to enter. "I doubt _anyone_ can prove his innocence, but I've seen too much bloodshed in my day to want more of it. Come in."

Like most rooms in the keep, this one was bare except for the plastered walls, wooden floor, and shutters at the window. Besides a locked chest that Joanna assumed held Guy's money and valuables, she counted eleven baskets stuffed with scrolls of various lengths and sizes. Next to the window stood a chair and an upright wooden desk with a slanted surface that reminded Joanna of a drafting table.

"Now, what is it you're looking for?" Felix asked.

"The old earl's will," Joanna said. "What's the provision made for Guy and his heirs?"

Felix screwed up his mouth in thought. "Wait a moment. Let me find that."

He puttered over to a basket and examined the scrolls. "Not many people have ever asked about that document. Just you two, Guy, and Roger."

Joanna and Elaine exchanged glances as Joanna asked, "Why would Roger care?"

"When Lady Marguerite died, God rest her soul, Guy asked me to go through her papers. I came across an old document, written thirty-one years ago, which had the name de la Rouche on it. I told Roger about it because I thought he deserved to know. It was a contract between the Lady Marguerite and a woman called Emone de la Rouche concerning Emone's four-year-old son Roger. In the document, Lady Marguerite acknowledges Roger is the illegitimate son of her late husband, Gaston de Gisbourne. She agreed to take Roger into service and provide for him."

Joanna let this news sink in. "Roger is Guy's half brother?"

"Illegitimate half brother." Felix retrieved the scroll he'd been looking for and rolled it out on his desk. "That's important for legal purposes, of course. The contract between Lady Marguerite and Roger's mother proves Roger's parentage, but not in the way Roger wanted. He believed that since Guy inherited the earl's title and property after Robin's disgrace that as Guy's half brother, Roger would inherit everything if Guy had no male heirs."

"And is this true?" Joanna asked.

Felix laughed. "Of course not! The only reason Guy could inherit was because the old earl listed him as an heir in his will. Legally, Roger could only inherit Locksley if Guy named him heir in the absence of a child of his own."

"And has Guy done so?"

"No. Guy has told me plainly he intends to have a son. He's always mourned his father's recklessness that led his mother to marry the old earl to keep a roof over their heads. What Guy wants is a son and a legacy to pass on to him—something his own father was never able to do."

Joanna chose her words carefully to avoid tipping her hand too soon. "I assume Roger was angry when he found out he couldn't inherit."

Felix rolled up the parchment. "He was, but I can't change the law."

"Does Guy know Roger is his brother?" Joanna asked.

"I told him after I found the de la Rouche document. He didn't seem surprised."

Joanna nodded. "Felix, you've been extremely helpful. Thank you."

"Have I averted the siege?"

"I hope so." Joanna smiled her gratitude.

When the treasury door closed behind them, Elaine asked in a low voice, "Where to now?"

"My room. I need to double check my facts one last time."

A surprise awaited them when they opened the door to Joanna's room—the place had been vandalized, probably by someone who had been very angry. Her table had been overturned and the parchment pieces scattered. The jar of ink was cracked, and its contents stained the wooden floor. The blankets had been pulled off the bed. The mattress was askew and misshapen, as though someone had used it as a punching bag. It was a good thing Joanna had burned the note concerning the rendezvous with Jill or the perpetrator might have found it.

"I'm glad I didn't come back here last night," Joanna said as she picked her way through the mess. "Do you think Guy did this?"

Elaine nodded. "He was obviously mad with rage. Imagine what he would have done to you if you had been here."

Joanna shivered, grateful she had avoided any romantic entanglement with Guy. Each new fact about him exposed a greater degree of his evil nature. Daisy was better off living in a convent than being Countess of Huntingdon if she had given Guy a son. Joanna could learn a lesson from this. When she got back home, she had other things to do besides falling in love and getting her heart broken—such as writing a book. In fact, possible rejection or critical revilement of her literary efforts seemed like child's play in contrast to the attempted rape and four deaths she had experienced in the last four days.

Joanna and Elaine righted the table, then Elaine went to work straightening the bed linens while Joanna picked up the pieces of parchment scattered across the floor. As she gathered them, she reviewed what she had written on each. _What's this?_ Joanna's hands trembled as she read a letter in handwriting she didn't recognize.

_Lady Marian,_

_It's time you knew the truth about your husband. Guy killed the forester and led the sheriff to believe Robin had done it. Guy locked the tunnel entrances to ensure Robin couldn't return to Locksley. But Guy's greatest deception was winning your affection when he knew your hopes for marriage rested with Robin. You still have a chance for happiness. I found the key to the chapel tunnel in Guy's room. Take it and go to Robin._

_Gwen_

Joanna must have gasped aloud because suddenly Elaine was at her side, asking what was wrong. Joanna wordlessly passed the note to Elaine and sat in shock while Elaine read.

"How did you get this?" Elaine demanded.

"When I was in Marian's room, I discovered a chest under her bed that hadn't been touched in years. I found this piece of parchment inside and thought it was blank, so I took it with me to use. I never saw the note on the other side until now."

"It's a shame you didn't find the key as well. The chapel tunnel has been locked for two years, and the note makes it sound as though Gwen sent the key along with her message."

Joanna's memory flashed back to opening the chest and felt her chest tighten. "What would that key have looked like?"

"It was a circle for your finger. The key stuck out of it and bent off to the side. It was made to wear as a ring if you wished, albeit an ugly, uncomfortable one."

Joanna tugged at her pocket and rummaged through it until she pulled out the ring key. "Is this it?"

Elaine examined it appreciatively. "It is indeed. What a shame Marian didn't use it to go to Robin! It would have saved her life."

"Guy of Gisbourne!" A voice outside the castle wall was yelling at the top of his voice. Joanna recognized it immediately as the Sheriff of Nottingham. "Why is your gate closed?"

Tucking the key back into her pocket, Joanna hurried to the window and looked out to see a hundred soldiers standing in formation outside the front of the castle. Behind the soldiers sat two mounted men. Joanna recognized them both—the Sheriff of Nottingham and Walter.

"Why have you marched an army onto my land?" Guy called back. Joanna couldn't see him, but his voice carried easily on the quiet morning air.

"I have your constable here," the sheriff replied. "He says you murdered his wife."

"He's wrong. I've never killed a woman."

"Open your gates so I can hear the evidence of this case," the sheriff ordered.

"I will not open my gates to men bent on my destruction."

The sheriff laughed. "Will the people of Locksley die for you, Gisbourne?"

Elaine breathed a heavy sigh. "It's only a matter of time before someone lets the sheriff in."

"Then it's time to expose the killer," Joanna replied.

When Joanna reached the inner bailey with Elaine right behind her, she saw Guy in front of the gatehouse, pointing three soldiers toward the kitchen.

"Walter knows about the tunnel," Guy reminded them. "The sheriff might be planning an attack through that route at this minute. Guard the door and don't let anyone in. Do you understand?"

The soldiers nodded and jogged to the kitchen, axes and swords in hand, while Guy hurried toward the stairs that led to the wall walk. Joanna called after him.

"Guy, I can help you!"

He turned on his heel and stomped toward Joanna, his face twisted in anger.

"You could have helped me last night." He bit off the words. "But you weren't there."

Even though her knees shook, Joanna fought back her fear and held her ground in the middle of the bailey. "I can clear your name. I know who killed Bess and Gwen—Roger de la Rouche."

Roger, who had been standing near Marian's tower, cried out in protest and ran to where Guy and Joanna stood. Using creative terms Joanna hadn't heard before, Roger made clear to Guy what he thought of Joanna's accusations. This was going to be a deadly confrontation.

Guy put up his hand to silence Roger. "I want to hear what she has to say. Then you'll have your turn."

Sirsalon, now wearing a sword, joined Elaine in the bailey and stood about ten feet from the Guy and Roger. Joanna allowed her eyes to sweep the castle, taking in the servants on the ground, the archers on the walls, and the soldiers who had been ordered to the kitchen turning around to hear what she was about to say. She realized as she stood near the well, with the eyes of everyone in the castle on her, that her nights of stories in the great hall had been preparing her for this moment. Never had her words carried more importance than they did now. With hands trembling, Joanna raised her voice to be heard clearly.

"After Marian's death, Guy began having affairs with young women in the castle. He spread rumors that Marian's room was haunted to keep everyone away so he and his lady friends could meet privately. He promised each woman that if she became pregnant and bore him a son, he would marry her, making her a countess and the child his legal heir. Guy had never forgiven his own father for dying without a legacy. So, Guy planned to take Robin's estate and pass it on to his own son when he had one."

The people in the castle whispered among themselves in response to what Joanna shared. Guy's eyes narrowed, but he did not stop her.

"For his affairs to be kept secret, Guy needed an ally to pass messages to his lovers and arrange their meetings, and that messenger was Roger. But what Guy couldn't know was that Roger was not the faithful friend he appeared to be. When Lady Marguerite died, Roger discovered he was the illegitimate son of Gaston de Gisbourne, Guy's father. Roger believed that if Guy died without a son, he would become Earl of Huntingdon in Guy's place."

At this, Guy began to laugh. "Were you really that stupid, Roger?"

"You just discovered I'm your brother, and that's all you can say?" Roger quivered with anger.

"I've known we shared a father since I was ten," Guy replied. "What difference did it make? Our father died penniless and disgraced. Your mother was a servant. I gave you food and a roof over your head. You didn't deserve anything more."

Roger's eyes darkened with hatred, but he did not reply.

"Before Bess died," Joanna continued, "she revealed to several people that she was in love with someone of a higher rank, and that man was, of course, Guy. Bess knew Guy had another lover—Gwen—so she concocted a plan to get rid of her. Gwen had been in love with Guy for years and no doubt would have killed Walter had she become pregnant with Guy's son. Bess tried to undermine Gwen by telling Walter of the affair. But Bess had her own secret that put her in danger. She was pregnant with Guy's child. Roger probably discovered this when he carried messages back and forth between them. If Bess had a son, all of Roger's hopes of inheritance—however mistaken they might have been—would be dashed. On the night Bess died, Roger told her that Guy wanted to meet her on top of Marian's tower. When she got there, Roger was waiting for her. He pushed her off the tower, re-enacting Marian's death to frame Guy."

"But Roger was with us when we checked the tower for Bess's killer," Guy interrupted.

"He came _down_ with you," Joanna corrected. "But he didn't go _up_ with you because he was already there. You see, there's a faulty board on the floor of the tower, and when Roger pushed Bess, he slipped on the board and fell backward, injuring his elbow. If this hadn't happened, he might have been able to run down the stairs before the soldiers arrived. But his injury slowed him down. He had only reached the second floor when he heard the soldiers enter the ground floor. He used his key to unlock Marian's room where he found Gwen, preparing for her rendezvous with you. His surprise and panic caused him to leave the key in the lock, where I found it the next day.

"Gwen wasn't threatened by Roger and probably asked for his help unlacing her bodice. He had to kill her to keep his location a secret. After all, Gwen would have told Guy she had seen Roger in the room. When she turned her back to Roger, he strangled her. With all the commotion in the courtyard, no one heard her struggle. When the soldiers came down the stairs, Roger remembered he'd left the key in the door and hid against the wall in case someone saw it and entered. His elbow was still bleeding and some of that blood smeared on the wall plaster. When the way was clear, he slipped out the door and followed the soldiers back to the bailey as though he'd been with them the entire time. His plan was very good—almost perfect. I wasn't sure he was guilty until this morning when I saw the scab on his elbow and he threatened to kill me if I revealed him as the murderer."

"Are you going to believe this wench over me?" Roger demanded "I've been your loyal servant for over thirty years. I've been your partner in all kinds of evil."

"Silence, Roger!" Guy ordered with a vehemence that caused Joanna to take a step back.

"I will _not_ be silent when you refuse to acknowledge the service I've done for you." The veins in Roger's neck bulged. "Who killed the forester we used to frame Robin? Wasn't it me? Didn't I do it willingly because I'm loyal to you?"

An audible gasp went through the crowd at this news. Guy's eyes flicked from side to side as he took in the reactions.

"I have lied for you," Roger continued, his voice wild with anger. "I have cheated, I have stolen, and I have killed for you. I have risked my life more times than I can count out of love and loyalty to you. I'm your brother. I deserve to be treated as more than a servant."

"Yes, you do," Guy agreed.

In one swift move, Guy drew his sword. As he pulled it from its scabbard, he slashed to the upper right so quickly that it sliced open a gash across Roger's chest and cheek. Blood splatter shot Joanna's direction, and she felt the warm drops land on her arm and face. Roger gasped in surprise and pain. Without hesitation, Guy raised his sword hilt above his head and plunged the blade into Roger's chest. A collective gasp swept the crowd and quickly dissolved into silence as Guy removed his sword and cleaned it as Roger collapsed first to his knees, then with a gurgle and choke, toppled to his side, dead.

After several seconds of shock had passed, Joanna was the first to break the silence when she screamed at Guy in a fury she didn't know she possessed.

"What were you thinking? You could have turned him over to sheriff alive and saved yourself and everyone else in the castle. He was your own flesh and blood! Does killing really come that easily to you?"

"It does," Guy replied. "He killed two women I cared about. This was about revenge. _You_ can speak to the sheriff and clear my name."

"Your name doesn't deserve to be cleared." Joanna retorted. "You may not have killed those women, but you're still a murderer."

Sirsalon stepped forward. "Guy, I watched you kill Agrub yesterday and Roger today. We all heard Roger testify that you're responsible for framing our master, Robert Locksley, Earl of Huntingdon, for murder. You stole his land and his title. You deceived and mistreated all of us."

"And you killed Marian!" Elaine joined Sirsalon. "You stole her from your brother for revenge, and then you murdered her."

"Now wait a minute," Joanna interrupted, more from a desire to have the facts rightly understood than to clear Guy's name. "He's guilty of a lot of things, but he didn't murder Lady Marian. Her death was an accident."

"Can you prove this?" one of the archers on top of the gatehouse called out.

"We can prove Marian knew Guy was responsible for framing Master Robin," Elaine declared. "We found a note Gwen wrote to Marian, telling her what Guy had done."

The crowd grew angry, the pitch of their voices rising. Guy looked at Joanna, and she saw in his eyes the despair that comes when a man knows he is going to die.

"I killed Marian," Guy said softly.

Joanna, Sirsalon, and Elaine all looked at each other in surprise. No one had expected him to admit this.

"I killed Marian!" Guy repeated, his voice growing louder. "Before you turn me over to the sheriff and seal your own ruin, I will tell you the truth. On the night Marian died, we argued. Someone had sent her a letter the day before—I didn't know it was Gwen—indicating I had framed Robin for murder. Marian was a spirited, passionate woman whose moods were difficult to predict. After she confronted me, she left the room in a rage, and I didn't know what she was capable of, so I chased her to the top of the tower, trying to reason with her. She told me not to come any closer or she would jump. I didn't believe her. I came closer, and I frightened her. She moved back quickly and slipped on a loose floorboard. She cried out in pain and lost her balance, falling backward. I tried to catch her, but I was too late. She slipped right off the edge, screaming the most awful wail I've ever heard, and fell to her death. I still hear her screams in my nightmares."

His eyes begged Joanna to understand. She crossed her arms, unwilling to give him the comfort he was asking for.

"Murderer!" a male voice rang out from behind Joanna.

Like everyone else, Joanna scanned the crowd to see who had spoken. Finally, back by the keep, she caught sight of Jill first, wearing a hooded cloak. It was easy then to spot Little John and Will Scarlet behind her. But the accusation had come from the handsome, wiry man with curly dark blond hair, a short beard, and flaming blue eyes. This had to be Robin Hood. How long had he and Jill been standing there? Why hadn't anyone noticed the only four people in the castle wearing hooded cloaks? The answer didn't matter, though. Jill was here, and Joanna knew somehow everything was going to turn out all right.

# 22

## 15 minutes earlier

## Outside the Locksley kitchen tunnel

Getting to Locksley Castle took longer than Jill wanted it to. First, there had been the debate about who of the merry men would go. Eventually, Robin had decided ten men would accompany them part way and be ready to provide backup should they meet any foresters or Guy and his men. But only Will Scarlet and Little John would enter the castle with Robin and Jill. Second, Robin and Will had deliberated about how to properly enter the castle. Jill's repeated urging that they could talk it over on the way won out, and the group of fourteen set out for Locksley.

As the sheriff's men traveled from village to village collecting tax money, the outlaws were forced either to hide until the soldiers passed or to avoid the soldiers by following a circuitous route, which accounted for further delay. Finally by mid-morning, Robin, Jill, Little John, and Will crouched behind the undergrowth at the edge of the forest, overlooking a small cave guarded by ten soldiers. The cave was on a gently sloping hill with the outlaws both below the opening and downwind of the soldiers. Two soldiers stood guard at the entrance while the others checked their weapons and appeared to be preparing to enter.

"I don't understand. How did they find the tunnel?" Will asked. "Gripple's been going in and out of it for three years and was never discovered."

"Someone told the sheriff about it," Robin surmised, "which means we could be walking into a trap."

"Should we try the chapel tunnel?" Will asked.

"It's been locked, and the key was lost," Robin reminded him. "We don't have time anyway. Joanna's in danger, and we have to get in there, especially if the sheriff is about to attack."

Earlier in the day, Robin had drawn a map of the castle in the dirt for Jill. She visualized it now. The tunnel would bring them up through the kitchen, which was on the northeast side of the castle, between the keep and the chapel tower. As soon as they stepped out of the kitchen, they would be exposed until they reached the door of the keep. Jill assumed Joanna would be in her room on the third floor, but there was no way to be sure. If Joanna wasn't there, the rescue party could creep into the great hall and work their way around the castle until they found her.

"So, what do we do?" Little John asked.

Robin turned to Jill. "Suggestions?"

"I think we kick those soldiers' butts and rescue my sister."

"And my family," Will added. "My mum and brother are in there, too."

"As well as your stepfather," Little John reminded him.

"They aren't married yet," Will protested.

"Ten soldiers." Robin brought their attention back to the current problem. "Two and a half for each of us. Everyone ready?"

At Robin's signal, Jill, John, and Will attacked. Robin and Will both carried light swords and their bows but used their fists to fight. Little John had his staff, which was as tall as he was and almost as thick as Jill's wrist. Remembering her success with Robin on the slippery log, Jill had also brought a staff. Swinging it over her head, she smacked one soldier on the side of his head then jammed the end of the staff into the chest of the soldier approaching her from behind. While he bent over in pain, she whacked the first soldier again, and he fell to the ground. It took a roundhouse kick and two more blows with her staff to finish off the second soldier. As she scanned for more opponents, she caught sight of a soldier moving toward Robin. A whack to the back of the man's knees threw him off balance long enough for Robin to knock him out with a blow to the jaw.

Robin grinned, and Jill felt herself smiling back. For the first time in her life she had purpose, adventure, and someone special to share it with. But she couldn't stay. Robin's suddenly melancholy expression seemed to promise understanding of her thoughts before he nodded toward Little John who was finishing off the last soldier.

"Let's tie them up," Robin suggested. "We don't want them coming in after us."

Using rope Will had brought, they tied the soldiers around three different trees and gagged them with strips torn from the soldiers' own clothes. When the task was finished, Robin walked to the tunnel entrance, paused, then turned back to the other three.

"I don't know what we're walking in to." Robin grimaced in anticipation. "The sheriff's men or Guy's might be waiting for us the minute we open the trap door. Either way, I can't promise we're going to get out of this alive. But we do have some advantages. We know the castle, we know the people, and we're rescuing our loved ones. Neither Guy nor the sheriff possesses all three of those."

"Here, here!" Little John agreed.

"And I hope no one's afraid of the dark," Robin added, "Because I forgot to bring a candle."

Robin led the way followed by Will so the two of them could defend against any soldiers waiting for them at the trap door. Jill came third with Little John at the rear since his bulk was the most difficult to maneuver through the narrow passageway. As Jill navigated the dark space, she couldn't see anything except the blackness. She kept her left hand on Will's back so she wouldn't lose him or run into him by accident. As she felt her way along, she decided she would much rather crawl through caves than jump off buildings. John grunted behind her. When she asked how he was doing, he assured her that he was coming along fine, if a bit cramped.

It wasn't long before Will stopped and Jill heard Robin pushing at the trap door in the kitchen floor. Light flooded into the stairway as Robin opened the door and climbed up. Jill could hear Joanna's voice carrying throughout the castle even before Will helped her up the last stairs, but she couldn't understand the words clearly. No one was in the kitchen, even though a fire burned in the fireplace and stew bubbled tantalizingly in the kettle. It was strange that no one guarded the door.

Robin motioned for everyone to don their hoods, and they exited the kitchen, moving along the wall of the keep until they were standing at the back of the crowd of servants and soldiers who surrounded Guy, Joanna, and another man Jill assumed to be Roger near the well closer to the gatehouse. Joanna had just accused Roger of killing the two women and was delivering her explanation.

"Gwen wasn't threatened by Roger and probably asked for his help unlacing her bodice. He had to kill Gwen to keep his location a secret. After all, she would have told Guy she had seen Roger in the room. When she turned her back to Roger, he strangled her."

Joanna epitomized confidence and self-possession and projected her voice for the entire castle to hear. Jill swelled with pride at her sister's performance. Joanna really needed to write a book. She was much more talented than she thought she was, and the modern world deserved to know it. Jill was jerked back to the present when Guy ordered Roger to be silent.

"I will _not_ be silent," Roger protested, "when you refuse to acknowledge the service I've done for you. Who killed the forester we used to frame Robin? Wasn't it me? Didn't I do it willingly because I'm loyal to you?"

Robin stiffened at this declaration while the crowd gasped in response. Jill knew Guy was a desperate man, but she didn't expect him to execute Roger so quickly. There wasn't even time to react. But Joanna's response, even as she was spattered with Roger's blood, surprised Jill even more. Jill had never seen her sister so aggressive—and Jill liked it! How was it possible she had known Joanna for twenty-five years and never seen this side of her?

As Guy related how Marian died, Jill slipped her hand into Robin's. She couldn't imagine how hard it must be for him to listen to this. As the story continued, Robin tensed and pulled his hand away before shouting, "Murderer!"

Jill understood what was about to happen. The time had come for the final showdown between these brothers. The confrontation had been building for many years, probably since the day Robin had been born, and Jill could not stop it even if she wanted to. She would be gone soon. Robin would have to find his own happiness, peace, and purpose. If she truly cared about him, she would let him fight this battle and find closure. But she didn't have to stand here powerless. She would have his back and help him get his revenge.

Robin approached Guy with a purposeful step. Jill picked up the cloak and bow he discarded and joined Will and Little John in the ring of people that widened around the brothers' battlefield. Suddenly Joanna was at her side.

"I'm glad to see you," Joanna whispered, "but you're in danger. The sheriff's outside with a hundred men. He has Guy's constable with him and who knows how many people inside ready to surrender. If the sheriff knows Robin is in here, too..."

With Roger's blood spattered on Joanna's face, chest and arms and the determined gleam in her eyes, she looked nothing like a mild-mannered wedding planner or damsel in distress but everything like a competent woman who could take care of herself. The new look suited her. Maybe Joanna wasn't in danger. But if that was true, whose life was Jill supposed to save? She wished now she'd had more time with the Widow Tinsley but doubted the woman would have been any more forthcoming.

Guy's low, evil laugh brought her back to the present. "Robin, at last!" Guy raised his bloody sword in salute.

If Jill was going to help Robin, she needed to assess the battlefield. The bailey wasn't very big, and now, crowded with people, there was even less room for the combatants to maneuver. Robin and Guy stood about fifteen feet apart, the encircling crowd giving the brothers a battlefield about the size of a boxing ring. With no one else involved, nothing to hide behind, and nowhere to run, the fight wouldn't last long. If Jill was going to help Robin, she didn't have much time. Currently, she and Joanna were several feet back from the inner edge of the fighting ring.

"Take these for me." She passed Robin's cloak and bow to Joanna. "And stay back here."

"What are you doing?"

"Not sure yet," Jill admitted.

"They're going to kill each other," Joanna warned. "You don't want to get stuck in the middle of it."

"I already am."

Joanna's expression reminded Jill of how Mom always looked when she was about to scold the twins for doing something stupid. Joanna looked at the dagger in Jill's belt, and her face regained the self-possessed, confident look Jill had admired a moment before.

"Be careful," Joanna said.

Jill nodded, grateful for the understanding, and pushed her way forward to the front.

Robin had not yet drawn his sword when he addressed the crowd. "People of Locksley! This quarrel is between Guy and me. No one else. I have no wish for more blood to be spilled."

Jill studied the faces of the crowd, hopeful they would honor his request.

Robin turned to Guy. "For three years I've dreamed of killing you, and you more than deserve it. But in honor of our mother, God rest her soul, I will grant you mercy."

"Mercy is for cowards!" Guy mocked.

Robin's nostrils flared. "For the sake of the people of Locksley, turn yourself in to the sheriff and clear my name. Return to me my title and lands—"

Guy was fast. He covered the distance between him and Robin and swiped his sword blade across Robin's chest. Had Robin not leaned back in time, Guy would have finished him off as easily as he had Roger. But instead of slicing open Robin's chest, Guy severed the strap of Robin's quiver. The leather pouch fell heavily to the ground, the arrow shafts clattering against each other. Robin hadn't even drawn his sword as Guy prepared to strike again. Robin dropped to the ground and rolled out of Guy's range as the sword blade came down. Leaping to his feet, Robin ran behind Guy to the farthest end of the makeshift arena and drew his sword.

With a roar, Guy charged. Robin's steel met his as they exchanged blows. Guy's blade was thicker and stronger than Robin's. It didn't take Jill long to notice Guy was pushing Robin around the circle, overpowering him with his strength. Guy was obviously the better swordsman. But Robin was fueled by righteous anger. The older brother he loved and trusted had stolen his life and his woman. Having grown up with only a sister, Jill had never witnessed male aggression to this degree. She understood now that Robin had only toyed with her when they fought on the fallen log. If he had attacked her with the same intensity he now directed toward Guy, Robin would have finished Jill quickly.

A collective groan sounded throughout the crowd as Guy drew blood on Robin's right arm. Jill cringed. But Robin didn't seem to feel it. His face contorted in rage, he wounded Guy in the leg.

Jill looked around frantically for Little John and Will. John was easy to spot. He towered over Joanna who stood where Jill had left her. Jill was grateful for Little John's forethought. He still struggled with guilt for letting Joanna down in Nottingham Castle several days before. Jill could count on him now to defend Joanna with his life and get her safely out of the castle if the sheriff breached the walls.

Will stood near his mother, Gripple, and Sirsalon. Both Will and Sirsalon had their swords drawn and were braced for battle while carefully watching the duel between the brothers. Seeing the family together, even if Sirsalon was an addition Will begrudged, caused a lump to rise in Jill's throat. She wanted nothing more than to return to her own family when this was over.

The ring of steel blades colliding called Jill's focus back to Robin and Guy. Guy sliced at Robin's neck, but Robin ducked and turned, slamming his shoulder into Guy's stomach. The force dropped Guy to the ground and caused both men to lose their swords. For a moment, they grappled hand to hand on the ground, wrestling, punching, and kicking like they must have as boys. Robin pinned Guy to the ground and punched his face repeatedly until Guy's knee connected with Robin's groin and pushed him off to the side. Both men, groaning, rolled on the ground. Guy tried to clear his head, and Robin attempted to stand. They were tiring.

Robin, still doubled over, was the first to retrieve his sword and scuttled as far to the opposite side of the circle as he could, hoping, Jill guessed, to give himself a little more time to recover. Jill wished Robin had finished Guy while his ears still rang from all the punches Robin had thrown at him, but Robin was either too noble or too physically weak to take advantage of the situation.

As Robin rested with one knee on the ground, Guy rose slowly, retrieved his sword, and staggered toward Robin, gaining strength and height with every step. Robin stood just in time to deflect Guy's blow. But the heavier sword came down with such force that the blade was severed above the hilt. Jill gasped in dismay. How would Robin defend himself? As Robin stared at the bladeless hilt in his hand, she saw panic and despair. Guy would kill him as he had killed Roger. But Robin's panic passed as quickly as it had come. He rolled away from Guy's blow and ran to the other side of the circle.

Jill sucked in her breath. She had to do something to help. Drawing the dagger from her belt, she pondered how to get Robin's attention and pass it to him. Robin still held the broken sword hilt in his right hand and Guy turned to charge him.

"Robin!"

His eyes turned in her direction but only for an instant as Guy swung his blade and Robin dodged. Guy swung again, and again Robin dodged. What was Robin doing? Why was he allowing Guy to chase him all over the ground? Then she understood. He was making his way to her. She held the dagger ready. As Robin dashed past her, not stopping for fear of putting her in range of Guy's sword, she slipped the dagger into his left hand, and he moved on, this time in his distraction getting sliced across the chest by Guy's sword blade.

Jill didn't cry out, but her palms were cold and sweaty, and she felt faint. There was nothing else she could do. As blood flowered on Robin's white shirt, she saw him weakening. Guy would kill him. How could this be happening? Robin was supposed to win!

Robin deflected a blow with his sword hilt, but as he tried to back away from Guy, he slipped and fell on his back, his torso fully exposed. Guy grasped the hilt in both hands and raised the sword high, ready to plunge the blade into Robin's heart and end their feud forever.

_"Noooooooooo!!!"_

Where was that noise coming from?

Jill recognized with amazement that she was the one screaming. Her shriek seemed to make the very stones of the castle vibrate and caused her ears to ache. She had no idea she was capable of making such a desperate, frightening sound, and yet it kept pouring out of her. The sound she had made while jumping off the Nottingham Castle wall seemed inaudible in comparison.

Guy's sword stuck in mid-air, and his face paled as though he'd seen a ghost.

"Marian?"

As Guy likely relived the very moment Marian fell to her death, Robin drove Jill's dagger under Guy's rib cage. Guy shuddered and inhaled a groan. He dropped the sword and staggered several steps before falling.

Jill rushed into the open space and kicked Guy's sword out of his reach. Then she knelt at Robin's side. Sliding Robin's head and shoulders to lean against her body, she encircled him with her arms. His head lay back against her left shoulder, allowing her to study the gash on his chest. She pressed her hand against it to stop the bleeding. With a little groan, Robin clasped her forearm as they watched Guy thrash in pain.

"Marian," Guy said weakly, blood trickling out of his mouth.

Jill pressed her lips against the top of Robin's head.

"Marian," Guy repeated. "Forgive me."

He reached a hand toward Jill. It hung in the air a moment then slumped to the ground as blood flowed from his chest and mouth into little rivulets between the pavers.

A ragged breath that might have been a sob escaped from Robin's lips. Jill pressed her hand harder against his chest. His ribs and breastbone had not been fractured. She could feel them firm under the bloody skin. Ordinarily, she would have been disgusted by something like this, but instead, she only felt concern and wished she had a bandage.

The entire castle was eerily silent. Jill could hear the horses snorting in their stables. Joanna, with Robin's cloak still draped over her arm, walked slowly to Guy and kneeled down beside him. With a sober glance at Jill, Joanna pressed two fingers against his neck to check for a pulse.

"He's dead."

"Cover him up," Robin requested, his voice hoarse. "He was my brother."

Joanna shook out the cloak and laid it over Guy's body, hiding his face. Then, she stood and with hands clasped recited a poem Jill recognized as one Joanna had written several years ago during one of her "dark" periods.

_The apparition of regret_

_Appears to men of tortured frame_

_Who harbor memories long beset_

_By evil_ _deeds_ _they dare not name._

_Should opportunity inspire_

_Atonement_ _for such heinous crimes,_

_Beware the man of bitter ire_

_Who fails to make use of the times!_

_Then even morning stars lose hope_

_When dark suns rise on days of grief._

_The guilty soul in darkness gropes_

_Till only death can bring relief._

As she recited, the crowd bowed their head, as they would for a benediction. Robin took a ragged breath and squeezed Jill's arm. When Joanna finished, silence reigned for several seconds until it was shattered by a booming clang that sounded like a door opening in the gatehouse. Then, chains rattled and the portcullis began to rise.

Jill wondered if her own eyes were as wide as her twin's when Joanna exclaimed, "The sheriff is coming!"

# 23

Joanna studied the outlaw bleeding in Jill's arms and debated how they were going to get him out of the castle. Someone was raising the portcullis for the sheriff. Elaine had been right—the people of Locksley weren't about to continue the siege, especially now that Guy was dead. Joanna didn't blame them. They were pawns, trying to survive while caught between two powerful men. However, before Locksley surrendered to the sheriff, Joanna, Jill, Robin, and everyone the twins cared about in the twelfth century needed to get out of the castle now.

Sirsalon and Elaine were at Joanna's side as Will and Little John lifted Robin off the ground and draped his arms across their shoulders to balance his weight between them.

"Follow me," Sirsalon ordered. He led the way to the kitchen.

"Gripple, go with Robin," Elaine urged. "It's not safe for you here."

"You're coming too, Mum!" Will ordered.

The castle gate was open now, and the sheriff's soldiers streamed in. Some of the people raised their hands in surrender while others began to fight. Joanna hoped no more innocent people would die. There had been enough bloodshed today. Sirsalon paused when they rounded the keep and Joanna immediately saw why. Soldiers were walking out the kitchen door—the tunnel had been breached.

"The chapel tunnel!" Elaine called. "Joanna found the key."

"Everyone, go!" Sirsalon ordered as Joanna fished the Roman key from her pocket. "I'll distract them."

Before anyone could protest, he raised his sword in challenge and charged the soldiers at the kitchen door. Since the chapel was next to the kitchen, the soldiers would see them escaping. At best, Sirsalon could only buy a few seconds of confusion.

Elaine and Joanna ran to the chapel, Gripple, Jill, and the three outlaws close behind them. Elaine had time to close the door and bar it before the soldiers rammed against it. John dropped Robin to the floor so he and Will could lean their shoulders against the doorframe to brace it further.

"Help me move the altar," Elaine ordered.

Joanna and Gripple each held a corner of the altar and moved it to the side while Jill pulled away the kneeling bench and Elaine removed the rug, revealing a trap door underneath.

Lifting the door, Elaine pointed to the darkness beneath it. "There's a door a few feet beyond the bottom of the stairs. Make sure to lock it behind you in case they get past me. There's another door at the far end you'll have to unlock as well, Joanna, so hold on to the key."

Joanna slipped it onto her right index finger so she wouldn't drop it. "Any tricks to the lock I should know about?"

Elaine took hold of Joanna's fist to illustrate how to hold her hand. "Thumb on top, key sideways, straight into the hole. Rotate it to the left to unlock, the right to lock."

"Got it."

Jill pulled a candle off the altar. "No disrespect meant," she said. "But anybody got a light?"

Elaine fished a flint from her pocket and struck it against the floor to light the candle. Jill held it and nodded encouragingly at Joanna, indicating Jill remembered how Joanna hated small spaces but wasn't going to share that knowledge with the group.

A collision on the other side of the door jarred John with such force that his body shook. "We need to hurry!" he said.

With a deep breath, Joanna descended the steep stairs, reminding herself that her safety and Jill's, as well as everyone else's, depended on her descending this narrow staircase and entering a tight tunnel underground with hardly any light, plenty of spider webs, and maybe no way out. Her hands shook and her knees felt unsteady as she walked farther from the light. She jumped when a black figure leaped at the bottom of the steps, but it was only her shadow cast by the candle Jill carried.

"You can do it," Jill whispered.

As the men descended the stairs behind them, Jill held the light so Joanna could find the keyhole. She held her hand as Elaine had shown her. The key slid easily into the lock. When Joanna turned her wrist to the left, the tumbler clicked. She pushed the door open to the long, dark tunnel behind it.

"Don't you wish Gordon could see you?" Jill joked. "Now you know exactly how to open a door."

Joanna allowed herself a nervous laugh. "He'd never believe me, though. Go through. I've got to stay to lock the door behind us."

Jill's concerned face indicated she understood how difficult this was for Joanna, but she nodded and passed through the doorframe, using her candle to illuminate the way for everyone who followed. From what Joanna could tell, this passage was wider than the chapel tunnel, but the ceiling was a little lower. She hated low ceilings. They made her feel like the world was pressing down on her.

Gripple came next, then Robin. His features were hardly discernible in the pale light, but he bowed slightly as he hobbled past, obviously in pain.

"Robin Hood," he said with a strained voice. "Pleased to meet you, Joanna."

"And you." Despite the danger, she smiled at the odd circumstances of the introduction.

Little John was so big that even when Joanna pressed herself against the wall, there was no spare room between them and Joanna did her best to ignore how awkward it felt as he squeezed by. He muttered an apology.

Will, the last to enter, turned back to call to Elaine. "Mum?"

"Someone has to hide the trap door, Will."

Before he could protest, Elaine slammed the door shut, leaving Will and Joanna in darkness.

"What's she doing?"

Joanna found Will's arm and pushed him through the door ahead of her. Groping for the edge of the door in the darkness, she closed it, found the keyhole by touch and slid in the key. She heard a scraping from the floor above, probably Elaine moving the altar back in place, and then the splintering of wood that must have been the soldiers breaking through the chapel door. Joanna's heart broke for Elaine, but she couldn't let the older woman's sacrifice be in vain. Joanna twisted her wrist to the right and heard the door lock. This would hold the soldiers at least for a little while, but there was no time to dawdle.

Rising, she clutched her right hand in a fist to her chest so that she wouldn't drop the key and used her left hand to feel the wall. Jill was already so far ahead that Joanna couldn't see any light, but she heard the footsteps echoing in the cave. Her panic was growing. What if the ceiling fell in? What if she was trapped? What if the soldiers got through and attacked her from behind? What if she died down here? Her ears began to ring, and she felt dizzy. The walls were closing in. She couldn't breathe.

"Joanna! Are you coming?"

It was Jill's voice.

"I'm coming," Joanna replied, feeling how small her voice sounded. She started moving forward again, and a faint light ahead became evident. She could see dark forms behind the light and knew she was catching up to the others.

"The tunnel's a little wider and taller up here," Jill called back. "We'll stand still so you can get to the front."

"Oh, I'm okay," Joanna lied, not wanting to call more attention to her claustrophobia than she had to.

"We'll need you to open the door, silly," Jill explained.

Joanna pushed her way forward until she came upon the first shadow she decided was Will. "I'm coming up on the right," she called.

"Everyone to the left," Jill ordered, and the men complied. Joanna pressed herself flat against the wall to the right and slid forward, one step at a time, with almost every part of her body brushing up against whatever man was beside her.

"Excuse me. Sorry. Pardon me," Joanna said as she slipped through. When she finally passed Gripple, she saw Jill's smiling face illuminated in the candlelight. Joanna moved to pass Jill, but Jill blocked her way.

"How about I go first, since I have the candle, and that way I can help you find the door?

Joanna knew exactly what Jill was doing and appreciated it. Jill was taking the front position and keeping Joanna close to the light to help Joanna's claustrophobia. As the group moved on, Joanna focused on the light and put one foot in front of the other. Much to Joanna's disgust, Jill didn't look like she was bothered at all by the experience.

"This reminds me of spelunking," Jill remarked as they moved ahead. "That would be something fun to do together, wouldn't it?"

"I don't think so," Joanna said quickly. "With my luck, I would crawl out of a cave and meet a dinosaur."

"What's a dinosaur?" Gripple asked.

"Really scary monster," Joanna answered. "You'd probably call it a dragon."

"What do they look like?"

For the next few minutes, Joanna distracted herself as she tried to describe a _Tyrannosaurus rex_ to Gripple. He was delighted and asked her if she knew stories of any other monsters. She was halfway through explaining what _Pteranodons_ and _Pteradactyls_ were when Jill interrupted.

"Here's the other door. We've almost made it."

Jill stepped aside so Joanna could kneel in front of the door to unlock it. Joanna was a little surprised to find the keyhole on the left instead of the right as it had been on the other door. Jill held the light close while Joanna slipped the key into the hole. Joanna tried to turn her wrist to the left as she had on the first door, but the lock resisted. However, after a little experimentation, she discovered the key turned to the right. She heard the lock click, but when she pushed against the door. It didn't budge.

Joanna glanced at the four men waiting behind her and thought about the soldiers who might even now be breaking down the tunnel door behind them. Again she inserted the key. This time, when she turned it to the left, it clicked.

"I think I locked it."

Joanna pushed against the door in vain. She crouched by the keyhole and again turned the key to the right, hearing it click. But when she pushed the door, it was stuck.

"I'm sure it's unlocked," she told Jill.

"Maybe if we both push against it," Jill suggested.

Both women braced their shoulders against the door and strained, but the door didn't even creak.

"Maybe something's blocking the way," Gripple proposed. "A big rock or something."

"Impossible." Robin's voice sounded polite but impatient. "Joanna, are you _sure_ it's unlocked?"

Joanna felt her face growing warm from the implied criticism. "Yes, I'm sure," she snapped. "Do _you_ want to come up here and try it?"

"No need to get snippy," Jill chided.

Joanna pulled the key off her finger and handed it to Jill. "Here."

Shrugging, Jill passed Joanna the candle, examined the key, then held it in her fingers as she slid it into the lock and turned the key back and forth several times, with it clicking each time.

"That's weird," Jill conceded. "It does seem to be unlocked." Jill pushed against the door with her palm. "But it's not opening."

Little John grunted as he moved his bulk past Robin and Gripple. "Time for the strong man to try."

Joanna and Jill pressed themselves against the wall as John squeezed by. He pushed his right shoulder into the door to no avail. He groaned and strained, but nothing happened.

"Maybe I need a running start."

He was backing up to charge the door when Joanna placed a hand on his back. "Hold on a second! Let me think."

She knew the door was unlocked. She had heard the lock click. On the first door, the lock had been on the right, and she turned the key left to unlock it, right to lock it. On this second door, the lock was on the left, and she turned the key right to unlock it, left to lock it. Exact opposites...

"I've got it!"

Rising, she grasped hold of the metal ring in the middle of the door and pulled it toward her. The door swung open, revealing a gray passage ahead that promised an exit into sunlight.

"Pull, don't push," Joanna said softly.

Jill started to snicker, short little bursts of laughter that increased in frequency like popping corn. Suddenly, she snorted, and this was enough to make Joanna lose her composure. Joanna had always had a loud laugh, and now it erupted. Suddenly, she was laughing so hard she was crying, gasping for breath and doubled over. When Joanna caught sight of her twin, Jill had dropped the candle and slid to the floor, holding her sides while shaking with mirth. Joanna pointed at the door handle and tried to repeat, "Pull, don't push," but she couldn't even finish before she was laughing again.

"Will you two pull yourselves together?" Robin's voice sounded strained. "The sheriff's men might be waiting for us out there."

At this, the twins were able to gain control. Wiping the tears from her eyes, Joanna was the first to step through the doorway. She only had to walk another fifteen feet to find herself in the blinding light. She closed her eyes, letting the sun shine red through her eyelids until her pupils adjusted to the brightness. When she opened her eyes, John and Robin stood beside her. Robin's arm was wrapped around John's shoulder as the bigger man supported him. Robin squinted into the forest as if he was looking for something or someone.

"We appear to be alone," Robin said. "Could someone signal the others?" He nodded toward the horn on his belt.

Will retrieved it and blew seven notes—one long, six short. Joanna recognized the sound. She had heard it four days before when her horse charged into the fog and the year 1193.

She had better lock the door. Retreating back into the tunnel, Joanna pulled the door closed, turned the key to lock it, and pushed against the wood to be sure the opening was secure. As she did so, Gripple entered the tunnel behind her.

"What do you think happened to my mum?"

Joanna didn't want to frighten him by repeating what she heard. Instead, she touched his arm. "Your mother is one of the most resourceful people I've ever met. She and Sirsalon have survived a lot worse than this. They'll be all right."

Still glum, Gripple nodded and returned with her outside where a group of Robin's men had appeared. When they saw Joanna, they nodded a greeting while their eyes traveled up her body and she realized she was being admired.

Jill pointed at Robin's chest and arm. "We need to bandage you up."

They moved several hundred yards into the forest when Robin slid down beside a tree. As Jill used her first-aid skills to assess his wound, Joanna knelt beside her, looking for ways to be helpful.

"We need bandages," Jill said with a frown. "We've got to bind this up so it doesn't keep bleeding." Jill reached for the bottom of her own cloak to tear it, but Joanna stopped her.

"I've got a better idea."

Lifting her skirt to reveal the long chemise below, Joanna began tearing off strips of it to give to Jill. When she had torn as much as she dared from the chemise, she started tearing the bottom of the skirt.

"Are you sure you want to do that?" Jill asked.

"Easier to run through the forest this way," Joanna said. "Plus, this belonged to Marian. She'd want me to use it for a good cause."

At the mention of Marian, Robin opened his eyes. "If she knew I was innocent and she had the key, why didn't she come to me?"

Jill frowned as she wrapped the bandages around Robin's chest but didn't speak. Joanna knew this was a touchy topic, especially given Robin's feelings for Jill, and wished she hadn't brought up Marian's name. But leaving his question hanging seemed worse than answering it.

"Maybe she was thinking about it," Joanna suggested. "You didn't have a choice about becoming an outlaw. But Marian did. Coming to you would have been a big decision—it would have changed her entire life. Maybe she wasn't ready for that level of commitment."

Jill cut her eyes at Joanna with a look that told Joanna she had hit too close to Jill's actual thoughts. Robin seemed to understand this as well because he reached out to hold Jill's hand. Sensing the couple needed some privacy, Joanna excused herself.

While she wasn't dressed immodestly by twenty-first-century standards, Joanna immediately felt the eyes of the merry men on her as they gazed appreciatively at her legs, exposed from knee to ankle below her now-short skirt. This was probably some huge breach of medieval manners. She shrugged. Jill had offered her an outlaw costume yesterday, so Joanna wouldn't have to wear Marian's clothes for much longer. The idea of changing shoes seemed particularly attractive as the thin slippers she wore did nothing to pad her feet from the stones, thistles, and burrs she encountered in the forest.

Little John stood about twenty yards away, keeping watch through the ferns, birches, and oaks for possible pursuers. Joanna walked over to him and bumped his arm affectionately with her shoulder.

"Nice to see you again, John. I'm really glad you weren't executed."

"Joanna, I owe you an apology."

She held up a hand to stop him. "I'm the one who should apologize. I opened my big mouth and started talking."

"You do speak beautifully—even if it's a bit far-fetched at times. I've been thinking about those flying ships with silver wings. You don't truly have those in the future, do you?"

Joanna laughed. "There are more things in heaven and earth, John, than are dreamt of in your philosophy."

"Did you write that?"

"No. I got it from a talented author named Shakespeare who will show up in about five hundred years."

"Speaking of authors, I don't know if you remember my telling you about my nephew, Alan-a-dale, who's our minstrel." Little John's eyes twinkled.

"Oh yeah. I think I met him yesterday at the tournament."

"He's in need of some...tutoring. His songs have been declining lately, and I think he'd benefit from your help. If you have time, that is."

Joanna glanced over her shoulder to see Robin and Jill kissing. "I'm pretty sure I've got time."

# 24

## Sherwood Forest

Jill's top priority was to get Robin back to camp. Since he was unable to walk on his own, Will and John each had one of his arms draped over their shoulders as the rescue party headed back to camp. Robin smiled at Jill periodically, but she could tell he was in pain. While she knew about tourniquets and bandages and treating the initial signs of shock, Robin needed stitches—and needles fell far out of her area of expertise. Hopefully, John or Will had experience treating wounds like this.

She studied her hands, covered with Robin's blood. She had wiped off as much as she could in the grass, but dried streaks of reddish brown covered her skin up to her elbows. Her fingernails and the creases in her knuckles were black with blood and dirt. The journey through the tunnel had also left its marks. The candle she carried had dripped wax and burned the skin in several spots on her arms and hands. Her clothes were a mess as well—dusty and blood-splattered. She was exhausted, and now that the adrenaline rush was fading, she wanted nothing more than to sleep.

The merry men encouraged Joanna, who walked a few steps behind Jill, to share more about dragons. Joanna used artistic license when she described a battle between a _Brachiosaurus_ and T-Rex, but since bones of these creatures wouldn't be discovered for several hundred years, Jill didn't point out the fallacies she heard. The constant din of Joanna's high-pitched voice grated on Jill's nerves. However, Jill understood why the men were fascinated. Joanna had a talent for explaining abstract, scientific details in a way the people around her could understand, and she adapted quickly when she sensed a particular piece was especially interesting or difficult to relate to. Jill appreciated Joanna's skill, even if she did wish she would stop talking for a while.

Recognizing the signs that they were approaching camp, Jill breathed a sigh of relief. Robin was tiring quickly although he was doing an admirable job of hiding it. Jill imagined that the emotional stress of the day contributed more than anything to his exhaustion. In addition to his injuries and loss of blood, he had learned Marian's affection for him had been even slighter than he had believed, and he'd lost his brother—an evil one, but a brother nonetheless.

When they reached the camp, the men made appropriate exclamations over Robin's wounds. Little John offered his lean-to as a better place for Robin to recover since it was closer to the fire. The location pleased Jill as Robin wouldn't be as cut off from the action of the camp. She knew he would hate to be laid up, but it would be more bearable if he still felt included.

John went for water and medical supplies while Jill stayed with Robin. She held his hand as he dozed, covered by John's large cloak. Robin would be all right with some rest, but he looked so vulnerable right now that the thought of ever leaving him seemed out of the question. When the Widow Tinsley had said Jill was here to save a life, she must have meant Robin's—not that Joanna hadn't been in danger, but Robin was the one who had come closer to dying today.

The camp began to calm down from the initial excitement of the rescue party's return. Everyone was tired from the events of the day before and the lack of sleep. Will and Gripple sat apart from the men on one side of camp, their heads bent together, probably discussing Elaine. Jill had only met Will's mother yesterday, but she seemed like a pretty tough cookie. Jill hoped she would be all right and that her sons were worried about her for nothing.

The twins had been scheduled to fly back to the States on the eighteenth. By Jill's calculations, that was two days ago. She wondered how her parents were holding up, worried about their daughters and believing the worst. Hopefully, Dad hadn't started an international incident yet.

Joanna, apparently unconcerned about what was happening beyond this camp, sat by the fire surrounded by a few of the men who had accompanied them through the forest as well as several who had stayed behind. One of the men said something inaudible and Joanna laughed. Jill rolled her eyes. This had been exactly what she was afraid of. Joanna was already stealing all the attention.

"Sounds like she's fitting in."

Robin's eyes were closed as he spoke, but a smile played at the corner of his lips.

"Does _she_ have to earn her way into the gang?"

"You're not going to forgive me for that, are you? There's no need to be jealous."

His accurate assessment of her mood irritated her. "They didn't moon over me like they are over her."

"They didn't have time."

She considered this, remembering how he had teased her through the fight, allowed her to beat him, and walked with her to the camp. She hadn't realized at the time how clearly he had indicated his interest or how quickly he had acted. In the movies, people fell in love at first sight and made life-altering decisions based on only a few days of knowing someone. But this was different. Jill thought of what Joanna had said about Marian and knew Joanna hadn't been talking about Marian at all.

Robin rubbed his thumb back and forth across her knuckles. "You saved my life."

"All I did was hand you the dagger."

"I didn't know you could scream like that."

"I'm full of surprises."

"I hope so."

She wanted to ask Robin what he meant by that, but Little John's return with rudimentary medical supplies discouraged further discussion. Although she had mentally braced herself to hold Robin's hand through the stitching of his wound, she couldn't help but cringe as John threaded the needle.

Robin waved her away. "Go see your sister before one of those idiots proposes to her."

Feeling grateful but guilty for leaving him, Jill approached the fire, catching Joanna's eye and motioning for her to come. Joanna, who was in the middle of a story, held up a finger to indicate she was almost finished.

"So once Jill strung the rope from one tree to the other," Joanna related, "she hung a curved piece of polished metal over top of it. Then, she held onto the handles she had bent on both sides and pushed herself off the branch. She slid like lightning down the rope and landed on a branch in the other tree without her feet ever touching the ground. And that, gentlemen, is how Jill created the zip line."

The men applauded.

"Sorry to interrupt," Jill said, "but I think my sister would like to wash up."

"Oh, yes, please!" Joanna shyly tucked her hair behind her ear and smiled at her audience. "If you'll excuse me, gentlemen."

"I remember that zip line very differently," Jill remarked under her breath as the twins walked to Jill's hut.

"I'm making you look good."

"Don't overdo it."

Joanna waved her hand in dismissal. "They adore you. I'm only adding to your legend. You _are_ pretty awesome, you know."

Jill grinned, enjoying the praise. "I like to think I can kick butt when I need to."

"Yeah, I'd say you've proven that."

Opening the door of her little hut, Jill motioned inside. "And here we are—my happy little abode."

Joanna paused in the doorway, her happy expression turning into a look of distaste.

"What?" Jill's irritation flared. "Not your style?"

"Cozy." Joanna's face showed she was trying to mask her expression. "Where's the bed?"

Jill pointed to the pile of moss and foliage on the ground.

"Interesting. There aren't any mice or spiders in there, are there?"

"Not that I noticed. What were you expecting, a feather mattress?"

"It's what I had at the castle."

"Well, you're not at the castle anymore, are you?"

Joanna pursed her lips. "Is there room for both of us to sleep in here? I know how you hate sharing a...bed."

"I might sleep outside tonight in case Robin needs anything."

Joanna raised her eyebrows.

Jill motioned inside. "So, are you going in or what?"

With a little sigh, Joanna ducked into the doorway and sat on the makeshift bed, testing how springy it was. Jill sat at the other end of the small hut and closed the door. While she had longed for Joanna to be safe and to be with her, now that they were together, Jill didn't know what to do. Joanna's presence brought a dose of reality to the outlaw life that Jill hadn't considered before now.

"Is that change of clothes for me?" Joanna pointed to the bundle on the floor.

"Yeah. I'm not sure how well they'll fit you. I had to piece together an outfit from what the gang could spare."

Joanna attempted a smile. "Thanks. And thanks for saving me. I wouldn't have enjoyed spending more time with the sheriff."

Jill considered asking about Guy, wondering how Joanna felt about his demise, but the topic might get emotional, and Jill didn't want to deal with that right now. "You're welcome. I've got our modern clothes, too."

Joanna shifted the outlaw garb to reveal her pink shirt, khakis, and shoes below. Lifting her blouse to her face, she jerked it away, grimacing. "Ugh! Is that stink from me? I thought I was wearing deodorant."

"It's Lester. You'll want to do laundry."

"Gross! You didn't wash them for me?"

"I was too busy trying to save your life."

Joanna's face grew serious. "Look, Jill, I know I'm in your territory now. I don't want to get in the way, but I'm not sure where I belong."

"It's fine. I'm glad you're here. It's just...weird."

"What do you want me to do?"

"I don't know. Maybe get cleaned up and put on some better clothes. You're a mess."

"What? Medieval mini skirts aren't a good look for me?" Joanna copped an exaggerated magazine pose.

"Roger's blood is all over your face."

"And my hands, philosophically speaking. But at least Gwen and Bess have justice now. You've got your own share of bloodstains going on."

Jill glanced at her blood-streaked skin and grimaced. "Disgusting, isn't it? Come on. I'll show you where we can wash up."

Jill led her sister to a spot where the women could bathe in privacy. Since the streambed was narrow and the water shallow, Jill decided not to fight Joanna for space as they had when they were little girls sharing a bathtub. Instead, she kept watch while Joanna washed and changed into what she complained were baggy leggings and an oversized doublet.

"If you don't like them, you can find something else," Jill retorted, secretly pleased that she looked better in Marian's costume than Joanna did in the hand-me-downs.

Employing some ingenuity, Joanna detached the doublet sleeves and used the lacing to fashion a belt that made the doublet more closely resemble a bodice and fit her more snugly.

"The boots are perfect, though," Joanna declared, wringing out her wet hair and combing it with her fingers. "Better than those slippers I wore at the castle. Wish I had my comb."

"What happened to your purse?"

"It's still back at the castle somewhere. But it's all right. There's nothing in there that can't be replaced."

"Not even your journal?"

Joanna shrugged.

This reaction coming from the woman who only a few days ago had insisted on writing everything down and carrying too much in her purse struck Jill as very odd. "Who are you and what did you do with my sister?"

Joanna shrugged. "Call it personal growth. Are you going to take a bath or what?"

While Jill bathed in the cold water, Joanna did her laundry, draping the wet shirt and pants over some bushes to dry. When she finished, she picked up Jill's medallion to study it.

"That's mine," Jill cautioned, remembering Joanna's inability since childhood to keep her hands off anything that wasn't hers.

"I know! I was just looking at it."

"Well, be careful. Don't drop it in the water."

"Good grief! Here, take it if you're so worried about it."

Jill retrieved the medallion from Joanna's hand and hung the chain around her neck, feeling both comforted and burdened by the weight.

"Jill, we need to talk about Robin at some point, as well as the whole time-travel thing."

Jill groaned. "Can't we do it later? I'm hungry and tired."

"I don't want us to be stuck here. If we have a way to get back..."

"We do." Recognizing she couldn't escape the discussion, Jill shared in a few words as possible what she had learned from the Widow Tinsley that morning. When Jill finished, Joanna sat quietly for a long time, frowning in concentration.

"A pistol in a holster?"

"After everything I told you, that's what you question?"

"It's an interesting detail, don't you think? She could have kept it hidden, but she let you see it, which means she wanted you to know she's a time traveler. We can also assume she travels in America as well as England and to more time periods than the twelfth century."

"She knew my name," Jill added, "and what I did for a living."

"Who's to say she hasn't met us sometime in the future that we haven't experienced yet but she remembers?"

"You're taking this awfully well. Doesn't it seem absurd to you?"

Joanna shrugged. "My internal absurd meter may be calibrated differently than yours. I'm a fiction writer and a wedding planner, after all. What did she say again about how we get back?"

"She said, 'You go back the way you came.' When I asked her what that meant, she told me to use my imagination."

"That certainly leaves room for artistic interpretation. She said no magic wands, talismans, stuff like that?"

"Right."

"Okay...so...how did we get here? We were wearing our twenty-first-century clothes and riding horses. You already have our clothes and the horses."

Jill was beginning to see where Joanna was headed. "A fog rolled in. Robin's horn blew. My ears popped."

"Mine, too."

"It was mid-morning," Jill added.

"There you have it." Joanna spread her palms like everything was clear. "We have everything we need. We wait until a morning fog rolls in, put on our modern clothes, get on the horses, and ride into the fog while Robin blows his horn."

"This is England. A fog could roll in anytime."

"Precisely! We could go home tomorrow!"

Jill's stomach dropped at this realization.

"Jill, you okay?"

"Yeah. Let's go back to camp."

"We still have a lot to talk about."

"Not now," Jill motioned for Joanna to follow her. "I'm grumpy, and my blood sugar is low."

Joanna's face took on that pinched expression she always got when she wanted to say something but knew it wouldn't be welcome. Jill rolled her eyes and led the way back to the campfire, wishing with all her heart that tomorrow would be clear and sunny.

# 25

## July 21, 1193

## Sherwood Forest

"Alan, stop! Just stop."

Joanna rested her head in her hands and wished she was solving Alan's murder rather than tutoring him in writing. She was no more a songwriter than he was, but she knew when something stank, and Alan's work definitely did.

"But Joanna, you haven't heard the end yet."

"I've got the picture. Believe me. _Tra-la-la-_ lilly and everybody have a drink."

"You don't like it."

As she pondered how to respond, she remembered how her writing group's harsh judgments had almost destroyed her belief in her abilities. While she wasn't the best writer in the world, she wasn't the worst either. She only needed time to develop her skills. With encouragement and some constructive criticism, maybe she could write something meaningful and entertaining. Destroying Alan's self-esteem and creativity because others had treated her that way only passed on the hurt without solving the problem. Joanna had a responsibility to history and to Alan to help him improve.

"Alan, I think you're very talented," Joanna began. "You write, you sing, you play—and you've got a great sense of humor. But you take the easy way out. You go for the cheap laughs and the easy rhymes and miss the heart and the truth behind them. Light-hearted is good, drinking songs are good, but you need to expand your repertoire beyond lyrics that say, 'Let's have more ale while we poke fun at Robin Hood.'"

Alan started to protest but stopped himself as the idea sunk in. "Is that why Robin gets so angry with me?"

"Chances are good."

"But I like to be amusing."

"There's nothing wrong with being funny, but you could spread the jokes around so everyone was included."

Alan's face lit up. "I see what you mean! I can laugh at Robin as long as I mention the annoying things everyone else does, too, such as the way John talks for hours about our family when no one cares or how Stutely picks his nose."

Joanna winced. "You don't want the whole camp angry with you. What if you praised at least one heroic trait about the person for every joke you told? Better yet, two or three praises for every joke."

"That's going to take some thought." Alan's face was so serious that Joanna didn't have the heart to laugh at him even though she wanted to.

"You could write a ballad that had one verse dedicated to each member of the gang," she suggested. "Four lines for each person, three positive, one funny—and the funny thing should be something that everyone—including the man—knows and can laugh about without any fistfights."

"I won't be able to write this in a day."

"Very true," Joanna conceded, attempting to match his gravity. "Most quality work is the product of _days_ of effort, not a single afternoon. But when it's finished and it's _quality_ , the men will want you to perform it over and over again."

"That would be a new experience."

"As long as you're telling jokes, make sure to share one about yourself, too. Self-deprecation can go a long way."

Alan nodded.

"Here's something else that might help," Joanna added. "Write a new tune for every ballad."

Now it was Alan's turn to rest his head in his hands. "This is so much work! I'll never be able to do it. It will take _so_ long!"

Joanna's gaze fell to where Robin and Jill sat nearby in John's lean-to. She knew they had been listening to her conversation with Alan because she saw both of them smirking. They avoided looking at her and acted as though they were deep in conversation.

"Let's work together then," she suggested.

"A collaboration! Oh, I'd like that! I could write a song about how beautiful you are—"

"Thanks, but save it. The person to please right now is Robin. You need a song that makes him look good."

Alan's expression was dubious. "I thought I was supposed to write about truth."

"There's a difference between something sounding true and actually being true."

"I'll have to think on that one for a while."

Joanna patted his arm sympathetically. "For now, let's use the melody to a song I know from my country. We can write different words to fit your situation."

The idea held merit, but when Alan asked her to sing the melody for him, Joanna faltered. She had made the suggestion without having a song in mind. She batted around several ideas. Absently, she thought of the Widow Tinsley wearing nineteenth-century American garb and carrying a revolver in a hip holster. The detail felt significant even though Joanna didn't understand why.

That's when the song came to her. Her favorite band, the Backwater Bandits, had recorded an album of popular western songs in the 1960s. Her father had played it in the car over and over again on family road trips until Joanna knew the words by heart, even though they had been recorded almost twenty years before she and Jill were born. The melody held enough whimsy and pathos that it would be fun to sing in almost any mood.

Joanna tried to ignore Jill's giggles as Joanna hummed the song over and over to help Alan learn it. New lyrics were slowly forming in her head, but she needed time to think them through to get the rhymes right. It was a short song. Only one verse was necessary.

Once satisfied that Alan knew the tune, Joanna left him to practice the accompaniment on his lute while she joined Jill and Robin. Robin's color was better today. He wouldn't be laid up for long. To keep him resting, Jill and Little John had already been quite stern, but everyone knew while Robin might not pull a bow for another week or two, today was his last day of being an invalid.

"What do you think?" Robin asked Joanna once she had taken a seat beside Jill. "Is there any hope for him?"

"As much hope as there is for any of us." Noting how her philosophical tone puzzled Robin, she tried to speak more practically. "He's young, and he needs practice. I gave him some pointers. I know you've been sharing your feelings as well."

"Yes, a right hook made my opinion clear."

"You'd think it would," Joanna agreed, "but Alan took it as an insult against his ability and his existence."

Robin turned to Jill. "Is there any way to stop people from being so petty? Why can't everyone get along?"

"The eternal question," Jill mused. "We don't have it figured out in the future either."

"I understand where Alan is coming from," Joanna continued. "He needs someone to be patient with him. He'll find his niche eventually."

"Have you found yours?" Robin asked.

Joanna thought of her writing group, her despair over never finishing a book manuscript, her elation at having found a receptive audience at Locksley Castle, and her plethora of experiences in the twelfth century that could be turned into a novel. "I'm closer to finding it than I was five days ago."

"There's hope in that." Robin's voice sounded melancholy.

"You could help Alan by telling him exactly what you liked and didn't like in his songs," Joanna advised. "Punching him doesn't help, but constructive criticism does. You could also suggest ideas for him to write about. I think the story of how you became an outlaw or how you stole the sheriff's tax money are good places to start. You could even have a ballad about Lester winning the archery tournament." When Robin's face turned an envious shade of green at the mention of Lester and the tournament, Joanna backpedaled. "Or not. Just a suggestion."

"These are good ideas," Robin said. "Jill has mentioned that more organization and supervision are necessary if my outlaw ventures are going to be successful. I'll add managing the minstrel to my list."

"He's important to your legendary status," Jill reminded him.

"It's good to have you with us, Joanna," Robin said. "I know Jill rests easier with you here. How are you enjoying your stay?"

Finding an appropriate answer was tricky. Joanna liked Robin and liked even more how he revered Jill. Any man who understood how talented, beautiful, and special Jill was deserved Joanna's respect and friendship. But Joanna didn't love the forest. While Locksley Castle's accommodations couldn't match what she was used to at home, the castle was a five-star hotel in comparison to the meager comforts of Sherwood. Joanna had never enjoyed camping, and she had hardly slept at all on that pile of twigs Jill called a bed.

Recognizing she had waited too long to respond, she apologized. "You've all been very kind, and I couldn't have asked for a better audience last night or more patient archery instructors this morning. But I can't stop thinking about everything that happened at the castle. I'm worried about Elaine and Sirsalon."

"I've been thinking about them as well. I hate the idea of my ancestral home falling into the hands of the sheriff. I wish there was some way to find out what was going on. Elaine and Gripple were my only spies."

Robin shook his head in dejection. Jill watched him with raised eyebrows as if waiting for him to come to a realization on his own.

"What?" Robin asked her. "Am I missing something?"

Joanna could tell by Jill's closed-lipped smile that she was barely keeping her frustration in check. "If you're worried about them, then..."

Robin's face lit up. "I should send someone to find out."

"Yes." Jill relaxed. "But not Will or Gripple. I wouldn't even tell them what you're doing. Send Stutely and Lester."

"Good idea." Robin pulled himself up painfully to his feet. "I'll go find them—and don't tell me I shouldn't be walking. The inactivity is driving me mad."

The twins watched Robin as he hobbled away toward the archery field.

"He's a terrible patient," Jill declared. "I don't think anything can keep him down for too long."

"I hope not," Joanna replied. "He'll need a buoyant spirit when you tell him you're leaving."

Jill cut a sharp look at Joanna. "Yeah."

Sensing Jill's uncertainty, Joanna said, "Why don't we go for a walk?"

Jill led them toward the stream where they sat against a tree trunk. The afternoon air was damp and cool. In the patches of sky that peeked through the green canopy above them, Joanna could see clouds rolling in. While she didn't relish rain, the cloud cover was a good sign there might be fog tomorrow. Joanna pondered how to begin the conversation Jill had been avoiding for the last two days.

Joanna knew with unmistakable conviction that both twins must return to the present. While Joanna's heart warmed to see Jill allowing a man to get close to her, Jill had chosen the wrong person, and it was a sister's job to point this out, especially a sister who had made so many poor choices where men were concerned.

"Robin's cool," Joanna finally said. "I like him."

Jill's grin indicated she appreciated Joanna's approval. "He's a good guy. He just needs someone to push him in the right direction."

Joanna nodded cautiously. "And you've been doing a lot of pushing."

"So he's not the sharpest sword in the armory," Jill conceded. "But he's got a lot of potential, and he's a natural leader."

"He thinks the world of you."

Jill pulled out the medallion. "Yeah, his proposal was a good clue."

"Have you given him an answer yet?"

"No."

"And what are you going to say?"

"I'm still figuring that out."

Joanna chose her words carefully. "He's your type—adventurous, funny, heroic, and he doesn't take life too seriously."

"True, but there's more than that. He's an equal. I never wanted a man who would treat me like a second-class citizen or the weaker gender—because I'm not—but I don't want to be the strongest partner in the relationship either. A lot of the guys who ask me out are losers that I'd have to carry through life. I've always wanted to fall in love with a man who could match me and maybe be better than me at some things. Robin's come closer to that ideal than anyone I've ever met."

"Even closer than Brian?" Joanna took a risk in mentioning Brian's name since she knew so little of what had transpired between him and Jill.

Jill shuddered. "The two don't even compare. Robin's the first guy I could see myself with who liked me as much as I liked him—if not more."

"That definitely puts you in a position of power in the relationship," Joanna agreed. "Not that I've experienced that to tell you what it's like. But Jill, you can do better. I know that sounds crazy because we're talking about Robin Hood. But seriously, he's not that smart and you...well, I think you're brilliant. If you want an equal match, then you need to hold out for one in every way. I'm sure there's a man out there who's adventurous, funny, heroic, _and_ smart."

"But what if I'm one of those women whose standards are so high she'll never find anybody?"

"Trust me, lowering your standards doesn't improve the dating experience."

"So what really happened between you and Guy?" Jill asked. "He's the type you always go for."

"He was attractive—no doubt about that. But he was a liar, a player, and a murderer. It took a trip to the Middle Ages for me to see that I always fall for the same type, so it's no wonder I keep getting hurt. At least I was smart enough to see Guy for who he was, and I hope that helps me make some wiser decisions in the future."

"You aren't swearing off men, are you?"

"Goodness, no!" Joanna laughed. "I enjoy them too much. But I'm going to be cautious. It used to be the minute a man showed any interest in me, I'd dump all my emotional baggage on him. Next time a man asks me out, I'm going to play it cool, be coy, and have some fun. It will be a new adventure."

Jill feigned a look of horror. "Did you use the word adventure in a positive way?"

"I did. This whole time-travel thing has been a great adventure that I'm glad I experienced. But in case you think it was all fun and games, let me assure you it wasn't. I was almost raped. I saw five people die and found another already dead. I'm going to need some very serious therapy. The twelfth century is a brutal place. I want to go home."

Jill held Robin's medallion in her hand and traced the edges with her thumb. "I know. But what if Robin is my one chance to find love? Can I walk away from that?"

"Can you walk away from modern plumbing, electricity, medicine, dental care, automobiles, and daily showers—not to mention your friends and your family—for an outlaw?"

"A _legendary_ outlaw," Jill corrected. "And you're right—it sounds awful when you put it like that."

"This won't end well for Robin," Joanna continued. "You know the stories. He's poisoned by the abbess of Kirklees and dies young...well, young- _ish_."

"I'd thought of that."

"You've known Robin what, five days? It took you six months to buy a car...three months to buy a camera. You say you're all about adventure, but you play life safer than anyone I know. You never step foot into any situation without planning for every possible outcome. I get that you like Robin—and hey, there's a lot to like! But it's too soon, even for you. You aren't ready. If you stay with him, you'll regret it for the rest of your life.

Jill sighed deeply. "I think I was born in the wrong time."

"No way." Joanna shook her head vehemently. "We were born in 1984 to Frank and Elizabeth Mason for a reason. We aren't mistakes. We were meant to live in the twenty-first century—not the twelfth. This has been fun, but it's not where we belong. Besides, I don't believe in _one_ chance for love or anything else. I think we get lots of chances, and you've got a whole lifetime waiting for you. "

"You're right," Jill admitted. "But don't gloat about it, okay? Because after this conversation is over, I will deny it ever happened."

"Understood."

Feeling pleased with herself, Joanna was savoring her brief moment of Jill's having acknowledged she was right when Jill sat up straight and cocked her head.

"Do you hear that?"

Excited voices, at least one of them a woman's, came from the direction of the camp. Something was definitely going on.

"Let's go back and check it out," Jill suggested.

The twins hurried back to the camp. When they entered the clearing, Joanna gasped in delight because by the fire, surrounded by most of the merry men, were Elaine and Sirsalon, closely attended by Will, Gripple, and Robin. When Elaine saw Joanna, she held out her arms and embraced her.

"I'm so glad you're both all right!" Joanna exclaimed. "We were so worried."

"I knew they'd be fine," Will boasted, and his look dared Joanna to disagree with him. "No one in Nottinghamshire is as clever as my mum."

Elaine patted Will's cheek. "I didn't do it alone, Will. Sirsalon's sacrifice saved us all."

Sirsalon took a humbler approach as he explained, "One can hardly call it a sacrifice since I'm still breathing."

"Tell us what happened," Robin urged, motioning for everyone to sit down around the fire.

Elaine eyed Robin's bandage with suspicion. "Only if you let me take a look at that later, Robin."

"Yes. Fine."

"And don't roll your eyes at me," Elaine added. "I can still box your ears like I used to when you were a boy."

To his credit, Robin looked genuinely abashed at the reprimand. Everyone sat down around the fire with Robin and Joanna taking their places on either side of Jill. Little John pushed his way through the men and deposited himself on the log beside Joanna. Amusing as his efforts to be near her were, she felt relieved that she and Jill were leaving soon. John was a sweet sort but not her type. She had no wish to break his heart.

Elaine looked to Sirsalon. "Should I begin, my dear, or you?"

"You, by all means. You'll tell it much better than I could."

Those two really were perfectly matched. Joanna was proud that she had played a small part in their coming together. Someday, when she found true love, she hoped she would find someone as well suited for her as Sirsalon was for Elaine.

With a maternal call for silence that would have quieted the noisiest of children, Elaine began her tale.

"The story begins and ends with Walter. As you know, when he escaped he ran to the sheriff to accuse Guy of murder. The sheriff was all too happy to be rid of Guy and seize control of more land. Walter gave the sheriff a real advantage as well. He knew about the kitchen tunnel, and he also had the sympathy of many people in Locksley. Walter was a fair, unassuming constable. The servants trusted and respected him and were genuinely sorry for him when Gwen was murdered. No one dared to speak up, though, when Walter was imprisoned because they were afraid of Guy and his soldiers. But when Guy killed Agrub for letting Walter escape, even the soldiers turned on Guy and sided with Walter. That's why, as soon as Guy was dead, the soldiers opened the gate to let the sheriff in."

"But when we left, people were fighting the sheriff's men," Robin pointed out.

"True. Robin, you should take that as a compliment. You're still remembered and loved by many people. They fought in your defense, knowing you were wounded and hoping to help you escape. Of course, no one realized the sheriff had deployed more soldiers to the kitchen tunnel. We never would have made it to the chapel if Sirsalon hadn't slowed them down."

"I didn't do much," Sirsalon confessed. "They disarmed me fairly quickly since I was outnumbered, but at least I distracted them long enough for you to reach the chapel."

"The sheriff's men used a battering ram on the chapel door," Elaine continued. "I had just closed the trap door and thrown the rug over it when they broke in. I pretended to be hysterical, claiming I'd knocked down the altar because I was so upset about Guy's death and the siege of the castle, but they arrested me anyway. All of the prisoners were brought before the sheriff. Once he saw that Guy and Roger were dead, he lost interest in punishing prisoners. Walter took the sheriff to the treasury where Felix surrendered all the money and gold in the castle. Then, the sheriff put Walter in charge of the castle to keep it as a faithful constable of the sheriff and King Richard. Once the sheriff was gone, Walter called the prisoners in one at a time to the great hall where he and Felix were examining the castle records. He sent for Sirsalon first."

Sirsalon picked up the story. "When I was brought in, Walter untied my hands and offered me a drink. Then he asked me why I had attacked the sheriff's men. I told him I was an old soldier who didn't like to surrender ground, regardless of the circumstances. When he asked if I had any other reason, I told him about my love for Elaine and how I was afraid the sheriff would harm her and Gripple because of Will's association with Robin Hood. I did what I could to defend my family."

Joanna watched Will during this recitation and noticed a look of admiration on his face.

Elaine continued the story. "Then, Walter me brought in. The three of us sat a table, drinking wine together, and he asked me how I liked working at Locksley Castle. I told him Locksley had been my home for many years and I intended to stay as long as I was allowed. He wanted to know what had happened to Gripple. I said I'd sent Gripple away for fear the sheriff would use him to bring Will out of hiding. That's when Walter said, 'A boy should be with his mother. If you can find him, tell him he's in no danger here. We need good stable hands like him who are so gifted with horses.'"

Gripple flushed. "So I can come home?"

"As though you never left," Sirsalon replied. "In fact, we were sent to fetch you. Walter made it clear he wouldn't even look for our return until tomorrow afternoon."

"That's very interesting," Joanna commented. "So the three of you are reinstated as though nothing happened?"

"Absolutely," Sirsalon confirmed. "The same is true for all the other castle prisoners."

Robin rubbed his chin. "Fascinating!"

"I have something for you, Robin." Elaine retrieved a man's ring from her pocket. The ring was similar to the one Joanna had seen Guy wear, except that this one bore the emblem of an open gate with a falcon flying through—the same heraldry found on the medallion Jill wore.

"My father's ring!" Robin exclaimed. "I haven't seen it since he died, and that was years ago. Where did you get this, Elaine?"

"Walter gave it to me. He said he found it in the treasury about a year ago and took it out for safekeeping. His exact words were, 'I'm sure you'll know what to do with it.'"

Slipping the ring on his finger, Robin shook his head in disbelief. "Perhaps I have more allies than I thought I did."

"You certainly do," Elaine agreed. "The villagers you helped can't stop talking about your bravery and generosity."

The promise of popular support as well as an ally in Locksley Castle inspired a rousing discussion among the band as they debated the possibilities these developments offered for future illegal activities. Amid the excitement, Joanna watched Will approach Sirsalon. The two men stared at each other for a moment then smiled and shook hands. Joanna sighed with pleasure, grateful that Elaine and her loved ones would have the happy ending they deserved. Bringing someone new into a family was never easy, but Will looked like he was over the worst of the adjustment period. As Will and Sirsalon conversed, Elaine drew Joanna to the side.

"I owe my happiness to you," Elaine said.

"I don't know about that."

"Say thank you," Elaine chided. "I'd like to thank you on Daisy's behalf as well. I understand why you had to share Bess's pregnancy, but you protected Daisy and Holly. I know Daisy's grateful."

"I didn't want to hurt her," Joanna admitted. "I understand what it's like to make poor decisions about men."

"You didn't make a poor decision this time," Elaine reminded her.

"No, I didn't."

"I have something for you." Elaine smiled mischievously as she pulled out Joanna's purse from beneath the folds of her cloak.

With an exclamation of delight, Joanna hugged the accessory to her chest. "I thought I'd never see it again."

"I found it in Guy's room this morning," Elaine explained. "Inside there's something else I think you'll want."

Joanna unzipped the bag and opened it to find her journal.

"Oh, Elaine! I can't even tell you how happy this makes me. I thought I'd never get it back, and now I can go home with everything I need. Thank you. And by the way, I have something for you, too." Joanna pulled out the Roman key to the chapel tunnel from her pocket and handed it to Elaine. "This should go back to Locksley. I'm sure you'll know what to do with it."

"Indeed I will," Elaine agreed. "Now, if you'll excuse me, Will has promised me a tour. I've never been here before. It was a good thing Stutely and Lester found us, or we would have wandered through the forest all day and never found the camp."

With no one expecting her company, Joanna retreated to Jill's hut where she dumped out the contents of her purse to take inventory. Her sunglasses were still there, and her wallet was intact along with her ID and credit cards. She cringed in anticipation of examining her appearance in the compact mirror, but once she saw her reflection, she admitted she could look worse. After running the comb through her hair, Joanna pulled out the journal and a pen, anxious to write. Flipping through the pages, she came to the page where she had jotted down the sign at the stables: _Not all who come out go back._

To her surprise, a note was written below it in a feathery handwriting she didn't recognize.

_But aren't you glad you did?_

_Yes_ _,_ she thought, a smile spreading across her face. _Yes, I am._

# 26

Jill spent the afternoon with Robin, helping him strategize for future robberies and donations to the poor. While he wouldn't be successful in every venture, at least not right away, he was headed in the right direction to become the legendary outlaw he was meant to be. Robin deserved to know she was leaving, but she couldn't bring herself to break the news. She wanted to enjoy her last few hours with him without any goodbyes hanging over them.

In the late afternoon, while Joanna scribbled with concentration in her journal, Robin rose gingerly from where he had been sitting with Jill.

"Let's take a walk." He held out his hand in invitation. "We won't go far."

They walked hand-in-hand to their spot by the stream where Robin had proposed three days before and sat on the rocks. Jill studied the streambed, the ferns covering the ground, the leaves of the birch trees quivering in the breeze, the multiple shades of green diffusing the afternoon light. She wanted to remember everything about this place.

"You're quiet," Robin commented.

"I'm thinking. Tell me about the ring."

"My grandfather gave it to my father years ago. My father said when he wore it, he remembered his ancestors, his ties to this land and to the king, and his responsibility to the people of Locksley. The ring was a reminder of who he was and what he was meant to do. I didn't understand it then, but I'm starting to now.

"When he married my mother, he had the matching medallion made for her as a wedding gift. She wore it out of respect for him, but I don't think she ever loved him. It was a marriage of convenience to her. She was a widow with a young son to support, and when she met my father, she knew he would take care of her. I don't think she expected to have any more children, but she always told me I was a happy surprise in her life. She was the glue that held our family together. As long as she was alive, Guy didn't dare do anything to hurt me. He loved her, too."

"It's strange how siblings can grow up with the same parents but be so different," Jill mused, thinking of herself and Joanna. "Joanna and I were born within three minutes of each other, and we're very different. But with you and Guy, it's hard to believe you even shared one parent because he was evil and you...well, you're pretty great."

"We're all the product of our choices, Jill." He was silent a moment. "Have you thought about what I asked you?"

"I have." Jill tried to figure out what to say next. The last thing she wanted was to hurt Robin.

He spoke for her. "You're leaving."

"How did you know?"

Robin rubbed the back of his neck. "I didn't tell you everything the Widow Tinsley said that day I first saw her in the forest. While she did say I'd meet a mason who'd teach me to love again, she also said, 'The mason will come from far away, but belongs to another and cannot stay.' At least that part rhymed."

Jill frowned. "Who do I belong to?"

"I don't know. Given how important your family is to you, I'd assume one of them. I didn't tell you what she said because I wanted you to choose differently, and for a while I hoped you would. Family is an incredible gift, Jill. Trust someone who had one and lost it."

"I want you to know that I really did think about staying."

"I know, and that helps."

Jill removed the medallion from around her neck and held it out to Robin. "I need to give this back."

Robin pressed it into her hands. "Keep it."

"But it's the one thing you have of your mother's."

"I take my mother's memory with me wherever I go. You keep this so that you'll remember love, no matter where it comes from, is a gift and one that you deserve. Don't let Brian or others confused about string tell you any differently."

Taking the medallion from her hand, Robin again hung it around her neck.

"I don't know what great adventure is next for you, Jill Mason, but I like to believe that as long as you have this, I can be part of it somehow."

They shared a long kiss. As their lips parted, Jill wondered if she would ever find a man so well suited for her again. Even if she didn't, she was grateful for what she and Robin had shared. A place in her heart would always belong to him.

"Now," Robin said, taking her hand in his after the embrace. "You'd better tell me how you plan to return to your home. I have a feeling you'll need my help."

Even as she explained the process, the air grew colder. Gray clouds slid across the sky in a misty blanket that promised drizzle tonight and fog in the morning. Jill knew that tomorrow morning she would leave Robin Hood forever.

When Robin and Jill returned to camp, Joanna was waiting for them. She pointed to the sky.

"I think we should tell everyone we're leaving," Joanna whispered.

Robin agreed. "The men will want to say a proper goodbye."

Around the campfire that night after everyone had eaten and drunk a tankard of ale, Robin addressed the group.

"Merry Men of Sherwood, honored visitors and guests, today I honor two women whose charm, intelligence, and hearts have changed our lives forever. Fate brought Jill and Joanna here, and I, for one, am very grateful. Their devotion to each other and their concern for others have touched each one of us.

"Joanna, despite the danger to your own life, you fought for Bess and Gwen and exposed their killer. Your efforts also revealed the true nature of my dear Marian's death and freed Locksley Castle from the rule of my selfish, evil brother. Through it all, you remained the essence of wit and grace and brought delight to many through your tales of love and adventure. For all of this, we thank you and salute you. To Joanna!"

With the rest of the crowd, Jill raised her glass to Joanna and drank to her honor. Joanna blushed and tucked her hair behind her ear. As Jill sat down, she hoped Robin had something better to say about _her_ because his commendation of Joanna made Jill feel a little green about the gills, as her mother used to say. Proud as she was of Joanna, Jill had no intentions of being outdone. Love and competition had intermingled for so long they were practically the same thing.

"And as for you, Jill," Robin continued. "I hardly know what to say. Before Will and I found you in the forest six days ago, my life was selfish and devoted entirely to revenge. But you've taught me that a life well lived is a life spent in service to others. Your intelligence, planning, and creativity have forever changed the way we outlaws of Sherwood will conduct ourselves. I may not be the Earl of Huntingdon or lord of Locksley Castle anymore, but I'm the king of outlaws in Sherwood Forest. Here, in front of all of you, I pledge to spend the rest of my life seeking justice for the oppressed and relieving the suffering of the poor people of Nottinghamshire."

A chorus of voices shouted out, "Here, here!" and "Huzzah!"

"Jill, my life and the lives of everyone in Nottinghamshire, perhaps everyone in England, have been changed for the better by your presence. We thank you and salute you. To Jill!"

Since this was the second time she had been so honored, Jill expected to feel less embarrassed by the praise, but she didn't. Someday, when she met the right man who was the perfect match for her, he would understand that she disliked these public displays and find more suitable ways of showing his appreciation.

"Even as we honor these two remarkable women, I regret to inform you that this is their last night with us."

A variety of laments passed through the crowd. Only Elaine smiled at the twins in understanding and encouragement.

"Now, now!" Robin raised his hand to quiet the crowd. "I understand your disappointment, but this isn't a time to mourn. Instead, it's a time to celebrate!"

"I agree." Joanna rose and nodded her thanks to Robin who returned to his seat beside Jill. "Jill and I are very grateful to each one of you for your kindness, hospitality, and friendship. In honor of the gifts you have given us, Alan and I have written a song."

Amidst the scattered groans, Alan popped up from his seat, lute in hand.

"It's a new song," Alan declared, "a song from Joanna and Jill's land that we have adapted to commemorate the privileged existence we enjoy here in Sherwood Forest. It is my fondest hope that this song will become not only an anthem of the outlaws but that it will also be taken up by the people of Nottinghamshire and any who are treated unjustly. Gentlemen—and ladies—I give you, 'The Song of the Merry Outlaws of Sherwood Who Follow the Brave and Daring Robin Hood as He Robs the Rich to Feed the Poor.'"

"I let him write the title," Joanna confided to Jill. "Don't worry, no one will remember it."

Alan strummed his lute in three-four time, playing the introduction to "Home on the Range." Jill held back a giggle as Alan began to sing:

_Oh, I long to be living fearless and free_

_In the forest of merry Sherwood,_

_Where outlaws wear green and the daily cuisine_

_Are the deer shot by bold Robin Hood!_

_Home! Home in the trees where the life of an outlaw is good!_

_While injustice abounds, in the woods we'll be found—_

_Merry outlaws with brave Robin Hood!_

To Alan's delight, the men cheered and clapped and took a sip of ale. Alan continued strumming and sang the song again. By the third time through, people were starting to sing fragments of the lyrics with him, and by the sixth time, everyone around the fire was singing at the top of their lungs. When the song finally ended, the men called out other ballads for Alan to sing. Amid the noise, Jill caught Joanna's eye.

"It's been a good adventure," Joanna said in Jill's ear. "Thanks."

Jill felt her smile grow until it threatened to crack her face. The twins were young, and many more adventures awaited them. Maybe they would travel through time again. On a night like this, anything seemed possible.

■ ■ ■

## July 22, 1193

## Sherwood Forest

When Jill awoke at dawn, she lay on her side near the fire with her arm tucked under her head. Robin slept next to her, a cloak thrown haphazardly over them both. Joanna lay nearby, wrapped so completely in a cloak that only her face was visible. Elaine and Sirsalon slept sitting up, their backs against one of the logs. The merry men were sprawled throughout the camp. Jill rubbed her eyes. She must have drunk too much ale last night. Everything was blurry and gray. She searched her mind for the last thing she remembered. There had been lots of dancing, many tankards of ale, and some stupid ballads from Alan that seemed hilarious last night, but she couldn't even remember what they were about this morning.

A haze slid through the trees and pooled in the clearing. Morning had arrived and with it the fog.

Jill pushed Joanna's shoulder. "Jo? It's time."

"Five more minutes," Joanna murmured, turning over.

Jill growled in irritation, remembering how many times over the years she and Joanna had re-enacted this same scenario where Jill was pushing Joanna out of bed so they wouldn't be late. "Joanna, the fog has rolled in. It's time to go home."

Joanna opened her eyes and sat up, untangling herself from the cloak. "Wow. I have a headache."

"I bet you do. Do you even remember how much ale you drank?"

"I was thirsty from all that dancing."

Jill arched an eyebrow.

"Doesn't it seem strange to you," Joanna said with a frown, "that outlaws with limited resources have an inexhaustible supply of ale?"

"No stranger than cloaks being the perfect disguises."

The others began to stir. Robin yawned and pulled himself up with care, rubbing his sore chest.

"I'll send Stutely for the horses," he said. "You two should get ready."

The twins trudged wearily to Jill's hut where with effort they dressed in their twenty-first-century clothes. Jill felt sad as she removed her outlaw costume and slipped on her jeans and T-shirt. She slid Robin's medallion, which still hung around her neck, under her shirt for safekeeping and tied her shoelaces.

"It's nice to wear shoes that fit again," Jill commented, trying to stay positive.

"Amen to that. But, wow—my clothes reek so badly that people will smell me coming before they see me."

"You might have to pitch that outfit," Jill agreed. "Won't it be nice to shower again?"

"Yes, and style my hair and wear deodorant. That's one of the miracles of the modern world—along with orthodontia, of course."

The twins slung their purses over their shoulders and looked at each other.

"Here we go," Joanna said.

As they walked out of the hut, everyone was looking at them, and Jill felt a lump in her throat. She didn't usually get emotional, but she couldn't believe that she was leaving these men, especially Robin, to go back to her miserable existence at GDB Oil.

Will and Little John held the twins' horses. The men lined up to shake the sisters' hands. Joanna went first as they worked their way down the line to Sirsalon and Gripple. Joanna hugged Elaine who wiped at the corner of her eyes.

"You two be careful now," Elaine warned. "I'll worry about you."

"Take care of yourself, Elaine," Joanna said warmly.

"And watch out for Robin," Jill added.

"Like he was one of my own," Elaine promised.

Joanna hugged Alan and whispered a few words in his ear that made his face light up with pleasure. Robin kissed Joanna on the cheek and wished her Godspeed and success. Then, she shook Will's hand and turned to Little John who held the reins to her horse.

John's eyes were misty as he pulled Joanna into a hug that almost smothered her. When the hug lasted a little too long, Joanna laughed and pulled away. John gave her a leg up into the saddle, and once she was settled, he passed her the reins but kept hold of the horse's bridle, probably remembering her wild entrance into Sherwood a week before.

Avoiding Robin for the moment, Jill cleared her throat as she turned to Will to say goodbye. She held out her hand, but Will ignored her, pulling her into a smelly hug.

"You're the prettiest man I ever met." Will's voice quivered.

"Um, thanks...I think."

John also embraced her. "It won't be the same without you around here," he said. "You really made a difference."

Jill felt her throat tighten and her eyes sting. She would _not_ cry in front of everyone. She grinned lopsidedly and nodded at Little John.

The last goodbye had yet to be said. When Jill looked at Robin, she wasn't sure she could go through with the parting. As Robin kissed her, Jill focused on his lips, knowing this would be the last time she ever kissed him and perhaps the last time she kissed any man.

Then, even though both she and Robin knew she could get up on the horse on her own, he gave her a leg up, wincing as he did so. Once settled on the horse, she took a mental snapshot of his face—his bright blue eyes, handsome features, and curly brown hair. She would never see anyone like him again.

Robin removed the horn from his belt and patted the neck of Jill's horse.

"Be careful," he said. "I don't know what you'll find."

"We'll be fine," Jill assured him.

"If it doesn't work, you can come back. You'd know how to find your way to the camp, wouldn't you?"

Jill grinned. "You'd find me if I got lost."

Robin nodded. "Always."

Jill looked at Joanna. "Are you ready?"

"Let's do it." Joanna's face was grim, her discomfort at being back in the saddle clearly visible.

Robin raised the horn to his lips and blew seven blasts—one long high note, then six shorter notes alternating between low and high tones. The twins turned their mounts away from camp and started off. The men from the camp shouted their goodbyes, but as Jill rode into the fog, her ears popped, and she couldn't hear the men's voices anymore. As the twins rode on, the light got brighter, and then they were in a clearing. Both started in surprise when they saw the horse tour group waiting on the bridleway. The riders looked impatient, and the lead tour guide with the bad teeth shook with anger.

"About time you got back! What were you thinking?" he demanded. "You can't ride off into Sherwood Forest like that. I clearly told you to stay on the path. You've made all of us wait while you lollygagged in the forest. You've probably ruined countless historic trees by riding over their roots."

"We're sorry," Joanna said, her voice calm. "I fell off my horse, and Jill had to rescue me."

"If you fell off, it's your own fault. Good thing you held onto the reins, though, because that horse could have run off without you and then you would have had to walk home."

"How long did we keep you waiting?" Joanna asked.

"Twenty minutes!" He pointed to his watch.

Jill felt a wave of relief wash over her. It was like the twins had never left. That meant Mom and Dad wouldn't be worried and no one would ever know what the twins had seen and done...unless they decided to tell the story themselves.

"And you didn't come looking for us?" Joanna asked.

The guide's eyebrows raised. "And risk further damage to these trees?"

"Of course!" Joanna's voice was sarcastic. "Nice to have your priorities straight."

"Today's date is July 16, right?" Jill asked the guide.

"Are you both completely stupid? Yes, it's July 16."

As Jill turned her horse toward the back of the group, she caught Joanna's eye, and the twins smiled conspiratorially at each other.

For the remainder of the ride, Jill rode at the back of the line directly behind Joanna—a strange place to be since Jill had been so anxious to leave Joanna and ride in the front before, but after all they had been through the last six days—or twenty minutes—Jill didn't want Joanna out of her sight. Throughout the next hour of riding, Jill viewed with melancholy the shorter trees, the twisted, rotting trunks, and the damp smell that reminded her she rode in a very old place, a place where a lot had happened in eight hundred years. Hundreds, no thousands of people had walked through this forest, exploited it, romanticized it, and almost destroyed it, and now all of them were dead. Elaine, Little John, Will...all the merry men. Robin Hood was dead, too.

Jill's eyes stung again. She felt the medallion under her shirt and thanked Robin for the gift. No matter what happened to her from now on or where she went, she would never forget the outlaw who loved her.

When the ride was over, stable hands waited to help everyone off their mounts. Jill dismounted easily while Joanna had to be assisted by a teenaged girl with light brown hair.

"Well, that was an adventure," Joanna proclaimed when her feet were planted firmly on the ground.

"Did you stay on the horse?" the girl asked her.

"Nope." Joanna chuckled. "I doubt I'll ever be an equestrienne."

"The horse you had is quite spirited," the girl replied. "I don't know why you were given this one."

"The elderly lady who registered us told me she'd chosen him especially for me."

The girl blinked. "Elderly lady?"

Jill stepped in to the clear up the confusion. "You know, the short, petite lady with long, curly gray hair?"

"These stables are owned by my Uncle Colin," the girl replied. "I don't know a lady like that."

Jill frowned in thought.

"But when I started the ride, this same lady was riding with me and had my horse attached to hers," Joanna protested.

"Excuse me, miss, but I was the one who led you out."

Joanna paused and looked at Jill who shrugged.

"You led me out?" Joanna asked.

"Yes, miss, and told you to hang on to the reins and not fall off."

Joanna nodded slowly, adopting a congenial face with obvious effort. "Right. Silly me. Must have hit my head harder than I thought when I fell."

"Are you all right?"

"Absolutely," Joanna assured her. "Do you have a phone somewhere I could use? I need to call a taxi."

While the girl led Joanna to the nearby farmhouse to use the phone, Jill wandered into the car park which was now empty. The two small skeletons dangled in the breeze by the warning sign. But as Jill read the sign, she noticed the last phrase was missing. Now, the sign only said,

Ride at your own risk.

"The taxi should be here in 15 minutes," Joanna said, joining Jill. "And don't worry, I told him we want to go straight back to the hotel."

Jill nodded.

"Checking out the sign, huh?" Joanna joked, but her breath stopped when she noticed the missing words. "Am I going crazy?"

"I don't think so," Jill replied, "but I don't know how to make sense of it."

"Well, if anybody can figure out what happened, it's you."

"I'm not sure I want to." Jill stood with hands on her hips. "Some things are better left unexplained, you know?"

Now it was Joanna's turn to look shocked. "Who are you and what have you done with my sister?"

Jill touched the medallion through her shirt and grinned. "Call it personal growth."

# 27

## July 18, 2009

## London Heathrow Airport

Joanna sipped her bottled water, waiting for Jill to return. They hadn't been able to contact their parents on the phone the last few days, and when Jill finally reached them fifteen minutes ago, Joanna had agreed to listen for the announcements at the gate while Jill finished the conversation at the pay phone. Their zone had just been called when Jill jogged into the waiting area, dumping her empty water bottle in a nearby trash bin.

"Mom and Dad say hi," Jill said as the twins took their place in the boarding line. "They're fine. Mom says they didn't worry about us at all. Dad asked me if I'd seen anything in England that made me want to stay."

Joanna raised her eyebrows. "And what did you say?"

Jill got a mischievous look in her eye. "I told him, 'Not yet.'"

The twins laughed.

"I shouldn't have drunk all that water," Jill lamented. "Now I'll have to use the bathroom on the plane."

"It's a nine-hour flight," Joanna reminded her. "Most people have to go to the bathroom at least once during that amount of time. At least, normal people."

"Are you implying I'm not normal?"

"I'm stating directly that you think it's some kind of weakness to use an airplane bathroom."

Jill shrugged. "What can I say? I have a bladder of steel."

Joanna rolled her eyes.

A few minutes later, they made their way down one of the aisles in the 747, looking for their row.

"We should be window and middle," Jill said.

"Which means I'm middle."

"Hey, I rode backwards on the train so you wouldn't get carsick."

"Yeah, yeah. Whatever."

When they found their seats, Jill stashed her backpack in the overhead compartment and headed toward the lavatory.

"I'll go brave the toilet before it starts to stink." Jill crinkled her nose, anticipating her disgust.

"Just remember, you've gone in worse conditions."

Jill acknowledged Joanna's reference with a head nod and scooted down the aisle.

Joanna dumped her purse, new spiral-bound notebook, and package of pens into the aisle seat, intending to store them momentarily. As she contemplated if there was anything else she needed from her backpack, she heard a man's voice speaking with a crisp British accent.

"Excuse me. I believe I have the aisle seat."

Joanna reached quickly for her purse, notebook, and pens to transfer them to the window seat before she stashed her backpack. "Sorry. I'll just be another second or two."

"Cheers."

With her backpack zipped and ready, Joanna stood to place it in the overhead compartment when her eyes widened at the sight of the man who would be sitting next to her. He could have been Robin Hood's twin brother. He was the same height and weight with the same handsome features and twinkling eyes, only he had no beard and his hair, instead of being curly, was straight and short. He wore a light green polo shirt and khaki pants. Joanna noticed the Rolex on his wrist and a big ring she couldn't see clearly on his right hand.

"Do I know you?" Joanna asked before she had time to think about the words coming out of her mouth.

The man smiled politely. "I don't think so." He pointed to the backpack she was holding. "Would you like some help?"

Joanna recovered from her shock. "Yeah. Thanks. Here I am, holding up the line. I'll slide on over here to my _window_ seat."

He nodded as he stowed her backpack and his rolling suitcase in the overhead compartment and slid a black laptop bag monogrammed with the GDP Oil logo under the seat.

"GDB Oil?" Joanna asked. "You work there?"

"I do." The man settled into his chair. "You know it?"

"My sister works at the Houston office."

His eyes widened. "Really?"

"She'll be back in a minute." Joanna glanced back to see if Jill was on her way. "I'm Joanna, by the way."

"I'm Rob."

They shook hands.

"So, Rob, what do you do at GDB?"

He shrugged. "I'm in operations. I've been working at the London office, but now I've been transferred to Houston for a few years."

"Have you been to the States before?"

"I've visited often. My brother's lived in the U.S. for several years."

"You'll love it," Joanna assured him. "There's _lots_ to enjoy."

If this man's name was Rob and he looked like Robin Hood and he also had a brother...

"Is Houston home for you as well?" Rob asked.

"No, I live in Minneapolis, but I met my sister in Houston so we could fly to London together. This was our first time overseas."

"I hope you had a nice holiday."

"Very nice," Joanna assured him. "It was full of adventure."

Rob pointed to the notebook Joanna had set on the fold-out tray table. "Are you a writer?"

"Yes, I am."

"Have you published anything I would know?"

"Not yet, but I will."

Joanna glanced again toward the lavatory, wondering what was taking Jill so long. She could hardly wait to see Jill's face when she saw who was sitting next to them. Rob stretched a little in the seat and searched his pockets, frowning.

"Everything all right?"

"I forgot my phone," Rob replied. "I loaned it to a colleague who's also on this flight. Will you excuse me for a moment?"

"Of course."

As Rob crawled out of his seat and worked his way forward, Joanna marveled at his similarity to the legendary outlaw.

" _Hello_ ," Jill said with obvious irritation. "You're in my seat."

Joanna grinned mischievously. "I'll be taking the window this trip. Sit down quick."

"What are you talking about?"

"The guy sitting next to you, he works in operations at GDP Oil in Houston. He's British, his name's Rob, and Jill—he could be Robin Hood's identical twin."

Jill's eyes widened as she flopped into the middle seat. "What?"

"He's coming back! Act natural."

Rob paused when he noticed Jill, and if Joanna read him right, his attraction to Jill was immediately evident as he said, "Hello. You must be the sister."

Jill blushed and waved but didn't speak.

"Rob, this is Jill. Jill, Rob."

Rob shook Jill's hand, and as he did so, his eyes traveled to the medallion that hung outside her shirt.

"That's a unique necklace you're wearing."

Jill fingered the medallion and seemed to be searching for the words before she finally said, "Thank you."

Rob buckled his seat belt. "I feel like I've seen it before. It reminds me of something that's been in my family for generations. See?"

He held out his right hand, revealing his ring which bore the same heraldry as Jill's medallion. Joanna didn't think it was the exact ring Robin had worn, but the resemblance to that piece of jewelry, much like Rob's resemblance to Robin, was uncanny.

"My father left me this ring when he died," Rob said. "It's been in my family for years. This medallion you're wearing is remarkable. I'd be interested in hearing where you got it."

"It's an interesting story," Jill admitted. "Maybe I'll tell it to you sometime. My sister says you work at GDB?" When he nodded, she continued, "What department?"

"Operations."

Jill raised an eyebrow. "You're Rob Goodwin, the new vice president, aren't you?"

"I'm trying to keep a low profile."

"Why aren't you flying first class?" Joanna asked. "I wouldn't suffer in coach if I didn't have to."

"My father started the company, but that doesn't entitle me to waste money on special treatment, especially after that horrible mess in the Gulf of Mexico. We've got a lot of work to do, and I thought flying coach would be a way to show I'm part of the team and conserving company resources."

Jill flashed a sly glance at Joanna before she turned to Rob. "Nicely done."

■ ■ ■

Once Joanna was assured that the conversation between Jill and Rob wasn't going to need any further assistance from her, she put in her earbuds to give them as much privacy as she could and scrolled through the albums on her mp3 player before she found the Backwater Bandits western album. As the music played, she opened her newly purchased notebook to the first page, clicked her pen, and started writing. She wanted to remember everything that had happened. Of course, the irony was that if she wrote down exactly what had happened, no one would believe it. She would have to fictionalize the story if she ever hoped to make it into a novel, but first, she had to record the details before she forgot them.

When the plane began its descent hours later, Joanna flexed her hand, cramped from hours of writing, and turned off her music. Rob and Jill had been talking the entire time, their attraction to each other becoming more evident with each passing hour.

"Are there any good archery ranges near the plant?" Rob asked with obvious enthusiasm. "I like to get in a little target practice when I can."

"There's one at the park by the lake," Jill said. "What kind of bow do you shoot?"

"Compound and recurve. But I've taken up the longbow recently. I bought a rough-hewn version not too long ago, but I haven't had much chance to try it out. Maybe we could visit the range together."

"I'd like that." Jill reached for her purse and pulled out a business card. Flipping over the card, Jill held out her hand, signaling Joanna to give her a pen. When Joanna complied, Jill jotted her telephone number on the back and presented the card to Rob.

"This is the best way to reach me after work," she said.

Joanna almost laughed out loud. She had never seen Jill give her number to anyone before.

Rob studied the number, then smiled and nodded before he put it in his wallet. "It will be nice to know someone in the area. My brother has a flat downtown. I'm staying there until I get my own place."

Joanna picked up her ears at further mention of a brother.

"Say," Rob began, "do you have any plans after we land?"

"Just home and shower," Jill said with a shrug, as though getting back to her apartment after a long vacation was the _last_ thing she wanted to do.

"I was going to meet my brother for dinner. Would you two like to join us?"

Jill looked at Joanna, and the look said, _We're definitely going._

"Are you sure we wouldn't be in the way?" Joanna asked, not wanting them to seem too eager.

"Not at all."

"Then we'd love to," Jill replied.

"I have a car waiting. Would you like to ride with us? We could drop you off at your home after we eat."

Remembering Jill's car sitting in long-term parking, Joanna barely concealed her surprise as Jill answered, "Sounds good."

Rob and Jill continued their conversation as the three exited the plane and walked toward immigration. The three had to separate when the twins joined the U.S. citizen line, but Rob was waiting for them on the other side, and they picked up their luggage together. Since Rob and Jill talked so amiably, Joanna had little to contribute and instead was free to consider the identity of Rob's brother. Rob already seemed much smarter and better suited to Jill than Robin. If this time period held an improved version of Robin Hood, what could that mean for Guy of Gisbourne?

When Rob's cell phone rang, he answered and excused himself for a moment. Finding themselves alone for the first time in hours, the twins looked at each other with wide eyes. Jill was the first to speak.

"I don't know what's going on, but I say we don't question it too much. Go with it."

"Okay."

"And we never, ever talk about what happened in Sherwood or Locksley to anyone else. Not even Mom and Dad."

"Good idea," Joanna agreed. "I'm already questioning if it really happened. Except, of course, that's Robin Hood you gave your number to."

"Rob Goodwin," Jill corrected. "There's a difference—an eight-hundred-year difference, to be exact."

"Ladies, our car is waiting." Rob was back, gesturing toward the door. "If you'll follow me."

When they stepped outside, Joanna gasped at the black limousine pulled up to the cub. As the driver took their luggage, the door of the limo opened and from the shadowy interior stepped a tall, thin man dressed in a black suit. He had short, light brown hair, smoldering gray eyes, and a low brow, indicating a predisposition for brooding. When he saw Joanna, he smiled warmly. Her chest tightened. He looked just like Guy of Gisbourne—minus the scar.

"You must be Joanna." He spoke in a perfect BBC accent, his voice dripping with charm. "I'm Gavin Fountaineau. Pleasure to meet you."

She felt her cheeks go hot as she said hello.

"Please." Gavin gestured for Joanna to enter the limo.

Needing reassurance, Joanna turned back to Jill who gave her a thumbs up. As Joanna crawled into the limousine and Gavin slid next to her, she marveled at this turn of events.

Truly, life didn't always go as planned.

Sometimes, it was _better_.

Jill and Joanna's adventures continue in Gold Bars and Tin Stars.

Visit Michelle's website to be notified when the next book in the series is released, to view special features for this book, and to receive a free eBook:

Visit Michelle's website to be notified when the next book in the series is released, to view special features for this book, and to receive a free eBook:

<https://www.michellelashier.com/>

Other books by Michelle Lashier:

Time-Traveling Twins series

Quivers and Quills

Felines and Fowls

Gold Bars and Tin Stars

Portals and Poison

Inkwells and Jail Cells

Serpents and Sharks

Stand-alone novels

The Carpenter & the Queen

Me, You, and Tofu and other short stories

# Join My Readers Club

Visit http://www.michellelashier.com to join my readers club and receive the FREE Time-Traveling Twins novella Felines and Fowls available exclusively to members. You'll also be the first to know when new books are released or when I give away more free stuff. I never share your email address with anyone, I don't send spam, I only email you when I have something cool to share, and you can unsubscribe at any time.

Felines and Fowls

Time-Traveling Twins Book 1.5

October 2009...Who said life in the twenty-first century was dull?

In the three months since returning from her unexpected trip to twelfth-century Sherwood Forest, Jill Mason has been keeping Rob Goodwin at arm's length. He would like to be more than her friend, but her brief liaison with Robin Hood has left her feeling skittish about romance. However, when Jill and Rob pause during an afternoon horseback ride to help a stranded motorist, a runaway cat sends Jill on an adventure that might change her mind.

Meanwhile, Jill's twin sister Joanna is struggling to jump-start her writing career and find peace with being single. When she's invited to a last-minute dinner date, she welcomes the distraction and the possibility for romance. But when the chef's main course is stolen by one of the restaurant staff, Joanna begins an investigation that could uncover more than the thief.

To get your free copy of _Felines and Fowls_ as well as a free copy of _Me, You, and Tofu and other short stories_ , visit <https://www.michellelashier.com/>.

# Acknowledgments

This book has been a long time in the making and has benefitted from the skills, encouragement, and assistance of many people:

Colin Brooks of The Forest Archer in Edwinstowe, Nottinghamshire, UK, gave me free tips on longbow shooting. If you ever visit Sherwood Forest, check out Colin's amazing shop in the Edwinstowe Arts and Crafts Centre or his website: <http://www.newark-sherwooddc.gov.uk/sfacc/theforestarcher/>

Steve DeForest and Kevin Leonor patiently taught me how to shoot a recurve bow in Cedar Lake, Michigan, in 2005. Good memories, my friends.

My dad Larry taught me to love action and adventure stories, science fiction, and humor—especially when they were combined. Wish you could have read this one, Dad.

My son and webmaster Nathan has ordered me over the years to "Work on your book, Mom," in much the same tone I directed him to "Do your homework, Nathan." Thanks for the encouragement, kiddo.

My mom Charlene is my editor, most enthusiastic cheerleader, and tireless proofreader. Thanks for always believing in me, Mom.

Finally, my sister Nadine's contributions to this book are so far-reaching that they are impossible to itemize, but I'll try: inspiration, plot consultant, first reader, most-honest critic, favorite traveling and research companion, and best friend. In short, Nadine, this book would not exist without you.

# About the Author

Michelle Lashier was born in Maryland but lived in the southeastern United States as well as Texas, California, Alaska, and Michigan before settling in Minneapolis, Minnesota. A former high school and college writing teacher, she has a B.A. in English from Southern Adventist University and an M.F.A. in Creative Writing from National University. Her first novella, _The Carpenter and the Queen_ , was published in 2014. _Quivers and Quills_ is the first in her Time-Traveling Twins series. Michelle and her sister, who are both avid travelers, have visited Sherwood Forest twice, but the closest they've ever come to time traveling was crossing the International Date Line.

Visit Michelle's website to be notified when the next book in the series is released, to view bonus features for this book, and to receive a free eBook:

https://www.michellelashier.com

Word of mouth is crucial for any author to succeed. If you enjoyed the book, please consider leaving at the site where you purchased it. Even if it's only a line or two, it would be a _huge_ help.

