A Hoboken Hipster In Sherwood Forest (25 page)

The other two girls crowd in behind me to see what has frightened their friend so much.

"
‘Tis her!"

"Captured in the mirror!"

"How is it possible?"

"She looks beautiful!"

"I want a turn!"

"No, I am first."

"No, me!"

I grin. Mission accomplished. I'm in with the in crowd. Accepted, safe. Bed, bath and beyond.

Chrissie, one. Medieval fashionistas, zero. If only Kat could see me now!

Chapter Seventeen

That night there's to be a banquet in the main hall, celebrating some random saint or another, and I'm to attend as a guest of honor. Which is pretty cool, actually. I mean, obviously I've never been invited to a fancy party held in a medieval castle before. (No, Jen's second grade birthday party at Medieval Times does not count.) If I'm going to experience 12th-century life, I might as well experience it to the fullest. And since I've already done the sleeping on the stone-cold ground as an outlaw in the forest thing, I think it's about time to see how the other half lives.

At least, this is what my Pollyanna inner voice tries to convince me. The devil on my shoulder is a lot less interested in the whole deal. Truth be told, I miss Sherwood Forest. I miss the Merry Men....

Ah, who am I trying to fool here? I miss Robin. Plain and simple. And I can't help obsessing over what's going on with him and Marion. Are they tucked away in his tent this very moment, making up for lost time with some wild and crazy sex? Or are they cuddling in one another's arms, vowing eternal devotion? Does Robin think of me at all as he traces her soft, white cheek with his callused finger? Does he wonder where I went? Does he even notice I'm gone?

Did I do the right thing? Should I have stayed, fought for Robin? No. If you love someone, you have to let
them go. Everyone who's seen Indecent Proposal knows that.

If Robin comes back to me, he'll be mine forever.

Yeah, right. I'm so not holding my breath for that one.

"Princess Christine," Susan, the blonde, says, coming into the sitting room. "We must get you dressed."

Heh. Princess Christine. I kind of like the sound of that.

I push all outlaw thoughts from my brain and follow Susan into one of the bedrooms. She presents me with a gorgeous gown and explains it's mine to wear to the feast. It's made of the palest blue silk and has tiny crystals seeded into the embroidered sleeves. It's so delicate—ladylike—that I just know I'll end up spilling mead all down the front of it before the night is over. And sadly, stain-removing Clorox Bleach Pens have yet to be invented.

I don the dress and Elaine, the brunette, combs and braids my unruly hair. Then Avelyn, the redhead, drapes a silver necklace around my neck. Susan grabs my hand to slip a few chunky bejeweled rings on my fingers.

"So, where is this kingdom of Hoboken that you come from?"
Avelyn asks as she combs.

"Yes, you speak with such a strange tongue. It must be very far," says Elaine. "I have never heard anyone talk as you do."

"Oh, yeah. It's far. Really far. Across a huge sea." And oceans of time, too, but we don't need to go into all of that.

"How did you get here?"
Avelyn queries, draping a matching cloak over my shoulders and attaching it under my neck with an intricate silver dragon pin. "Was it by magic?"

I think for a moment before answering,
then nod my head. What the heck, right? Might as well keep up the mystique I've built up. "Yes. The matchmaker in my... kingdom... cast a spell and sent me here to find my true love."

The girls' eyes all light at the mention of true love.
So predictable. Who cares about magic when you've got potential hooking up to talk about?

"I daresay you'll have trouble finding it in this castle," Elaine says with an exaggerated sigh. "Your matchmaker should have sent you to France."

"Oh? I figured there'd be tons of guys around. I mean, even that knight earlier. The one who brought me up here. He was pretty good-looking."

"Aye. There are many handsome knights residing in the castle, but most are disinterested in courting a lady."
Avelyn shrugs. "They'd rather rut with village whores on flea-infested bales of hay than chastely pursue royal ladies worthy of their love."

"
‘Tis not the knights' fault," argues Susan. "Prince John has ruled that they must not approach us. He enjoys the idea of having a castle filled with virgin brides, should he ever decide to take a wife."

"That seems kind of unfair to you guys," I say. Wow. None of these women have ever hooked up with a guy? No wonder they're so bitchy. "Wait 'til King Richard comes back," I comfort. "I'm sure he'll sort everything out."

"It seems King Richard will never return." Elaine sighs. "He rots in that Austrian prison, for no one is interested in paying his ransom. They'd rather throw banquets and stuff themselves like pigs."

"We are ladies in waiting. And so we wait," says Susan in a long-suffering voice. “We will likely die virgins, never knowing a man’s love.”

I roll my eyes. “That’s dumb. You shouldn’t have to sacrifice your happiness just on the prince’s whim.”

I realize all three of them are staring at me.

“Well, it’s true!” I protested. “You choose to be here. To live like this. No one’s holding a, uh, sword to your head.”

Susan stares at me. “Choose?” she repeats. ‘What choice do we have?
To leave the castle and live in the village like commoners? Brown our skin and sleep in thatched-roof huts?”

“Hey, all choices have consequences,” I tell her. “You have to decide what you want in life. And what you’re willing to sacrifice to get it.”
 

The chimes of a faraway bell effectively end the discussion, and the girls squeal and scamper off to their respective chambers. Evidently that’s the call to dinner and none of them are ready. They chatter excitedly as they don dresses and add
accessories at a frantic pace. I feel like I’m in some kind of medieval sorority or something. I wouldn’t admit this to anyone back home in the 21st century, but the whole thing is kind of cool. After all, I’ve never been the giggling, girly girl type before. I always insisted they were too mainstream. Still, after a month of eunuch-dom in a filthy forest, hanging with the girls is kind of fun.   

I look around the room. No mirrors. But I do still have my camera. I set the timer and hold my hand out. World’s first ever
selfie!

 
Click! The flash blinds me for a moment, then I turn the camera around to check out the finished product. I raise my eyebrows in surprise. Wow! I look so different. So... ladylike! These girls are good!

If only Robin could see me now. I wonder what he'd think. Not that I care. Really. I'm so through with that scene. In fact, maybe I'll go down to dinner tonight and meet a really sexy knight in shining armor. One of those chivalrous ones who will recite poetry to me as he feeds me peeled grapes. One who can stay friends with his exes, but who has no desire to hook back up with any of them.

Oh wait, these knights aren't allowed to have girlfriends. Just my luck.

I feel eyes on me and look up from my camera's
viewscreen. Susan stands in the doorway, looking bashful.

"What's up?" I ask.

She closes the door behind her and comes over to sit beside me on the bed. "Can I speak freely?" she asks.

"Of course," I say, wondering what's up.

"What you said before, about choices. Do you truly believe it?"

"Yes. Definitely. Why?"

She blushes and stares down at her hands. "There is this boy," she says, and suddenly I realize how young she probably is. Couldn't be more than eighteen. "His name is Paul. He works at the stable, making horseshoes. He's an apprentice to a great sword smith." She smiles as she speaks, and I can practically feel her intense crush radiating from her.

"And you like him," I conclude unnecessarily.

"Aye," she says, her face's pink glow deepening. "And he has given me reason to think he likes me as well."

"So what's the problem?"

"He is poor. Life with him would be hard. I would be banned from court and forced to live as a peasant woman."

"But you'd be with him," I rationalize.

"Aye." Tears slip from her blue eyes as she looks up at me in utter honesty for what I imagine to be the first time. "Princess Christine, forsooth, I know not what to do."

"I think you do." I place a hand on her shoulder and give her a squeeze. "I think you want to follow your heart."

"But the other ladies will not understand," she protests, glancing at the closed door. "They will think I've gone mad. To give up a life of leisure to live as a peasant..."

"One, who cares what they think
?" I ask. "And two, I think they might surprise you if you're honest with them."

Susan smiles through her tears and reaches over to give me a huge hug. "Oh, Princess Christine," she says, burying her head in my shoulder. "You are so wise and good. I am very glad you came here."

I stroke her head, feeling wise beyond my years. "I'm glad as well."

###

Fashionably late, we head down to dinner. The great hall has been transformed (and cleaned up, thank God!) for the feast. Torches and candles cast a fiery glow on long, row tables covered with plates and bowls overflowing with meats and fruits and cheese. On one side of the room sits a trio of musicians gently strumming their harps. Servants in grey linen tunics rush to and fro, delivering more and more food. Colorful, richly dressed courtiers lounge at each table, picking at their dinners. Judging from their waistlines, these guys aren't exactly downtrodden.

It's kind of sick, actually, to see so much food in one place. I mean, there's no way it's all going to be eaten by the small number of guests present, not unless they stuff themselves to the point of illness, which I guess is possible. But still! All this food, all this excess, and the common people are sitting in their villages starving. Babies are dying of malnutrition.

How can I be here? How can I enjoy this? It goes against everything I stand for, everything I've worked to eliminate since I've been here. If the Merry Men could see me now, I'd be so ashamed.

"Princess Christine," a voice calls out. I look over to the head table and see Prince John himself is beckoning me. Oh great, just what I need to make my night complete. But hey, this is my job now. I'm an official lady-in-waiting and I'd better get used to the waiting part. I drop a curtsey and approach the table. The prince pats the empty seat next to him.

"Lady Marion is away this evening," he informs me. "So I humbly ask you do me the honor of taking her place by my side."

"Thank you, milord," I say, curtseying once again, trying to keep a poker face at the name of Marion. I can't believe she's not back yet. Did she decide to shack up with Robin for good? What do the men think of that? I mean, here I thought the "no women in camp" rule was pretty set in stone. After all, Robin made me hang out dressed as a boy for weeks. Does Marion get some special dispensation? God, I'd like to wring that stupid outlaw's neck.

"Princess Christine?" queries the prince.

I shake my head, forcing my thoughts back to the here and now. "Sorry, Your Majesty," I apologize. "You honor me. I'd love to sit next to you."

Okay, fine, "love" may be a tad too strong a word for my real feelings on the matter, especially as I see spittle on his mouth as he grins at my acceptance. Bleh! But really, what other option do I have? He's the prince. I came to his court willingly. I have to follow protocol.

Besides, maybe I can do some recon while I'm here. Find out the 411 on King Richard and his expected return date, for one. I've been playing around in the forest way too long. I can now focus on the real reason I'm back in time.

A servant beckons me into my seat, holding my chair for me as I sit down. Another dumps a plate of some kind of bony roasted bird in front of me. I wave it away. He bows, then returns a few moments later with a haunch of some other sickly sweet-smelling meat. I can't help but hold my nose, bad manners be damned. After all, getting sick all over the head table would be much worse.

"No, no. I don't eat meat," I try to explain. He looks at me like I just said monkeys fly out of my butt, but shrugs and retreats, leaving me foodless.

"You do not eat meat?" Prince John questions, he himself viciously gnawing on some kind of dead animal or another. I swallow hard, forcing my stomach to behave, "Why ever not?"

Luckily, I've fielded this question before.
Many tines, in fact. "I don't like the idea of animals being killed for our own frivolous indulgences. After all, there are plenty of other things to eat in this world."

Back in the 21st century I usually follow up my argument with a heated discussion on hormones and unfair farm practices, but in this case that's all moot.

"How truly odd," the Prince remarks. "You are a fascinating woman, Princess Christine."