Robyn and the Hoodettes (21 page)

“
I wish I knew.”

“
How long do Crusades take anyway?”

“
I haven’t a clue. Try not to think about it, OK?”

Robyn grumbled and wriggled and tried–and failed–to get
comfortable.

Mother Eleanor kissed the back of her head. “You must know
I’m so proud of you for all that you’re doing.”

“
Really?”

“
Yes, really.”

After that, the night didn’t feel quite so cold and
miserable.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

No surprise. In the morning, it was still raining. Robyn
lay curled with her mother, watching puddles under the carriage
wheels ripple with each splash. Her back was vaguely warm from
their shared body heat, but she couldn’t feel her feet and her
shoulder ached to the marrow from sleeping on her side all
night.

It had all felt so simple and wonderful during their escape
from Sheffield. She’d been handing out sacks of food to starving
people, and it felt good. Like the time after she and Joan battled
Roger’s men on the road, then returned their goods to Loxley. She’d
felt like a hero.

Now she felt cold, miserable and sore all over as the reality
of ‘being a hero’ sank in.

Wood creaked above them. The carriage rocked and swayed.
The horses walked out from the round house and shook water from
their coats.

This is my life now, Robyn thought, as a warm tear trickled
loose. It left a cold trail down her face as it met the morning
air.

Another tear followed the first, then the other eye let
loose and there was no point stopping them. Nobody could see her,
and she wasn’t
crying
crying, just weeping to herself. Weeping for the lost
security of Loxley, weeping for the unknown life that lay
ahead.

Weeping for the warmth of her own bed.

“
It’s all right love,” Eleanor said as she woke up. “At
least we’re all togeth–ow!” She clonked her head on the
undercarriage as she sat up.

Robyn
wiped her face with the side of her hood. The creaking of
the carriage above them matched the creaking in her joints as she
snake-crawled her way out from underneath.

The carriage door opened. A tired and inelegant Joan tumbled
out. “All right?”

“
I’ll get there,” Robyn said, rolling her shoulders and
yawning. This was every kind of miserable. “How did you
sleep?”

“
Couldn’t have been as bad as you.” Joan said with a shrug and
a yawn chaser. “At least there’s no frost.”

“
Rained too much for that,” Robyn said.

“
Good morning,” Ellen said in her singsong way as she pulled
herself out of her sleeping hutch. “That was lush. Never been so
warm.”

How dare she be so happy!

“
Still raining then? Reminds me of home,” Ellen pulled her hood
over her head and had a stretch. “Right then, let’s see if I can’t
get the fish farm up and running then.”

“
The fire must have gone out. I’ll get the flint,” Marion said
as he climbed over Georgia to get out.

The fire. Their only source of warmth. Now the ashes were
sitting in a puddle of rainwater.

Misery sat like a heavy stone in the pit of Robyn’s stomach as
she watched Madge, Wilfred and Georgia climb out of the carriage,
their expectant faces turned to Robyn in an unspoken chorus of,
“What’s next?”

Robyn’s gave no cheer. “I have absolutely no idea.”

“
We need exercise,” Joan said, giving Robyn a hard pat on the
shoulder. “Come with me.”

The last thing on Robyn’s to-do list was exercise. “Shouldn’t
you be–I mean we be–finishing the round house?”

“
Marion and I had a talk about it last night. We’re going to
turn the one we’ve got into a fire pit, and build another
one.”

Another one? But that wouldn’t be done in a day either. Which
meant another night of sleeping under the carriage.

“
He’s full of good ideas that Marion,” Joan said, giving Robyn
a wink.

Frustration made her voice come out louder than it should
have. “Then put him in charge,” Robyn said.

“
Hell’s teeth!” Joan said, “If Marion were in charge we’d still
be back in Loxley weighing up the pros and cons of everything and
getting nowhere.”

Robyn tried to take it as a compliment, but her mood was too
sour. “Yeah, but at least then we’d still have a warm bed for the
night.”

“
Come on,” Joan gave her a hug around the shoulders and a
too-hard shake. “Let me beat some sense into you.”

It wasn’t an empty expression. Joan walked Robyn to where a
sturdy tree trunk had fallen across the stream many years ago. It
was half rotten and wedged into the mud on both sides. Joan fetched
two long branches that were rammed in the ground. All set up and
waiting for people to come and choose their weapons.

“
You are kidding?” Robyn said as she hefted one of the branches
into her hands. Someone had cut the side shoots away so that it
made a long staff. “It’s raining, we don’t have a fire, we haven’t
finished making shelter and you want to play?”

“
Not play,” Joan twirled her staff like a pro, “I want to
fight.”

Thwack! Joan spun and slashed her stick through the
air.

Wrong-footed immediately, Robyn dropped and ducked out the
way.

“
Get up,” Joan demanded.

“
Steady on!”

“
Get on the bridge.” Joan pointed to the tree trunk with her
long staff.

“
Is your brain clotted?”

Joan’s expression was serious. “I said, ‘Get. On. The.
Bridge.’ ”

Her friend had officially gone mental. Joan aimed another
whack at Robyn. Ready this time, Robyn parried it away.

Another whack. Another defensive block.

Whack, block, thrust, parry.

Robyn shuffled on to the tree trunk that Joan so creatively
called a bridge.

“
What’s got in to you?” Robyn had never seen her friend like
this.

Thwack!

Robyn ducked, lost her balance, crashed
spread
-eagled
on the trunk.

The stream trickled lazily below her, promising an icy bath
should she fall in. And no fire as yet to warm herself
up.

“
We’re outlaws now,” Joan said.

She must have been talking with Marion.

Joan continued, “We need to look after ourselves and be strong
and be ready in a fight.”

“
We do?”

Thwack
!

Robyn blocked it with her knuckles
. “OW!” Shaking her hand did nothing
to ease the pain. “Are you crazy? That really hurt!”

Joan held her staff up, ready for another blow. “Do you
think Roger or Maudlin will care if you hurt your hand?”

“
They’re not here!”

“
Not yet maybe, but we need to be ready. On guard!”

“
I’m not playing!” Robyn threw her long staff into the stream,
where it caught on rocks. Water churned into foam around
it.

“
This isn’t a game.” Joan swung her staff like a
sword.

Robyn flattened herself against the trunk. The continuing
drizzle made it so slippery she lost her footing.

“
Saints!” Gravity plummeted her into the icy water. Her screams
were louder than the splash. The water, so cold it burned, soaked
through everything in a second.

Iced to the core, Robyn struggled out of the river, her
clothes miserably heavy. “Are you happy now?”

“
You left your long staff behind.”

“
You get it then.” Robyn stomped off. It was one thing to
douse herself in a stream after scaling the walls of a burning
tower, quite another to be frozen stiff for no good
reason.

Please tell me Marion has the fire going?

Praise heaven! Mario
n had a fire burning in the incomplete roundhouse.
Not a large one by any account, but enough of a small
glow.

“
You’re dripping all over it!” Marion shooed her
away.

“
C-c-c,” Robyn started a sentence that should have been, “Can’t
get warm enough.” She would have hugged the fire to her chest if it
would help. Her back teeth clattered together, making words
impossible.

“
You’re soaked!” Marion said.

So he noticed?

“
J-J-Jo-” More shivering and rattling teeth. “Joan!” she
managed with supreme effort. Rubbing her hands together didn’t warm
her one bit, but sent droplets hissing onto the meagre
fire.

“
Careful!”

More splashes hissed onto the flames. She shoved her hands
under her armpits to make them warm. It achieved
nothing.

“
You’re freezing. Come here,” Marion said.

Robyn couldn’t move. Instead, Marion stepped closer and
embraced her in a tight hug. “You’re made of ice. I shouldn’t have
let you sleep out last night. I’m so sorry.”

“
N-n-no–” She couldn’t get anything out. She wanted to say,
“It’s not your fault, Joan did this,” but the freezing tremors took
hold. When he kissed her on the forehead, his lips were hotter than
a branding iron.

“
River!” The word flew out like a curse, but at least it was a
whole word and maybe Marion could put the pieces
together.

“
Yes, I can see that you must have fallen in. You’ll never get
warm if you stay in these.” Marion broke their embrace, pulled his
tunic off over his head and offered it to her. “Get your wet gear
off and put this on.”

He stood there in his threadbare undershirt, leaving very
little to the imagination. Which made Robyn realise how dangerously
cold she had to be, if she couldn’t feel any heat in her cheeks at
all.

Too frozen to be embarrassed, Robyn dragged at her hooded
tunic. So wet and heavy; her arms too weak. Marion stepped in and
finished the job,
shlucking
the fabric away from her goose bump-covered
skin.

She wrapped her arms around her torso as the air swirled
around her bare skin. Not from shame or trying to cover herself,
but in a desperate attempt to keep warm. Marion slotted his tunic
over her, wrapping the sleeves forward to tie her in to the
fabric.

Joan walked into the round house. Robyn heard Marion and Joan
talking, but their words became a mash of sounds swirling around
her. All she cared about was getting warm. Marion came back and
held her tightly in his arms, rubbing her back fiercely to get some
heat into her body.

At some point she passed out, because the next moment she
woke in a messy pile of limbs on the ground, Marion holding her
steady and rubbing heat into her arms and back. He kept kissing her
on the forehead as well, his lips a welcome hot-spot.

Oh, wait a minute. It wasn’t Marion. He was cuddling her
from behind. The lips on her forehead belonged to her
mother.

“
She’s getting warmer,” Eleanor said.

Marion barked more orders. “Joan, bring more wood for the
fire.”

“
But everything’s wet?” She complained.

“
Then back the carriage in here and we’ll burn
that!”

M
ore
shouting; then everything went woozy and Robyn passed out again.
Then she woke again, tucked up in a tight ball, knees under her
chin. Marion was still wrapped around her, rubbing her limbs to get
warm.

A fresh bout of shivers rattled her bones.

“
The fire’s bright and hot now,” Marion murmured into her
ear.

Her legs were bare. Getting her bearings, she eyeballed her
tunic and frock skirt hooked over the branches on the walls,
dripping puddles onto the floor. Marion guided her feet towards the
coals. A moment later, her toes felt like they were on
fire.

At least her feet were finally warm. Ouch! Too warm all of
a sudden.

“
Careful! You want to thaw out slowly. Too much and you’ll
blister,” Eleanor said.

Wiping her blurry eyes, Robyn noticed everyone gathered around
her, the same worried expression on their faces.

“
I’m so sorry for what happened,” Joan said. “I just wanted us
to be fighting fit. You know? Ready for anything.”

“
I know. It’s OK Joan.” It came out in a whisper. Robyn was
grateful she could make sentences again.

“
I should have at least let you wake up and have breakfast
though,” Joan said.

In a whisper, Robyn said, “
Roger and Maudlin wouldn’t.”

An uncomfortable silence descended. Marion kept rubbing
Robyn’s back, but instead of the fierce intensity of before, it had
slowed to something more like a caress.

“
You’re right,” he said. “We need to be ready for
anything.”

They all nodded. At which point Robyn noticed someone missing.
“Where’s Ellen?”