Squire’s Isle Created by Geonn Cannon

Rob From the Rich

A girl from the mainland visits the Squire’s Days festival and meets an intriguing archer. Written for the Author Challenge in Radclyffe’s Yahoo group.

Rob From the Rich

Author’s Note: Takes place during the Squire’s Days festival that is mentioned in my novel On the Air, but does not include any specific spoilers for that story.

Her heart was in the right place.

That was the mantra she had to keep running through Chelsea’s head as she followed Richard down the midway. Since returning to the island after college, her mother had insisted she get back into the dating pool. To accomplish this, she had apparently gone through her address book and marked down every acquaintance that had, or knew of, or had ever met, a single man who might be interested in going out on a date. To appease her mother, Chelsea had agreed to blind date after blind date, never giving the guy any reason to hope for a second date.

The fact that Chelsea had never really been in the dating pool didn’t seem to faze her mother. There had been some minor wading, a bit of splashing around during high school, sure. But never any real forays into romantic pairings.

Not until college. Not until she’d met Allison. She hugged herself to still the shudder that passed through her at the thought of the other girl’s name. She clasped her hands to her elbows and scanned the Faire around her.

Part of her agreement with the blind dates was that they would take her places she would enjoy regardless of company. This time, it was ‘Squire Days,’ the island’s annual Renaissance Faire. Chelsea and Richard, along with the majority of Faire-goers, were dressed like normal, modern people. The rest had dressed up in period costume and spoke with airy “thee” and “thou” language.

Richard stopped in front of a booth and examined the bears hanging behind a row of empty milk jugs. He picked up a baseball and turned to her. “What do you think? Five bucks a pop? You want a bear?”

“Not particularly,” she said. She was hardly listening to him, her attention instead focused on a crowd gathered a few yards away. She wandered away from the booth and Richard trailed after her.

Chelsea weaved her way through the crowd, not sure what she was so intrigued by. A group of people could be gathered to look at anything. There was no reason to be this curious. Still, she fought her way to the front of the crowd to see what all the fuss was about.

The focus was an empty lot, about the size of a school bus. At the far end, a yellow-and-red target stood against a wall of hay bales. The woman standing near the crowd wore a deep green tunic, green leggings and a peaked green hat. Her blonde hair feathered out from beneath the hat, her chin decorated with the wispy hairs of a fake goatee. She angled a bow towards the ground and placed an arrow against the notch. Chelsea looked at the target and saw four identical arrows sticking from various points of the yellow area in the center. The archer lifted her chin to face the audience. Her eyes paused on Chelsea, then moved on to other spectators before she spoke.

“The bowstring is pulled with three fingers.” She lifted her leather glove and held up the first three fingers in a gesture Chelsea knew as ‘scout’s honor.’ “One above the arrow, two below. The bowstring is drawn to an anchor point on the face. Keeping your elbow parallel to the ground… relax your fingers and…”

The arrow shot forward with a whipping noise. It plunked into the target closer to the bull’s-eye than any of the other shots.

“Wow, that was impressive,” Richard said. He tapped Chelsea’s elbow and said, “Come on. Want to grab some of

that lemonade?”

“Yeah… what? Wait. No.

Sorry.”

“You okay?”

I was, she thought, as she watched the archer pull another arrow from her quiver.

Chelsea said good-bye to Richard at the gate, assuring him that she could make her way home alone. “It’s Squire’s Isle,” she assured him. “I’ll be fine.” He reluctantly agreed, but only if she promised to call him when she got home. She promised, and regretted the fact they’d never go out again. He was a nice guy. It wasn’t his fault she liked a different flavor.

She hesitated at the gate before she turned and walked back into the Faire. Booths were closing for the night, shutting away their wares until tomorrow, the last day of Squire Days.

She tucked her dark hair behind her ear as she wandered, on the lookout for anyone dressed entirely in green.

When she reached the archery demonstration area, she stepped over the chain that had kept the audience and the performer separate. She walked along the grass to the target and ran her fingers over the pock-marked paper. She counted the rings and saw that the archer had scored an eight, three nines, a ten and an inner ten.

“Not too shabby, eh?”

Chelsea turned and saw the archer standing behind her. She had removed her hat and the goatee, but still wore the leather glove and arm brace. She had abandoned her bow and quiver and leaned against the wall of the next booth. “Sorry,” Chelsea said. “I was just, uh…”

“I saw you at the demonstration,” the other woman said. She pushed off the wall and started to casually close the distance between them. “You interested in archery?”

“No,” Chelsea said. “I mean, I know a little bit about it.” She turned and pointed to one of the arrow-holes. “I know that’s an inner ten. But beyond that, I’m kind of lost.”

“You here for lessons?”

“No.”

“Then why are you here?” She turned and looked around quickly, as if she didn’t really expect to find what she was looking for. “Where’s your boyfriend?”

Chelsea laughed. “Ah, huh. My companion for the evening… Richard… is most likely on his way home.”

“Didn’t work out?” She was close enough that Chelsea could see the archer’s eyes. They were hard and blue, like the ocean during a storm. “Different tastes?”

“Tastes were too similar, actually,” Chelsea said.

“Hm.”

Chelsea swallowed. “Um, should we…”

“No.”

Chelsea’s eyes widened as the archer took her hand. “Do you trust me?”

“I don’t even know your name!”

The archer stepped back and guided Chelsea around the stacks of hay. “I’m Robin Hood,” she said with a grin. “Robbing from the Rich and giving to… well, giving to myself.”

Chelsea had to laugh at that. They were between the hay and the wooden back wall of another booth. Completely closed off from the rest of the Faire. She could hear people closing down their shops, could hear prizes and money boxes being secured and locked away. In their little hideaway, the light was dark as dusk and the quarters were so tight that she was pressed against the mystery woman.

A Nike bag sat in the corner, next to a tall water bottle and a pair of sneakers. “Your disguise?” Chelsea asked.

Robin looked down, smiled and shrugged. “The Sheriff of Nottingham has spies everywhere, Maid Marian,” she said with a passable English accent. Well, at least better than Kevin Costner’s anyway.

Chelsea laughed and said, “My name’s…”

“No,” Robin said. She leaned in and kissed the corner of Chelsea’s mouth. Chelsea’s heart skipped and she backed up until her shoulders hit hay. Robin came forward and pressed her thigh between Chelsea’s legs. She moved her lips and took ‘Maid Marian’s’ mouth in a slow, exploratory kiss. When they parted, she whispered, “Was this what milady was seeking?”

“Yes,” Chelsea breathed. Her eyes were still closed, but she moved her hands to Robin’s back. Her shoulders were tight, strong from years of practice with the bow. She moved her fingers to Robin’s upper arms, squeezing her strong biceps through her tunic. She moaned and kissed Robin again.

Robin put her hands on Chelsea’s waistband and followed it around to the wide silver buckle. She broke the kiss and looked down with a shake of her head. “What peculiar attire my lady doth don.”

Chelsea laughed and kissed the feathered hair at Robin’s temple. Robin got the belt undone and pulled down the zipper of Chelsea’s jeans. She stepped back, spun Chelsea so that her face was against the hay, and wrapped both arms around her waist.

The coarse hay stuck against Chelsea’s cheek, against her breasts and stomach, but she didn’t care. She parted her legs and arched her back when Robin’s hand slipped into her jeans. Robin pushed aside the dark wave of hair to nuzzle her neck as her fingers dug deeper. Chelsea moaned and Robin moved her lips to her ear. “Do you like that?” The accent was gone; Robin was talking in her real voice now. “You must… You’re so wet… I know this is what you wanted. I knew it as soon as I saw you watching me in the crowd. Did you picture me doing this to you? Is it all you could think about all night?”

“Yes…”

Robin kissed the slope of Chelsea’s neck and brought her other hand up. She clutched Chelsea’s breast through her T-shirt and pulled the quietly-moaning woman tight against her chest. Two of Robin’s fingers slipped over the crotch of Chelsea’s panties and her mind ran back to the demonstration. Three fingersone above, two below… drawn back… the tension builds… and then… when you think you can’t take it anymore… release.

“God!” Chelsea said, reining in the gasp at the last second. The Faire might have been winding down for the night, but there were still people everywhere. People who might hear and investigate a cry of that manner. She squeezed her eyes shut and reached for Robin. Her grasping fingers found the hem of Robin’s tunic, yanked it aside, and assaulted the material of her tights.

She heard Robin’s feet shuffle in the grass and knew she was spreading her legs. She leaned back, rested her head on Robin’s shoulder and cupped her mound through the crotch of the green leggings. “Why, Maid Marian,” Robin said, the English accent back in full force. “Whatever happened to being a lady?”

“I ain’t no lady,” Chelsea assured the archer. She lifted her hips and pressed two fingers tight against Robin’s pussy. She could feel how wet the other woman was even through her costume. Soon, Robin’s breath was coming in quick, tortured gasps. Chelsea bit her bottom lip, closed her eyes and arched her back as she came.

She sagged forward against the hay, keeping her hand curled uncomfortably around her back as she fingered Robin to her own climax. Then, the archer sagged forward and covered Chelsea’s body with her own. Chelsea turned around, so that the hay pricked against her back rather than her face and chest, and kissed the mystery woman.

“Okay,” Chelsea said against Robin’s cheek.

“Okay?” Robin asked.

“This demonstration was a success. I’m ready to start taking lessons. Immediately.”

Robin laughed and said, “Sorry, babe. That can’t be taught.”

“Well, then,” Chelsea said, nipping at Robin’s bottom lip. “I’m just going to have to get a lot of practice…”

After finally leaving the Faire, Chelsea wandered the streets of the town for a while. Night had finally fallen and the streets were illuminated by bright yellow halos from the streetlights. She couldn’t stop smiling, making a winding path on the sidewalk as she wandered to and fro rather than moving in a straight line. She skipped her sneakers across the pavement, kicked a stone toward a fire hydrant, picked up some trash that was blowing in her path.

When she reached her mother’s house, where she was renting a room until she found her own apartment, she went in through the kitchen door.

The light was on in the dining room, so she stuck her head in to say goodnight. Her mother was bent over her knitting and didn’t notice her arrival until she spoke. “Ma.”

She looked up and said, “Oh! You startled me, dear!”

“Sorry. Just wanted to let you know I was home.”

Her mother put down her needles and leaned forward. “Why, I do believe that’s a smile on my daughter’s face. And getting in so late after Squire Days closes for the night? Why, I do believe this young lady may have found something!”

Chelsea smiled and said, “Yeah. She might have. Night, Ma.” She turned and headed upstairs before the third degree could begin.

So she didn’t know Robin Hood’s real name. So what? It was a small town. There couldn’t be that many archery enthusiasts on such a tiny island.

She had a feeling Maid Marian would find her Robin again. Bet on it.

The End

Your email is never shared.
Required fields are marked *