Summer is Summoned

At

The House of Four Seasons

By Atonia Walpole

Part 1:

Andy stayed for two days and in this time he took Jemma for walks around the property. She was ever more anxious to get her paints out for everywhere she looked was a painting waiting her brush. She found Andy sweet and kind and full of enthusiasm for the house and grounds, and his only added to her own. The companion was not mentioned again until the day he left. She’d asked him about the room across from hers as she’d heard movements there and it unnerved her a bit.

“It’s the house preparing the room for summer.”

“Summer has a room?” she asked, wide-eyed.

“The summer season, your companion.”

“Oh.” Jemma had tried to block that out. She was not enthused about a companion, especially a man she did not know nor want to know. In truth, she was a little frightened at the prospect.

“Well, I should be on my way. You’ll be okay here, Jemma. Enjoy your summer.” He smiled and kissed her softly on the lips.

Surprised at his kiss, she smiled at him and patted his cheek. “Thank you, Andy. You take care.” He turned to leave and she licked her lips, tasting him as he walked toward the gates.

It was quiet in the house now so she went into the conservatory, set up her easel and began to arrange her supplies. Taking her camera and a small note book, she set out to take some pictures and record when and where she had taken them for future reference should she wish to come back and paint. She wandered up the road to the stables and paddocks, surprised to find a horse in one of the stalls. Engraved on a plaque in front of the stall was the name Misty Morning. The dappled gray mare spoke to her and she went over, running her hand down the horse’s neck.

“Good morning, Misty. I wonder are you for me to ride?” Jemma could ride but had never saddled a horse before. She looked at the fine leather saddle presumably for Misty. “I do hope you can dress yourself,” she said and picked up half an apple lying on a bench, offering it to the horse.

She took her picture and turned back to the house to see Macbeth running toward her on his short legs. “Ah, you should have come with me. There’s a horse up there in the stables.” She stooped and picked him up, going inside for her lunch. The house had provided a salad and quiche and a tall glass of iced tea. She thought she might get used to this.

That night she went upstairs to go to bed and noticed the door across from her was slightly ajar. It scared her thinking someone might be in there. “Hello!” she called and knocked on the door. It swung open to a bedroom empty of occupant, thank goodness. The first thing she noticed was the scent. Like walking in an herb garden, the deep musky, smoky scent surrounded her.

The room consisted of a bed, large and heavy with dark green and gold  embroidered coverlet and bed draperies hanging from a high arch over the bed. The windows were covered in deep scarlet draperies. A wooden bench under the window with strange carvings across the front held a scarlet and gold cushion. She touched the walls, finding them stone. A single skylight in the ceiling made her look up. Moonlight shining through cast a glow.

,

“It looks like a castle room,” she remarked to Macbeth, who was checking out the room and the bathroom attached. A large tapestry covered one wall and the other held a painting of a castle. “Well, Macbeth, I have no idea. What do you think? A knight in shining armor?”

She went into her own room but the room across the hall held her imagination for some time as she readied for bed. She sat bolt upright in her bed when she thought a man would be in that room tomorrow night, a stranger. Stranger danger, she said to herself and lay back down, pulling her covers up to her chin.

The next morning after breakfast she took her sketchbook and a folding stool and went out to work. After considering where to start, she walked down a path off the driveway. The sunlight was coming through the trees and she sat and began to draw. Macbeth accompanied her and after running around in the undergrowth for awhile he settled at her feet for a nap.

He had no idea where he was. He had been fleeing some danger and ended up here in this wood. Pulling his big white horse up, he sat silently listening to the forest sounds, the birds in the trees and the breeze rustling the leaves. He was alone while only a moment ago he'd been accompanied by his men. He thought perhaps he was dead and was on his way to heaven. How else to explain it?

He nudged his horse forward down a path and stopped, a,larmed at what he saw, a woman in strange dress. He thought to ask her what this place might be when her little dog awoke and began barking.

“Oh shush, Macbeth! Give up!” But Macbeth would not shush. Intsead he began running up the path, barking.

He heard her voice, soft, low pitched and honeyed with a strange accent and moved forward slowly lest she be a witch.

Seeing the big white horse, Macbeth had second thoughts and ran back to Jemma. She heard the horse’s steps and looked up, dropping her sketch pad, upsetting her tripod stool and ending up on her butt in a blueberry bush.

He hesitated only a moment before jumping to the ground and walking over to her. “My lady, you are not injured?”

Jemma could only stare wide-eyed at the vision before her. He was a knight, or something like one. He had spoken to her and gathering her senses, she managed to reply,“No, I don’t believe so.” She pulled her skirt down from her thighs, covering herself. He extended his hand and pulled her upright.

“May I ask your name?”

“Jemma Cantrell…Jemma.”

“Jemma,” he repeated, “what is this place?”

“It’s called The House of Four Seasons. Um, this is all part of the property. How did you come here?”

“Soothly I do not know how I came to this place. Am I…dead?”

Jemma looked into his startling greenish eyes. “No, you are not dead. You are very much alive.” Was this to be her companion? “What is your name?” she swallowed.

“Excuse me. Robert of Loxley. I am called Robin.” He bowed to her.

“Robin…as in Robin Hood?”

He stared at her intently a moment. “ Some may call me that.”

Macbeth had stopped his barking and was now sniffing around Robin’s boots, staying well away from the huge white horse.

“Are you to be my summer companion?”

“Companion? I do not understand.”

“I thought…but you fit the room. You must be. Has no one told you about me?”

“No, I have spoken to no one about you. I was…” he was about to say fleeing but thought better of it, “chasing someone and ended up here.”

“This is going to come as a shock to you, but I think you’re here for three months with me. I, ah, will try and stay out of your way. U,m…you’ve been chosen to be my companion but of course I don’t need a companion and didn’t actually want one but the house insists and so here you are.” Words were falling out of her mouth.

He looked at her blankly. “Indeed.”

“Yes, well…indeed. Um, would you like to go to the house?”

“The house, yes, I, uh…yes.”

Jemma stumbled around gathering her stool and sketch pad and pencils and stood up. He hadn’t moved and was staring at her. It made her blush and that made her angry with herself. Blushing was for young girls. She wasn’t a girl anymore. She straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin. “This way.”

Robin made a sound and his horse followed him.

“There are provisions for your horse. He’s a fine animal.”

“He’s seen me through.” He fell in step beside her and Macbeth led the way back down the path toward the house. “I still do not understand what has happened to me. Is it some kind of spell?”

“No spell, Robin. It's magic…truly it is. I can’t explain it.”

“Ah, magic.” But he still did not understand.

“There it is, your home for the next three months.” She turned and looked up at him and at his puzzled expression.

“This is your house?”

“For the next three months. I rented it for the summer, not knowing, of course, about the magic and about having a companion.” She stopped. “I will try and explain it to you. It won’t make any sense but I’ll tell you what I know.”

“Three months…but I cannot possibly stay here for three months. The King is dead and his brother John has taken the throne. The country is rife with civil war. I am sorry, my lady, I cannot remain here for three months. I am needed in battle.”  Robin ran his hands over his beard and placed them on his hips, looking to her to do something about his predicament.

PART 2:

“Please, let’s go inside and I will try and explain. I’m afraid I can’t do anything about your being here, Robin. We’re kinda stuck with each other.” Jemma reached for the door.

Robin backed up, wary now of her. “You mean to hold me prisoner? Is that it? I am to be ransomed?”

Jemma opened the door. “I am not holding you prisoner. However, you have been summoned here by the house and as far as I know you cannot leave.” She left him on the porch and went inside. She needed a cup of tea.

Robin paced back and forth on the porch. He was not her prisoner and yet he could not leave…was that not the same thing?  He stopped and looked around. He could see no one but, of course, that did not mean guards were not around…quiet guards, for there was no sound but the birds singing undisturbed in the trees and the bees busy in the flowers by the porch. It was a most unusual place and he thought again he might be dead. She could be lying.

Jemma prepared a pot of tea and opened a tin, placing some biscuits on a plate. A small round table had appeared near the glass doors and she set the tray on it and looked down the hallway. She could see him through the open door, pacing about. Finally he stopped and looked through the house, his eyes resting on her as she stood by the table.

He came into the house slowly, glancing at the unfamiliar surroundings, and walked down the hallway to the kitchen. She was pouring something into a small cup. “How many men do you have?”

Jemma missed the cup and reached for a napkin. “Men? I don’t have any men. hat do you mean?”

“You are not alone here. How many guards?”

“I most certainly am alone here…well, except for you…and Macbeth.”

“A Scot?” he said loudly.

“Macbeth is my dog. Would you like some tea?”
 

He looked at the liquid she poured out. She might poison him or give him some elixir to make him sleep and thus become unarmed and chained. “What is this?”

“Tea and biscuits. Please sit down. You make me nervous.”

She poured him a cup of tea from the same pot as  hers he noticed so he sat down and accepted the drink. “I apologize to you, my lady, if I seem a little hesitant. I do not trust easily.”

“Nor do I. If I did not know better I would be afraid of you but I have been assured no harm will come to me here. So here we are. Would you like to know how that is possible?”

“Aye, I would.” He picked up a biscuit and smelled it, taking a small bite.

Jemma explained as best she could. “It’s all magic, Robin, and whatever battles you need to fight will be there when you leave. Just look at this as a vacation, a time off, away from whatever your life is.” She watched him digest this information. He really was a handsome creature with those intense eyes and brown hair. His beard showed a bit of gray and his hands held many scars. He was a warrior.

“What exactly is a companion required to do…assist you in your daily duties?” He warily sipped the drink.

“I, ah, am not sure. That was left up to me. I have no daily duties. I paint. That’s why I came here…solitude and work. Solitude has gone by the wayside so I am hoping to paint. I’m an artist and an illustrator.”

He understood she did not wish him to be there and he, too, did not want to be there. It was a strange situation. His eyes moved around the room at the strange furnishings. He was out of place, out of time, and he felt it. He was at her mercy and he wasn’t sure he liked that. He held no control over this place or this woman opposite him but he needed her in this place. Three months was a long time. What was he to do during this period when he should be elsewhere.

“You said there was provision for my horse. Where might this be? I saw no stables.”

“I’ll take you there. I have a horse, too, so I suppose we will ride at some time.” She finished her tea. “Would you like to go there now?”

“Aye, I need to see to him.”

He followed her out of the house and up the road toward the stables. “What’s his name…your horse?”

“Rusty.” He turned to see him following behind.

“He’s well trained. Did you do it?”

“Yes. He’s carried me through many battles. I depend on him for my life.”

She watched him as he cared for his animal, his strokes over the horse's back with the brush sure and quick. She hadn’t prompted him about the brush. He looked at it and knew what it was for. He was medieval and yet timeless. Jemma shook herself from her thoughts and went to put feed out for Misty. It wouldn’t do, no, it would not…to look at him for too long.

They walked along the cliff coming back toward the house, Robin a little more relaxed now and not expecting to be ambushed at every turn.

“I don’t recognize this coast. Be it from the eastern side of England?”

Jemma stopped and brushed the windblown hair from her face. “No, it’s North America, a place not known in your time. I will show you on a map where we are.”

“Amer-i-ca.” He looked out to the sea and back at her. “I have much to learn.”

“Yes, Robin, I’m afraid you do. Do you read?” They resumed their walk.

“Aye, Latin and French.”

“English?”

He looked at her.

“Your native tongue, the language you speak.”

“English…yes, I believe so.” He sighed, three months of this. He’d been snatched out of the forest in Nottingham and deposited here in an unknown land. He glanced sideways at her. Her hair was the color of wheat and she wore it long and loose. What kind of woman was she to live here alone without servants or men to protect her? Perhaps it was his duty as her companion to protect her? He would not be her servant. He lifted his chin as they approached the house.

A meal had been prepared for them and they sat down at the table in the kitchen. Jemma picked up her fork and began attacking the shepherd’s pie. Robin looked at the strange implement in her hand and picked up his. A knife he recognized and used that also to feed himself. He was more accustomed to using bread and pulled off a hunk of the freshly baked bread and began dipping it into the pie.

“Do you like the food? I know it must be different from what you’re used to.”

“It is good. I have not eaten this before. Where is your cook?”

“I have no cook. The house provides.” She gave him a crooked smile, “Magic again.”

“This magic…I am not unfamiliar with magic…” He gave her a piercing look. “Be you a witch?”

“Witch? Ha, ha! No, I’m not a witch,” she laughed.

Robin wasn’t so sure. She may be bewitching him, but he liked her laugh and smiled across the table at her.

Her laugh caught in her throat at his smile and she looked down at her food and began to eat. It would not do for him to smile at her…not do at all.

After their meal she took him into the library and found an atlas. “This is the world as we know it today. This is England…and France.”

“No…it cannot be.” He bent over the book. The countries were too small.

“It is…and this is North America. We are here in a country called the United States. This state is Massachusetts and we are right outside of Gloucester.” She caught his scent as he leaned in close over the book, the same scent that was in the room upstairs. She moved away from him. It was intoxicating, wild, and evoked things in her she did not recognize.

He was saying something and she blinked, bringing herself back to the present. He met her eyes for a moment then looked back down at the book. “This map…who drew it and how do you know it is accurate?”

“I don’t know who drew it up, but it was accurate when the book was published. So many wars and countries renaming themselves so I couldn’t say for sure that it is completely accurate. I do know that England, France and the United States have not changed their borders or their names in many years.”

“I would like to study this book of maps.” He looked up at the shelves lined with books, some very old and some with bright new dust jackets. He felt lost, lost in this place and longed to be away.

“You may study it as long as you wish or any of the books in here.” She wondered if he would be able to read modern English. Moving along the shelves she came across Chaucer and pulled it down. “You might like to read this one.”

His eye was drawn to an object near the bay window, and he walked over, gently touching it.

“That’s a globe, the earth, and these are the constellations, the stars' formations.”

“It is round. I have heard of this theory and believed it myself. One has only to look at the sea, at the horizon as it curves.”

“Yes, the atlas will show you that and explain a lot.” He moved and his sword banged into the iron globe. “Wouldn’t you like to take off your weapons? There is no danger here. You might be more comfortable. I’ll show you your room upstairs.”

He followed her up the stairs and she walked into his room with him, the scent even stronger now that he was within.

“This is not for me. It is a King’s quarters.”

“It is for you. The house provided it for you. Through here is your bathroom." He gingerly stepped into the room and she showed him how the sink and shower and toilet worked.

“What did you say it was called?” He walked over to the toilet.

“A toilet. You do, well, you…can sit when…or stand.” She felt her face go red. “It’s for…”

“I shall test it out.” He bit his bottom lip and looked at her, his eyes sparkling in mirth as he reached under his tunic.

“Oh…oh!” She backed out of the bathroom and fled to her own room.

Part 3:

Sometime later, after a careful examination of his room and a change of clothes, he found in his wardrobe, leather pants and a soft tunic he left his room and entered hers. He stopped. It smelled of lilies and he looked around the room, finding it serene and neat. She was on her balcony, leaning over watching the shadows grow on the grounds below, it was late afternoon and the sun was on the other side of the house casting shadows.

“My lady,” he said in way of greeting and then thought, “should I not be in your chambers?”

“Well…you are.” She looked him up and down quickly and then out toward the sea. “You look much more comfortable.”

“Aye, I am. It's very peaceful here…quiet.”

“Yes.” She thought it was much more so before he came. He disturbed her. He was so undeniably…male. She had a few male friends back home, someone to go to dinner or to a concert with but none that she took home, none that affected her as the one beside her was beginning to. She was very aware of the fact that they were alone in this place…together…alone.

It was as though he had inhaled a thousand lilies. He could not get the scent out of his lungs and he wondered how it could be so strong out here in the open air until she moved. The scent was coming from her. He was a drunken fool, he thought and fought the urge to touch her, to fold her in his arms. He could not do that as he was her companion, her protector…but who would protect him from himself? Indeed, who would protect her from him? He fought for control of himself and left her balcony, going downstairs.

She wondered if she had offended him in some way. He’d left so abruptly. She pulled the light shawl around her shoulders and went downstairs. He was in the library and she left him there and went into the conservatory. She set her large sketch pad on her easel and began roughly sketching, not really paying much attention to what she was drawing until Macbeth joined her and she looked back at the pad. She’d been sketching him from memory. His eyes stared at her from the paper. She turned the pad over and left the room, going out to the bluff and sitting in the grass. The wind was cooler out here and she wished she’d brought a sweater as she hugged her arms around her body.

At this rate she would never get anything on canvas. He hadn’t been here for a full day and it was though she were becoming obsessed with him. She hadn’t wanted him here…but he was here. She tucked her long blue cotton skirt around her ankles and watched the gulls at dinner down on the shore.

Robin had been pouring over the atlas for some time and noticed the room was becoming dark so looked about for a candle. A lamp came on and then another light on the desk where he’d been sitting. Magic again? He looked carefully over the lamp on the desk and shook his head. It was truly a magical place. Again he wondered why he was there, what force had brought him from his time into this one? How could such a thing be possible?

The woman, Jemma, if it was true as she said there was no danger here, why did she need a protector? Why had he been brought to this place? He closed the book and left the library. He wanted to talk to her again. Perhaps something would rise to the surface.

“Hi.” Jemma was ladling out soup into bowls, a plate of assorted meats and cheeses on the table.

“Hi,” he repeated, “that smells good. What is it?”

“Potato soup, a light meal tonight.” She placed the bowl before him and a basket of breads already sliced into chunks for dipping and thinner slices for sandwiches.

He was concentrating on his meal, the different flavors on his tongue, but his eyes kept straying to her hands across the small table, long and slender fingers with oval nails. Her skin was delicate and fair. He chanced a look up and met eyes for a moment. He blinked and spoke.

“Tell me…Jemma, if there is no danger to you here…why is it you need a companion…someone to protect you?”

Jemma did not know the answer to this. “I’m not sure a protector is what I need. There is nothing here to protect me from.”

“I have been brought here for some reason I cannot fathom. You do not need servants and I would not be a servant to anyone. I can see no reason for my presence.”

“I can’t saddle a horse,” she offered, breaking up a piece of bread.

He looked up. “How often do you ride?”

“I haven’t yet. Maybe you could do that for me?” Jemma was grasping now. Andy’s words were coming back to her…the magic of love. She thought she knew why he was here but she couldn't tell him…did not want to know it herself.

“I think you know more than you will tell me. It vexes me to no end.” He roughly tore a piece of bread in half and dipped it in his soup.

Jemma’s eyes were wide when she looked at him. “I’m not trying to vex you. I did not ask for a companion but that seems to be the way it is here. The magic that controls this place insists on a companion called a season. Three months with a season and then it’s over. I don’t want to go there, don’t want to get involved. I’m not looking for a…” she stopped herself.

Robin dropped his bread in the soup bowl. It was dawning on him. “Looking for a…lover?”

Jemma  got up from the table and left the room. She went into the living room and turned on the CD player. Classical music began to play. She was embarrassed that her being here had brought him here. Neither of them wanted to be here with the other. She didn’t know what to do. She could leave…but then the summer had just started. There was so much she wanted to do, all the pictures she’d taken. She wanted to paint. It had all been so perfect…until he came.

Robin got up angrily from the table and walked out of the back door. He’d been brought here to be a whore for some woman he did not know. Taken from battle, where he knew who he was and what his duty was, to this place…for three months. This was not white magic it was black. He suspected again she was a witch. He paced, kicked stones with his boot and stood on the bluff, his brows drown down, angry.

After a while he cooled down and thought about what she’d said. She did not want him here, had not wanted a companion. Perhaps there was some way to breach this magic, some way to escape? He would try and find a way out. It was not the woman’s fault he was here. He gave up, went back inside and stopped in the hallway, listening to the music. He had never heard such beautiful sounds and went to the doorway into the living room, standing quietly, listening. The music moved him, touched him deeply. The woman, Jemma, was on the sofa with her legs tucked up beneath her, her eyes closed, head leaning on the back of the sofa. Again it must be the magic for there were no musicians visible.

Quietly he let himself into the room, sat in one of the striped chairs and he, too, closed his eyes and let the music wash over him, taking away his anger. This was good magic he thought…good.

The music came to an end and Jemma opened her eyes to see Robin across the room in the chair. He opened his eyes and another movement began to play. They sat looking at each other for a moment and he moved, rising and taking her hands, pulling her from the sofa. He held her hands shoulder height and began to dance with her, no known steps, just moving with the music. He danced her out into the hallway and back again to the living room. She was entranced.

The tempo slowed and he pulled her in closer, his arms enveloping hers, moving her around and around until the music was over. She looked up into his bright eyes, his scent surrounding her, and knew she’d lost the battle with herself. He released her hands and her arms and bowed deeply.

“Thank you, my lady.”

“That was lovely, Robin…lovely.”

“Aye…it was. What magic is it that makes such a sound?”

Jemma showed him the CD’s and the player. “I will check into concerts in Boston. The symphony orchestra does something special in summer, I believe. I think you would enjoy it and it would be live, not recorded music as we have here.”

“I know not of what you speak but if such sounds exist in Boston I would like to hear them.” He handed her back the CD, an awkward moment where moments before it had been almost intimate between them.

Jemma took her time sheathing the CD and turning off the machine. “Would you like a drink before you go to bed?”

She found a nice bottle of wine and opened it, pouring them each a glass. He looked down into the glass. “Only kings drink this. I am but a yeoman.”

“Here…you are a king.”

He tilted his head, smiling when she touched his glass, and swallowed the drink of kings.

The house was not totally pleased with itself. Surely it could have done more to bring them together. It tidied up the downstairs and they went up to their separate bedrooms. However, he had danced with her and it had indeed been lovely. Perhaps all was not lost. It had been a gamble, pulling him out of a movie that was not yet finished. He was not known at all…no, not at all. Only that he was Robin Hood and she being an artist and a bit fanciful herself, it seemed to the house like a good match.  There had been no time to explain things to him before he got here and, all in all, he was handling it as well as could be expected.

It had been a fitful night for both of them, Jemma reliving the dance and the feel of him close to her, Robin tossing in the unaccustomed luxury of a bed and thinking of lilies and soft hands. Though he’d not held her and her loose-fitting clothing disguised her body, he’d felt her breasts against his arms when he danced with her. He buried his head in the soft down pillow. Would becoming her lover be such a bad thing?

The next morning they set out for a walk. She took him past the pond and through the woods until they came out into a meadow that ended with a sharp drop to the sea below. Jemma carried her bag with her camera and sketching tools and had been randomly picking wildflowers in the meadow as they passed through. Finding a spot she liked, she indicated they should sit for she would like to sketch the meadow as it dipped down toward the sea.

She had on her usual long, flowing, cotton skirt and a loose-fitting Indian cotton shirt in lavender that reflected in the gray of her eyes. Robin lay down in the grass beside her and took up the handful of flowers she’d picked. He began an elaborate weaving of their stems, arranging the little bouquet as he worked. Jemma noticed he was doing something with them but was busy sketching. When he finished he laid the little bouquet by her side and turned over on his back, watching the sky and the clouds float by.

Jemma took a picture of the area she was sketching and then turned and took one of Robin. His eyes were closed but at the sound of her camera he opened them to a slit. She noticed the bouquet then and picked it up, bringing it to her lips. She smiled and tucked it into her bosom. It was a lovely thing and she hoped it would dry well for she meant to keep it.

“You would treasure such a little thing?” he asked softly.

She jumped, believing he’d been sleeping “Yes, it’s beautiful…thank you.”

He rolled over on his side, propping himself up on his elbow. “You should have fine flowers from your garden, not some meadow weed.”

“I don’t need fine things to make me happy.”

He looked down, lacing his fingers through the grass. “But you are a lady and should be accustomed to fine things.”

“I’m not a lady in that sense, Robin. There is no class system here. I just am who I am, an artist in residence.”

“You do not have a husband…no?”

“No…no one special.”

It was a delicate subject he suspected he should not ask of a lady but he did anyway. “Have you ever had a lover?”

Jemma quirked a half smile. “Aren’t you nosey. I have. It’s been a long time…I’m very picky, you know, not that I couldn’t have had lovers. I don’t go to bed with just anyone.” She fingered the bouquet tucked in her blouse.

He noticed the gesture but opted not to attach too much meaning to it. “Why have you not married?”

“I haven’t found anyone I’d want to spend the rest of my life with. I don’t know that I ever will, besides I like  not having to answer to anyone, do as I please when I please. I make my own living and spend it as I see fit. I like being independent.”

He rolled back over on his back. ”You have a good spirit, a strong spirit, one I think could not be kept in a cage.”

“You’re right about that. Don’t cage me in. How about you? Are you married?”

“Aye, I am, but like you I will not be caged.”

“I never really thought about you being married…” She lay back on her elbows. That kind of put a wrench in the works.

“Perhaps I am not in this place?”

“How could you not be? You either are or you aren’t.”

“Why would the house summon me to be your companion if it were so?”

“Questions, questions and no answers. Have you had lovers since you married?”

“Questions, questions.” He sat up. “Yes.”

“You’ve been unfaithful?”

“I was gone for ten years in King Richard’s army. That’s a long time to be celibate.”

“I suppose it is for a man.” She lay down, looking up at the sky, wondering exactly where this conversation was headed.

“Would be for anyone.”

“It’s been nine years for me.”

“Truly?”

“I told you I was choosy.”

He looked at her, wondering what was beneath that cool exterior, what was inside of her that she kept to herself and would not share? Perhaps he was not to find out…she was…choosy. He lay back in the grass again and they lay there, head to foot in silence for awhile.

Jemma rolled over on her side. “Robin…do you want to be my lover?” She held her breath.

“Would you have me?”

“Yes.”

“Then I would be honored to be your lover.” He rolled over on his side, meeting her eyes.

“I’m not sure how one goes about this. I’ve been too bold.”

“I would have made the same request of you. Three months is a long time to be living in the same house with a woman and not know her in that way. Especially when one is as lovely as you are.”

“But I made it.” She turned over on her back again. “I’m a bit embarrassed. What if you’d said no?”

“I did not say no.”

“I know, but now…you’re too much of a gentleman to refuse me. I’m beginning to feel a little foolish, an old maid asking for sex.”

“You are not an old maid.” He moved around so that he was lying beside her face to face. “You did not ask for anything I would not freely give to you or for anything that I do not want for myself.” He lowered his face to hers and kissed her, a gentle kiss that turned into something more. Her arms went around him and she felt his weight on her, crushing the bouquet to her breast. He rolled her over so that she was on top of him and ran his hands down her body, feeling her through her thin cotton clothing. She kissed him and tasted his lips with her tongue.

He moaned and turned her again, his hands now beneath her skirt, touching her mound, silencing her with his lips. “Here in this meadow…?” she gasped.

“Here…now,” he said against her lips and fumbled with his clothing. He took her roughly in the grass.

She lay watching his chest rise and fall with the deep breaths he was taking in the aftermath. Nine years and it had been worth the wait. She kissed his neck and sat up, reaching for her panties and smoothing out her rumpled skirt. The crumpled bouquet was between them and she picked it up. His eyes were open now.

“I’ll make you another,” he said softly.

“No, I shall keep this one for the rest of my life. It has deep meaning for me.”

He smiled at her and sat up, adjusting his leather pants and pulling his tunic down to cover himself.

Part 4:

They walked back through the woods, holding hands. Macbeth ran along in front of them, sure of his way back to the house. Jemma wasn’t  sure what would come next. Now that she’d taken him as a lover…what did one do? This worried her as they walked but for once she was not going to say what was on her mind. She’d embarrassed herself enough for one day.

Back at the house she deposited her bag in the conservatory and came back into the kitchen to find Robin waiting for her.

“This rain in my bathroom. I am not making it work. Will you help me?”

“Rain…? Oh, you mean the shower! Yes, of course.”

Jemma went with him to his bathroom and turned on the shower, testing the water to make sure it was the right temperature. When she turned back he was standing naked. Her hand went to her mouth. “Oh!”

“You will join me in the…shower.” It wasn’t a question at all.

Jemma nervously unbuttoned her blouse, trying her best not to look at him. Silly she knew, just having made love with him in the meadow, but they had not undressed, only the necessary bits to complete the act. Her blouse came off and as she reached to unhook her bra, he stepped behind her and unhooked it without a problem. Her skirt and panties came next and she kicked off her espadrilles, turning to face him. He looked her over and stepped into the walk-in shower, pulling her with him.

She ran her hands over his chest arms and shoulders, wincing at the scars she found. He turned and she did the same thing to his back and hips. He had a lot of scars, and picking up the soap, she lathered him top to bottom, lingering on certain parts for the effect her hands had on him. He in turn did the same to her, finding her appendix scar and teasing her with his fingers. It was too much. He picked her up, she wrapped her legs around his hips and he had her in the shower.

Drying each other off with the thick warm towels, he wrapped a large bath sheet around both of them, waltzed her to the bed and lay down with her, touching her face and damp hair.

“You are beautiful,” he said softly.

“So are you.” She caressed his face and kissed him. He was. His body was hard and muscular, his legs and arms strong. She loved the feel of his skin under her hand as she ran it over his shoulder and across his back.

“Now that we are lovers,” he began, “I require you to sleep with me in this huge bed. It is much too big and too grand for me alone.”

“I’d like that, Robin.”

“We will sleep for a little while and when we wake we will eat.” He pulled her close to his chest and closed his eyes.

Jemma was drinking in his scent, strong after the bath and she kissed his chest, closing her eyes.

The house was excited now that they were finally lovers and sent a warm loving embrace around them as they slept. Downstairs it prepared a meal for them and selected just the right wine to accompany it. The CD player found its music and candles were lit among the flowers strewn over the mantle. The little dining room outfitted the table with fine silver and china plates. It was a house of love once again.

Having settled things between them, Jemma began to paint. Each morning would find her in a spot painting like mad. She painted the pond and the boat house, she painted the house and its surrounding gardens, the woods and the sea as seen from the bluff. While she painted Robin rode his Rusty all over the property. He’d found a way down to the beach far past the stables, a much gentler slope than the path behind the house, and rode at top speed up and down the coast and out into the shallow water. Jemma loved to watch him for the sheer thrill of it. He was an excellent rider and presented quite a show for her.

One day he saddled her horse for her and she joined him, putting her paints aside. They road over the fields and paths and finally down on the beach.

Later that evening they built a bonfire on the beach from driftwood they’d dragged up. The house provided the food and drink and Jemma the blankets she spread for them to sit on. Robin provided the music with his lyre. He sang songs he knew and some he had composed and then he began one he composed as he sang:

The first time I kissed you

I found your magic

Your magic is in me now

It is true, this I know,

That I love you, lady Jemma.

You have Robin’s heart...

Forevermore you have Robin’s heart.

“And you have mine,” Jemma smiled and touched his thigh. He was sitting cross- legged beside her.

He changed the tune and began again with a twinkle in his eye:

There will be no peace this round

For it's up and it won’t go down.

I will carry my pole

Till I find the hole;

I shall plant my staff up high

Till it tickles your eye.

“You’re terrible…”

“There’s more…”

“I don’t think I need to hear it, Robin,” she laughed.

He laughed with her, put his lyre aside, picked up the wine bottle and turned it up.

“Does my song assault your ear?”

“It’s your lyrics that assault. You are fun, Robin.” She leaned into him.

Jemma reached over to the portable CD player and slipped in a CD of madrigals. When it began to play, he pulled her up and began dancing with her to the edge of the shore and back around the bonfire, each time going a little deeper into the water until she protested her skirt was getting wet. She could see his white teeth in a broad smile as he lifted her from the water and put her back on the sand.

She found this medieval man to be a lusty and innovative lover. He was passionate and full of humor. She thought the house had matched her up perfectly. She played with him when he wanted to play and helped him when he was serious about reading and understanding the atlas, which still fascinated him. Instead of a distraction he had become an inspiration and she sketched him on horseback in full chain mail, sketched him asleep in the hammock, and slowly reading Chaucer.

Jemma bought tickets for the Boston Symphony Orchestra. It would be Brahms in the Symphony Hall. She was excited about going and Robin was looking forward to the music until he had to dress. The house had provided his clothes, which lay across his bed. He’d not worn modern clothes since coming to the house. Jemma explained the necessity for them and helped him dress.

Nothing felt right. His privates were uncomfortable in underwear and his feet uncomfortable in shoes. Jemma put the tie around her neck and tied it and then slipped it over his head and tightened it up. He thought it some kind of noose. When she stepped back and looked at him she caught her breath. He was gorgeous, but she only told him he looked very nice.

He was jovial and laughing on the way to Boston. Jemma suspected it was to hide his nervousness about riding in her car. She mentally chastised herself for not taking him out before now and planned to make up for that during the weeks to come.  If he would let her, for he had strong ideas about things and she never took anything about him for granted.

She’d made reservations for them at a hotel for the night. It would be too late to drive back to the house.

They entered the hall and found their seats. Robin was silent through the concert and afterward he kissed her and thanked her for bringing him. He was moved by music and once she noticed his eyes glistening in the darkened concert hall.

Jemma explained about the hotel and he was ready to go there after the concert and get out of his uncomfortable shoes and pants. He donned a long blue tunic and Jemma ordered a bite to eat and drinks in their room.

“What do you think about the city, Robin?”

“It’s too big and has too many people. It’s all very confusing to me. The house I have come to understand but this is too much for me to want to stay.”

“We’ll go home in the morning.”

On the drive back she heard him humming Brahms. He still had the music in his head.

It was August. The time seemed to be flying by. Jemma spent a good amount of time riding with Robin and swimming in the sea now that the water had warmed enough for her. He swam like a porpoise at home in the water. They had picnics on the beach and down by the pond. There was a wooden boat in the boat house but he didn’t take it out, preferring to lie on the bank and listen to her read to him. She was aware the days were going, finished up her paintings and did not start more. Had she been alone there might have been more work accomplished but she would not have traded her companion for a few more finished canvases.

A few days before the end of August they drove into Gloucester. Jemma was looking for a clear box to put her dried, crumpled bouquet in. Though Robin had made many more for her and she kept them all, this one was special. He was dressed in jeans and a knit shirt, which he didn’t mind because he’d been allowed to wear his leather boots. He was complemented on them by several young women as they walked in and out of shops. Jemma found her box in a flower shop, one that was used for a corsage.

They both wanted to be near each other for the next couple of days. She could see the sadness in his eyes when he thought she wasn’t looking. She felt it herself but so many happy memories came forward when they talked that they would end up in laughter and often in each other’s arms.

Jemma walked with him up to the stables the morning he left.

“I don’t know what to say, Robin. I hate to say goodbye.”

“Ah, Jemma, it’s not goodbye. It’s I love you again today.” He kissed her for a long time then released her. Bowing to her, he mounted Rusty and headed up the dirt road. They had talked about his leaving. He had no idea what to expect but as he'd come on horseback, he would leave that way, not taking any chances with his mount.

Jemma watched him until he was out of sight over the hill then turned back to the house, wiping her eyes. She was not one to cry and soon she was back at the house packing up her car. She decided one season was enough and the thought of the house sending her another companion was not one she cared for.

Robin would remain in her heart forever and the dried bouquets he’d made for her would live on in her bedroom. She had her memories to keep her company at night. It was a story that she could tell no one for who would believe she’d spent three months with Robin Hood?

NOTE:

Jemma’s paintings sold right away, making her a good bit of money. She kept a few and the ones she’d done of Robin would never be sold.

Jemma Cantrell never married but she moved from her cramped apartment to a cottage where she recreated the colors and fabrics as closely as she could from the House of Four Seasons. She always thought she’d lived a lifetime in three months…anything else was just extra.

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