21 comments/ 17642 views/ 6 favorites The Outlaw By: mermaid_girl Hi all! I know I shouldn't be doing this, but I have another story that just popped into my head. I got really excited about it and just had to write it down. It actually was a dream I had, a few nights back, dialogue between two of the main characters. Sounds kinda crazy but I thought I'd submit it and see where it goes. Please don't fret about the other stories. They are under "construction" and should be out soon. :D Bear with me... ******************** May 17th, 1809 Creedville, Pennsylvania "Alright, class. That will be all for today," the young teacher smiled at the twenty students that peered back at her, ranging in age from 6-17. "I'll see you all Monday. Be good and have a great weekend." Screams and peals of laughter could be heard in town as the children ran out of the schoolroom. All left, except for one young man who stayed after, waiting for everyone to leave. Then he approached the instructor. None inside were aware of the person watching the entire scene from the window. "Ahh hemm, Miss Bathes?" The youth was a tall, strapping boy. Made his father proud and would be a good woodsman and trapper. Startled, Miss Bathes looked up, surprised that a student would be staying afterwards on a Friday afternoon. Seeing who it was, she smiled, "Hi Tommy. What can I do for you?" The poor boy was sweating, and the day wasn't even that warm. "Well ya know, Miss Bathes, I'll be turnin' 18 next week, and I'm gonna have to start workin' for my Pa. So I won't be comin' back to school..." he trailed off, looking down at his shuffling feet. Coming around the desk, Miss Bathes laid a hand on the boys' shoulder, "I know, Tommy. I hate that you can't come back. You're sure your father won't let you? Shaking his head, the handsome youth looked devastated. "Ya see, that's why I wanted to talk to ya, Miss Bathes... I was hopin' that you would let me..." Again the boy trailed off, looking at his boots. "Really, Tommy, just ask me, I'm sure it's not that bad," Miss Bathes tried to encourage him. Tommy finally looked up at her, the puppy love plain in his gaze. Reaching for her hand, Tommy stepped closer. "Miss Bathes... Melissa. I was hopin' that you would let me court you." Seeing the shock in her eyes, he quickly added, "I know that it's sudden, but I care 'bout you a lot, Miss. I know I could provide for you, make you a good husband." There was such hope in his eyes, they fairly burned with it. Really, Melissa should accept. She was already twenty-two, had no real prospects... that she knew of. Melissa didn't know how beautiful she was; her long, dark curly hair, smooth skin and quick wit made her the most sought after woman in town. Flattered, Melissa knew she couldn't accept Tommy's proposal. "Tommy, I'm very flattered, but I think you need to be with someone your own age. Not some old croon," she joked. "Besides, you're young. You'll find a girl at the Hay Fair tonight, I'm sure." Confident that some young lady would catch his eye tonight at the spring dance, Melissa felt she had let him down easy. Earnestly, Tommy tried to make one last attempt, "But you're the only gal for me, Miss Bathes. I jus' know it." Placing a hand on Tommy's shoulder, Melissa told him softly, "We'll always be great friends Tommy. You can come to me anytime you want to talk, have a problem, or just need a friend." Melissa smiled, hoping this promise would help soothe the young man's ego. Blowing out a puff of breath, Tommy nodded his understanding. He would give his lady love a hug, but then she would certainly feel his arousal that she caused unknowingly with her mega-watt smiles. Handing her the bouquet of wild-flowers that he had kept behind his back, Tommy smiled wistfully and left, wishing the outcome had been more to his liking. Watching Tommy leave with his shoulders hunched and the defeated look on his face made Melissa pity the youth, but she knew she had done the right thing. Leaning against her desk, she wondered if there had been a better way to handle the situation. A cool breeze brought her out of her reverie and back to the present. Standing up, Melissa closed her eyes and stretched, reaching for the ceiling of the schoolroom with her hands. Unwittingly, she gave her next visitor an enticing show. The stretch thrust her breasts upwards and outlined the delicate slimness of her waist. Bringing her arms down made a few tendrils escape the tight bun at the base of her neck. Rubbing her sore neck, Melissa yawned and opened her eyes. "Oh God!" Surprised, Melissa felt a moment of wariness as she saw the outline of a man in the doorway of the schoolhouse. "Russell Rutger, if you go around scarin' me like that, I don't care how old you are, I'll give you the beating your mother should still be giving you!" She struggled to keep the angry, indignant tone and an expression to follow suit. Laughing, the shadow entered the room. "Well, Miss Melissa that isn't a nice thing to say to a dear friend now is it?" He walked down the aisle, stopping in front of Melissa, keeping her between him and her big, oak desk. Smiling innocently, Melissa didn't feel a moments worry about being trapped against her desk by the big farmer. She didn't see the interest in his eyes, hadn't seen it for the past five years. Russell Rutger, besides being peeved with his parents for the alliterated name, was, of course, a handsome man. He was tall, towered over her at least, which wasn't all that difficult. At twenty-six, he had an easy manner about him, a pleasing countenance and a full head of sandy blonde hair that always looked tousled by the wind or from riding. It was all missed by Melissa though, the brawny frame, the bedroom eyes that followed her figure whenever they were together. Russell didn't miss a thing about Melissa though. He could describe her to someone in minute detail, down to the last freckle. And he was damn frustrated to be seen as just a friend. Casually he took another step forward, his boots almost touching her little black leather shoes. "So, I see you had an admirer before I came in, Mellie," the nickname slipped out easily between the old friends, "Why the turndown?" Reaching out, he tucked a tendril behind her ear, taking his time and enjoying the feel of her delicate flesh. Still unaware of Russell's interest, Melissa let out a breath, put her hands on the desk and hoisted herself up to sit. Immediately Russell was there, hands under her arms to help her up. Smiling her thanks, she didn't notice that he was even closer and went about trying to explain, "It wasn't right Russ," hearing the nickname made his groin tighten and he took another small step closer. "You know me," she looked up at him with those big brown, doe eyes. "I just can't settle with anyone. Tommy was a student, that's all I see him as. There would never be the big love between us. I need that. Want that. It's all that I will settle for." Glancing up, Mel saw that she had his undivided attention. The intense expression on his face was a little unsettling, but that was how Russ was, she reminded herself. His hand caressed the nape of her neck, softly rubbing, easing the tense muscles from her strenuous day. "I get it, Mel. You want what I want, Darlin'. Are what I want..." Unsure how to proceed, but needing to get it off his chest, Russell went down on one knee. Slowly Melissa's liquid eyes rounded as understanding dawned on her. Clearing his throat, Russell tried to be as eloquent as he could, "Melissa... Mel, I love you. Always have, Darlin'. Always will." Running a hand over his face, he took her hands in between both of his. Staring into her eyes he felt like he was drowning, "I can't just be your friend Mel. Never could." Letting go with one of his hands he cut through the air to make his point, "I hated seeing that young buck, Tommy Daniels in here, sniffin' at your skirts. And he's just the beginnin' I'm afraid. Hell, half the town is mad about you, and why not? You're smart, funny, one of the best women I've ever known, and beautiful as... well I don't know but you're stunning Darlin'." Seeing her shocked, slacken look, he stood up and cradled her face between his large, rough hands. Seeing the dazed expression made him want to both laugh and kiss her. Russell chose the latter. Bending his head, he pressed his lips to Melissa's. For him it was perfect, what he thought it would be and more. For Melissa, it was... nice. It didn't turn her world upside down or make her leg want to "pop" behind her. It was just... pleasant. Breathing heavily, Russell took her stunned look to mean that she felt it too. "See, Darlin', I knew we could be like this." He just continued to palm her cheek and finally tilted her face to look at him, "Marry me, Mel," he breathed. "Please, be my wife." Melissa didn't know what to think, what to feel much less what to say. It was all too much to take in for one day and her mind was spinning. Wanting to stand up and pace until she could speak, Melissa pushed against Russell's chest. Taking her hands, he held them to his chest, letting her feel his heartbeat, "I won't be lettin' you go just yet, Mel. You're like a wild filly sometimes, unpredictable." He smiled to show he was kidding. Closing her eyes, Melissa let her thoughts flow through her mind, twenty million miles per hour. What should I do? What is right? Do I love him? I don't think so, but it'll hurt him I if say no. Oh, I can't treat him like Tommy. Stupid man, why did he put me in this position, she finally huffed to herself. "Russell. Russ," Mel reached for his hand. "I love you too," he let out the huge breath that he had been holding, a boyish grin on his face. Softly, "But I'm not in love with you," her fluid eyes begged him to understand. "You're more than a friend, you're family. My life wouldn't be the same without you, but I could never be the wife that you need. Please understand..." she trailed off softly. For a second, Russell's eyes held a twisted angry, mean glint, but just when Melissa thought she saw it, it was gone, leaving the same gentle look that she was used to. Shaking her head, Mel figured she was just seeing things. Stroking the side her neck, Russell pressed, "But you could learn, Mellie, you could learn to love me like I love you. I'm a patient man, Sweetheart, I can wait." Feeling like he pleaded his case enough, Russell turned to leave, his shoulders hunched in defeat, reminiscent of Tommy an hour earlier. Melissa felt her heart twist to see her best friend hurting because of her. There really wasn't anyone that she cared for more than Russell, there probably never would be. I could learn to love Russell like he loves me, she persuaded herself. I know I could... "Russell..." she called out lightly. Stopping in the doorway, Russell turned his head back to her. Jumping off her desk, Melissa ran down the aisle and into Russell's arms. He caught her slight frame, crushing her to him. Brushing his hair from his face, Melissa beamed up at him, "I'd be honored to be your wife Russell. I love you..." biting her lip in indecision, she stopped. Smiling gently, Russell pressed, "Will you marry me then, Mellie?" "Yes, Russell. Yes." With a holler, Russell picked Melissa up and carried her outside, spinning in circles until she was dizzy, giggling and begging him to stop. "You won't regret this Mel. I love you so much, Darlin'." He didn't wait for her response, instead he bent his head for a possessive kiss that was everything that he ever wanted. Now you're mine, Melissa. God help you if you ever try to leave me. ******************** Sooo, I'd love to get feedback on what you all think. I won't let you know just yet, but is Russell a good guy or bad? I could go with this in a few, different ways and haven't decided just yet. Nothing is set in stone for Melissa. Let me know if there's anywhere/anything that I should throw in, any direction the story should head. Love to get feedback and suggestions! Thanks to all who read and I will work on getting chapters out on the other stories. Lots of free time this summer. Lots of writing to be done! The Outlaw and the Innkeeper's Daughter Author's Note: This story was written at the suggestion of a medieval re-enactor friend who served as the template for the main character. She has recently passed away and this story is now dedicated to her memory. Goodbye Artemas Innkeeper of the Inn of the Drunken Hare, March 5, 2008. * The two forest outlaws watched nervously from the edge of Barnesdale Woods. Well concealed, they took their time to assure themselves that no one along the Nottingham road would see them approach the old inn. The inn and it's outbuildings stood alone on the road on the fringes of the forest, well past the edge of the nearby peasant's village with no other structures for many yards in any direction. The weathered sign over the door showed a white rabbit's head in faded paint and locals called it the Inn of the Drunken Bunny. Nobody remembered the inn's real name or why the sign pictured a rabbit's head. At a nod from the taller man, the two moved silently out of the trees, camouflaged in their forest-green tunics, brown leather jerkins and dark gray woolen hoods. Despite their youth, they had nearly ten years of practice in working together quietly and unseen. They were brothers and had become outlaws in their early teens when their father was declared a wolf's head for defying some demand or another of the King. Following him into hiding in the forest, they soon became proficient with dagger and bow whether for taking the King's deer or robbing unwary travelers. Kenneth, the older brother by two years, had shown leadership ability and a streak of cleverness in gaining loot for the robber band. Quietly reaching the main door of the inn, they glanced around one last time to check for observers, hands resting on their daggers. Seeing no one about, they burst through the door with the elder brother in the lead. The burly old innkeeper was so startled that he dropped the tin tankards he was cleaning. They clattered noisily to the floor as he spun to face the intruders, crouching in the warrior's stance that he had learned so long ago in the crusades, hands groping for a weapon. "Kenneth! Allan! You startled me lads." He scolded them as he relaxed, a grin appearing above the graying beard on his weathered face. He reached up to the top of his head and pushed his few remaining hairs back into place. "What d'ya bring me today?" Ross the innkeeper was known among the outlaws for accepting gifts of game and loot during plentiful times, in exchange for food and ale when times were lean. Kenneth also had another, more personal reason for visiting the inn. "A side and a half of venison, sorry, we ate the rest, three fat geese, two rabbits and five squirrels." The duo eased the well-filled poacher's bags off their backs and deposited the game on the table while Kenneth recited the tally. "Not much meat on the squirrels, but there's good pelts for fur." The innkeeper's blond, buxom daughter Artemas had been startled by the noise and had peeked into the main room from one of the storerooms while the game was being laid out. Of marriageable age for a while now, she ran most of the business part of the inn while her father did the brewing and serving. She walked along the back of the main room, retrieved the dropped tankards and returned them to their shelves. Crossing the room, she stood very near Kenneth, letting her hand lightly brush against his leg as if by accident. While she was nearly as tall as her father, the top of her head only came up to Kenneth's ear. A smile appeared on the outlaw's lightly bearded face. "And one more thing." He turned to face Artemas, reaching under his tunic for a hidden pouch. "A gold chain for a pretty girl." Almost as a slight-of-hand, Kenneth produced a fine chain and looped it over Artemas' head so that the pendant hung against the front of her brown and yellow gown just above her generous breasts. It was a small Sun Cross, an equal-armed cross set in a circle, about an inch across. The rich gold matched the color of her hair. The young woman gasped at the extravagance of the gift. "It's a Sun Cross, it's a..." Kenneth started to explain. "I know," Artemas interrupted. "It represents the four seasons and the wheel of the year. It's beautiful." She grabbed Kenneth in a hug, tilting her head back to invite the tall outlaw to kiss her briefly. "Da, we're going for a walk outside." She announced without even taking her eyes off Kenneth's. "Go on, go on," The older man waved them away. "I'll get no work out of her whilst you've got her in your arms." He poured tankards of cider for himself and Allan and perched on a bench to talk with the younger outlaw. The young couple exited out the back way, down the corridor past the storerooms, larder and brewing room. Once out of sight of the inn and road, they sat on a fallen log and began chatting about nothing in particular, merely wanting to hear the sound of each other's voice. The conversation was soon lost in hugs and deep kisses. Kenneth set aside his bow and quiver of arrows and lay back on the mossy ground with Artemas stretched out on top of him. They caressed each other through their rough peasant's clothing, whispering hopes that someday soon there wouldn't be any cloth at all between them. ====== Poaching the King's deer was dangerous work. If caught by the King's foresters or the Sheriff's men, poachers were often immediately hung by their own bowstrings. Usually the Sheriff's men stayed clear of the dangers of the forest, preferring to guard travelers on the roads. The outlaws hiding in the large expanse of woods often outnumbered the small parties that the Sheriff sent in to clear them out. Even small groups of outlaws knew the hidden ways of the forest well enough to become nearly invisible when the King's men were around. Even when the attention of the Sheriff was focused on the road, there were often unguarded parties that were tempting targets for the robber bands. Kenneth, Allan and a few of the outlaws were following one such party of travelers along the road. This particular party consisted of two noble couples well mounted on fine horses, a few merchants riding nags and one fat priest with his mule. They had paused for the night at the Inn and Artemas had sent word to Kenneth, alerting him of their planned route. They rode right into the outlaw's ambush. Ropes dropped from the overhanging trees pinning the men's arms, preventing them from drawing their weapons. Kenneth, his face mostly concealed by the long tail of his hood wrapped around it, blocked the road in front of them. Allan, similarly disguised and with an arrow ready on his bow, stepped out from behind the bushes behind them to cut off any escape. The other outlaws leapt from the trees with arrows nocked or daggers ready. "The fellowship of Robin Hood welcomes you to Barnesdale Forest!" Kenneth announced, waving his plain dagger around for emphasis. "The ancient laws of the forest demand a toll from each traveler here. Be honest with us and you keep half of your money. Lie to us and we'll take it all. Now, how much gold and silver do you have?" "You're not Robin Hood." One of the younger travelers accused. "That's just an old legend. Besides, he's supposed to be in Sherwood Forest, miles away from here." "No but I represent him in Barnesdale." Kenneth reassured him. "Now hand over your money." "You can't get away with this!" The fat priest sputtered. "The Sheriff will come for you as soon as we can send for him." Kenneth simply walked over to the priest and held out his hand. "Your coins, Father. Now." "I'm a man of the church and sworn to poverty. You'll get nothing from me." "That's what I thought you'd say." Kenneth grabbed the man by his robes, dragged him off the mule and quickly searched him, not bothering to be gentle. A thick pouch hidden under his robes yielded a trove of gold and silver coins. "If this is poverty, I'll gladly share it with my fellows." Kenneth tossed a single, small gold coin from the pouch at the cleric. "Here's a tithe for the church. Hold your tongue or I might change my mind and take it back." Kenneth stashed the pouch and turned his attention to the rest of the travelers. He soon had a sizable collection of coins, jewelry and other valuables in his bag. Much of the jewelry he returned to the owners, especially the two women. "Thank you for your toll payment. No one will bother you the rest of the way through the forest. Like the famous Robin Hood, all parties with women are treated with the greatest courtesy." "If you were courteous, you'd let us keep our money." One noble Lady complained. "We're letting you keep your horses and much of your jewelry and weapons. That's worth much more than what we took.' Kenneth bowed to the travelers before disappearing into the undergrowth. "Farewell, don't bother to look for us, you'll not find us." The outlaws disappeared and the travelers suddenly found themselves alone on the road with no sign that the robber band had been there, not even a footprint. They pushed on to Nottingham and sent for the Sheriff who informed them that there was little that he could do. They were advised to write off their losses to experience and travel with an armed guard from now on. Back at the outlaw camp, the robber band divided up the loot. Kenneth let most of the coins go to the other outlaws, keeping four finely crafted double-edge daggers, two sets, for himself and Allan. "Look at these blades, this is really good workmanship." He tried to scratch one of them with his peasant's blade. It skidded off harmlessly. "This is strong steel, I can't even touch this." "They all match, the two large and two small daggers. It looks like they came from the same workshop." Allan hefted one of the larger blades, about 10 inches of keen steel, flicking it about as if in battle. "This is a good fighting blade, well balanced. I'd like to keep it." "These smaller ones have a good balance, too and would make good women's daggers. I'm going to give this one to Artemas." Kenneth grinned as he tucked the six-inch blade and sheath into his belt next to the larger one. "You can keep the other one for when you find a girl of your own." ====== Kenneth dropped off some more game and a bit of the loot in the inn's larder and headed for the common room. There was a decent sized crowd in the inn that afternoon and both Artemas and Ross were keeping busy. Kenneth leaned against the wall near the kegs and tried to stay out of the way until Ross brushed past him a second time. "This is the third time you've been here this week and it's only Thursday." Ross shook his head at Kenneth. "That's it, I'm putting you to work. Here, lad, rinse these tankards in that tub of water and set them on the shelves." Kenneth did as he was told and was soon assigned more tasks around the inn. It was very late when the customers finally dispersed, leaving the trio pleased, but tired. Ross handed Kenneth a large blanket. "Here, lad. It's too late to go through the forest. You can bed down in the big storeroom for now." The innkeeper pointed to the back hallway. "Oh, I was so busy, I almost forgot." Kenneth unbuckled the smaller dagger from his belt and held it out to Artemas. "This is for you." "Look at that carving on the handle. It's beautiful!" She exclaimed and kissed the outlaw passionately. "Thank you, I can use this for better protection when you're not around." That night when Artemis lay in bed, she brought the dagger with her. The next few days, Kenneth was kept busy around the inn. He helped Ross with the brewing, pitched in cleaning the guest rooms and common room, mucked out the corral, fed the mule, goats and chickens and the thousand and one other things that continually needed doing. There was always good food and brew for him and the pleasure of being around Artemas all the time. Whenever they thought Ross wasn't looking, they would steal away for a kiss and a cuddle. Even with that distraction, the day's chores were usually finished in time. Every so often, the meat supply in the larder would dwindle and Kenneth would be sent out to poach game in the forest. ====== One evening when Kenneth was away from the inn, Artemas and Ross were trying to close up for the night. It was well past sunset and only a handful of regular customers and two or three strangers were left in the common room. Father and daughter went about the room, leisurely preparing to close and urging the customers to go home or up to the sleeping loft. Suddenly the two mercenaries in the corner erupted into motion. With drawn swords and shouts one herded the patrons against the far wall while the other held Ross at bay. The innkeeper stood ready and balanced, glaring at the mercenary with unblinking eyes, waiting for a chance to retaliate. The customers shrieked, bringing Artemas out from behind the counter to see the robbers. She set her empty pitcher down and moved toward the first brigand near the customers, coming up behind him on his right side. "There's no need for swords," she said calmly, still moving forward. "Sit and I'll bring you some of our best wine." "Stop right there, wench! I know what you're trying to do and it won't work." His sword point moved slightly away from the frightened patrons and towards Artemas. Quick as a flash she was right behind him with her new dagger appearing from under her apron and its sharp point pressed against his throat. "Drop your sword or die." She hissed in his ear. "Put away your toy knife little girl." He said, but a trickle of sweat rolled down the side of his face. "I can easily cut you in two." "You'll not live long enough to see me fall." She dug the tempered steel of the dagger in a bit more so that a single drop of crimson welled up from its tip. "I said drop it!" The sword wavered a moment, then clattered to the floor. "Hey, what're you doing?" The other brigand cried, distracted by his companion's behavior. That was enough opportunity for Ross. He dashed the contents of the tankards into the mercenary's face, followed by the tankards themselves. Momentarily blinded by the thick ale and confused by the impact of the mugs, he slashed wildly but Ross jumped out of the way. The would-be thief never saw the wooden bench that crashed across his skull. Driven by Ross' strong arms, it cracked the thick bones and killed him outright. "You killed him!" The other soldier shouted at Ross. The innkeeper grinned. "No, lad. You've killed him. I have a roomful of witnesses." He gestured at the shocked customers still huddled against the far wall. "It'll be the gallows for you. Someone send for the Sheriff's guard." However, no one in the common room moved toward the door. The brigand suddenly let out a strangled cry and wrenched himself free of Artemas' grip. Without even trying to retrieve his sword, he dashed out the open door and disappeared into the night. ====== Ross was busy brewing and Kenneth was outside, tending to the corral a few mornings later when the minstrel showed up. A tall, humorless looking man with a floppy old shapeless hat perched on his head and a thick canvas bag on his back. Wild locks of rust-brown hair stuck out where his hat couldn't quite contain them. He was dressed in a rich but patched tunic. A petite young woman, with deep brown tresses and about seventeen or eighteen summers of age, walked along beside him. She wore a dress that once was very expensive, but like the man's tunic was in need of some repair. "Top o'the mornin to ye lad, d'ye know if the innkeeper has use for a bard?" The man's voice carried the unmistakable lilt of Ireland. "I wager there's a place for you if you play well." Kenneth answered, as he looked the duo over, sizing them up with his outlaw's eye. They looked as if they had once been prosperous, but now were fallen on hard times, penniless and harmless. "Go see the Innkeeper's daughter, she's in the common room." The man murmured his thanks without ever showing a smile and headed for the front door of the inn. The girl gave Kenneth a backward glance and a shy little smile before following her companion. Kenneth liked a good tune, so he leaned his rake against the corral fence and tagged along. Besides, the girl was pretty, though not nearly as voluptuous as Artemas. Artemas had finished with cleaning the upper rooms and was wiping down tables in the common room when they entered. Kenneth perched on a bench near the door to watch the proceedings, feet up and leaning back against the wall. "Ye must be the lassie that keeps this place. D'ye have use for a player of happy songs and a teller of funny stories?" The man asked with a deadpan serious look on his face and no humor at all in his voice. Artemas didn't know what to make of the man's expression and couldn't tell if he were joking or not. She blinked a few times in confusion before answering. "Uh, let me hear one of your tunes so I can decide." The minstrel nodded gravely and sat down on one of the benches. He extracted a finely carved Irish lap harp from the thick canvas bag and set it in place, plinking at a few strings to test if they were still in tune. Meanwhile the woman with him had pulled a tambourine out of her pack and pushed a few of the benches aside, standing and waiting for the minstrel to start. He ran his hands along the strings, sounding a tinkling arpeggio and broke into a haunting melody. The girl just stood there softly keeping time to the song on her tambourine. Then the man began to sing. His voice was strong, deep and melodious, expertly giving the song just the right amount of inflection and emotion. The girl sang a counterpoint to the melody, her accent wasn't near as pronounced as the bard's. On the second verse, she started to dance, nimbly stepping around the small cleared space and slowly swirling her skirts. The song was about lovers, separated by war, who are finally rejoined after many hardships. The girl sang the woman's parts of the song, otherwise she kept her voice soft as an accompaniment for the bard. By the time the song was over, Artemas had to wipe away a tear and it took her a moment before she could speak. "Minstrel, you've got yourself custom in this house. You'll both have food and drink and a place to sleep by the fire for every night you play." She finally managed to say after a deep, shuddering breath. "That's my girl." Ross had heard the music and was standing in the doorway to the back corridor. His brewing apron still had foam clinging to it. "We'll get quite a crowd in here once they've heard such song." "We've walked a long ways already today and we're famished." The man set his harp on the table. "D'ye have anything that my daughter Rachel and I could eat? Some drink would be welcome, too." Artemas nodded to Kenneth who went and filled two tankards full of the second-best ale. He brought these back to the table with some bread, cheese and fruit. "There's no meat cooked up yet." He told them apologetically. "Thank'ee lad, this'll do nicely." The pair immediately dug into the food. "I'm Artemas," She introduced herself to the bard and his daughter while they were eating. "My Da does the brewing, he's called Ross and this is my betrothed, Kenneth." "Good to meet you, Artemas, Rosse, Cinead." The minstrel used the Irish pronunciation of their names. "Better call him Kenneth, he's not used to Cinead." Ross teased. "And you are?" "I'm just a minstrel and this is m'daughter, Rachel." Ross opened his mouth to question the man for his name, but he saw the look in the bard's eyes and the old warrior instinct kicked in. He shut his mouth, nodded and headed back to the brewing room, leaving the minstrel alone. "Kenneth, you'll have to get some supplies. We're running low on meats." Artemas winked at the former outlaw to indicate her meaning. The Outlaw and the Innkeeper's Daughter "I'll fetch my bow." Kenneth whispered to her. "Maybe I can get Allan to help me, too, once I tell him about the minstrel. He likes music, he's been carving those silly flutes of his since we were little boys." "And save me some antlers, the sheriff's sergeant's been asking some nosy questions about our meat supply and I have an idea." "Antlers?" Kenneth looked confused. "But won't that be a dead giveaway to the sheriff's men?" "Trust me on this, go on. Oh, and I'll need some of the glue you use to put horn tips on your bows." Artemas pushed him out the back door with a quick peck on the cheek. ====== The old inn was brightly lit with many candles and several strange horses were in the little corral out back the next evening when Kenneth and Allan returned from hunting. They could hear the sound of many people moving around and music coming from the inn. Allan was wary of the large assembly and disappeared back into the forest, leaving Kenneth to carry all the game the rest of the way. He eased through the back door quietly and dropped off the venison, birds and rabbits in the larder storeroom along with his bow and quiver before looking to see what was going on in the main room. Kenneth entered the common room, finding it much more crowded than normal. It looked like word had quickly gone around the area about the new minstrel. Many locals who didn't usually patronize the inn were there. There was also an abundance of strangers, probably travelers, and even a few from farther out in the surrounding countryside. Kenneth was wary of one table in particular. Several men-at-arms from the Sheriff's guard were there along with their crusty old sergeant. The bard had the entire room enthralled with his performance and that of his daughter, who barely had any room to dance while she sang and played her tambourine. Most of the audience was quiet, appreciatively listening to the many songs and occasional stories. The floppy old hat sat upturned on a stool near the bard, already holding several glittering coins. Kenneth picked his way over to the counter. "It's a busy night tonight and you'll not have much chance to see Artemas. I may as well put you straight to work. Here, lad." Ross handed Kenneth several of the freshly filled mugs of ale. "Take these over to those two tables across the room and I'll carry the rest." Kenneth set a fresh tankard of ale in front of the Sheriff's Sergeant. The man looked up at the outlaw, confusion and suspicion on his craggy face. "Who're you and where's the pretty maid?" He growled. "She's busy, so I'm helping out." The outlaw hoped the man didn't recognize him. "Who're you?" The sergeant was well on his way to becoming completely plastered and didn't recognize the outlaw. "He's my daughter's promised husband, a distant cousin from up north." Ross called over from the next table. "Don't mind him much, he isn't used to the tavern trade, but I'll get him trained up real soon." "I don't hold by that, innkeeper, you're putting yourself above your station. Arranged marriage is for nobles, not common riffraff." The sergeant glowered at Kenneth, his gaze bleary from the drink. "You just watch yourself, lad." Kenneth kept busy that night, making the rounds of the tables, over and over again with barely a chance to sit and no time to be with Artemas. The only time they could even speak a word to each other was when they were both at the counter to pick up or drop off more tankards or pitchers. Finally, with the last guests gone or bedded down in the upper rooms and the serving ware all rinsed and set on the shelves, they could get a moment to hold each other close. They were so tired by this time that they could hardly do more. Ross appeared from the large storeroom with Kenneth's bedding wadded into a bundle that he handed to the young man. "Here's your blanket, lad. The minstrel's staying in the storeroom. You can stay on the floor in the common room, next to the fire. Well, what's left of the fire. And don't go trying to sneak in with Artemas, the bard's daughter is staying with her. Besides, I'll need you both well rested and fresh in the morning to help with the guests. It's going to be another busy day, the bard is good for business." He dragged his daughter into the apartment, barely giving the young couple time for a peck on the cheek as a goodnight kiss. The two girls had quickly become fast friends, pushed together by fate and common interests. It was at Artemas' insistence that Rachel bunked with her for company and warmth. They often stayed up late whispering and giggling late into the night, once Ross' loud snores assured them that he was asleep. Besides the usual subjects of men and love, the two shared herbal lore that they had learned. "There are plants in this forest that hardly grow anywhere else," Artemas whispered that evening. "At least I haven't heard of them from anywhere else. I'll get Kenneth to gather some for you next time he's in the woods." "Your Cinead's a handsome one, with his light brown beard and flashing eyes." Rachel whispered back. "But he's taller than I like. He's a good one for you." "He's got a younger brother that sometimes comes around the inn, but not when it's so busy." "Has he now? Mayhap I'll get to see him next time." Rachel gave a little sigh. "I haven't been touched by a lad in some months. I hope I remember how to kiss properly." "That's something you never forget." Artemas shook her head in the dark. "I'm sure you'll get to meet him, Allan likes music and thinks himself musical. He actually does sing well." "Does he now? Now you do have me wanting to meet him soon." Rachel grinned. "How much have you done with... boys?" Artemas asked slyly. "Oh I've kissed a good share and even touched a few, but it's best to keep them wanting more. That's what my dear Mum always taught me, God rest her soul." "You'll have to tell me all about it sometime. But now we'd better get to sleep, it's bound to be another busy day tomorrow. ====== "I'm here for your boyfriend. Where is he?" The Sergeant glowered at Artemas from the center of the common room. Arms akimbo and fists planted on hips, he was trying to give a commanding impression. He only managed to appear suffering from bad digestion, probably the remnant of his hangover from the previous night's drinking. "He went off to visit relatives. Why do you want him?" Artemas didn't even pause in her chores, barely giving the man a glance. This didn't improve his mood. "There was venison in your stew the other night. I recognized the taste." He looked around the room and Artemas was glad all the game had been either mixed with other meats or so preserved that it's true nature wasn't obvious. "He's the one I've seen practicing with the bow." Artemas let out a sigh. "All right. I guess I'll have to show you, but don't go blabbing it around. It's supposed to be secret." "What are you talking about?" The Sergeant was getting peevish. "Show me where the man is hiding so I can arrest him or it'll go bad for you." "Its not Kenneth you're looking for. Come along and I'll show you." Artemas led the Sergeant out the back door and a short way into the woods, shushing him into silence. The Sheriff's man drew his sword and followed along warily. When they rounded a thick clump of bushes, Artemas pointed to a concealed corral that contained a half-dozen goats. On seeing them the Sergeant's mouth dropped in surprise and he only barely kept hold of his sword. On each goat's head were not stubby horns like a proper goat, but the branching antlers of a deer. "We wanted to keep it a secret." Artemas stepped toward the corral and petted one of the goats. "Please don't tell anyone." "What is this, those aren't real goats. How did this happen, is it some kind of witchery?" The usually gruff man was practically whining in his confusion. "A few years ago one of the King's deer came out of the forest and mounted our she-goat. It was spring and he must have been really horny. She gave birth to one of these antlered goats after that and we've been breeding them ever since. Their meat tastes a lot like venison." She gave the goat's ear one last scratch and started walking back to the inn, not bothering to check if the Sergeant was following. "Come on back inside, I'll pour you some ale." ====== After a few days, the novelty of the new minstrel wore off somewhat and the crowd thinned out just a bit. Ross was still doing more business than normal, but not at the frantic pace of the last few days. Allan had been watching from the edge of the woods ever since Kenneth had told him about the minstrel. When the common room looked to be less packed, and especially when the sergeant and his men no longer showed up, Allan crept through the back door with a few game birds he had snared. Kenneth was the first to spot his brother and sat him down at one of the tables with some warm food and fresh ale. Kenneth and Artemas were also famished and joined Allan with trenchers of their own, leaving Ross to quickly finish his own meal and tend to the room for a while. The minstrel was in his usual place in the corner near the fire, but now his daughter had more space to dance as she sang. Allan was transfixed, staring at the dark-haired girl, ignoring his ale and food. Kenneth had to reach over and poke him in the side with a finger to get him to react. Allan reluctantly tore his eyes away to glare at his brother for a brief instant, then looked back at the dancer. "Allan, you've not even touched your drink, what ails you? This is some of Ross' best brew." "Huh?" Allan still didn't take his eyes off the dancer. "He's lovestruck." Artemas giggled. "Ah, look at you lad. A pretty face shows up and you're swept away." Ross, leaning over their shoulders, butted into the conversation. "Just like your brother when he saw my little Artemas." "I'm not so little anymore, Da. You said yourself that I've reached marriageable age." Artemas protested to her father. "Aye, we want to marry just as soon as we can. You even told the Sergeant that we were promised." Kenneth reminded the innkeeper. "Since you don't trust the village priest, you'll have to wait for that wandering friar to get back. Should be here in only a couple of weeks now. That's what you get for not being here the last time Friar Mark passed through." "The priest would go straight to the Sheriff if he knew who I really was. We're safer with the Friar." Kenneth retorted. "Besides, you sent me off for, uh, supplies the day he was here." Allan had slipped away from the table while the three were talking. The minstrel started a tune that Allan knew and the younger outlaw joined them near the fire, playing along on one of the little wooden flutes that he liked to carve. He actually managed to follow the tune fairly well and got a nod from the minstrel. The object of his affections, however, ignored him while she still sang and danced. Allan stayed with it and a few tunes later put down the flute to join in the singing. This time he got her attention as he followed the melody on the first verse and sang harmony on the rest. Near the end of the song she twirled in her dance, pausing to face him and broke into a wide smile. Allan lost the tune as his breath caught in his throat, but managed to recover when she whirled away again. Sometime later, when the crowd had thinned to almost nothing, Kenneth caught Artemas' eye and cocked his head towards the back door. There were only a couple of the regulars left in the common room and the minstrel was packing his harp back into its heavy canvas bag. His daughter Rachel was nowhere to be seen and even Allan had vanished. Kenneth stretched and walked down the corridor to the back door as if he were headed towards the privies. "I need to get some fresh air, can you finish in here by yourself?" Artemas made a show of fanning herself with her apron. Her father nodded indulgently, letting her go. Kenneth was waiting for her just outside the door and grabbed her as she stepped outside, causing her to squeal in surprise. They shared a quick kiss before going to sit on the fallen log that was partially hidden by the undergrowth. Wrapped up in Kenneth's cloak together, they let their hands roam freely over the surface of each other's clothes while their tongues intertwined. They were so focused on each other that they didn't notice the other noises at first. But then a musical giggle, louder than the previous ones, caused them to pause in their embraces and look around for the source. Another voice, masculine this time, added an inarticulate mumble followed by another girlish giggle. "Allan, is that you?" Kenneth kept his voice low. Allan's head popped up from behind some nearby shrubs. "Kenneth? I thought... Oh, you're with Artemas." Another head appeared near Allan's, covered with long, dark hair. Rachel shrieked at being discovered, jumped to her feet and dashed back towards the inn taking her thick plaid blanket with her and causing Allan to tip sideways onto the cool ground. Allan cursed and ran after her while trying to arrange his disheveled clothes. Artemas and Kenneth watched him try to catch the girl, then burst out laughing. Their laughter soon trailed off into a series of passionate kisses. ====== "Benedicte!" Friar Mark called from the road, leaning on his staff, his large straw hat shading his entire slender frame. Ross stuck his head out the front door and broke into a grin at seeing the skinny cleric. "Benedicte!" Friar Mark called again. "Has anyone any scraps of food for a mendicant friar, sworn to poverty?" "Don't just stand there, Mark." Ross bellowed from the doorway of the inn. "You know you're always welcome here. Give the house a blessing and I'll have a mug of cool cider waiting for you." Mark grinned and traced a crude and not entirely Christian sign in the air with his staff, along with a singsong chant in rather poor Latin. "Bright blessings upon this house and all who enter here." He finished up in English before stepping through the door. Mark stayed a week, preaching a morning message of peace and poverty to anyone who stopped at the inn. His banter and good humor rivaled the minstrel for entertainment value and business stayed brisk the whole time. The Friar had a surprisingly good voice and often joined the minstrel in singing the less rowdy tunes. On the morning of the fifth day of his stay, Artemas and Kenneth presented themselves to the Friar asking him to perform their wedding ceremony. Allan and Rachel surprised everyone by making the same request. A small arch or arbor of flowers and vines was quickly built in the meadow beside the inn. Both brides wore garlands of leaves and flowers on their heads and the grooms festively stuck small flowers into their beards. Late that afternoon, Friar Mark ran through the ceremonies in rough Latin and pronounced the couples duly wed, bringing a cheer from the assembled crowd of villagers and outlaws. The Minstrel sang his tunes again as a parting gift to his daughter before she left for the outlaw camp and he set off towards Nottingham to try and find a nobleman as a patron. Before Artemas and Kenneth could even think about getting to their wedding bed, Ross had Kenneth inside the innkeeper's quarters, rearranging the place. With hammer in hand, the groom found himself moving the curtains that separated Artemas' sleeping area from her father's giving the newlyweds a bit more space. ====== "Allan what's wrong, is the ale sour? You've got such a sad look on your face." Artemas settled onto the bench beside her brother He just shook his head and went on staring at his young wife as she moved around the tables, dancing like the first time he saw her. "Come on, what is it?" Artemas was insistent. "It better not be my ale or you'll not get any more." "It's Rachel, she thinks she can't have a baby." Allan kept his voice low. "We've been trying for two years now, since the wedding and... nothing." "So have we. Just give it some time." She cocked her head at him. "Why not move in here with us. Da is getting older and we could use the help. Rachel would find it easier than life in a woodland camp." "Not yet," Allan shook his head again. "Old Will needs Rachel to mix up her herbs to keep his pains away. She says he's not long for this world, but it could take a year or more. I don't want to leave the forest until he's gone, he taught me to shoot and snare birds." Artemas nodded. "I'll tell Rachel about some local herbs that might help. They only grow in this forest, so she might not have heard of them." ====== Allan shifted the wild geese he was carrying and continued down the trail to the inn. Besides the game birds, he had some good news for a change. In the four years since the wedding, he and Rachel had been trying for children. Now Rachel was finally certain that she was pregnant. As usual, Allan crept to the edge of the woods in the evening gloom, watching the inn for signs of activity. This time the old inn was quiet, too quiet. There were no lights inside and the back door stood wide open to the chilly autumn air. He was startled to hear a moan in the nearby underbrush. Allan's dagger was instantly in his hand, the brace of geese cast aside on the cold ground. There, he heard it again, more of a whimper than a moan. He tried to locate the source. "Who's there, friend or foe?" He whispered. There was a rustle of dry leaves as whoever it was shifted position. Allan noticed a flash of reflected moonlight not far away. He concentrated on the spot. There it was again, someone was lying on the ground holding a dagger. It happened to catch a shaft of moonlight through the branches at just the right angle. Allan thought he recognized the dagger and could now place the voice that made that moan. "Artemas?" He whispered. "Are you hurt?" He moved closer and saw that he was right, it was his brother's dagger, a twin of the one in Allan's own hand. Artemas was clutching it tightly, face pale and scared as she lay on a clump of dead leaves under the shrubs. "Allan, that you?" Artemas' whisper was strained and shaky. "You're hurt, what happened?" He asked, but then thought the better of it. "No, don't speak. Let me get you back inside." She shook her head violently, rustling the dead leaves caught in her blond hair. "Brigands. Dead." She managed to whisper though her dry lips. "I'll see if it's safe, let me bring you some ale." She nodded and he helped her sit against a tree, throwing his cloak over her before slipping through the open back door of the inn. Inside it was very dark, the moonlight didn't penetrate very far and no candles had been lit. The low hearth fire in the main room was the only light. Allan found the innkeeper sprawled dead on the floor there amidst the overturned tables and benches. He had accounted well for himself, there was a man in coat-of-plates armor slumped dead a few feet away with the innkeeper's dagger still stuck in his throat. Allan cursed the brigands for the death of the old warrior. He lit a candle from the hearth fire and checked the rest of the rooms by its light. Finding nothing upstairs, he started going through the storerooms and other rooms. The big storeroom's door stood open with a trail of blood either going into or out of it. Allan paused beside the door, preparing himself, then dashed in with his dagger at the ready. He nearly tripped over the body there and gasped an anguished cry in recognition. It was his brother, Kenneth, lying face-down in a pool of his own blood. His throat had been cleanly sliced open, probably from behind. He never had a chance and he couldn't have made the trail out the door. Allan puzzled over that a moment, even as his tears dripped into the pool of his brother's blood. But he set aside his grief along with any questions and dried his eyes. He had to help Artemas. Back in the main room, he grabbed a tankard and a pitcher that was still filled with ale and took them out to his newly widowed sister, remembering to close the door on his way back. The Outlaw and the Innkeeper's Daughter "Here, drink a bit, it'll ease your throat." Allan set aside the pitcher and held the mug to her dry lips. She swallowed several large gulps, then reached up to push the mug away. "They're both dead." She said flatly, a statement, not a question. "Aye, but your father got one of the bastards." Allan wasn't sure how much that would help. He could hear the tremor in his own voice and was having trouble fighting tears. "Be strong for her, for Kenneth's sake." He told himself silently. But then Artemas suddenly dropped the half-empty tankard and threw herself into his arms, weeping uncontrollably. Huge sobs of grief wracked the young woman's body as Allan's woolen hood soaked up the tears. Allan joined her, mingling their cries and tears. After a long while, they were both tapped out of crying. Allan retrieved the pitcher of ale and between them they finished off the amber liquid. "How badly are you hurt? I've got to get you back to the camp so Rachel can tend to you." "Not too badly, I hope, I'm not sure. I can barely move and I feel kind of numb. I think its mostly bruises and scrapes." Her hands shook a bit when she re-lived the attack. "The whoreson tried to rape me, but I got Kenneth's dagger and ran out the back after I cut him up. You'll recognize him by the fresh scar down the side of his face. I think I got his eye but I'm sorry I missed his throat. Promise me you'll hunt him down and make him suffer." "That I'll do, but first I have to get you off this cold ground and to someplace warm and safe." He picked up his bow and tried to figure out how to move the injured woman. In her battered condition she wouldn't be able to walk far. In the end, Allan hoisted her up on his back with her arms around his neck. He wrapped his cloak around both of them to keep Artemas warm on the journey. Thus burdened it took almost two hours to get her to the outlaw camp. Most of the outlaws were asleep, but Rachel was still awake, sitting wrapped in her thick plaid blanket and wondering why Allan was taking so long. "What's wrong, what's that ye got there?" In the darkness Rachel couldn't make out the burden on Allan's back, but could tell that he was struggling to handle the weight with care. "It's Artemas, she's been hurt." Allan gently set her down on the blanket that his wife quickly spread on the ground. Artemas was nearly unconscious with shock and fatigue. Rachel knew a bit about the ways of herbs and kept infusions for bruises and other injuries handy. She took over care of Artemas, making sure she was well covered with the warm blanket to prevent further shock and giving her a draught of chamomile to help her sleep. Allan quickly told her what he had found at the inn. "Allan, fuel up the fire. We'll have to warm some stones to keep her from the cold." Allan nodded and bent to his task. After the fire was burning merrily, he moved a few rocks closer to the flames. One stone shifted on him and he staggered, nearly falling into the fire pit. He cursed roundly, attracting his wife's attention. "You're exhausted, get some sleep or ye'll not be any use." Rachel forestalled any protest with a quick gesture. "I'll wake one of the other women if I need help. Off with you now." ====== News traveled fast in the small camp of outlaws and nearly as fast between the camps. Next morning the small group of outlaw folk, along with several visitors from other camps, gathered around where Artemas lay on the blanket to hear her story. Innkeeper Ross was well liked, being a friend to almost all the outlaws of the forest. Artemas was still battered and shaky, but she insisted on telling everyone about the events of the previous night. "There were seven of them. Out of work mercenaries just looking for trouble and spending a lot of silver. Da didn't want them to stay, but they were all armed and when they chased the other customers away, there was no one else around to help us." She paused a moment and sniffled, but gathered her strength and went on. "At first they were just drinking, but then their captain grabbed me and insisted on more sport. Da shouted at him to stop, but one of his men hit Da with a barstool. I went for my dagger then, but the captain grabbed it first and threw it across the room before he started pawing me. I yelled for Kenneth, but they just laughed at me. That's when Da jumped up and stuck his dagger in the neck of the one that hit him with the stool. It must have gotten stuck because he tugged but it didn't come out. It looked like Da was reaching for a sword, he must have thought he was back in the wars, when two others jumped him at once." Sobs stopped her for a moment as she dabbed at her tears. Rachel gave her a small draught of ale laced with soothing herbs. Artemas drank it down completely before continuing. The outlaws were completely silent, waiting for the rest of the story. "One of them came out of the big storeroom behind the common room with a bloody knife and was going to cut my dress off. But the one holding me stopped him. That's when he dragged me in to the storeroom, that's when I saw my dear Kenneth." She started sobbing again and her ale was refilled for another long sip before she could continue. "The bastard pushed up my skirts and pinned me down with his body. I tried to fight him but he just laughed at me. He said something about taking me right beside Kenneth's body and I hoped that he hadn't taken Kenneth's dagger. Oh God, I had to reach under my Kenneth while still under that son of a bitch but I found the dagger. I made a long cut down his face, I think I got his eye. He jumped off me and I went for the door. I hid in the thick bushes just inside the trees. Right near where everyone hides to watch the inn, yes I know about that spot. They only looked for me for a short while, they were too drunk to find me. They took our cart and mule, loaded it up with a barrel of our best ale." Her head hung down with fatigue, quiet tears dripped on the ground. Allan stepped forward. Tired as he was, there were still necessary tasks to be done. "My brother and the innkeeper need to be properly buried." He announced. "And I want to go after these bastards. Who's with me?" He looked around at the assembled faces. Five other young outlaws stepped forward, ready with their bows and daggers. Without a word Allan headed away from the clearing towards the inn. They readily followed. It was late afternoon by the time they finished with the graves. The bodies of Ross and Kenneth were buried just inside the trees, the spot marked by small cairns of stones. They stripped the body of the brigand and tossed it in the inn's latrine. When the old inn reopened, somebody would have to dig a new one. Two of the outlaws volunteered to stay at the inn to keep any scavengers, human or animal, from breaking in. The other three gathered to decide what to do next. "Take a look at the tracks. The cart headed off that direction. Let's go." Allan pointed down the road away from the village and towards Nottingham. The road passed through more forest in that direction, perfect for an ambush if they could find and catch them. "Now? It's almost dark." One of the outlaws protested. "But it's nearly a full moon." One of the stay-behinds observed. "You can travel by moonlight until you get tired." The third outlaw chimed in. "We've only got hunting arrows, not bodkin heads. These are good for deer hide but won't pierce armor." "Then we'll have to aim for their throats." Allan set off down the road at a brisk walk. For the next two days, the trio pushed themselves at a hard pace, barely stopping to scrounge for food or pause for sleep. By late evening they caught sight of the soldiers and cart in the distance. One of the soldiers was mounted and another drove the cart. The rest were on foot. They all moved at the slow speed of the mule and cart. The outlaws struck off the road, taking the forest tracks so the brigands wouldn't see them. They slowly worked their way well ahead of the killers in the dark. "Let's take them while they sleep." One of the outlaws suggested. Allan shook his head. "They'll still be in armor while they sleep. We'll only be able to get three with our daggers before they're alerted and it'll be too dark to shoot, even with the moon. The rest will come at us with their swords. It'll be even worse if they've posted a watch. Better to take them while they're walking and not expecting it." "There's enough moon for them to see us, but not enough to shoot by. In the daytime we can shoot them down from the forest without them even seeing us." The third outlaw added. "I'd rather not face an armored man with a sword when all I've got is this shirt and a dagger." Once they found a decent spot for an ambush, they each took turns watching while the others slept. In the morning they found positions where they each had a clear shot to the road without being easily seen. At last they heard the voices of the approaching soldiers. Allan stayed hidden in the undergrowth with an arrow nocked on his bowstring and waited for the brigands to draw even with him. He drew the string back all the way to his face, anchoring his finger in the corner of his mouth directly below his eye. Careful aim was needed, not much of his target was exposed outside the armor. Allan took full care with his shot and slid his fingers off the string, the powerful bow speeding the broadhead arrow in a low, hissing arc towards the mercenary. The arrow took him full in the neck, mortally wounding him before he could even cry out. Allan heard the twang of two other bowstrings as his fellows joined the attack. Another brigand fell dead with a gurgling noise, but the third target had spun around at the sound. This moved him barely out of the path of the third arrow, the sharp arrowhead scored his cheek and ear in passage, causing him to bellow in pain and alarm. The two remaining brigands on foot drew their swords and grabbed their helmets off of the cart. The leader swung his horse back towards the cart, drawing his own sword. They looked about in confusion, uncertain of just where the deadly swarm of arrows were coming from and ducking when one hissed near. Allan had another arrow on the string in a trice, sending it at the brigand on the cart. His arrow slammed into the brigand's coat-of-plates as the man shifted position, the sharp but thin hunting head bouncing harmlessly off the iron under the leather. An arrow from another outlaw buried itself in the unprotected neck of the driver. Allan nocked again and his arrow transfixed the arm of the soldier with the clipped ear. The third outlaw managed to shoot the wounded man in the throat. The last man on foot turned and ran from the shower of arrows. An outlaw's arrow bounced off the back of his helmet, but Allan made a direct hit on the man's backside. With only thin layers of leather and cloth protecting his ass, there was hardly anything to stop the arrow from sinking deep into the sensitive flesh. The man howled and fell forward, but not fast enough to prevent another outlaw arrow from taking him on the inside of his leg. The deep wounds severed major blood vessels. He would be dead from loss of blood in mere moments. Now the outlaws set their sights on the remaining man, the one on the horse. Allan saw that he had a raw gash down the side of his face, easily visible under the helm. This must be the rapist, Allan thought to himself. He took careful aim at the mercenary captain's face, but the man turned his horse just as Allan loosed his shot. The arrow clanged loudly against the soldier's helm. The sharp but thin arrowhead, meant only for shooting through deer hide, crumpled against the thick iron of the helm's rear plate, shattering the arrow. Allan cursed and let fly another shot, less carefully aimed. It flew narrowly past the galloping figure, missing his neck by mere inches. Several more outlaw arrows lodged in the wood surface of the mercenary's shield, still slung over his back. The speedy horse soon carried the brigand leader around a curve in the road and out of bowshot. None of the robber band had thought to shoot at the valuable horse. All three outlaws quickly fell to work dragging the bodies into the underbrush and stripping them of their armor, weapons, cloaks, money pouches and anything else of value. The bodies were left for the scavengers. Vowing to divide the loot later, with a full share for Artemas, they piled everything onto the cart. The trip back took another three days and several tankards worth of the innkeeper's best ale were missing from the recovered keg by the time they arrived. Before going into the inn, the three outlaws stopped at the graves in the forest to pay respects and whisper that they had taken revenge on the killers. Allan noticed that someone had taken the time to carve crude sun crosses, like the one on Artemas' pendant, on the largest stones set at the head of each grave. Artemas and Rachel were waiting for them inside the main room at the inn. Though still not fully recovered, Artemas was using the busywork of cleaning and restoring the place to smother her grief. The little band of outlaws returned the somewhat diminished keg to its proper place and unhitched the mule to graze in its little corral. They all sat in the common room with more mugs of ale while Artemas gravely listened to them recount the hunting of the mercenaries. She wasn't happy when she learned of the escape of her would-be rapist. Moved by her tears, the outlaws agreed to double her share. Allan apologized that he didn't find her little cross pendant that Kenneth had given her, the brigand captain must have kept it. He promised to let the rest of the forest folk know that if that scarred face with the pendant ever showed up in the forest, the man was to die instantly and the necklace was to go to the inn. With the help and patronage of the robber band, it wasn't long before the old inn was as prosperous as before. The forest folk visited freely and no one ever bothered the pretty innkeeper without facing several angry outlaws.