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-in-law

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-in-law, remembering to close the door on his way back.