Nandita To Nandini
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The Outlaw And The Innkeeper’s Daughter free porn video
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 glad
ly 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 the
y 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.
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