Muse

by Kylie Quillinan

  Owain finally sat back and rubbed his belly. "Won't be seeing any more of Maeve's pies, I s'pose."

  "You could go back," I said. "It's not too late."

  "'Twas never me she wanted." He yawned and headed towards the back of the barn. "G'night."

  He went into one of the stalls. There was an indignant yell — a woman's voice — and then Owain backed out of the stall, hands held out in front of him.

  "Sorry, didn't 'spect anyone to be in there."

  "Well now you know, perhaps you could find somewhere else to sleep," a frosty voice replied.

  Owain turned to me, a sheepish look on his face. "There's a girl in there."

  Before I could reply, she came out of the stall and my heart stopped. Long red hair, green eyes and a mouth I remembered well. She was dressed unusually for a woman, in a loose-fitting shirt with pants instead of a skirt.

  "Diarmuid!" For a moment she looked flustered. "What are you doing here."

  "Rhiwallon. I… we're…"

  "Diarmuid here's on a quest," Owain said.

  I felt even more flustered than she looked. Colour rose rapidly in my cheeks. Don't think about that night, I told myself. Or you'll be a stammering and incoherent idiot.

  "Why are you here?" I asked after we had stared at each other for several seconds.

  "I'm…" Rhiwallon hesitated but then with a flick of her hair, she straightened her shoulders and looked me in the eyes. "I'm running away."

  "Why?"

  "Why not?"

  "It's not the sort of thing someone does, not without a reason."

  "I didn't say I didn't have a reason."

  "You didn't say you did, so I assumed…"

  "I didn't say because it's none of your business."

  "Oh." Now I felt both humiliated and deflated.

  Bramble trotted up to Rhiwallon and sniffed her legs. Rhiwallon glanced down but made no move to pat her.

  "What happened to the dog?" she asked.

  I felt a burst of pride. "She was bleeding and half-dead when I found her in the woods. She had been in a fight."

  "With what?"

  "Owain thinks it was a boar. She's got lots of bite marks and one of her paws was bleeding pretty badly."

  "Tusks," Owain said. "Not bites."

  "She's pretty tough, whatever happened to her," I said.

  "Is she yours?" Rhiwallon asked.

  Bramble stiffened and before I could open my mouth, she was already glaring at me.

  "Not really," I said. "She's travelling with me but I guess she chooses her own path."

  Owain yawned and backed away. "Guess I'll find somewhere else to sleep."

  "I should think so." Rhiwallon eyed him up and down. "I'll be sleeping in that stall and I won't appreciate being disturbed. Anyone who thinks to sneak up on me will find my dagger stuck in his belly."

  "You don't need to worry about us," I said, quickly. "Owain's handfasted and I'm…" My voice trailed off.

  Rhiwallon gave me a half smile.

  "Yes, Diarmuid. I remember."

  27

  Diarmuid

  I WOKE TO the clattering of crockery and the warmth of Bramble curled up against my back. My stomach growled as I crawled out of the hay that had been my bed. To my surprise, it was Rhiwallon laying out the meal on the same bench we had used as a table last night. She was again dressed in pants and a loose shirt with her red hair bundled up under a grey scarf. A quiver of arrows hung from a belt around her waist.

  "We may as well pool our rations and share," she said, not looking up from what she was doing. "I can contribute a loaf of bread. It's still fresh."

  "We have plenty of supplies," I said. "Enough to share. You can save yours—"

  Rhiwallon finally looked at me and glared so fiercely that my toes curled up and I wanted to slink back to the stall I had slept in.

  "I neither want nor need your pity," she said.

  "I didn't mean—"

  "Diarmuid, if we're going to travel together, we need to get something straight. I am not some helpless woman who is going to sit back and wait for somebody to find me a meal or a place to sleep. I can, and will, contribute. I am choosing to travel with you for the security of having companions. But I don't need you, and I'd do perfectly well on my own if necessary."

  "You're coming with us?" My voice came out too high.

  "Of course I am. I'd be stupid not to. Now, go and wake up that big friend of yours. Then we can do some proper introductions, which we neglected last night, and get on with our meal."

  "Name's Owain." He stumbled out of one of the stalls, looking as if he hadn't slept at all.

  Rhiwallon nodded at him. "Well met, Owain. I'm Rhiwallon. As you may have gathered, Diarmuid and I have met previously. I'll be travelling with you for a while."

  From beside my feet, Bramble made a soft sound.

  "And this is Bramble," I said.

  Rhiwallon looked down at her. "I'd prefer you kept it away from me."

  "She," I said. "Bramble's a girl."

  "Either way, just keep it away from me."

  Bramble huffed and I reached down to scratch behind her ear. She leaned into my hand. Rhiwallon hadn't been this abrupt the last time we met.

  Rhiwallon had set out her loaf of bread, a pot of Owain's honey and a bag of Owain's apples. I hesitated, not wanting to be the first to cut into her bread but equally sure I would offend her if I ate only apples. Owain didn't pause but reached for the bread, cut off a thick slice and draped it with honey. We ate in silence until Bramble sniffed.

  "Bramble, I'm sorry," I said with a pang of guilt. Owain was faster than I and swiftly produced some dried meat and a small piece of cheese for her.

  "Where did you say you were going?" Rhiwallon asked. She licked the honey from her fingers and took an apple.

  My lips suddenly felt like they were glued together.

  "To Crow's Nest," Owain said. "Diarmuid here's on a quest."

  "What sort of quest?" she asked.

  Owain reached for an apple and bit into it, leaving me to answer. I swallowed a mouthful of bread. It stuck in my throat. I coughed and thumped myself on the chest, fumbling for my water flask. Rhiwallon was still watching, waiting for my response.

  "I have to visit someone," I said after I had finally gotten myself back under control. I turned to Owain as a thought struck me. "You don't know," I said to him. "You left Maeve and your home to come with me without even knowing why."

  Owain shrugged. "Didn't figure it mattered much. Needed help, you and Bramble. Weren't fit to walk all that way. I wasn't doing anything else, figured I'd come along."

  "It's fine," Rhiwallon said. "Don't tell me if you don't want to."

  "It's not—" I started.

  "Forget it, Diarmuid." She shot me a withering look. "I don't need to know your precious secret."

  My cheeks burned.

  "Rain's cleared," Owain said with a glance out of the dusty window. "We should leave soon."

  He quickly packed up the remaining food and deposited the sack in the cart. For such a large man, his motions were neat and economical. Every time I reached for something, he was one step ahead of me.

  Rhiwallon had a single pack, a blanket and the quiver of arrows she wore on her hip. Her bow leaned against a wall. It was smaller than a normal bow, perhaps specially made to suit her frame. She slung the pack over one shoulder and the bow over the other. I had to admit she looked capable and ready for anything that might occur on her journey. She certainly looked like a woman who could defend herself.

  The morning sky was blue, the air cool, and yesterday's rain a memory. I might have felt almost happy as we departed were it not for Rhiwallon's unexpected company. Finally, I was moving forward on my journey. I had companions, oxen and a cart, and supplies. And I was sitting side by side with the woman who knew my most embarrassing secret. I avoided Rhiwallon's eyes as we settled ourselves in the cart with Bramble's basket between us.

  We spoke little. Owain ne
ver said much anyway, and with him sitting up front, conversation was difficult. Rhiwallon seemed absorbed in her own thoughts. That suited me for the only woman I had ever been able to talk to was an illusion of my imagination. Or at least she used to be.

  How did the image of a beautiful woman turn into a creature that enticed neighbours to kill each other? How did the muse who whispered inspiration to me become evil? That had never been my intent. Fear gripped my bowels. I always thought myself to be a good sort of person. I had never killed anyone; in fact I had never even so much as slaughtered a hare. On our summer expeditions, it was always Caedmon who caught and killed our dinner, never I. But it seemed some latent evil hid deep inside of me, for how else could I create such a creature? Was the raven I kept seeing a symbol of the darkness that would eventually consume me? Would I, like Ida, soon rejoice in cruel deeds? I needed a plan. I couldn't arrive in Crow's Nest without one. But my thoughts chased each other around and I could think of no way to stop Ida. It was late afternoon before we reached the village of Aberton.

  "I know an inn," Owain said as the cart trundled over the rough streets.

  We pulled up in front of a somewhat shabby sign which proclaimed our destination to be The Ox and Cart. I sniggered and Rhiwallon looked at me, her face blank.

  "What's so funny?"

  "The sign."

  She said nothing.

  "We're arriving in a cart pulled by oxen."

  Still nothing.

  "To an inn called The Ox and Cart."

  "Oh." She frowned and looked away.

  "Can't you read?" I intended the question merely as curiosity but Rhiwallon glared at me.

  "Not everyone has the luxury of time for schooling," she said shortly. "Knowing how to read doesn't teach a woman anything about the way the world works."

  "Not much of a reader either," Owain said. "Never needed it much."

  Rhiwallon ignored both of us as she climbed down from the cart. I busied myself with lifting Bramble down and trying to hide my fiery cheeks. I moved to retrieve Rhiwallon's pack for her but she leaned past me and snatched it up. I slung my own over my shoulder.

  Inside, the innkeeper leaned against the bar. A portly fellow with a ruddy face, he eyed us each in turn, his gaze lingering on Rhiwallon.

  "Afternoon, folks," he said cheerily, straightening up and giving the bar an industrious wipe. "Need a drink? You're too early for dinner but we have some soup left over from lunch if you're hungry."

  Owain looked at me but said nothing. Rhiwallon stared out the window.

  "Do you have any bedchambers available?" I asked, tentatively. I had never before had to procure a room for myself, let alone others, and didn't quite know how to go about it.

  "Pretty full at the moment," the innkeeper said. "Lots of folks passing through this week. I've only got one room available tonight. I could let the lady have it. You two can have the hayloft in the barn, if you like. And the dog," he added, almost as an afterthought.

  I hesitated. Rhiwallon gave a huge sigh, likely intended as commentary on my ability to negotiate.

  "We'll take it," she said. "We can share."

  "Please yourselves," the innkeeper said. "It's two silvers for the room plus half a silver each for the extra two, er three, occupants. Another silver if you want a bath and three coppers each for a hot meal."

  Owain was already reaching for the pouch dangling from his belt but Rhiwallon stopped him with a flick of her wrist.

  "An extra silver and a half to sleep three people and a dog in one room?" she said. "That's extortion."

  "That's the price," the innkeeper said. "You don't want to pay it, there'll be someone else along soon enough who will."

  "I'm sure you normally accommodate two people in that bedchamber without extra charge," Rhiwallon said. "We'll pay the half silver for one extra person only."

  The innkeeper seemed to deflate. "All right, missy, two silvers and a half for the bedchamber. Did you want baths?"

  "Yes."

  "Second floor, first door on the left. You'll have to carry your bags up yourselves. You got oxen out there? The boy will take 'em to the barn and give 'em a feed for an extra two coppers."

  "I always feed them myself," Owain said. He nodded at Rhiwallon and I. "Go on up. I'll go look after the oxen."

  The stairs creaked and swayed beneath our feet as if the whole establishment might tumble down and I was thankful we were staying only one night. Rhiwallon huffed at the flimsy door with a broken lock but when she saw the bedchamber, she turned and marched right back down the stairs. There was an argument below and when Rhiwallon reappeared, her face was satisfied.

  "Two silvers for the bedchamber and no charge for the bath," she said. "See, reading's not everything."

  Bramble inspected the bedchamber and gave her opinion with a sniff. As unused to travelling as I was, I had to agree it wasn't much. A bed, somewhat lumpy. One grimy window. A small cupboard, two shelves and two chairs, one with stuffing trailing from a split seam. The rug was of questionable cleanliness and likely the bed linens were too.

  There was a knock on the door and I opened it to a skinny boy bearing two pails of steaming water. He hauled them into the bedchamber without a word and left, returning shortly after with a third bucket and some threadbare towels.

  Rhiwallon pressed a coin into his hand and he gave her a grateful smile.

  "He doesn't look like he gets nearly enough to eat," she said, after the boy had left, with a hint of defensiveness.

  I said nothing.

  "Out," she said. "I want the first bath."

  I went back down to the bar alone. Bramble had already curled up on one of the chairs and was pretending to be asleep. It seemed the direction to leave didn't include her.

  The innkeeper was less friendly now and lost any last interest in me once he realised I didn't want to buy a drink. I sat at a table in the corner of the room and waited, running my fingers over the scratches on the table top. When Owain returned, he sat across from me and held up two fingers to the innkeeper. The man's face brightened somewhat and his service was prompt. Two sloshing mugs of ale appeared on the table. Owain took one and drained half of it in a gulp. I hesitated but he nodded towards the other. "Drink up. I'm buying."

  I had never particularly liked ale nor the way it made my head spin and my stomach roll, but I took a cautious sip. It tasted something akin to how I expected cat's pee would.

  Owain drained the rest of his mug and waved the innkeeper over. "Another. And don't water it down this time."

  The man flushed faintly and quickly deposited another mug on the table. He waited as Owain tasted it and the nod from the big man made the innkeeper's face relax.

  "Hot meals," Owain said to him. "What do you have?"

  "There's vegetable soup, sir," the innkeeper said, with sudden deference in his tone. "That'll be ready in about an hour or there's some left from lunch I can warm up. If you can wait, there'll be mutton with vegetables and gravy. There's always fresh bread. And I can probably arrange some pie if you like."

  "Four mutton," Owain said. "With pie."

  "Four, sir?" the innkeeper asked.

  "Four," Owain said. "But pie for three."

  "Yes, sir."

  "Do you stay at inns often?" I asked as the innkeeper departed.

  "Sometimes," Owain said. "Have to travel a bit in my line of work."

  "What do you do?"

  Owain stared into his mug for a long moment and I half expected him to brush off the question as he had last time.

  "You may as well know," he said finally. He gripped his mug tightly. "I'm a mercenary."

  "A what?"

  "Men hire me to get rid of someone who is causing trouble."

  "Get rid of them? You mean…"

  "Kill them."

  I was glad I was already sitting for I surely would have fallen over in surprise. Owain might be large but he was also the gentlest man I had ever encountered.

  "How…" I stammered. "W
hy…"

  He shrugged. "Someone's gotta do it. Money's good. I don't talk about it much though. People don't like it."

  I squirmed on my bench, caught between unease at his revelation and self-awareness at my own nervousness. Only minutes ago, I had been thinking I didn't mind a broken lock because Owain would be there, but now… I took a large swallow of ale, seeking to shut out my thoughts.

  We sat in silence until Rhiwallon returned, wearing a clean shirt and another pair of those curious pants. An indignant and somewhat damp Bramble followed. Rhiwallon's red hair hung in a wet braid down her back and her cheeks were still rosy from the hot water.

  "Who's next?" she asked, looking almost cheerful.

  Owain nodded at me. "Go ahead."

  The water no longer steamed but it was still plenty warm enough for a pleasant bath. I stripped down and scrubbed myself all over. My clothes were grimy and I would need to find a way to clean them. Wearing my only change of clothes and feeling much refreshed, I went back down to the bar.

  Owain drained his mug and stood. "Guess I could do with a bath too."

  "Water's still warm." I avoided his eyes, feeling lousy even as I did. How many people had he killed?

  I felt Rhiwallon watching me as I sat down. I caught my breath, wondering whether I should apologise for my earlier comment about reading but likely she would find a way to take offence at that too. Instead, I waved to the innkeeper, trying to mimic the way Owain casually held up a finger to indicate how many mugs of ale he wanted. The service wasn't quite as swift and the man said nothing as he slapped a mug down in front of me. It tasted no better than the last but I drank it anyway, trying not to gag.

  "He told me," Rhiwallon said.

  "Yeah?" I stared into my mug.

  "What he does." She was silent for a few moments although I still felt her gaze on me. "He said you took it hard."

  "I was surprised, that's all." I sounded defensive, even to my own ear.

  "He doesn't usually tell people. Says they get all strange, like you did."