Bluebeard and the Outlaw by Tara Grayce

Chapter 1

Perhaps you have heard the tale of the blue-bearded man and his murdered wives. Maybe you’ve wondered how a girl could be so foolish as to marry him. She must have been forced, you say. Or incredibly desperate.

Well, dear reader, I married him. But the legends don’t tell the whole story. I might have been a fool. But I was the most reckless kind of fool, who believes she is a daring hero with legends of her own to make.

* * *

Iraced through the trees, my cloak whipping behind me while I gripped my strung bow in my hand. My quiver bumped gently against my hip and leg with each stride.

Only the pins I’d tucked through the fabric of the hood kept it firmly in place over my hair, hiding my long golden braid. The few strands that straggled free were short enough to appear to belong to a man, matching the fake mustache glued to my upper lip.

I had to suppress my wild laugh at the chase, my blood thrilling as it pounded in my ears. Danger had such a sweet taste to it, formed as it was by a pinch of sour fear, a handful of bold passion, and a tang of near-death experiences.

Ahead of me, two of my merry band of brothers—Alan and Munch—hauled an iron-wrought chest between them. Behind me, Duke Guy of Gysborn and his men crashed through the undergrowth as they chased us.

Alan muttered between panting breaths, “Did you have to fill the chest with rocks?”

“It wouldn’t look convincing otherwise.” I glanced over my shoulder toward where Duke Guy, his sheriff, and his men blundered through the knee-high ferns and saplings. I motioned to my brothers. “Keep going. I’ll slow them down and meet you at the hideout.”

Neither Munch nor Alan wasted breath to argue with me.

I skidded to a halt next to a huge, sprawling live oak, then swung onto a low hanging branch. I settled into a comfortable standing position with my feet braced on two different, wide tree limbs. Gripping my strung bow in one hand, I tossed back the covering of my quiver that protected the delicate fletching and kept the arrows in place during more acrobatic maneuvers.

The duke and his men raced into sight as flashes of movement in the undergrowth, accompanied by the crunching of leaves, cracking of sticks, and the shouting of orders.

I selected an arrow from the remaining twenty-one left in the quiver. I had already used three arrows during the fake attack on the tax wagon. If all went well, my other four brothers—Will, John, Tuck, and Marion—would be executing the real attack on the tax wagon now that Alan, Munch, and I had led Duke Guy, Sheriff Reinhault, and the bulk of their soldiers away from their valuable cargo.

Duke Guy raced into view at the head of the pack of men. His black hair was cropped short while his beard was thick yet not long, and so black that flashes of blue appeared when sunlight glinted on the strands. Local gossip said that Duke Guy wore that beard to cover the scar his first wife had given him while he murdered her.

Considering Duke Guy had murdered three wives, it was entirely plausible that one of them had managed to scar him trying to defend herself.

Another injustice to add to Duke Guy’s account, beyond his cruel taxation of the villagers during this prolonged drought. Three dead wives, and yet the king let him remain in charge of his dukedom. Claimed all three women killed themselves.

I didn’t believe that for a second.

No matter the reason for his thick beard, it had given rise to the duke’s nickname among the villagers, spoken whenever the duke, the sheriff, or their toadies were unlikely to overhear.

Bluebeard. A perfectly piratical nickname for a murderous duke.

Sheriff Reinhault sprinted at Duke Guy’s heels. His blond hair was long enough to tie back while his face was angular and clean-shaven. The sheriff was Duke Guy’s ever-faithful minion, collecting the high taxes from the villagers with alacrity and helpfully covering up any whiff of wrongdoing in the deaths of the duke’s three wives.

I drew back the arrow, let out part of my breath and held the rest to steady myself, and released.

Almost too fast, Sheriff Reinhault grabbed Duke Guy and threw both of them behind the trunk of a large tree. My arrow passed harmlessly through empty air before thunking into a nearby tree.

Blast. Sheriff Reinhault had the reflexes of a hunted cockatrice.

The soldiers skidded to a halt, then went to ground behind trees and thick stands of brush. They peeked around the trunks, hands on swords or reaching for their own hip quivers.

With all eyes fixed on me, I swept into a bow and deepened my voice. Another one of those reckless laughs bloomed in my chest and laced through my words. “Always a pleasure doing business with you, Duke Bluebeard.”

Duke Guy pushed away from the tree, shaking himself free of his sheriff minion. He glared, his mouth a thin line surrounded by his blue-black beard. “You won’t get away with this, Hood.”

“I already have.” I flourished another bow. As I straightened, I came up with an arrow already nocked. In one smooth motion, I released, my hands already in motion even as my first arrow sped through the air. I had three more arrows on their way within seconds.

Duke Guy dove for cover once again, his men following his example.

I leapt from my perch, landing lightly on my feet, before I took off running again. I dodged between the trees, leaping over fallen trunks. This forest was my home. My forester parents had walked with me down every path and hollow.

Even the ones that weren’t entirely from this world.

Ahead, the faerie circle came into view. It was one of many in the Greenwood, though this was one of the largest. It was formed of a ring of spruce trees with a single arched opening leading into the bright clearing beyond.

At the entrance, the heavy, rock-filled tax chest had been abandoned. No other sign of my brothers remained.

Good. They had followed their orders and walked the faerie path ahead of me.

At the entrance, I glanced back at Duke Guy. His dark, burning eyes focused on me, his mouth twisting from its hard line into something born of fury. He halted, held my gaze as he raised his bow, and drew back the nocked arrow.

With my hood up, all he could see was the tall, cloaked figure known as the Hood. My fake mustache tugged painfully at my skin as I smirked at Duke Guy. I saluted him with my bow, dropped my free hand down to the iron rod stuffed into my quiver next to my arrows, then stepped into the faerie circle.

The magic of the faerie circle closed around me, heavy with an overwhelming floral scent. The world outside of the circle turned shimmering and hazy, like the waves of heat on a hot afternoon.

It was a place few would dare tread. A dangerous place for humans, unless they wanted to find themselves as some fae’s plaything.

Behind me opened a doorway to another forest. This one was bathed in a sunlight far too bright. Everything was glaringly green and draped in vines and flowers. The otherworldly tugged with the thrill of utter adventure, luring me to step through that doorway into the Fae Realm.

If not for my brothers and the desperate villagers I’d leave behind, I would take that step. I would explore that far forest with all its thrills and dangers.

With the last of my willpower, I tightened my grip on the iron rod in my quiver. It kept the magic from disorientating me and reminded me of my mission.

No matter the lure, I couldn’t leave. I had the villagers who saw me as their hero. The murderous duke and his sheriff lackey who provided me with all the adventure I could want. The duty of forester that my parents had left to me when they had died ten years before.

I drew in as deep a breath as I could manage of the heavy, fae air. If I stepped out of the circle at the wrong place, I would end up in a different part of the kingdom, perhaps even on the other side of the world entirely.

For that was how the faerie paths and their circles worked. They were the places where the Fae Realm touched the human world. While the circles in my forest only connected to that one faerie wood, that fae forest connected to many forests all across the human world. Or so my parents had always told me, as their parents and their parents’ parents had told them. It was the knowledge that generations of foresters had gathered as they guarded this forest from the fae and fae monsters that could step through those circles.

I turned just a fraction before I stepped through the faerie circle back into the human world. Instead of spruce trees, I now stood outside of a perfect ring of maple trees with a circle of mushrooms growing at their base, a spot that was far deeper in the Greenwood than I had been moments earlier.

The angle of the sunlight through the autumn leaves showed that several hours had passed, even though I had been in the faerie circle for only a few seconds.

Duke Guy wouldn’t dare to follow me into the faerie circle. The best he could do was put a watch on the circle, which would be in vain since I hadn’t come out of the same circle where I had gone in. By now, he would be cursing the Hood, frustrating at his inability to capture the elusive outlaw.

Grinning to myself, I took the time to unstring my bow, secure it in its sheath underneath my cloak, and place the covering over my quiver once again. As I strolled through the forest, I carefully peeled off my fake mustache, wrapped it in a soft piece of cloth, then placed it in a small leather pocket set in the side of my quiver where it would be safe until the next time I reprised my role as the infamous Hood.

I let myself whistle a tune as I walked, though I kept the volume low so that it wouldn’t carry far in case Duke Guy had set his men to combing the forest, as they did periodically.

After fifteen minutes of hiking, I reached the secluded spot that served as our current hideout. It was tucked against a large boulder on one side with a fallen, uprooted tree providing further protection.

I waved at Marion as I passed where he was perched high in a tree, taking his shift as lookout.

He grinned and waved back with all the exuberance of his twenty years. He was slim and still so fresh-faced that my fake mustache gave me more facial hair than he had.

When I stepped into the hideout, Will was sharpening his sword while John and Alan sparred with wooden quarterstaffs. Tuck—short for Tucker—stopped stirring the pot of venison stew with his ever-present ladle. With his free hand, he fended off Munch, my youngest brother.

Munch’s full name was Mungoe, much to his horror. My parents had progressively gotten more creative with their names, perhaps due to having six sons after their one daughter. Will and John had names so common that they shared their names with a dozen of the villagers. Alan’s and Tucker’s names were not quite so common, but not exactly rare either. Marion was still a respectable name, if unique. By the time they had gotten down to their youngest son, they had resorted to the moniker Mungoe from a story my mother had heard from a traveling bard.

And then there was me. Robin. The oldest of the bunch and the only girl. Perhaps my parents shouldn’t have used up what was generally considered a boy’s name for their daughter, even if they hadn’t known I would be their only one.

But my mother had always loved the robins, waiting for their arrival every spring with an anticipation that rivaled that of any holiday. For that, she had named me Robin.

It fit me. What else would be proper for a girl who stood six foot tall with calloused hands and hardened muscles? To be fair, my parents couldn’t have known that, much less that I would spend the bulk of the last seven years masquerading as an outlaw.

I flourished my hands as my brothers all turned toward me. “Yes, yes. I know. The conquering hero has returned.”

Munch rolled his eyes. “Only you call yourself that.”

“Well, and the villagers. They call her that, and more.” Alan shrugged as he dropped his quarterstaff. “They all but worship their outlaw.”

“Which of course goes straight to her head.” Will set aside his sword, pushed to his feet, and faced me. “I was beginning to get worried.”

“Nothing to worry about. You know I can handle myself.” I sauntered across the clearing and snagged the ladle out of Tuck’s hand, deftly dodging his snatching hand as he tried to retrieve it. I sipped at the savory broth and managed to burn my tongue. Not that I let a hint of that show on my face as I smirked. “Delicious as always, Tuck. I’m famished.”

Tuck yanked the ladle from my grip, grimacing at it. He wiped the ladle off on his apron before he stuck it back in the pot. “Rob, you’re a menace.”

“I’m sure Duke Guy is saying the same thing, and probably a few things that are much worse.” I slouched onto one of the logs set around the fire and propped one booted foot on another log.

Will took the log next to the one I was using as a footstool. “The town is filled with happy people.”

“At least until the sheriff comes around to collect taxes again.” I rested an elbow on my knee. I’d ordered Will to don his own Hood disguise and take the money directly to the village before Duke Guy could get organized to go after them. The duke would certainly be puzzled, wondering how the Hood had managed to get from that faerie circle back to the village so quickly.

It just lent yet another tale to that inhuman mystique I was building for the Hood.

While I was the one who wore the role of the Hood most often, my brothers Will and Alan also took turns as the need arose, since they were the closest in hair color and build to me. After all, the man—or woman—beneath the cloak and hood didn’t matter. It was all about the air of mystery, the whiff of legend.

Will picked up a stick and jabbed at the fire so forcefully that his stick snapped in his hand. “I wasn’t kidding earlier, Robin. You need to stop taking such chances all the time. We’re all in this together, you know. Alan and I already wear the hood. Even Marion and Munch could take turns soon. This doesn’t have to rest entirely on your shoulders anymore.”

I knew that. Of course, I did. I couldn’t do this without any of them. Will was my stick-in-the-mud voice of reason that held back my most reckless impulses. John was the silent brawn, though when he spoke, I knew to listen. Tuck provided the food that kept us all going, as well as always being there when I needed him. Alan was my co-conspirator when it came to theatrics while Marion was the best of us when it came to sewing and mending, though Mother had made sure all of us knew such a vital skill. And, Munch could always be counted on to make me smile.

They were my merry band of brothers. More precious to me than any grand schemes of robbing Duke Guy and saving the villagers from excessive taxation.

With each robbery we pulled off, Duke Guy stepped up his security. He now had soldiers given to him by the king, and more would be on their way as soon as the king received word of this latest heist.

How long would it be before one of my brothers was hurt or killed in one of my dangerous schemes? I might thrive off the reckless thrills, but I couldn’t ask my brothers to follow me into those adventures forever.

But until Duke Guy stopped taxing the villagers to death, I didn’t have a choice. Still, I never made a lasting difference, stealing the money only to have Duke Guy tax it back shortly afterwards. It was a never-ending cycle.

How could I actually fix things? Besides killing Duke Guy, and he was proving to be difficult prey.

I shook my head and picked up my own stick, rolling it between my fingers. Ever since our parents had been found murdered outside of one of the faerie circles—by whom or what, we still didn’t know and likely never would—I had been responsible for this family. It was a burden I couldn’t seem to shake, even now.

Not that I would tell Will that. I gave him a grin and tossed the stick in the fire. “But where would the fun be in that? I rather like my hood, thank you very much. I’m not ready to give it up, even to you.”

“The stew is ready!”

At Tuck’s call, Will pushed to his feet. As he stepped over my leg blocking his way—I wasn’t going to move it for him, of course—he nudged my shoulder. “Just think about it, all right? We can’t keep doing this forever, you know.”

I couldn’t let him see how close his words were to my own thoughts just now. I was the arrogant outlaw called the Hood. Outlaws didn’t have time for piddly things like doubts and worries.

Munch and Marion both stampeded to grab their bowls and shove their way into first place in line. Both of them stepped aside when John gave them a look and strode past them. At six foot nine, stocky, and bulky with muscles, John was by far the most intimidating of my brothers. Even I wouldn’t dare step between John and food.

After a few minutes of scrambling around the stew pot, complete with Tuck’s judicious use of his ladle, Alan broke away from the tumult carrying two bowls.

He handed one to me before he took a seat on Will’s vacated log. “Rumor in town has it that the duke is angling to get married again and kill off yet another bride.”

I stirred my stew, resting the bowl on my raised knee. “Let me guess, if the poor girl is breathing, has all her teeth, and is younger than forty, the duke will take her.”

Considering his last three wives had died under mysterious circumstances—which everyone knew was murder, even if the law couldn’t seem to find a reason to arrest him—he probably didn’t care all that much about what wife number four looked like when he murdered her.

“Basically.” Alan shrugged and spoke between spoonfuls of stew. “Perhaps some girl in the village will be desperate enough to risk her life in the hope of a few days of good food and access to the duke’s riches.”

The duke’s riches…now there was a thought.

My hand stilled, my stew no longer my primary concern. Perhaps it was Will’s nagging that spurred me to such a scheme. Maybe it was my own recklessness. But the plan unfolding inside my head would be the ultimate heist.

I set aside my bowl, then hopped lightly onto the tallest of our log seats. “Hold up, everyone.”

John froze with his spoon partway to his mouth. Tuck halted with his ladle poised over the bowl he was filling.

I pointed to Alan. “Did the rest of you hear the rumor that the duke is looking for a wife?”

“He’s doing what?” Munch’s mouth hung open.

“Looking for a wife. Noising it about town as if he were searching for a lost dog.” Alan waved his hand. “Pathetic, really. What girl would be crazy enough to take him up on the deal, knowing he will likely kill her?”

“Actually…” I straightened my shoulders, my chest already filling with the anticipation of this next adventure. “I am.”